And then I saw her pick up Winky, her favorite stuffed bunny, and hold it out, almost as if she was giving it to someone, someone just her size. Of course, there was no one there. Nobody but me, watching.
Sally let go of the bunny.
It hung there, suspended in midair.
“NO!” I shouted.
The flop-eared animal fell to the floor.
Sally glared at me, her lower lip stuck out. “You scared him away,” she complained.
“Who?”
Sally turned away, blond curls bouncing.
I went into the room and knelt beside her. “Who, Sally?” I asked gently. “Who did I scare away?”
“My new friend,” she answered sulkily, refusing to look at me.
“What new friend?” I put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “Come on, Sally, you can tell me.”
She squirmed away. “Go away. You’re mean.”
I couldn’t get another word out of her. Sally can be very stubborn, and when she gets in one of her moods she won’t talk. I kept asking her questions about this invisible friend of hers and she kept shaking her head.
Finally I gave up and went downstairs. Steve was sitting in my chair, eating pancakes. He looked at me and grinned.
“Mom, I just saw something weird in Sally’s room,” I said, knowing it sounded lame. But I had to tell her, no matter how crazy it sounded. Sally might be in danger.
I described what happened with the bunny and what Sally had said about her new friend.
Steve looked at me bug-eyed but Mom just laughed. “Lots of kids Sally’s age make up invisible playmates. It’s perfectly healthy. She must have been holding that bunny somehow, Jay, and you just couldn’t see it.”
I wasn’t exactly surprised when no one believed me about the bunny floating in midair. I could hardly believe it myself. So I decided to change the subject. “Did you come in and open my window last night?” I asked Mom. Maybe there was a rational explanation for that, too.
“No, of course not. We haven’t got the screens up yet. Which reminds me. I’ll have to get your father to look for them in the basement. She added a note to the list she was making.
“Well, someone opened it,” I said. “And it sure wasn’t me. And then it slammed down and almost took my head off. I was going to tell you about it at breakfast but then the bathroom decided to blow up and try to boil me alive.”
Mom frowned with concern. “What you need is some fresh air, young man. Blow the cobwebs away.” Her tone softened. “You had a frightening experience this morning, Jason. I don’t blame you for feeling shaken up. You need to get it off your mind.”
“I’ll keep his mind off it, Mrs. Winter,” Steve said. “He gets a load of my fastball, he won’t be able to think of anything else.”
My mother nodded happily. “Great. Go ahead, Jay. Go out and play with your new friend.” She winked at Steve. “He’s not imaginary, is he?”
12
We fooled around in the backyard for a while, with Steve pitching and me hitting, but with nobody else around to field the ball we got tired of chasing it down.
“Let’s check out the lake,” Steve suggested.
There was a boat landing and a recreation area on the lake, but there wasn’t much of anybody around yet, so we ended up skipping stones.
Steve made it look easy. He’d take this small rock and cock it in his fingers and then flick his wrist and the stone would skip across the water like something alive.
When I tried it, the stones kept going plop! and sinking right away.
“Like this,” said Steve, showing me how to flick my wrist.
I tried again and was amazed to get three skips.
But Steve shook his head. “Your stones are too round,” he said. “You need flat ones and you have to hold them like this.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said, and started searching around the shore for flat rocks.
“I’ve been skipping stones since I was about three years old,” Steve said, showing me how to position my thumb and forefinger. “I’m surprised the lake’s not filled in by now.”
Once I got into the rhythm of it, I learned pretty quickly. And concentrating almost made me forget about the old house and the evil laughter and the bursting pipes and the invisible playmates.
I reared back and skipped a stone that seemed to bounce clear across the lake.
“Oh, no,” Steve cried. “What have I done? I’ve created a monster!”
“Dr. Frankenstein!” I said, making a monster face.
We fooled around some more and I was surprised at how fast the time flew by.
On the way back up Cherry Street we looked up and saw the house, or what you could see of it peeking through the tall trees. It was cool in the shade and I shivered in my damp T-shirt.
Steve got this serious look on his face. “All that stuff you said about the house,” he said slowly. “Was it true?”
I shrugged. I wanted to make some joke and laugh it off but it was like the house might be listening. Overhead the pine branches scraping against each other made whispery sounds.
“’Cause I’m not sure whether I should tell you this,” said Steve. He glanced away, like he was afraid to look me in the eye.
“Tell me,” I demanded, grabbing Steve’s arm.
“OK, OK,” said Steve. “But you have to promise not to tell anyone.”
I nodded impatiently. “I promise.”
Steve leaned close to me and squinted up at the house. He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “This happened a few years ago when I was just a little kid and didn’t know what to do about anything.”
I nodded. “Go on.”
“I wandered over here to check the old place out, right? I was right by that tree with the flowers by the side of the house—”
“It’s a cherry tree,” I said.
“Whatever,” said Steve, glaring at me. “I just happened to look up.” He paused and bit his lip as if remembering something he hoped to forget.
“Come on,” I said. “Tell me.”
Steve sighed deeply. “I looked up and saw this old lady in the kitchen tying something up. It looked funny—kind of wiggly—so I crawled closer until I was right under the window. Then I stood and looked in.” Steve’s eyes widened. “You’re not going to believe what I saw.”
I groaned. “Probably not.”
“You know, it’s not easy for me to tell you about this,” said Steve, acting as if his feelings were hurt.
“All right. I won’t say another word,” I promised.
“There was a little kid in there,” whispered Steve. “She’d squeezed him into a roasting pan and while I was watching she stuck him in the oven and cooked him just like you cook a turkey!”
Suddenly Steve pushed me and burst out laughing. “You believed me!” Steve hooted.
“No way, you liar.”
“You should have seen your face.” He made a bug-eyed face with his mouth hanging open, drool spilling out the side.
I winced, but Steve was laughing too hard to keep it up for long.
“Jayyy-sonnnnn!”
That was Mom, calling me for lunch.
“See you later, you liar,” I said.
Steve stopped me. He looked serious again, as if he was sorry for making stuff up. I should have known better.
“Better take a close look at your lunch, Jason,” he teased. “Better check that your mom’s not feeding you roasted little kid!”
13
Sally was eating peanut butter and jelly. Mom was at the stove, frying something that smelled like hamburger. “Wash your hands,” she said automatically.
“But, Mom—” I thought she should cut me a little slack after my morning washing experience.
“The pipes are fixed,” she interrupted. “I think it’s safe to go back in the bathroom.”
No point in arguing. Sally giggled as I left the kitchen and went into the bathroom.
Here goes nothing, I thought, and appr
oached the sink warily. The new pipes gleamed. I left the door open and twisted the faucet lever slowly, ready to get out of there in a hurry. But the water flowed normally and there were no strange noises in the plumbing.
At least that was fixed.
When I went back into the kitchen there was a bun on my plate. I picked up the top, checked it out. Looked like hamburger. I glopped ketchup on it and took a big bite. Yep, tasted like hamburger.
“When you finish your lunch, Jay, check the basement and see if there are any extra trash cans,” said Mom, wiping Sally’s face and hands. “Your father has promised to take Sally for a walk while I get some work done in the office. So I want it quiet around here, OK?”
“No problem, Mom,” I said, and made a zipping motion across my lips.
I wolfed down the rest of the burger, trying to think how I’d get back at Steve for that stupid story. It would have to be something really good. Lock him in the attic for a couple of hours, maybe.
I was on my way up to my bedroom to change for a swim when I remembered about the trash cans. Right. Check out the basement.
The basement door was off the kitchen. I hadn’t been down there yet. I wondered if anyone had. Maybe my dad, looking for screens. Or maybe not, he’d been pretty busy setting up the office.
Go on, get it over with. What’s the big deal?
I opened the basement door and peered down into the dark. The air coming up out of the basement was cold and dank. There was a light switch by the door. I flipped it on and was relieved to see the stairs spring into view all the way to the shadowy bottom.
The steps were old and worn, rounded at the edge of each tread. I started down. The stairs creaked loudly. The musty smell grew stronger and the air colder.
I couldn’t find another light switch at the bottom of the stairs. There was only the one bare bulb hanging on a wire from the ceiling, and it was pretty dim. It didn’t look as if anybody had been down here in years. Cobwebs hung off the light-bulb.
I stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked around. The basement was big and it was full of old boxes and things that cast strange shadows.
Way in the back I spotted something that looked like a trash can.
My nerves were on edge, but there was nothing to be scared of, right? Right? So I worked my way over to where I’d seen the trash can. Or something that looked like a trash can. What else could it be?
A long snaky shadow reared up at me. I jumped, but it turned out to be a floor lamp.
The next step my foot sank into something soft. I jumped back and kicked at it. An old pillow.
The farther I got from the safety of the stairs—and the small pool of light from the single bulb—the more it felt as if I was entering another world. A world full of small, secret, furtive sounds and creatures hidden beyond the reach of my eyes. A world that thrived in the shadows and in years of layers of dust.
I let out my breath when I got to the trash can. I didn’t belong down here with all these creepoid shadows and I was going to leave, right now.
I picked up the trash can. And it started to shake.
A thumping, drumming noise started up—inside the can!
I tried to let go, but my hands were stuck to the handles. I went nuts trying to get loose, and finally the can fell with a clang, tipping onto its side.
A tiny, terrified mouse escaped, running for its life. Just a mouse!
I slumped in relief. Then I wiped my sticky hands on my shorts and picked the trash can up again, peeking cautiously inside. Empty. The startled mouse must have been flinging itself around in blind panic. It made a lot of noise for such a little thing—must have been amplified by the metal sides of the can. Yeah, that was it.
Scared by a stupid little mouse—good thing Steve wasn’t here to see that.
I dragged the can back across the floor, making enough noise to drown out any other scuttling mice. It felt safer when I reached the circle of light. At the bottom of the stairs I looked up.
For some reason the stairway looked longer from down here. Maybe because of the dim light. Some kind of optical illusion. Whatever, I was heading back up right that very minute, anxious to return to the daylight.
As I heaved the can up the stairs, the shadows seemed to be pulling me backwards, as if they wanted me to stay down there in the dark.
Was that the shadows sighing?
I paused, holding stock-still. Something was making a sighing noise. What was it?
I heard breathing. Ragged breathing
Something coughed.
It was right under me. There was somebody hiding under the stairs!
I started to run up the stairs.
But I didn’t get far.
An icy hand reached up between the treads and snagged my ankle.
Bony fingers gripped me like iron.
Then I heard a soft, triumphant cackle beneath the stairs.
14
I yelled.
I screamed and kicked and pulled, but the thing held on.
My heart sank when I remembered no one could hear me. Dad and Sally were outside and Mom was in the office with the door closed.
It had me and it wouldn’t let go.
The icy grip was burning into my flesh, eating through to the bone. It was too dark to see, but in my imagination I pictured a fleshless creature under the stairs, scaly, sharp-toothed mouth grinning at me.
Got to get loose!
I kicked harder. I had to get away, but whatever had my ankle wouldn’t let go. I couldn’t see anything down there, but something told me there was a second claw ready to snatch my other ankle. Once it had both feet, I was a goner.
I strained until it seemed as if my muscles would snap like rubber bands. Then with a crack and a sudden jolt the step gave way, the tread breaking through.
There was a scream from under the stairs and the bony claw let go of my ankle.
I yanked my foot free and scrambled up the stairs on my hands and knees.
I slammed the door and leaned against it, my chest heaving.
When I finally got my breath back I looked down at my hands and almost laughed. I still had the trash can!
Good going, butter brains, you’re a real hero. Except the only reason you didn’t let go is because you were too scared to think straight.
I dragged the trash can outside and left it there, prying my hands off the sticky handles.
“Hey, Jay!”
My dad was shouting from the top of the hill, where he and Sally were playing. I waved. Then I ran up to them, ready to tell Dad about what had happened in the basement.
With every step I became less sure. What really had happened?
The dim basement had gotten on my nerves. A little mouse had scared me. My ankle had gotten caught between the steps.
And the laugh? Maybe that evil laughter was all in my head.
When I got up to the top of the hill the first thing I said was, “Better not go down into the basement, Dad.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“The steps got busted. They’re pretty old and rotten, I guess.”
“Thanks for the warning,” he said. He glanced at my ankle. “I notice you’re limping, are you OK?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just make sure you don’t go down there, OK? You or anybody else.”
Dad looked at me kind of funny. “Sure, anything you say,” he said. “Your new friend Steve was around—wanted to know if you wanted to go swimming. Said he’d meet you down at the lake.”
Steve. I’d almost forgotten.
Ten minutes later I was cannonballing off the end of the dock. KERPLUNK! The water was cold but it felt good. It woke me up, as if the incident in the basement had been some kind of bad dream.
Except my ankle was still sore. So that part was true.
I figured it was partly Steve’s fault, telling me that spooky story. Putting ideas into my head. So I decided to get back at him. It turned out he didn’t like to touch bottom in the lake.
&
nbsp; “Gross,” he said. “The mud squishes between your toes.”
“What are you afraid of, Steve?”
“I just think it’s gross, that’s all,” he said.
But he was real jumpy in the water, like he was scared something was going to bite him. Snapping turtles or snakes. I’m a pretty good swimmer—better than Steve, as it turned out—and that gave me an idea.
When Steve wasn’t looking, I dove under as quietly as I could and swam in his direction. I reached down, got hold of his big toe, and held on.
Even under water I could hear him yelling bloody murder.
“Help!” he screamed. “Help! It’s got me! Help!”
It was great. I held on as long as I could and then let go and broke the surface with a huge splash. I was laughing so hard I had to get out of the water. Steve was beet red.
“Gotcha,” I said.
“That’s cheating. I never snuck up on you. All I did was tell a scary story.”
“Hey, Steve!”
I wheeled around. That was a girl’s voice calling Steve. It turned out to be this black-haired girl with big, dark eyes. She came down to the landing and stood there with her hands in the pockets of her denim cutoffs. “I heard somebody calling for help,” she said.
“Forget about it, Lucy,” Steve said. He made a face at me to shut up.
“Hi,” I said. “We were just fooling around.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m Jason. Do you live around here, Lucy?”
“My family comes here every summer,” she said, smiling. “I’ve known Steve since I was six.”
“Careful of him, Lucy.” Steve warned. “Jason’s our age but sometimes he acts about six. Or maybe he’s possessed by the old witch that haunts that house he’s staying in.”
“Whaaat?” Lucy raised her eyebrows at me.
“Steve’s just mad ’cause he can’t take a joke,” I said.
“Jason’s spending the summer in that creepy old place on Cherry Street,” said Steve. “The one that weird old lady used to live in.”
Lucy’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard stories about that place, too. What’s it like, living there?”
“What kind of stories?” I asked, my pulse quickening.
Lucy looked away. “Nothing much really. Just silly stuff. You know how people make things up.”
The Haunting Page 4