Don't Scream (9780307823526)

by Nixon, Joan Lowery

  “Want to go look for it?” Scott asked.

  I thought of what I’d promised Mom. “Not now,” I answered. “We’re going to show you the bay. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Scott said good-naturedly, and made a turn to the right. We had followed him for only a few minutes when I realized that he was leading us along the path that Lori and I always take.

  “You’ve been here before,” I said, but he shook his head.

  “Nope. First time.”

  “You know the way to go.”

  “I just know that to reach the water we’d have to turn east.”

  It seemed like a logical answer, and I should have been satisfied. But up ahead lay the rock castle that belonged to Lori and me alone. Into my mind flashed the memory of the last time we’d been there, when I’d told Lori that maybe I should quit my job.

  In class Scott had said, “She won’t have to quit her job to do it.”

  I shivered, and Mark took my hand. “Don’t tell me you’re cold when the temperature is in the high eighties.”

  “I’m fine,” I answered.

  Lori giggled. “Don’t you know the old superstition?

  Jess shivered because someone walked over her grave.”

  I didn’t laugh. I couldn’t. I was too busy trying to make sense of what I’d just found out. Scott knew what I had said about quitting my job because he’d overheard Lori and me. There was no other answer. Scott had been the one hiding in the woods, spying on us.

  CHAPTER

  six

  I didn’t feel like talking until we had reached the bay and were seated on a grassy, hard-packed dirt bank overlooking the flat, blue-gray water. In the distance sailboats skimmed the surface like large white gulls searching for fish, and wavelets splatted the dark soil below our feet in ragged smacks, leaving behind a smear of yellowed foam.

  “This is what you wanted to show us?” Mark asked in surprise. “This is where you go to swim?”

  “Yuck, no!” Lori said. “Nobody would want to swim here. We drive to Galveston, or sometimes down to Surfside, to go swimming.”

  “Then why do you come here?” Mark asked.

  Lori and I looked at each other. We shared the answer, but I don’t think we’d ever actually put it into words.

  I was the first to speak up. “Because this is a quiet, peaceful place,” I said. “No telephones, no school, no homework, no jobs, no piano teachers, no parents telling us to clean our rooms. We can talk if we want or just sit and watch the sailboats across the bay.”

  Mark grimaced. “It’s not Coney Island.”

  “Or the Atlantic Ocean,” Scott added.

  I looked at Scott carefully, hearing the touch of wistfulness in his voice. “Do you miss Galesburg?” I asked him.

  Scott looked surprised. “Galesburg? Oh, Galesburg. Yes, sometimes, I guess. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Why did your parents move to Oakberry?” I asked.

  “They didn’t,” Scott answered, without looking at me. He kept his gaze on the distant boats. “I live with my aunt.”

  I knew I shouldn’t pry, but when he didn’t add anything else, I asked, “Did your aunt come here to work?”

  “She’s looking,” Scott answered. “She’ll come up with something soon.”

  “Oakberry seems like a strange place to hunt for work. Wouldn’t your aunt find more job opportunities in a big city than in a small town?”

  Scott just shrugged.

  “Where do you and your aunt live?” I asked.

  Lori squirmed with embarrassment. “We’re not playing twenty questions, Jess,” she said.

  But Scott turned and for the first time looked directly into my eyes. He didn’t blink. His gaze didn’t waver. I nervously sucked in my breath.

  “My aunt’s name is Edna Turner,” he said in a monotone, as though his words were rolling out of a tape recorder. “We have an apartment in that big complex over on Dale Street. For reasons I won’t go into, I’m living with Edna instead of my parents. Edna and I don’t always see things the same way, and I guess you could say we’re happier away from each other, so we spend as little time as possible together.”

  Everyone grew very quiet, and I could feel my face burning. Mom would have scolded me for being rude. Dad would have shaken his head and said, “Jess, you have to stop letting your curiosity run away with you.” Lori was probably going to have some well-chosen words to say to me later. And I deserved it.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I sounded like I was being awfully nosy, and I didn’t mean to be. I just wanted to know more about you, Scott.”

  “It’s okay,” he said quietly.

  Mark broke the tension by laughing as he tapped me on the end of my nose. “Is that what they call a nose for news? Is that why you’re on the school paper, Jess? Maybe you should get a job on one of those scummy tabloid shows on TV.”

  Lori grinned, friend to friend. “Or how about being a gossip columnist?” she said.

  I went along with the game. “Or maybe write for one of those awful newspapers they sell at the grocery checkout stands? How’s this for a lead story? ‘Is Scott Alexander all he seems to be, or is he actually a clone, put here on earth by aliens from outer space?’ ”

  Scott looked away. He didn’t crack even the smallest of smiles, and I felt worse than before.

  “You’d write under an assumed name, I hope,” Lori said in a desperate attempt to make us laugh.

  While I struggled to think of something funny to answer to ease the tension, Mark scrambled to his feet. “I’ve had enough communing with nature, and I’ve got some history and government reading to catch up on. Anybody want to guide me back to civilization?”

  We all got up, brushing away clinging leaves and crumbs of dirt, and retraced our steps through the woods. No one said much, and I suffered for having ruined everyone’s good mood. I’d really goofed by being so nosy with Scott.

  Scott paused as we came to Castle Rock. As though nothing awkward had happened, he said, “I’ve been thinking about that hidden cemetery Lori told us was somewhere inside the woods. I’ve decided that it can’t be real. It has to be a myth.”

  “No, it’s for real,” Lori insisted.

  At the same time I said, “Scott! What makes you think that?”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Because if the cemetery really existed,” he said, “Jess would have found it a long time ago.”

  Mark and Lori laughed, and I blushed again. “Okay, okay,” I told Scott. “I didn’t mean to be so nosy. I promise I won’t be again.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Mark said.

  Scott peered into the shadow-speckled woods as if he could penetrate the silent darkness. “If the cemetery is there, I’d like to find it.”

  “The woods near Oakberry covers acres,” I explained, “and it gets thicker with vines and underbrush.”

  “But the cemetery is supposed to be close by, not too far from Oakberry,” Lori said.

  Scott turned and looked at me. “Have you ever heard of anyone who tried to locate the cemetery? Or anyone who could give directions to where it might be?”

  “No,” I said. Remembering Mom’s words, I added, “Even if it does exist, it wouldn’t be much of anything to see … vines overgrowing everything, broken headstones … that is if there ever were any headstones.”

  “It could be a piece of history,” Scott said.

  “We’re not exactly positive about Harry Pratt, the train robber,” Lori told him. “Mrs. Hickey said that—”

  “I don’t mean the train robber,” Scott interrupted. “I was thinking about the settlers—the people who came this way such a long time ago.”

  “Speaking of history and makeup reading,” Mark began.

  But I caught a strange expression on Scott’s face. “Let’s go looking for the cemetery one of these days,” he said. “In the meantime, we can try to get as much information as we can about it so we’ll have a better idea of exactly whe
re to look.”

  Lori appeared to be about as thrilled as if Scott had suggested bungee jumping, but she took a deep breath, smiled brightly, and said, “Okay. Let’s.”

  Mark shrugged and said, “Count me in. Hunting for a cemetery may be the most exciting thing going on in Oakberry.”

  They all looked at me. For one instant I fought with my conscience. After all, I told myself, Mom made me promise not to look for the cemetery when I was very young. It’s different now. I’m old enough to take care of myself. Besides, I won’t be going into the deep part of the woods alone. The others will be with me. “Why not?” I said. Scott had said “one of these days.” That would give me time to talk to Mom about why I had to go if the others were going.

  THAT EVENING, DURING dinner, I told my parents about the plans for volunteer work at the hospital’s children’s ward.

  Mom put down the bowl of zucchini and studied me. “It’s a really fine idea,” she said, “but how are you going to fit it into your schedule?”

  “I’ll work with the children on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” I told her.

  “But you said that Mrs. Emery appointed you head of the volunteers. That’s going to mean a lot of extra work.”

  “Not too much. We’ll all be in on the organization. We’ll make a schedule and have a list of subs if someone can’t make it. Everybody’s eager to help.”

  “You always complain that you have a hard time getting in your homework,” Dad reminded me.

  “I know,” I admitted. “At first I thought I might have to quit my job, but I realize I don’t have to. I’ve been thinking about the way I do things. Some afternoons I catch the soaps, and I admit I spend a lot of time talking on the phone to Lori. I can cut out television and phone calls and have more time for study.”

  “Well, hallelujah! We get the phone back!” Dad said, and chomped down on a large bite of meat loaf.

  “What about grades?” Mom asked. The wrinkle that had been flickering across her forehead took root and deepened.

  “My grades are okay,” I told her.

  “They could be better,” she answered. “Look, Jessie, you’re just a little over one and a half years away from graduation, and that means college—if your grades are good enough. You’ve been great about helping to add to your college fund with your part-time job at Bingo’s, but I’ve even thought about your dropping the job just so you could spend more time on schoolwork.”

  “Mom,” I said, “you worry too much. I can handle Bingo’s, bring up my grades, and volunteer two afternoons at the children’s ward. Honest, I can.”

  “I wish you’d talked your idea over with us before you took it to Mrs. Emery,” Mom said.

  “I wanted to,” I told her, “but Mark … what I mean is, some of the kids heard about it and told Mrs. Emery, and she was excited about the idea, and … well, it got started before I realized what was happening.”

  “I told you, it’s a fine idea,” Mom said slowly, “and I’m proud of you for coming up with such a generous plan. But I’m not convinced you can handle such a busy schedule. I’m afraid that everything is going to suffer—your studies, your job, even your volunteer hours.”

  “Mom!” I wailed.

  “Why don’t we give it more thought before we make any decisions,” Dad said. “Jess, please pass the gravy over here.”

  I picked up the heavy pottery gravy boat and handed it to him. I licked a drop of gravy from my finger and said, “Let me tell you about a little boy named Ricky.”

  By the time I had finished the story, Mom’s wrinkle had vanished, but she said, “I guess you can give the volunteer work a try, but you’ll have to prove yourself, Jessie. Your grades can’t be just good. They have to be better.”

  “I think that’s fair enough,” Dad said. He and Mom looked at me.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll prove I can do it.”

  You’ve got to, I told myself. You haven’t got a choice.

  True to my promise, I stayed off the phone, ignored the television, and went over and over the assignment in my government textbook, even giving myself a quiz. To my surprise, what I had read not only made sense, it was even kind of interesting.

  By the time I went upstairs to bed I felt good about the volunteer program and the part I was going to play in it. Mrs. Emery had said she’d contact Mrs. Hopkins and get her approval for our program, but I didn’t want to wait until it was set up to see Ricky. I smiled to myself. I’d pay a visit to the hospital the very next day.

  The shades on my windows were rolled up to the top, so before turning on the light I walked to the windows to pull them down. Concerned with nothing but a soft place to sleep, Pepper, who had followed me, leaped onto my bed, claimed his spot, and curled into an already-snoozing ball.

  For some reason the streetlight at the corner was out. Only the half-moon’s thin light spilled over the landscape outside my windows, softening the mounds of shrubbery and deepening the shadows that clung to the heavy branches of oak and elm. The Maliks’ long, flat front lawn was skimmed with silver and decorated with small globs of yellow light that dropped through narrow cracks where the front-room drapes didn’t quite meet. Untidy mounds on the curb in front of the Chamberlins’ and Maliks’ houses meant that their trash had been put out for the next morning’s pickup.

  Suddenly Mr. Chamberlin’s front door opened, gushing a flash of brightness across his yard before it closed.

  Peaches’s nightly trip outside, I thought. I was about to pull down the nearest window shade when the trunk of the large elm tree at the front of the Maliks’ property wavered and thickened.

  It can’t be the tree that moved, I told myself, but I haven’t seen anyone approach the tree. Had someone been there, watching and hiding behind the stocky trunk?

  In the pale half-light I thought I saw something small streak across the lawn toward the tree and the trash next to it, then vanish into the deep shadows. The tree moved again, then was still.

  I squinted, straining to see until my eyes hurt. Could that small shape have been Peaches? No. I didn’t think so. Peaches was as antisocial as Mr. Chamberlin. The animal I’d seen must have been a squirrel.

  My eyes began to water, but I kept them fixed on the tree. No more strange shapes, no more movement. I ran to Mom and Dad’s room, at the front of the house, for a better look at the elm; but in the darkness the tree looked like nothing more than a twisted, bent skeleton with splayed fingers that waggled in the light breeze.

  The street was empty. Had someone been there and gone? Or had my eyes been playing tricks on me?

  I heard Mom and Dad checking doors and turning out lights, so I walked back to my room, pulled down my shades, and got ready for bed.

  For a moment I sat on the edge of my bed, stroking Pepper, wondering if I’d seen something or not.

  CHAPTER

  seven

  The sky had faded to a thin, pale gray, stamped with a transparent, fading moon, when our doorbell jangled sharply and fist-weight blows hammered against the door.

  Mom and Dad, staggering from sleep, pulled on robes as they hurried down the stairs. I stopped only long enough to snatch up Pepper before I followed them, my heart thumping.

  As Dad opened the door, Mr. Chamberlin, leaning forward on his wobbling cane, stumbled and nearly fell.

  “Peaches!” he cried out. “Peaches … she’s gone. Where’s my cat?”

  I thought about what I had seen in the darkness, and my heart skipped a couple of beats.

  Mom put an arm around Mr. Chamberlin’s shoulders and guided him to the nearest living-room chair. “Now, now,” she said in a soothing voice, “don’t be upset. We’ll help you find Peaches.”

  Mr. Chamberlin’s hands trembled as he pressed them against the round knob on his cane. Thin wisps of white hair stuck out at angles from his face, which was tight with fear. “Peaches went out last night, as she always does. Sometimes she comes back right away. Sometimes she don’t. I fell asleep. It’s my fault. I sho
uld have waited for her. I usually do. But I went to sleep.”

  “Peaches probably did, too,” Mom told him. “Right now she may be curled up in a ball, sound asleep in some cozy spot she found.”

  “I agree,” Dad said heartily. “Mr. Chamberlin, when you’re ready, I’ll walk you home, and I bet that Peaches will be waiting at the door for you.”

  I wondered how I could recount what I’d seen and still make sense. “Last night,” I said, “I thought I saw Peaches cut across your lawn and run toward the elm tree next door.”

  They all looked at me, waiting, but what else could I add?

  Mom finally broke the silence by asking, “And …?”

  “That’s it,” I said. “It might have been a squirrel, or it might have been Peaches. Mr. Chamberlin opened his front door, then closed it, and all I saw was a small shadow running toward the elm tree. Or maybe she was running toward the trash. Last night the Maliks put their trash near the curb, next to the tree.”

  “Did you see Peaches leave?” Mom asked.

  “No,” I said. “I watched for a while, but I didn’t see her again.” I quickly added, “It might not even have been Peaches. It might have been a squirrel. With the streetlight out, it was awfully dark.”

  Mr. Chamberlin squinted as if he were seeing me for the first time. “You were one of those kids tormenting Peaches yesterday. I recognize you.”

  As Mom and Dad looked at me with surprise, I said, “We weren’t tormenting Peaches, Mr. Chamberlin. I tried to explain to you at the time. One of the boys picked a sprig of oleander, and the branch snapped back. Peaches was probably under the bush, and the noise must have scared her, so she let out a squawk and ran up to your porch.”

  “It’s not the first time that’s happened.” He snarled and leaned toward me, his face red with anger. “For all I know, you’ve made off with Peaches. Where is she? What have you done to her?”

  Frightened, I took a step back, clutching Pepper tightly, but Dad placed a strong hand on my shoulder, steadying me.

  “Mr. Chamberlin,” he said soothingly, “Jess and her friends wouldn’t hurt your cat. Jess loves cats. See … she’s holding Pepper, her own cat.”