“ Then we gotta get the dimes.”
“ Okay.”
“ You wanna wait over there while I go in?” He pointed to the brick archway entry to the cemetery.
“ No, not a chance. I don’t want to be out here alone with the spooks.”
“ Okay, then follow me, but be quiet.”
She nodded her head and he grinned his best fake smile. He felt like there was a giant hand pushing him down and holding him back, like in a dream. The air was heavy and every fiber in his person wanted to be somewhere else, but he’d come this far and he was determined to finish what he’d started. The old Arty Gibson would have turned and gone home, but the new Arty Gibson was not going to cut and run.
He started up the driveway, toward the redwood gate that blocked entry to both the garage and the backyard. He pulled the latch on the gate, hoping against common sense that it wouldn’t be locked. It was.
“ What do we do now?” Carolina whispered.
“ Follow me,” he whispered back. “We’ll have to go through the cemetery and climb the back fence.”
She followed three paces behind as he went down the driveway and walked around the fence. “It’s creepy,” she shuddered as he entered the cemetery, but she quickened her step and caught up to him.
“ It’s spooky all right.” The moon, the clouds, the evening chill and the headstones, combined to send spider chills crawling all over his body.
“ Do you believe in ghosts?” she whispered.
“ I hope not, ’cuz if there is such a thing as ghosts, then we’re done for.”
“ What do you mean?”
“ This is the kind of spooky night they like.” He laughed a little under his breath, but he didn’t think he fooled her. He was as frightened as she was.
“ How are we going to climb the fence?” she said.
He stared at the five foot obstacle. There was no way he was ever going to get over it. “I’ll have to boost you over, then you can unlatch the gate.”
“ I can’t go over by myself, besides, the gate’s locked.”
“ I don’t think so. He probably only has a nail or a piece of wood going through the hole on the inside that holds the latch down. All you gotta do is pull it out.”
“ How do you know?”
“ That’s the way everybody does it. Why would you wanna put a lock on the inside, if you didn’t have to?”
“ You sure?”
“ No, but I can’t think of anything else.”
“ Maybe we should come back tomorrow, or maybe we can get some silver somewhere else.”
“ Come on, don’t be a baby.” He bent over and laced his fingers into a stirrup. “I’d do it myself, but I’m too fat.”
“ I don’t think I can.”
“ You gotta, it’s the only way.” He tightened his fingers, but still she hesitated.
“ Think of the werewolf and what she will do to us if we don’t get those dimes,” he said.
She stepped into his laced fingers, without answering, and he hoisted her up. She grabbed onto the top of the fence, with tiny hands, and pulled herself up, till she was able to get a leg on it. Then she rolled over it and eased herself down into the backyard, as silently as a fly entering a spider’s trap.
“ I’m going ’round to the gate,” Arty whispered into the night. She imagined him still running his hand along the fence as he hurried around the yard to the driveway.
Carolina dropped into a garden. Mr. Lightfoot liked to grow his own vegetables and she tried to step through them, without ruining anything. She had to walk through the garden to get to the grass and the gate beyond. An owl hooted as she picked her way through, startling her.
“ Come on,” she heard Arty’s urgent whisper cutting through the night. There was a nail through the latch where a lock should have been. She pulled it out and swung the gate open.
“ Are you okay?” he whispered.
“ Yeah.”
“ Then let’s hurry so we can get outta here,” Arty said, before he turned and led her to the back porch.
The owl hooted again, sending night shivers through both of them.
“ Look,” he said, “the bathroom window is open.”
“ It’s too high,” she said.
“ I’ll have to boost you up, then you can let me in the back door.”
“ I can’t do it. Not again.”
“ It’s the only way.”
“ I’m sorry, I guess I shouldn’t have come, I’m scared and I don’t want to go in there alone.”
He thought about arguing with her, but didn’t. He was scared, too, but that was different. He was a guy. He was supposed to overcome his fear, and not let on that he was afraid. Girls didn’t have to do that. Besides, she went over the fence, if it wouldn’t have been for her, they wouldn’t have gotten this far. It was up to him to get them the rest of the way.
If only he wasn’t so fat, then she could boost him up. He resolved that if they got through this night, he would lose weight. No more donuts, no more candy bars and Pepsi, no more second helpings, and no more dessert. He further resolved, that he would study and work at the karate lessons until he was thin and tough.
“ Okay, we’ll find another way,” he said. He went to the back door. He tried the knob. It wasn’t locked.
“ Good thing I didn’t go through that window,” she whispered.
“ Yeah,” he whispered back. He opened the door. It made a screeching, squeaking sound, like it hadn’t ever been oiled. Arty bit his lip and they waited to see if anyone was going to catch them.
“ We should leave,” she whispered.
He shook his head, took a deep breath, and entered the house. She followed, leaving the back door open. The house was silent and forbidding. The small bathroom door off the kitchen was open, reminding Arty that he had to go, but he couldn’t, not now. He didn’t want to be in the house any longer than necessary.
He took Carolina’s hand and led her through the kitchen to the hallway. They were both taking shallow, quiet breaths as they tiptoed across the tile floor. She tightened her hand on his, pulling him to a quiet stop, just before they reached the hallway.
He turned and she put her mouth to his ear and whispered, “It feels like there’s someone else here.” They both held their breath for a few seconds and listened.
Nothing. But Arty had the same feeling. A tingly feeling, like someone was watching. But after a few seconds of silence, he was confident they were alone in the house. He started down the hallway, pulling her behind him.
“ Let’s get the dimes and get out of here,” he whispered.
She nodded her head in the dark.
“ He keeps the coins in his desk, in the den.”
“ How do you know?”
“ I’ve been here before. On Sunday mornings I trade a paper for a half dozen donuts at the donut shop, then I come by here and split ’em with Harry. He supplies the milk and I bring the donuts. We sit and talk and sometimes he shows me his coins. He has lots,” he was still whispering, but louder than before.
She followed him into the den.
“ Over here.” Arty led her to a roll top desk.
“ It’s beautiful.” She ran her hands along the smooth oak. “I’ll bet it’s old.” She wasn’t whispering at all.
“ Real old.” He rolled the top open. “It’s an antique.” He pulled open one of the drawers, reached inside it and pulled out a stack of blue folders. He laid them on the desk.
“ Coin albums.” He opened one and showed it to her. “This one’s Lincoln head pennies. See, he has every one from 1909 to now.”
“ Has he got one for silver dimes?”
