She smiled and gave the leash a gentle tug. The dog’s stiff little legs stayed planted as it sniffed all around a set of odd-looking prints. They were not paw prints but were more like spike marks and were evenly spaced. They went across the sidewalk and into the street where they blended in with the black asphalt and finally disappeared.
The woman gave the leash another tug and while her dog did not actually stop sniffing, he was so little that as she walked away, he slid along behind her at the end of the leash.
I must have been dreaming, I thought, as I went back in the house. Sorting lights from spiders, then setting them up, thinking about the ghoul: all of it had rearranged itself in my subconscious. I mean, what else could it be?
It was only five-thirty. Too early to get ready for school, but enough time to pick up the mess, put it away, and start all over again after school.
Chapter 11. Shadowed
Halloween night.
“Who’s taking me trick-or-treating?” My seven-year-old sister Francine got into the candy early. She could not sit still and had been running up and down the hall for half an hour.
She spun around in her fairy costume, her flowery wings jiggling, her sparkly halo bouncing at the end of a loose wire.
“Well?” she demanded, putting her hands on her nonexistent hips. “I asked you a question.” She sounds more like Mom every day.
“What’s that on your head?” Justin asked.
“A halo.” Francine pivoted back and forth on the heels of her pink ballet slippers. Her tutu rotated half-way like a fluted paper plate and her halo twinkled.
“Fairies don’t have halos,” Justin said, “angels do. You have to give up the halo if you want me to take you.”
“Then I want Olivia to take me.”
“Justin doesn’t mean it,” I said, glaring at him. “He’ll take you.”
“I don’t want him to.”
“Sure, you do. He wants to.” I turned to Justin. “Right?”
“No! I don’t want him to. Mom! Dad!” Francine said. “Justin won’t take me and Olivia’s being mean! I want to go trick-or-treating.”
I heard the familiar wheeze and creak of the sofa. The TV volume lowered. Dad’s footsteps shuffled on the hardwood floor as he came slowly down the hall. For the first time I could remember, he had stayed home from work with a cold. His nose was red from blowing it and his eyes were swollen, which made him grumpy.
“Look what you did,” I whispered to Justin.
“Team,” Dad said irritably, frowning at us.
“We’re working it out, Dad,” I said.
He stood there, his face scrunching as he tried not to sneeze. “Come on, Francine, they’ll decide,” he said thickly, as he went back down the hall. “You’ll be going trick-or-treating in a few minutes.”
“I’ve got a date,” Justin whispered. “I can’t take her.”
“What time?” I whispered back. Neither of us wanted Dad to overhear us arguing—or Francine either, since she would tell him.
“It’s only five o’clock,” I added.
“Well . . . I have to get ready. What time is your party?”
“Eight,” I said, “but—”
“You’ve got lots of time. Francine will be tired way before then. She can’t walk that far. I’ll give you extra driving lessons.”
I sighed disgustedly. “All right,” I said. “You owe me anyway, but I’ll do it.”
I hurried to the front room. Francine was already whining—no words, just whining.
“Let’s go, Francine,” I said. “Put on your jacket.”
“I have a sweater.” She twirled her favorite pink sweater by one arm. “I don’t want a coat.”
“Francine.”
“Dad! Olivia said I have to cover my fairy wings!”
Four hours later Francine had more energy than ever, and I had missed an hour of my party.
We stood on the corner a mile from home. Francine scrutinized one side of the block then the other.
“Time is up,” I said. “We’ve been to every house. Let’s go.”
“We haven’t gone down that street,” she said pointing.
“We aren’t going to either. There are no porch lights on, that means they’re out of candy.”
“There’s a light over there.” She swung her arm—finger pointing like a dial—to a narrow dark street. In the middle of the block, yellowish light pooled over shrubs and into a small front yard. It seemed to be the only inhabited house. Under a full moon, the broken fence and overgrown weeds gave it a shabby appearance much creepier than fake cobwebs and spiders with reflective, red eyes.
Or was it my imagination that made it seem creepy?
In the aftermath of Homecoming, and before that what I thought had been Logan’s death, I was becoming too easily spooked. I did not want to go down that street.
“No, Francine,” I said. “It’s an alley, not a street. You know you’re not supposed to go down alleys—even with someone.”
“It’s not an alley, it’s a little street.”
“Whatever you call it, it’s too dark.”
“Can’t we just look?”
“You can do that from here,” I said. “Aren’t you tired?”
“No! But you are. You’re a sissy.”
I pressed my lips together. I refuse to debate a seven-year-old. She can argue forever, and logical arguments do not work with her.
“All right,” I said. “I’m in a generous mood so we’ll go to one house.”
“We have to go this way anyway,” she said unimpressed with my generosity.
“Why?”
“Because it’s a shortcut.”
“To what?”
“Our house, silly. That’s the way my ride takes me.”
Francine carpools with three other kids in first grade. They all live close, but their moms drive through different streets. I never approach our neighborhood from this direction but if we went over the hill and down the next block, made a right, then left, it would get us home in half the time.
“I just wanted to see if you knew your way around,” I said.
“Uh-huh.” She put her hand over her mouth and giggled.
“Okay. Make it quick,” I said.
We started down the dark street. Crickets chirped loudly and fell silent as we passed. Shadows distorted the shrubs and made elongated patterns on stucco walls.
Francine paused several feet from an old mailbox, its metal a dingy gray, its seams rusted and uneven. It was affixed to the end of a four-by-four post and would have been taller than Francine if it had been straight, but it leaned far to the side.
Had someone tried to shove it over? Envelopes and junk mail bulged from the partially closed flap.
“What’s that?” Francine pointed to the side of the mailbox.
“It’s nothing, quit stalling. It’s just—” I frowned and stared at the mailbox. On the side were square letters, the kind with stick-on adhesive.
“It says ‘eems,’ ” said Francine. “Someone named ‘Eems’ lives here. It rhymes with beans. Mr. and Mrs. Beans live here.”
“Let’s go.” I reached for her hand.
“Where are they?”—She pulled her hand away before I caught it— “Did the fairies take them?”
“Fairies? Of course not, there’s no such thing.”
“Yes, there is. That’s why I’m a fairy, a pink fairy with pink wings. They’re good, they don’t take people away.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it when we get home?”
“I wanted to be a fairy with red wings, but my teacher said only bad fairies wear red.” She yawned.
“What are you talking about?”
“Our teacher,” she said, blinking her eyes.
“Ms. Renjen?” I said, puzzled.
“No, she’s sick. Our sub”—she yawned— “substitute, you know, Mrs. Gravenhurst.”
“Francine—”
“I’m a good fairy.”
“No.
What about the red—”
“The dead man in the swing,” she said, her eyes closing.
“What did Mrs. Gravenhurst say?”
“He was there a long time ago”—she yawned again— “but they took him away.”
“No. Mrs. Gravenhurst. What did she say?”
“That’s what she said. She gave us too much homework.”
“Never mind, you’re just tired.”
“Where is the other letter?” She rubbed her eyes and then opened them. She blinked and her eyes began to close again.
“It’s missing,” she mumbled. “We should find it and put it back. The mailman won’t know where Mr. and Mrs. Beans live.”
“I’ll come back later and look for it,” I said, taking her hand. I did not tell her that I saw light reflect from a thin metallic object in the overgrown grass. It was the same size as the other letters on the mailbox.
Had someone torn it off? It could be the missing “W,” but I wasn’t sure and did not want to call Francine’s attention to it. If I picked it up, she would want to examine it and insist that we press it back on the mailbox.
“No, you won’t,” Francine whined—but her eyes were closed. She had finally run out of energy.
She was half asleep when I lead her back to the street. She was wrong though. I meant to return. If that was Abigail Weems’s house, I would come back and ask how she was doing.
The curtains were drawn but I saw movement.
A green light flared from behind the curtain, followed by a scream.
Did it mean someone was hurt?
It’s normal to hear screaming on Halloween. But if Abigail lived here, she could be in danger.
I wanted to run to the door and bang on it.
If someone answered I could say I was trick-or-treating. The person would then give me a look that said you are way too old for that. But I could say it was for my little sister.
It would be about the same as kids who ask for two treats, one for them, one for a brother or sister who they say couldn’t come. It would give me a chance to glimpse the inside and I might even see Abigail.
On the other hand, Francine was too worn out to do anything. I would never take her to the door if I thought it was dangerous. And I would never leave her there by herself, not for one minute.
“Somebody’s scared,” Francine mumbled. She knuckled one eye with her little round fist. “Do you think it’s Mrs.—”
“No, I don’t.” I bent over and started to lift her—she was heavier than I remembered. I hoisted her up, she laid her head on my shoulder, and she immediately fell asleep.
If I had known she would have had so much stamina I would have insisted that we go home earlier. Now I had to carry her up the hill.
I turned back and took one last look at the house with the crooked mailbox. The light still burned behind the curtain, but I did not see anyone moving inside.
A peal of shrill laughter rang out. I doubted they were having a small party to celebrate Abigail’s return, so I waited for a sign that would let me know everything was all right.
I thought again about what Francine had said. It had probably been the disjointed ramblings kids put together—bits and pieces of imagination mixed with real life—but her talk of fairies and a dead man unsettled me. Could she have really seen something? And what had Mrs. Gravenhurst really said? Had she been reading them a spooky Halloween story?
“Francine,” I said quietly.
She stirred but did not wake up.
The seconds ticked by. I waited but I had to take her home.
I was about to leave when a shadowy figure dressed as a grim reaper emerged from the side of the house. With each step, he planted a sharp scythe, his walking staff.
“Have you lost something?” the reaper said, his voice low.
“No,” I said.
“Missing someone perhaps?”
“No. I was just wondering about a girl I know, Abigail. Does she live in that house?”
“You needn’t worry. She is quite all right.”
“Thank you,” I said pausing. “May I ask who you are?”
“I am her doctor.”
“May I ask your name?”
“You may ask anything you want. Now, if you will excuse me, I will be on my way.”
He went around me and Francine. “What a lovely child,” he said, turning to look at my sister, moving his head closer for a better view.
I stepped back and held Francine to the side and away from his black cowl. A breeze ruffled her curly blonde hair. The grim reaper turned, lowered his head, and went down the street. His robes did not flutter as he walked.
I waited.
There was no reason to stay, or was there?
No more sounds came from the house.
Intuition said he was lying but intuition would not do me much good if I persisted and someone called the police and said I was trespassing. Most important of all, I still had my sister with me and would not take her near that house.
Understand it for what it is, I thought: some guy with a weird sense of humor was adding to my overwrought imagination.
I turned and left.
Carrying Francine home the long way seemed less and less desirable, so I took the shortcut through the same dark street. The farther we got from the corner, the deeper the shadows. One of the dark shapes moved. It seemed as if someone paused, stared at me, then turned and darted between the houses, but there was no sound of running footsteps. Maybe that, too, had been my imagination. I left without looking back.
Chapter 12. Masked
Mindy’s party and being with my friends were what I needed most. Late or not I was relieved to be there.
I passed through the wide gate standing ajar and went along the curved walkway. To my right, a large cauldron burbled in the middle of the lawn. Fake fog spilled over its sides and floated around gray tombstones set here and there on the grass, each with R.I.P. printed in black letters on the front. A skeleton-face ghoul hung by a noose from a spreading oak tree, and when a breeze stirred its gauze robes it turned, facing me with its rictus grin as I went down the walk. Bright disembodied eyes blinked from dark hedges. Flickering Jack-o-lanterns seemed to beckon invitingly.
The bay window framed a glittering array of people wearing sequins and feathered boas. A few wore Scream masks or Freddy Kruegers; some had painted faces. A Guy Fawkes turned and waved at me.
Mindy was with a group standing by the open front door.
“What took you so long?” She raised her voice over the blaring music that threatened to drown out the loud chattering voices and occasional screams of laughter.
“I had to take Francine trick-or-treating,” I said, loudly, “and she had to go to every house.”
“So, you’ve been walking all over town?”
“It feels like it.”
“Let’s go inside,” she said.
“What happened to the theme?” I asked. Most faces were easy to recognize; even the masked ones were obvious. Willy’s frizzy blonde hair stuck out around his mask. Fortunately, I had not come dressed as an angel.
“I texted you,” Mindy said. “I couldn’t reach everyone. I think they wore the costumes they were going to anyway. It all fits.”
“Sorry,” I said, remembering my phone pinging while I was arguing with Justin over who would take Francine. “Why did you change it?”
“My mom didn’t like the idea. At the last minute she changed her mind. She thought some super sensitive people might drive by and get the wrong idea—you know, say we were not being respectful. Whatever. She’s just paranoid, but if I argued too much, she might say forget the whole thing.”
“Pick your battles, right,” I agreed.
The streets were full—not with cars but with the trick-or-treaters who were strolling around in droves. Who cared what the theme was? Parents.
A big guy in a Scream mask rushed up to me. “Hey, Olivia, good to see you. Have you gone to yoga? Don’t forget we have a
date, if you want. I bought a mat; I’m practicing with YouTube.”
“Hi, Parker.”
“You recognized me?” Parker seemed delightedly surprised. He was the biggest one there; it would be hard to miss him.
“Just a guess,” I said.
“Yeah, I’m out of character, I think.” He laughed and pulled up the mask, which made the sides of his hair fan out. “I lost a contact,” he said, squinting at me with one eye, “and my glasses don’t fit under the mask.”
“Can’t you wear your glasses over the mask?” I said, joking.
“Ha, ha, that’s funny.” His mask didn’t quite match the rest of his costume, a cape with a tall, pointed collar more like Dracula.
“This thing is hot.” He tugged at the neckline. “It’s all polyester and it doesn’t breathe, not like cotton. Oh, well, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later. Willy is doing magic tricks. He said he’s going to make someone disappear.”
“Don’t get to close to him,” I warned, “you know, just in case.”
“Ha, ha, ha, that’s a good one. No, it won’t be me. He has an assistant. See you later. Don’t forget about yoga.”
Parker hurried off and rejoined a group of boys and a few girls who were in a semi-circle around Willy.
“I think you have an admirer,” said Mindy.
“He’s happy I didn’t kill him for trampling my feet at the dance,” I said. “I like him, he’s a nice guy.”
“If you can get a word in, he talks so fast.”
“Conversation never lags,” I said a little smugly. Mindy had complained that her former boyfriend—who was now her current boyfriend—never talked about anything except surfing.
“Who did Willy get to be his assistant?” I said, changing the subject.
“Some poor freshman, I think. Who else would trust Willy enough to let him do anything even remotely dangerous?” She stopped and frowned. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said hesitating. “Why do you say it’s dangerous? It’s just Willy being Willy, right?”
“I don’t know. He brought a big cardboard box with him and wouldn’t let anyone look inside. He said it’s a surprise.”
“Where did he put it?”
“In the hall closet. He asked for the key. I gave it to him, and he locked the door.”
One of Us: The City of Secrets Page 9
