by Clare Hutton
“There’s always a rational explanation for everything,” Becky’s father said. “Now, who wants to watch that movie I picked up?”
“I’ll make popcorn,” her mom said. On her way toward the pantry, she put her hands gently on Becky’s shoulders. “I know that moving to a new place can be hard,” she said sympathetically, “but making up stories won’t help. This is a wonderful house on a terrific street, and you’ll adapt.”
Becky’s shoulders twitched with irritation, and her mom let go. “I do love the house,” Becky said, turning to look at her mom, “but there’s something strange about the house next door.”
“I’m sorry, Becky, but that’s just not true,” her mom said.
“And Becky?” her dad said, and she turned back around to look at him. He pointed one finger at her across the table. “The conversation about Bear’s behavior is not over.”
In bed that night, Becky couldn’t get comfortable. She could hear Bear downstairs in his crate, shifting around restlessly, and occasionally letting out a soft whimper. He didn’t like sleeping in the crate, but her parents insisted that he stay in the kitchen at night.
Outside, branches blew against her window. Past them, Becky watched the full moon sailing high in the sky. She buried her face in her pillow and shut her eyes. She had to get some sleep.
Downstairs, Bear barked, one sharp bark. Becky’s eyes flew open again, and she listened, wondering if her parents had heard him, but there was no sound from their room. Another whimper came from downstairs, and she threw back her covers and climbed out of bed. Bear was lonely.
Becky tiptoed down the stairs without turning on the light. The moonlight coming through the windows washed across the floor, bright enough to see by.
When Bear saw her, he jumped to his feet, his tail wagging hard enough to rattle the crate.
“Shh, Bear, shh,” she said softly. She knelt down on the kitchen floor and put her hands through the bars of the crate to pet him. Bear wagged his tail even harder and licked her fingers enthusiastically. “You need to go to sleep, boy,” she told him in a whisper. “If you wake up Mom and Dad, they’re not going to be happy with us.”
As Becky started to stand up, Bear gave her a sad look, his big brown eyes wide, and her heart melted.
“Okay, honey,” she whispered. “You can come with me just for tonight.” Bear whuffed happily at her as she unlatched the crate. “Shh,” she said, grabbing hold of his collar.
Bear followed her eagerly up the stairs, Becky wincing at the loud click of his nails against the wood. She closed her bedroom door behind them and let out a sigh of relief that her parents hadn’t woken up.
Patting the rug next to her bed, she called Bear softly, but he ignored her and instead heaved himself up onto her bed, turned in a half circle to get comfortable, and stretched out.
“No, Bear,” Becky whispered, trying not to laugh.
Bear gave a deep sigh of satisfaction and closed his eyes.
“Bear …” Becky said warningly. But he didn’t move, and somehow seemed to be settling himself more firmly into the bed. He looked so smug and so set in place that, after a moment, Becky just gave up and climbed into the bed next to him. Bear immediately snuggled next to her, resting his furry head against her shoulder. Becky closed her eyes and tried again to fall asleep. She felt safer with Bear’s warm, solid presence beside her.
A few minutes later, Bear began to snore. Becky’s eyes snapped open. One of Bear’s legs was digging into her stomach and his fur was plastered against the skin of her arm and neck, making her hot and uncomfortable. “Bear, move,” she said, pushing at him, but he simply nuzzled closer in his sleep and went on snoring.
Gradually, Becky became aware of a constant, low whining noise. It occasionally stopped, but always started again. Was Bear whining in his sleep? No, his breathing was regular and steady, interspersed with soft, deep snores. The whining was coming from somewhere else.
Outside, maybe? Becky climbed out of bed. The floor was cold against her feet as she moved hesitantly toward the window, following the sound. When she looked out the window, the scene was shadowy, but lit by the full moon.
Maybe there was a stray cat or lost dog in the McNally yard, as Becky’s parents had suggested. She peered down into the patch of the yard next door that she could see through her window. The whining was a little louder now, and irregular. Not the sound of the porch swing creaking or a branch rubbing against the house, but definitely some kind of animal. Becky pressed her forehead against the cold windowpane, trying to see.
Something moved in the shadows on the other side of the fence.
It was a huddled shape below one of the evergreen trees in the McNally yard. As Becky watched, it moved a little farther into the moonlight.
Was it a cat, after all? It seemed like it might be cat-size, but the shape didn’t seem quite right. The tail was too short, the body looked off somehow. It was moving stiffly, not with the smooth glide of a hunting cat.
The animal raised its head and looked right at Becky. Its eyes flashed a sick, glowing yellowish green.
Instinctively, she moved back, away from the window. Had it seen her? Her heart pounded and she felt like she couldn’t catch her breath. Panic bubbled inside her. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t want the creature to know she was there.
Suddenly, she gagged. There was a horrible smell coming from somewhere. From outside? A smell like rotting meat. It smelled like … death.
The smell couldn’t be coming from the animal — it was just a stray in the yard next door, right? But maybe it was sick and needed help. And the flash of glowing eyes must just have been a reflection of light from somewhere, maybe of the moonlight. Steeling herself, she moved back to the window and looked out again.
It was still there, and the feeling of irrational dread in Becky’s stomach increased. The animal’s eyes were dark now, the shadowy head tilted back as if it was still gazing right at her window. The whining was louder, and the smell stronger. Be brave, Becky told herself firmly. There’s nothing to be scared of.
Behind her, Bear sneezed suddenly, and Becky jumped and turned to look at him. He had stretched out to cover even more of the bed and was still fast asleep.
Becky turned back to the window and gazed down into the McNally yard again. She scanned the shadows and the patches of moonlit ground but, whatever the creature had been, it was gone. The smell lingered, although it seemed a little weaker now, and Becky’s stomach turned over.
The animal, whatever it was, had seen her with its glowing eyes. Becky knew it on some level, even if her reason told her otherwise. Wrapping her arms around herself, she shuddered.
Monday afternoon Becky sat in social studies class, barely listening to the mythology presentations by her classmates. She and Nate had already presented about the Egyptians and mummification, and things had gone pretty well. Charlotte and Lila were just finishing, and Becky only felt a tiny pang of sadness about spending so little time with Charlotte lately. Instead, her mind was taken up with a question: Should she tell someone about the weird little creature in the backyard of the McNally house?
When she had woken up Saturday morning, the panicky feeling she had gotten the previous night hadn’t gone away, and she thought the sour, rotting smell lingered, too, although maybe that was just her imagination. She’d managed to sneak Bear back down to the kitchen before her parents got up, and it had been a normal rest of the weekend: no eerie howling, no creepy dreams, no one telling her scary rumors about the house next door.
But whenever she looked over at the McNally house, the little hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
The next two nights, she’d stood at her window for a long time after turning out her light. But nothing came out into the moonlit yard of the house next door and looked up at her. She lay awake for a while but didn’t hear any strange whining. The horrible smell faded.
But, despite all that, Becky still felt unsettled.
Usual
ly, if something bothered her, she’d tell Charlotte. She looked sideways to where Charlotte sat with her eyes fixed attentively on the kids who were now presenting to the class. Her hair was pulled back neatly, as usual, and she was wearing pretty dangly gold earrings. She looked put together in a way Becky just wasn’t. Didn’t they used to be more alike?
They’d talked on the phone on Sunday. It had been comfortable and normal for a while and then Charlotte had started telling her about something funny Lila had said in chorus, and Becky had felt left out. It seemed like Charlotte was going in a new direction, and Becky was afraid that telling Charlotte about the weird things that had been happening would just make her go in that other direction faster.
As if she felt Becky’s eyes on her, Charlotte glanced over and gave her a little smile. Becky smiled back. No, she couldn’t talk to Charlotte about it.
“Okay,” Mr. Clauson said, breaking into Becky’s thoughts. “Thank you, Alison and Katy.” Everyone clapped. “Paul and Toby, you’re up next.”
Paul bounded up to the front of the class and unrolled a big poster that said ZOMBIES: COMMON THEMES ACROSS THE AGES. His partner, Toby, trailed after him, looking bored, and held one side of the poster. Paul pulled a stack of index cards out of his pocket.
“Zombies, or the walking dead, appear in the myths of a lot of different cultures,” Paul said, his eyes shining behind his glasses. “Sometimes they’re raised by necromancers or witch doctors to perform certain tasks, and sometimes they can’t stay in their graves because they want something. Some want to eat brains —” At this, there were some giggles around the classroom, and Becky saw that Charlotte’s face looked as if she’d eaten something rotten.
Paul continued, “Some zombies are controlled by whoever created them, and some want to bite other people to make them into zombies, too. And some just want to be put back to rest. Some are known for killing plants around them, and some cultures say they affect the weather. But they’re always accompanied by a horrible smell and are usually active at night, when they can be tracked by their glowing green eyes.” He stopped to shuffle through the index cards.
Becky’s eyes widened and she sat up straight, her heart pounding. This had to be a coincidence. Yes, there had been the strange thunder and the bad smell and the flash of green eyes in the darkness. But there were no such things as zombies.
Were there?
In the hall after class, Becky was at her locker, trying hard not to think about zombies, when she heard Robin’s voice.
“It was unbelievably scary,” Robin was saying. She was in the center of a group of kids farther down the hall. “This awful howling noise. I don’t think we should sweep this kind of thing under the rug. I told Mr. Thompson that we ought to run a feature about it in the school paper, to warn people, but he said that ghost stories weren’t the kind of thing the paper should cover. So closed-minded.”
Becky groaned inwardly. If Robin really got going, she’d probably end up hiring a team of real-life ghost-busters to exorcise Becky’s neighborhood. Or, more likely, she’d talk them into showing up for free.
“You know, I heard that a coven of witches used to do rituals in that house,” another voice said. Becky peeked past her locker door again and saw a sixth grade boy whose name she didn’t know. He was speaking, his face self-important. “My brother told me a bunch of kids from his school were playing truth or dare, and they got dared to spend the night in that house. And they thought it was really funny, right? But then they went in one night and they never came back out. They were never seen again.”
“That’s not true,” Robin said dismissively. “It would have been in the news if a whole group of high school kids disappeared.”
“The police covered it up, so people wouldn’t be scared to live in this town,” the boy muttered. But most of the other kids in the group around them seemed to agree with Robin, and Becky felt a little better. Maybe not everyone would always believe every stupid story that was going around.
“Anyway, that house is seriously creepy,” Lila chimed in. “I wouldn’t live next door to it for a million dollars. Don’t you think so, Charlotte?” Lila and Charlotte had walked up to the group, and Lila’s face was wrinkled with disgust.
“Um …” Charlotte was looking over at Becky, her face sympathetic. Their eyes met, and Becky willed Charlotte to defend her. They were best friends! Even if she did think Becky’s street was scary, surely she wouldn’t say so to a bunch of people.
“It’s a really creepy place to live, don’t you think, Charlotte?” Lila said again.
Charlotte winced and looked away from Becky. “Yeah, I do,” she finally answered.
Becky slammed her locker and quickly walked away, down the hall toward the buses. A minute later, she heard running footsteps behind her.
“Hey,” Charlotte said breathlessly, coming up beside her.
Becky ducked her head and walked faster.
“Wait,” Charlotte said. “Are you mad at me?”
Becky stopped and looked at her friend in disbelief. Charlotte’s brown eyes were wide, and she looked honestly confused.
“Of course I’m mad at you!” Becky exclaimed. “You told everyone you thought my house was creepy!”
Charlotte frowned. “I said I thought it would be creepy to live next door to the McNally house,” she corrected. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“Well, you did,” Becky said shortly. She started walking again, heading out the doors. Charlotte followed.
“Listen,” Charlotte said, reaching out to touch her arm. “Just because I think the McNally house is creepy, doesn’t mean I think you are.” Her eyes were warm, and Becky felt a little better. “Maybe we can do something next weekend?”
“Okay,” Becky said as she approached her bus. “Maybe my mom can take us to the mall or something.”
“Wait. Shoot,” Charlotte said. “No, I forgot, I already have plans all weekend with Lila.”
Becky’s heart sank. “Whatever,” she said. “I’ll see you later.” She got onto her bus and sank down in a seat. When she looked out the window, Charlotte was already climbing the stairs of her own bus.
Nate and Paul flopped down in the seat right in front of Becky. “Hi,” Nate said, swiveling around. “What’re you looking so sad about?”
Shrugging, Becky decided to put her bad mood behind her. “Nothing,” she said, pasting on a smile. “I liked your zombie report, Paul. And, Nate, I thought the Egyptian report went really well, didn’t you?”
Nate gave her a suspicious look, like he didn’t believe there wasn’t anything wrong, but didn’t push the question. “It was pretty good. Everybody liked your drawings,” he said. “Hey, do you want to hang out with me and Paul this afternoon? We’re going for a walk around the neighborhood.”
“Sure, why not?” Becky said. She didn’t want to talk about zombies, because it was not possible that she might have seen one. But it would be nice to spend time with people who weren’t totally obsessed with the McNally house.
Paul was totally obsessed with the McNally house. It turned out that We’re going for a walk around the neighborhood was some kind of code for Sherlock here needs to investigate the haunted house next door to you.
Paul had carefully paced around the house as far as he could, snapping pictures of it and its yard from every angle, and even from above, through Becky’s bedroom window. Jake had gotten home from school a little after they did, and he joined Nate and Becky as they followed Paul around, watching as he conducted what was clearly some kind of investigation.
“Have you ever smelled anything you couldn’t explain, like maybe a rotting smell, or some sort of herbal scent, maybe?” Paul asked, standing in Becky’s yard and looking thoughtfully at the fence between them and the McNally house.
“Why would I have?” Becky answered, shifting nervously from one leg to the other. She just wanted to forget the smell that had risen from the yard that weekend. Paul was freaking her out.
Nate laughed.
“Zombies!” Jake exclaimed delightedly. “Awesome!” He began to lurch around the yard, arms extended. “Brains … brains …” he moaned.
Becky frowned. Now she remembered that Paul had been one of the first ones to tell stories about the McNally house, talking about a mad scientist creating monsters. “Listen,” she said. “I don’t think we need any more rumors about this street.”
Paul adjusted his glasses and gave her a thoughtful frown. “This isn’t just a rumor,” he said. “My father knew Dr. McNally, and he knew what he was working on. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to study zombies for my presentation.”
“What are you talking about?” Becky asked. Everyone else had just said things about monsters and magic when they’d talked about the McNally house. They hadn’t mentioned the people who had really lived there.
“My dad told me that Dr. McNally was a brilliant scientist,” Paul explained. “He spent his life working to develop some kind of herbal compound that would help cure cancer.”
“So what does that have to do with zombies?” Nate asked.
“Well,” Paul said slowly, “obviously, he didn’t end up curing cancer. My dad knew him through the hospital they both worked at, and he said Dr. McNally got stranger and stranger. He was convinced that what he was doing was more important than curing any disease, that he was, like, conquering death itself — that’s exactly what my dad said he said. And there started being all kinds of rumors about him, like that he was bringing animals back from the dead, like squirrels and lab mice and stuff. But they came back wrong somehow, all shambling and zombified. It got so that everyone at the hospital was sort of scared of him.”
