Together Forever

by P. J. Night

  She switched on the flashlight and stepped outside. Its bright-yellow beam arced through the night sky, then quickly faded to a dull orange. Ashley shook the flashlight and smacked it against her palm until it glowed a little brighter.

  Typical, she thought. I bet the batteries will die as soon as I get into the barn.

  The thought made Ashley walk a little faster as she wheeled her bike through the overgrown goldenrod toward the barn. It hadn’t started raining yet, but the weeds were damp with evening dew, and she shivered as they slapped against her bare legs. And her toes were freezing. Ashley hated to admit it, but her mom was right: Sandal season was definitely coming to an end.

  As Ashley walked, she remembered what her mom had said about Maya: “We really regret not leaving the city before Maya went to college.” It just shows how clueless my parents are, Ashley thought. Her big sister had never wanted to live in the country. That’s why she’d decided to go to college in Chicago. It had been a little over a month since Maya had moved into her dorm, and Ashley missed her every day. Talking on the phone or chatting online just wasn’t the same. And Chicago felt so far away to Ashley. It wasn’t even in the same state. It wasn’t even in the same time zone!

  Just before Ashley reached the barn, the flashlight died, but in a stroke of luck the clouds parted for a moment, letting through enough moonlight that she could lift the heavy iron latch on the barn door. The only sound Ashley could hear was the soft squeeeeeeak of the bike’s gears as she pushed it into the barn.

  The air in the barn was dry and dusty; it smelled of caked dirt and hay. The moment Ashley stepped in from the barn door, it slammed shut with such a loud bang that she jumped. Without even the weak beam of the flashlight to guide her steps, Ashley was plunged into pitch-black darkness. She stretched her arm out as far as it would reach, until her fingers grazed the rough, unfinished wood of the barn wall. Then she took one careful step at a time until she found a spot to leave her bike. Ashley leaned it against the wall and turned to leave.

  C-r-r-r-r-unch.

  She froze.

  What, Ashley thought as her heart started to pound, did I just step on?

  There was something leathery—something papery—something scaly—something she couldn’t quite place flicking against her bare skin. Was it slithering over her feet, twining around her ankles? Or was that just her imagination?

  Had it been waiting for someone to set foot inside this old, abandoned barn?

  Stop it, Ashley told herself firmly. She was a city girl. She was not the kind of person who freaked out over every little thing. With a surge of confidence, she hit the flashlight against her palm again.

  Thwak. Thwak. Thwak.

  Suddenly a pale beam flashed across the barn. The flashlight was working again, for a minute, at least.

  Ashley pointed the flashlight at her feet. It took a moment—longer, probably—for her to realize what she was standing in; some part of her brain couldn’t, wouldn’t accept it. There were so many that she couldn’t count them, especially because of the way they wriggled—

  Wait. Were they moving? Or was that just the effect of her clumsy feet as she stumbled, trying to escape?

  Either way, Ashley didn’t stick around to find out. She screamed—she couldn’t help it—as the weak light from the flashlight died again. Ashley rushed out of the barn, still screaming, and her screams echoed across the farm, almost as if they were ricocheting off the heavy clouds that were crowding the sky once more.

  She was so preoccupied by the memory of those slithery things on her feet, and so distracted by the utter darkness, that she didn’t see the tall figure step out from the shadows . . .

  Until a pair of strong hands grabbed her shoulders and held on tight!

  CHAPTER 2

  Ashley screamed so loudly that her whole body shuddered from the effort. She twisted away violently, flailing her arms, until she recognized the voice of the person holding her.

  “Ashley! Ashley! Stop, Ashley, what’s wrong?”

  “Dad!” she cried. An overwhelming feeling of relief flooded through her veins, but it was soon replaced by embarrassment. “When did you—”

  “I just got back from Walthrop,” Mr. McDowell replied. He pointed at the pizza box he had dropped on the ground. “Ashley, what happened? I got out of the truck and heard you screaming—”

  “Oh,” Ashley said. “I was, um, in the barn and I stepped in, I don’t know, like, a nest of—snakes or something.”

  “A nest of snakes?” Mr. McDowell repeated. “What kind?”

  “I don’t know,” Ashley replied, staring at the ground. “I didn’t exactly stick around to find out. And, besides, the flashlight went dead.”

  “I want to take a look at that nest,” Mr. McDowell said. He switched on the super-bright LCD penlight on his key chain. “Want to come with me?”

  “That’s okay,” Ashley said at once. “I think I’ve spent enough time in the barn tonight. Thanks anyway.”

  Mr. McDowell stooped down to pick up the pizza box. “Would you take the pizza inside?” he said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Ashley watched her dad’s silhouette move away into the darkness. “Dad, wait,” she said, panic creeping into her voice. “Just—just leave it. You can go look at the snakes tomorrow, okay? Please?”

  She heard him chuckle in the darkness. “I’ll be careful,” he told her.

  Ashley didn’t reply as she walked up to the house. She didn’t see the point of poking around in the barn when it was pitch-black outside.

  “Oh, is that the pizza?” Mrs. McDowell asked as Ashley walked into the kitchen. “Finally! I’m starving! Where’s your dad?”

  “In the barn,” Ashley said.

  “The barn?” Mrs. McDowell sounded puzzled. “Why? It’s time to eat.”

  Ashley shrugged. She didn’t feel like getting into it. “Here. This flashlight needs new batteries.”

  “Okay. Just put it on the counter and I’ll find some later.”

  Ashley set the flashlight next to the pizza box and peeked inside it. She had to admit that the pizza, smothered in vegetables and crisp pepperoni, looked pretty good—so good that she broke off a piece of the crust and started nibbling it. Then she made a face. “It’s kind of cold,” she pointed out.

  “Ashley, you know I hate it when you start eating right out of the box,” Mrs. McDowell sighed. “You’ll have to microwave your piece if it bothers you.”

  Ugh, rubbery pizza, Ashley thought. But she didn’t say anything, because at that moment her dad walked through the back door.

  “I found your snake pit, Ashley,” he said as he casually tossed something at her feet.

  Ashley jumped back and shrieked before she could stop herself.

  “What is that?” Mrs. McDowell asked with disgust dripping from her voice. “And why is it in my house?”

  “It’s a snake skin,” Mr. McDowell explained. “I thought Ash’d be relieved to know that she only stumbled through a pile of snake skins—not real snakes.”

  Ashley shuddered. “Ugh, gross,” she said defensively. “And it was dark and I felt them, like, flicking against my bare feet! How was I supposed to know they weren’t alive?”

  Ashley’s parents exchanged a smile, and she rolled her eyes. She wished they would start treating her like an adult—instead of some little pet who made them laugh.

  “Honey, we’re living on a farm now,” Mrs. McDowell reminded Ashley—as if she could forget. “If you’re going outside, you need to wear your boots—or at least your sneakers.”

  “Especially when you go to the barn,” Mr. McDowell added. “Nobody’s lived here for at least five years. There could be rusty nails, brown recluse spiders—”

  “Okay, okay, I get it,” Ashley cut him off. “Can we please eat now?”

  “Yes. Just as soon as your dad takes that thing outside,” Mrs. McDowell said firmly.

  “Weird, though, isn’t it?” Mr. McDowell said as he picked up the snak
e skin. “Snakes don’t molt in a nest. So this pile must’ve been collected by somebody. And it must’ve taken a long time to find so many snake skins.”

  Mrs. McDowell waved her hand dismissively and took the pizza box out to the dining room table. “Time to stop talking about snakes and start eating. Don’t forget to wash your hands before you come to the table, you two.”

  As Ashley washed her hands at the deep, stained sink in the kitchen, she glanced out the window. She could see a few fallen leaves swoop by on a gust of wind, and she wished—for the thousandth time—that they could move back to the city.

  WANT MORE CREEPINESS?

  Then you’re in luck, because P. J. Night has

  some more scares for you and your friends!

  A Message from Ali

  Ali Harmon has a message for you. Unscramble each of these words from the story and write the circled letters in order on the blanks on the next page.

  Write the boxed letters in order. What is Ali’s message?

  YOU’RE INVITED TO . . .

  CREATE YOUR OWN SCARY STORY!

  Do you want to turn your sleepover into a creepover? Telling a spooky story is a great way to set the mood. P. J. Night has written a few sentences to get you started. Fill in the rest of the story and have fun scaring your friends.

  You can also collaborate with your friends on this story by taking turns. Have everyone at your sleepover sit in a circle. Pick one person to start. She will add a sentence or two to the story, cover what she wrote with a piece of paper, leaving only the last word or phrase visible, and then pass the story to the next girl. Once everyone has taken a turn, read the scary story you created together aloud!

  Camp is like no other sleepaway camp in the world. When you pull up to the front gate, a dilapidated sign hangs from a pole. The pool is filled with green water, and the counselors only know how to frown. But the worst part of Camp is at night, when you turn out the lights, and come face to face with . . .

  THE END

  A lifelong night owl, P. J. NIGHT often works furiously into the wee hours of the morning, writing down spooky tales and dreaming up new stories of the supernatural and otherworldly. Although P. J.’s whereabouts are unknown at this time, we suspect the author lives in a drafty, old mansion where the floorboards creak when no one is there and the flickering candlelight creates shadows that creep along the walls. We truly wish we could tell you more, but we’ve been sworn to keep P. J.’s identity a secret . . . and it’s a secret we will take to our graves!