by Marina Cohen
Sam’s jaw dropped. Could his father possibly know what he and Cody were up to? Did his father plant some sort of bug on him? Have some kind of nanny cam set up in his room? Was he spying on him? Reading his email? Tracking his computer activity? How could he possibly know?
“Calm down, dear,” his mother said to her husband. “You’re really not well. You need some rest. Why don’t you go and have a nap?”
Robert frowned and took a deep breath. He looked at his wife, then at Sam. “Just stay away from that Barns boy, you hear me?”
Sam nodded once. His father stared at him for a few more seconds, then headed upstairs.
As soon as his father was out of sight, he jumped off the sofa. “He treats me like I’m five years old!”
“Sam,” his mother almost whispered, “I’m starting to worry about your father. He hasn’t been himself lately. He’s always freezing. He can’t seem to shake this flu and he’s refusing to go to the doctor.”
Ever since they had moved into the old house, Sam had noticed his dad acting increasingly strange. And that never happened with Robert MacLean. Everything about his father was clockwork. Cut and dried. And his dad was never sick. Never. Still, a stupid cold didn’t give him the right to attack Sam like that. And why? For making a friend?
What made matters worse, was that Sam desperately wanted to talk to his dad about the weird red bike, especially since his father was the only other person who had seen it. Sam needed to make sure it had actually been there — otherwise he’d have to consider that he was hallucinating. But there was no way he could speak to his dad now. The best thing to do was to avoid him for the time being. Avoid him at all cost.
Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was, to pass long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they sat spinning by the fire, with a row of apples roasting and spluttering along the hearth, and listen to their marvelous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields, and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted houses, and particularly of the headless horseman, or galloping Hessian of the Hollow, as they sometimes called him.
“Man,” Sam said to himself. “Can this Irving guy write a sentence that isn’t a thousand words long?”
He was stretched across his bed reading. It was almost 10:00 p.m. when his phone vibrated. “Hey,” he said, “what’s doin’?”
“Nothin’. You?”
Mike and Sam could say heaps without saying anything at all.
That Washington Irving dude should take lessons from us, thought Sam. His story would have been half as long.
“Doing my homework. Are they piling it on you guys, too?”
“Pretty much,” Mike said. “Hey, listen, I think I can get my dad to drive me up there tomorrow.”
“Uh … tomorrow?”
Thoughts zipped through Sam’s mind at lightning speed. It would be great to see Mike, but he couldn’t cancel on Cody, either. Cody would think Sam was chickening out and that would be the end of their friendship and his reputation. On the other hand, Mike was a cool guy. If he came along, he’d make Sam look good in front of Cody and Javon, and most important, in front of AJ. But could he count on Mike to go along with the goofy — possibly dangerous — stunt? Sam was about to tell Mike everything when another call came in.
“Hang on.” He put Mike on hold and took the other call.
“Hey, Maestro.”
It was Cody.
Perfect timing, thought Sam. “What’s up, man?”
“You still in for tomorrow night?”
“Sure. Why? What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just checking. I don’t want to waste my time heading all the way up the Tenth Line if you’re gonna back out.”
“I don’t back out of things. I’ll be there. Midnight, right?”
“Midnight,” Cody said.
Mike was back on the phone. “So what do you think? Should I ask my dad?”
“Sure.” Sam had decided not to tell Mike what was up. It would be better to fill him in on the details in person.
“Great. What’s the address again?”
Sam sighed. “Number four Sleepy Hollow Lane.”
Mike laughed. “Oh, right, like that horror movie.”
“Ghost story.”
“Whatever. I’ll get my dad to do a Google map. We’ll shoot for four o’clock.”
“Call me if you get lost in some cow field.”
Mike laughed.
Sam pressed end. He sat motionless on his bed for a while, contemplating his situation. On one hand, he was happy he was going to see Mike. On the other hand, he’d pretty much resigned himself to the fact that Mike wasn’t going to be in his life a whole heck of a lot anymore — at least not until Sam got his driver’s licence. Mike visiting so soon was a bit like pulling off a Band-Aid prematurely and ripping the scab off with it. The old wound was fresh once again as all Sam’s anger and resentment for leaving his friend and the neighbourhood he loved gushed back.
He stared at the papers on his bed. Sleepy Hollow. Who would ever want to live in a dumb place like that or this one? He snatched the story and whipped it across the room. The pages flopped into a mess on the floor. Two words caught his eye: Ichabod Crane.
Suddenly, Sam found himself thinking about Walter.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Panic seized Sam’s throat with both hands and squeezed. He was running. He was in the middle of a forest and he was racing.
The branches were thick and tangled. The path was barely visible through a crimson fog that hung like a ghostly shroud in the air. Needles tore at his skin as he scrambled blindly, ducking limbs and low-hanging vines.
It’s coming!
Sam gasped for air. His lungs felt as if they were going to explode. His heart pounded against his ribs. A searing pain forced his hand to his side, but he couldn’t stop. It was after him. Chasing him. He didn’t dare glance back, but he knew it was there. He could hear the crunch of leaves close behind. He could feel icy breath against his neck.
It was almost on top of him.
Sam’s eyes popped open. He was drenched in sweat. Quickly, he scanned his surroundings. Relief rippled through his body. He was safe in his room. Morning light melted through a gap in the drapes. A lone crow complained outside his bedroom window. The squawk-squawk sounded urgent.
He kicked at the covers, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat up. With his elbows resting on his knees, Sam held his head in his hands. He took several long, drawn-out breaths to calm his speeding pulse.
He’d had the nightmare before, only this time it had been so clear and vivid. And unlike before, he was able to remember bits and pieces of it. He had been running from something, and though he couldn’t remember actually seeing what it was, he knew it was horrible.
Sam rubbed the sleep from his eyes and shook his head. His gaze fell on the heap of pages lying on the floor exactly where he’d tossed them the previous night.
It’s that rotten story. It’s getting to me.
He grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from the pile of laundry on the floor, pulled them on, and headed downstairs.
His mother and sister were just leaving. It was Miranda’s first day at her new dance studio, and they wanted to get her signed up before classes began. After that they were going to check out the town and do some grocery shopping, which would leave Sam alone with his dad most of the day. Sam sat by himself in the kitchen. He wolfed down a bowl of cereal and hurried back to his room. His father’s mood hadn’t improved whatsoever, so he wanted to stay clear of him.
In his room Sam switched on his computer and opened the file with the pictures he’d taken. Maximizing the photo of the bike gliding down the hill toward the Volvo, he examined it closely. There was nothing unusual about it. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a plain mountain bike.
Sam puzzled over the image for a few minutes before navigating to Cody’s blog. The frothy Doberman’s jowls greeted him. There was a new entry:
Maestro learns
how to stunt … detes to follow ...
Posted: September 7, 10:30 p.m.
Two comments were posted. One from Homegirl:
Oh, please tell me you ain’t gonna school that boy in the fine art of being a fool? Or … you got something else in mind?
Posted: September 7, 10:31 p.m.
The other comment was from J-Man:
Homegirl’s got a fat mouth she may wanna shut before someone shuts it for her.
Posted: September 7, 10:49 p.m.
Sam sat back in his chair. Something about Javon’s words didn’t seem right. Was he telling Homegirl off for calling Cody a fool? Or was it something else?
The crow outside started to squawk again.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sam spent most of Saturday waiting for Mike and trying to avoid his father. He hung out in his room, did some math homework, and studied a bit for his science test.
He had been pretty relaxed all morning, but as afternoon set in, he started to get nervous. What was Cody planning on having them do? What role would Sam have to play? The more he thought about it the happier he was that Mike was coming. With Mike there Sam wouldn’t feel as if it was a two-against-one situation. Mike being there would more or less balance things out.
At a quarter to four the doorbell echoed through the hallway.
“Dude,” Sam said as Mike and his father stepped inside.
Mike dropped his sleeping bag and scanned the entrance floor to ceiling. “Cool digs.”
“Bit of a change, eh, Sam?” Mike’s father said. “How are you enjoying life in the country?”
Sam shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
“Hey, Mr. McLean,” Mike said as Sam’s father appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a thick wool sweater.
“Hello, Mike.” Sam’s father sounded more cheerful than he had in days. “Glad you could drive him up, Jack. I know it’s a bit of a hike, but this will be good for Sam. He’s been miserable without Mike.”
Sam gritted his teeth. Did he have to say that? It made Sam sound like such a loser.
“No problem,” Jack said. He turned to his son. “I’ll pick you up early tomorrow afternoon.”
“Thanks, Jack,” Robert said. “I’d drive him home, but I’ve had a bit of a cold this past week.”
“No worries, Robert. Old house a bit drafty?”
Sam watched a shadow creep across his father’s face. “Right … see you tomorrow, Jack.”
After shutting the front door, Sam hustled Mike into the family room as quickly as possible to avoid his father saying any more weird or embarrassing things. In the state he was in there was no telling what would fly out of his mouth.
Sam felt odd seeing his best friend. It had only been eight days, yet it already seemed like a lifetime since they’d hung together. Mike broke the awkward silence first and updated Sam about school and the neighbourhood. Sam listened and nodded but felt disconnected from everything. Next it was Sam’s turn. He started to tell Mike about Cody and Javon and the midnight stunt when his mother and Miranda returned home. Sam and Mike helped them unpack the groceries, talking and laughing superficially as they got the food and supplies sorted out and put away.
After grabbing a huge bag of Doritos and a couple of cans of pop, Sam said to his mother, “We’ll be in my room.” Then he eyed Miranda with a look that said: And you’d better not bug us.
Miranda opened her mouth to say something, then glanced at Mike and decided to close it again. She turned her back indignantly.
Sam’s room was in its usual state of disarray. Mike waded through the piles of clothing and threw himself onto Sam’s bed. “You trying out for the slob-of-the-year award?”
“You’re too funny.” Sam tossed the bag of Doritos to Mike, who snatched it out of the air with one hand and popped it open.
Mike shovelled a handful of chips into his mouth, then said, “Don’t bother trying out for the football team. You throw like your sister.”
Sam gave him a can of pop. “At least I don’t wear my sister’s clothes.”
“Whaddya mean?” Mike sat up and pulled at his T-shirt. “Purple’s in, man.” He feigned a hurt look.
The awkwardness between them, Sam thought, was melting away. Things were beginning to feel like the good ol’ days.
Sam sat at his computer and navigated to Cody’s blog. “Hey, check this out. It’s really cool.”
Mike joined him and watched as the foaming Doberman appeared. “Maniac Stunts? What’s that all about?”
“It’s great. It’s my friend Cody’s blog. Check this out. He does all these cool stunts.” Sam displayed all the crazy pictures of Cody doing wild stunts. “So what do you think?”
“I think there’s a village somewhere missing its idiot.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Seriously, man. These stunts are hot.”
“Whatever.” Mike crammed more chips into his mouth.
Clearly, this conversation wasn’t going as planned. Still, Sam had to tell Mike what was going to happen at some point, so that might as well be now. “Listen, tonight Cody’s got something really cool planned. We’re gonna sneak out and meet him at midnight by the old willow tree. It’ll be a blast.”
Mike didn’t say anything at first. He ate some more chips, then swiped his hand across his jeans and dragged his finger across the mouse pad on the laptop to scroll back to Cody’s blog. He examined the pictures more closely.
Sam was getting nervous. He had to up the ante. “There’s a girl, too. She’s pretty hot. She’s sort of Cody’s girl, but I think she likes me.” For a moment Sam thought Mike wasn’t going to go along with the plan.
“Midnight, eh? Okay. Cool.”
Relief washed over Sam. This was perfect.
“But, Sam, dude,” Mike added, “you don’t want to mess with someone else’s girl.”
“I’m not messing with her. I just think she’s hot.”
Mike eyed him suspiciously. “If you say so. But let’s make one thing clear. I’m not jumping off a roof or anything. Got it?” Mike shuffled back to the bed and cracked open his pop. “I’ve got basketball tryouts next week. I’m not screwing that up for some stupid stunt.”
Sam couldn’t have been happier. Everything was going to be awesome. “Speaking of basketball, let’s play some one-on-one before dinner.”
They headed outside and tossed a few hoops. The sun was already low in the sky, bathing Sleepy Hollow in a tawny glow. Sam was driving to the basket when he caught a glimpse of Walter staring down at them from an upper window in the house next door. He missed his shot, and Mike grabbed the rebound.
“Don’t look now,” Sam whispered, jerking his head toward the window, “but there’s that geeky guy I was telling you about.”
Mike looked up. “Where?”
Sam swung around, his eyes darting to the neighbours’ window, but Walter had vanished again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The immediate cause, however, of the prevalence of supernatural stories in these parts, was doubtless owing to the vicinity of Sleepy Hollow. There was a contagion in the very air that blew from that haunted region; it breathed forth an atmosphere of dreams and fancies infecting all the land.
“I can’t believe you have to read this junk,” Mike said.
It was 11:25 p.m., and everyone had gone to bed ages ago. Sam and Mike were goofing around, wasting time until midnight.
“I’ve still got five and a half pages to read before Monday, but the thing keeps putting me to sleep.” Sam tossed the booklet aside and powered up his phone. “Want to play Bubble Buster?”
As they alternated games, Sam kept one eye on the clock. They had to make their move in the next fifteen minutes. Sam couldn’t risk being late and have Cody think he’d backed out. As the seconds ticked away, Sam’s palms began to sweat. He really didn’t know Cody and Javon that well, and he had no idea what they had in store for him. What if they were going to make him do something really dangerous? What if his father was right?
So what if he’s right? thought Sam. I’m sick of living my life according to his perfect plan. I need to make my own decisions. My own mistakes. If this is a mistake, it’s mine to make. He took a deep breath and steadied his nerves. And besides, I’ve got Mike with me …
At a quarter to twelve Sam tucked his cell into his pocket and pulled on a thick sweatshirt and a black toque. “Let’s do it.”
Mike, who was practically asleep in his bag on the floor, stood, yawned, and stretched. He grabbed Sam in a headlock and rubbed his knuckles against Sam’s skull. “You look like you’re all set to rob a bank.”
Sam broke free. “Shut up! You’ll wake up my parents.”
Mike grinned. “Okay, okay.”
Sam crept to the door. The upper and lower hallways were dark and quiet. He gestured to Mike, and they slid out of the bedroom and snuck down the stairs. The old floorboards groaned once or twice under their weight. Each time they creaked, Sam and Mike froze and waited a few seconds. Then, when they were certain all was quiet, they continued.
There was something Sam didn’t like about the old house. A creepy feeling he got. As if someone were watching him. The sensation was magnified at night so that he found himself checking the shadows, searching left and right, up and down, as he tiptoed through the darkness.
Sam clicked the deadbolt, and with steady hands, opened the door wide enough to slip through. His heart fluttered as he pulled the old oak door shut as gently as possible.
Made it, Sam thought.
The air outside was damp and cold. Sam shivered once before stepping into the amber glow of the lone street lamp. All seven houses were dark. Everything was still.
They moved swiftly along the road toward the tunnel of branches. The rubber soles of their running shoes produced a mesmerizing rhythm as they gripped the pavement.