"Here, I'll go." I pulled myself up the gate, maneuvered around Becky and flipped over the top. "Now you!" I whispered as I hung on the other side.
She didn't move. Her eyes weren't even open.
"I think I'm having a panic attack."
"Great!" I said, rolling my eyes. "You can't do this!" Maybe I should have brought Nerd Boy. "Becky?"
"I can't!"
"All right, all right! Slide down."
We both slithered down the iron gate on opposite sides. The iron bars separated us, but not our friendship.
"I hope I didn't spoil everything," Becky said.
"Hey, at least you gave me a ride."
She smiled appreciatively. "I'll keep an eye out here."
"No, go on home. Someone may see you."
"Are you sure?"
"It was fun hanging around with you," I joked. "But I gotta go now!"
"I hope you find everything you're looking for."
Becky drove off to the safety of her plaid couch and I continued on, minus one detective. I was the RBI—Raven Bureau of Investigation. I had to put an end to these rumors. And if they were more than just rumors, the world had to know.
The only light came from the curtained attic window. I could hear the faint wailing of an electric guitar, as I tiptoed around the side of the house. Fortunately, I didn't hear the sound of barking dogs. I found my favorite window. There were no boards or bricks, and the broken window had been replaced. If they fixed one thing in this Mansion, why did it have to be this particular window? I scrambled around and checked the other windows. They were all locked. Suddenly I noticed something catching the moonlight. I crouched over and lying by a bush was a hammer, and next to the hammer was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. It was a window, propped open with a brick. A caulking gun and putty were still sitting on the ledge. Someone had been working here and left their mess to dry. I kissed my new friend—the helpful brick—with my hand. Thank you, brick, thank you!
It was a much tighter squeeze through the window this time. I'd eaten a lot of candy since I was twelve.
I sucked in and pushed and pulled and grunted and heaved. I was through. I was in! I high-fived the air, the dark musty dusty basement air that filled the Mansion dungeon.
My flashlight guided me around crates and old furniture. I saw three rectangular objects leaning against the wall, covered with blankets. Paintings? My flesh tingled with anticipation as I grabbed the corner of the blanket and slowly pulled it back. I gasped. A face with two frozen eyes stared back at me. It was a mirror!
I clutched my racing heart. A covered mirror? I pulled the blankets off one after the other. They were all mirrors! Gold framed, wood framed, rectangular and oval. It couldn't be! Who covers their mirrors? Only vampires!
I continued to search the basement. I uncovered china dishes and crystal goblets, not the kind of glasses I was used to drinking from. Then I found a box that was labeled ALEXANDER'S WATERCOLORS, filled with drawings of an estate just like the one I was standing in.
There were other paintings, too: Spider-Man, Batman, and Superman. And a version of the big three together: Frankenstein, the Werewolf, and Count Dracula.
I started to put them into my backpack, but I had promised Becky I wouldn't take anything. So I took out my camera and took a photo instead.
I found a dusty rolled parchment with a faded family tree. There were long unpronounceable names of duchesses and barons going back centuries. And then at the bottom—Alexander. But no dates of births—or deaths!
Finally I uncovered three crates marked, SOIL. They had Romanian customs stamps on them.
As I made my way toward the stairs, I tripped over something covered with a white sheet. This was what I had come for—it had to be a coffin. The object was the right size for a coffin and sounded like wood when I tapped my knuckles on it. I was as afraid as I was excited. I closed my eyes and yanked the sheet off. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes wide. It was only a coffee table.
I replaced the dusty sheet and carefully walked up the creaky stairs. I twisted the glass door handle and pushed, but to no avail. I pushed again with all my might, and the door suddenly burst open. I went flying into the hallway.
Portraits of a silver-haired man and woman lined the hallway, along with some wild paintings that could have been van Goghs or Picassos. I'd have known for sure if I had ever paid attention in art. I felt like I was in a museum, except there were candles and not fluorescent lights.
I tiptoed into the living room. The furniture was art deco. Very stylish. Huge red velvet curtains hung over the windows—the windows I had once waved a red baseball cap through. I could hear the Smiths pulsing through the ceiling.
I looked at my glow-in-the-dark Swatch. It was already eight-thirty. Time to leave. But I paused at the bottom of the grand staircase. I couldn't go upstairs. It would be ultra-risky. But I had to see everything. When would I ever get a chance like this again?
The first room I entered was a grand study, books upon books, the Sterlings’ very own library. But no librarian, thank goodness. "Just came to check out Crime and Punishment" would not go over very well with Creepy Man. I peeked quickly into the other rooms. I had never seen so many bathrooms on one floor. Not even a football stadium had so many. A small guest bedroom was surprisingly spartan with a single bed. The master bedroom had a canopy bed with black lace curtains dripping around the columns. There was a vanity, but no mirror! Little combs and brushes and nail polishes. Shades of black, gray, and brown. I was about to look into the closet when the music suddenly stopped. I heard footsteps overhead.
I slipped down the stairs fast. I didn't look back and made sure not to lose my footing and stumble or fall like those girls do in Friday the 13th movies. Fiddling with the door locks, my fingers shook uncontrollably, like those foolish horror-flick girls. I was making way too much noise. As I tried to unlock the top bolt, I saw the bottom bolt turning from the other side.
I ran down the hallway, but hearing footsteps coming from that direction, I doubled back and headed into the living room. There wasn't time to open the windows, so I threw myself behind the red velvet curtains.
"I'm back," I heard Creepy Man call in his thick Romanian accent. "Wexley's will be delivering tomorrow as usual. I'm going to retire now."
No one responded.
"You can't get them to shut up when they're three, but when they're seventeen they won't even open their mouths," I heard him mumbling to himself as he walked slowly past the grand staircase.
"Always leaving doors opened," I heard Creepy say and shut what must have been the door to the basement.
I peeled myself out of the curtain, ran, and unbolted all the front door locks in record time. I was ready to make my escape when I felt something familiar----a presence, again. I turned around and there he was standing in front of me. Gothic Guy. He stood motionless, like he was breathing in his uninvited guest.
When he extended his hand to me, to show I didn't have to be afraid, I noticed the accessory— he was wearing the black spider ring that I'd given Creepy Man on Halloween!
I had waited for a moment like this all my life. To see, to meet, to befriend someone who was different from everyone else, and just like me. Suddenly the reality of the situation hit me.
I had been caught.
I ran across the Mansion lawn and pumped and pulled and flung myself to the top of the rusty gate. And as I threw my booted foot over the top, I looked back and could see a distant figure standing in the doorway, watching me. I hesitated, feeling drawn back to the Mansion. I stared at him for a moment before sliding down to the other side.
I had found what I was looking for.
14 Hot Pursuit
After calling Becky and describing my adventure in thrilling detail, I suffered from major insomnia. It wasn't nightfall keeping me awake, though; it was a guy with the deepest, darkest, dreamiest eyes that I had ever seen. My heart was spinning as much as my head. He was beautiful. His h
air, his face, his lips. Absolutely amazing was the image of his extended hand—wearing my ring! Why didn't he try to call the police? Why was he wearing my ring? Was he really a vampire? When would I see him again? I already missed Gothic Guy. I was swinging high on the swing set the next morning at Evans Park, waiting for Becky, my head still dizzy from the previous night's encounter. I skidded to a stop when she finally arrived and I told her the whole incredible story again.
"You're lucky he didn't kill you!"
"Are you kidding? He was magnificent! I'd wait forever to meet someone half as cool!"
"So do you believe the rumors now?"
"I know it sounds crazy, but I think it could be true. There are so many signs. The drawing of Dracula, the candles, the sunglassses, the covered mirrors, the family tree."
"The mother's allergy to garlic and that the Sterlings have only been seen at night," Becky added.
"And what about the imported earth? Vampires always bring dirt from their native country."
"Are you going to call CNN?" she teased.
"Not yet. I need more proof."
"Would that involve trying to get me over that gate again?"
I began swinging, remembering Anne Rice, Bram Stoker, Bela Lugosi, The Hunger, Lost Boys, and all the Nosferatus that had ever graced the world with their wonderful smiles and slicked-back hair.
"No! It doesn't involve you at all," I finally answered her.
She let out a sigh of relief.
"There's really only one way to prove it, right? And then we can finally tell these gossip mongers to end their rumors for good. Then these Gothic angels can sleep peacefully, whether they go to bed during the night or day!" I joked.
"So what are you going to do, watch to see if he changes into a bat?"
"No. I'm going to watch to see if I do!"
"You can't change into a bat from watching him."
"I'll have to do more than look at him! There's only one way to tell if he's really a vampire."
"Yeah?"
"It'll be in his bite!" I screamed with excitement.
"You're going to have him bite you? Are you crazy?"
"Curiously crazy."
"But what happens if he is one? You'll turn into a vampire! Then what'll you do?"
"Then," I said, smiling, "I'll call CNN."
I sauntered home from Evans Park daydreaming about seeing my prince of darkness, when I spotted a black Mercedes turning the corner at the far end of my street.
I ran after it, as fast as I could, but combat boots can't compete with spinning wheels and motorized acceleration, even with Creepy driving.
At home I was greeted by a mischievously smiling Nerd Boy.
"I've got something for you!" he teased.
"Don't play games. I'm not in the mood."
"Seems as though the mail is now being delivered on Sundays. And the Sunday mailman is that weird butler from the Halloween Mansion!"
"What?"
"He delivered a letter for you!"
"Give it!"
"It'll cost you!"
"It'll cost you your head," I yelled, trying to jump on him.
He took off running and I followed in red-hot pursuit. "I'll get it. It's just a question of whether you're dead or alive when I do!"
If only I'd stayed home, Creepy Man would have given me the letter instead of Nerd Boy. Good thing my parents were out at lunch. They would have freaked if they'd seen a million-year-old man coming to the door and asking for me.
Nerd Boy waved the red envelope in front of my face, taunting me at every turn. Suddenly he ran upstairs. I grabbed his leg from behind and he fell. I pulled him toward me, but the envelope was in his outstretched arm, too far for me to grab.
I made a sharklike face to let him know I would bite his leg off if I had to, something you can do to a sibling and not go to jail. Panic set in, and he used his free foot to push my hands loose from his bony leg. He slammed his bedroom door in my face and turned the lock.
I banged and banged. My hands hurt but I wouldn't feel the throbbing till later, I was so mad.
"'Dear Raven,'" he pretended to read through the door. '"I love you and want you to be my witchy wife so we can have scary butler babies. Love, Weirdo Butler.'"
"Give that to me! Now! Don't you know what I'm capable of? Just ask the soccer team. I can make life a living hell for you!"
"I'll give it back on one condition."
"How much?"
"I don't want money."
"Then what?"
"That you promise…"
"What, already?"
"That you promise to stop calling me 'Nerd Boy'!"
There was silence on both sides of the door.
I felt a pang in my heart. Guilt? Pathos? I guess I never realized that my little nickname could have been hurting him so much all these years. That I had already made his life a living hell.
"Then what should I call you?"
"How about my name?"
"What would that be?" I teased.
"Billy."
"Uh, well…okay. You give me the letter, and I won't call you Nerd Boy—for a year."
"Forever."
"Forever?"
"Forever!"
"Okay. For…ever."
He cracked the door open and slipped the envelope out. He peered at me with his deep-brown baby-brother eyes.
"Here. I didn't open it."
"Thanks. You shouldn't have made me chase you. I've had a long day!"
"It's only twelve o'clock!"
"Exactly!" Now I had the red envelope safely in my hands. "Thanks, Nerd Boy." I couldn't help it. It was habit.
"You promised!" he yelled, slamming the door.
I knocked again. This time I felt the pain from the previous banging.
"What, Witch Girl?" he yelled. "Anyone would be a nerd compared to you! Leave me alone and go back to your cave!"
I found the door unlocked and stepped inside. It had been years since I'd been in his room. There were pictures of Michael Jordan and Wayne Gretzky on the wall and fifty billion computer games stacked on his floor and desk beside his computer. Nerd Boy was actually pretty interesting.
"Thanks for the letter," I said.
He just sat mousing at his computer, ignoring me.
"Billy!" I shouted. He quickly looked up, with shocked eyes. "I said, Thanks.' But I can't hug you. We'll save that for TV."
I threw myself on my bed, my black down comforter soft against my arms, and stared at the blank red envelope. It could say anything inside like: "Stay off our property or we'll sue you and your parents."
But at least I had the threat safely in my hands.
I gently opened the envelope, fearing the worst.
It was an invitation! "Mr. Alexander Sterling requests the company of Ms. Raven Madison at his home December 1 at 8:00 P.M. for dinner."
How did he know my name? How did he know where I lived? And was this real? No seventeen-year-old guy in this town, state, or country invited girls over like this. It was straight out of some Merchant-Ivory-Emma Thompson movie where people have stuffy British accents and are sandwiched into corsets and never say the word "love." It was so medieval, old-fashioned, out of this world. It was so romantic my flesh tingled all over.
I looked at the envelope for any other message, but that's all there was. It didn't even say "R.S.V.P." What nerve! He expected I would come, and he was right. I had waited for this all my life.
15 Gothic Guest
I couldn't tell my mother about my mysterious invitation to the Mansion. She'd say no, I couldn't go. I'd say yes, I could. She'd ground me; I'd run away. It would all be very dramatic. I was certain nothing could stop me from going, until my dad dropped a bomb on the morning of December 1.
"I'm taking Mom to Vegas tonight!" he said, pulling me aside. "It's all very spur-of-the-moment. We're flying out this afternoon."
"Isn't that romantic?" My mom beamed, grabbing a suitcase from the hall closet. "Your father's never done a
nything like this for our anniversary!"
"So you'll be in charge of the house and watching Billy," my dad ordered.
"Watch Billy? He's eleven!" I yelled, following them into their bedroom.
"Here's where we can be reached if you have any problems," he said, handing me a slip of paper with a phone number. "Your employment at Janice's proved to me you can be responsible. We'll be back tomorrow after dinner."
"But I have plans!"
"So invite Becky over here tonight." He tossed a hairbrush into his travel bag. "You're always going to her house. But pick out a movie you all can enjoy."
"Becky? That's the only friend you think I have? Like all I do with my life is watch TV?"
"Paul, should I take this?" my mom interrupted, holding a red strapless dress.
"I'm sixteen, Dad. I want to go out on a Saturday night!"
"I know," my mom said, placing a pair of red stilettos in her bag. "But not tonight. Your father's just surprised me! He hasn't done that since college. Just this once, Raven, then you can have all the Saturdays you want." She kissed me on the head, not waiting for a response.
"I'll be calling in at midnight sharp," my father warned, "just to make sure you and Billy are getting along and that my tennis racket is still in the closet."
"Don't worry. I'm not going to throw a wild party," I said angrily.
"Good, I might have to use the house as collateral at the blackjack table."
He went into his closet and pulled a jacket out. I went into my room and pulled my hair out. In all the seventeen years my parents had been married, my dad had to pick tonight to surprise my mom?
It was seven-thirty that night when I broke the news to Nerd Boy—rather, Billy Boy. I was wearing my Saturday-night best: a black spandex sleeveless mini-dress with a black lacy undertop that peeked through, black tights, unscuffed combat boots, black lipstick, and silver-and-onyx earrings.
"I'm going out tonight."
"But you're supposed to stay here." He ogled my outfit like a protective father. "You have a date!"
"I do not. I just have to go."
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