“God, you’re such a
The kid motioned with his head, like he was saying:
“He wants us to follow him,” I said, not sounding very brave or grown up.
“Why?”
“I don’t
The house sat by itself, at the end of a little dirt road. It was two stories tall, with one of those porch-swing things moving a little in the wind. A long time ago, it was probably white, but now it just looked like a peeling grayish-yellow color. The windows were dark and spooky-looking, like empty places where the eyes and teeth should be on a skeleton face.
There were a few jack-o-lanterns on the porch, but they were already starting to look sunk-in, like they’d been out there way too long. Usually, our jack-o-lanterns didn’t look like that till a week
The kid walked toward the house a few steps, but then he turned like he wanted to go in a big circle
“Why are we walking in a big circle?”
“Shh,” I said, “Just wait and see.”
We walked like that for a while, the kid leading and us following. It was starting to get a little darker, and the air was getting that bitey feeling to it.
The kid turned to look at me like he was annoyed. Actually, I was starting to get a little annoyed, too. The
Shaking my head, I kept walking, and the kid continued to the back yard. As we got closer, I saw a big stand of trees still dropping leaves all over the ground. Now I knew why every step we took was announced by a loud
The kid walked over to a shed, back behind the stand of trees. It was a mini-house, built the same exact way as the main house, up front. If I wasn’t so freaked out, I would probably be trying to get in there and explore it. Ever since I was five, I wanted my own clubhouse, and this shed looked perfect. It was painted the same peeling, grayish-yellow color as the house, with dark windows and a fake little second-story section on it. The kid was just standing there on the fake-porch of the shed, staring at the shed with his hands shoved in his pockets, like he was waiting for the school bus.
“Cool,” Chris whispered behind me, reaching for the door handle.
“Wait,” I said. I looked at the kid, who was suddenly acting really weird. He kept looking back and forth, from the main house to the shed, like he was nervous. Then I heard it.
A car was rumbling up the road, toward the house.
“I think someone’s home,” Chris said, looking toward the main house.
“Do you want me to go in the shed?” I asked the kid. He nodded his head, like he was real serious about it, over and over.
“Maybe we should just go, and come back later?”
“No, Chris, we have to get in there, now. Something’s wrong.”
The kid yanked his hands out of his pockets, and put them up to the sides of his eyes, like he was trying to look into something. The shed windows.
I put my hands up like his, then pushed my face to the little window on the shed. Darkness.
“Chris, you still got that Zippo you stole from dad?”
“What? What Zippo? I never stole anything from dad!” he answered, trying really hard to sound convincing.
“Yeah, you did. I saw you playing with it the other day. Give it to me right now, or I’m telling dad you took it.”
“Okay, okay, you’re such a
He flipped the top open by snapping his hand back, with a metallic
“Zippos are the best,” he said, “they’re the only lighters that stay lit in the wind. The army guys used ‘em in the war. Dad told me all about it.”
“That’s so great I forgot to care,” I said, grabbing it out of his hand.
“Hey!” he said, “Give it back!”
“Shh! Just let me look in there and shut
I could only see a few inches into the shed, mostly just handles of things all over the place, like shovels and rakes. And maybe a table or something.
“We gotta go in there,” I said, “I can’t see anything.”
“Okay,” Chris said, reaching for the handle.
“Hurry up!” I whispered, my shaky hand making the flame jump around, thanks to my heart racing in my chest again.
“I am!” he turned the old knob a little bit, but then it stopped. “It’s locked!”
“Well, look for something to open it!”
He wandered around the side of the shed, finding nothing but a bunch of dry sticks that broke when he tried to pry the door open. I looked at the kid, who was pointing at the other side of the shed.
“Look over there!” I whisper-yelled, pointing the same way the kid had.
Chris looked around for a few seconds, then almost tripped on something. He reached down and picked it up, “Yes!” He showed me a long screwdriver that looked as rusty as the shed’s doorknob.
He put the screwdriver into wood between the door and the shed, pushing and cussing a little under his breath, until I heard a wood-splitting
Chris stepped into the shed, with me right behind him, holding the Zippo so we could see inside, since the sun was almost down. It was even bigger inside than it looked from the outside, almost big enough for a small car. There were about a million rusty-dusty tools all over the walls, hanging from the ceiling, and piled on the workbench by the window. Leaning against the walls were a bunch of rakes and shovels and even an ancient