The Haunting
The House on Cherry Street, Book One
Rodman Philbrick and Lynn Harnett
For Erin, Peter, Liza, and Lauren
1
You could see the house on Cherry Street from a distance. The old place was high up on a hill, surrounded by tall, whispery pines. As my dad turned the station wagon into the long driveway, I stuck my head out the window for a better look.
We’d be spending the whole summer here, and I was dying to know what was in store for me and my family. Mom and Dad and my kid sister Sally.
For a moment the house passed out of view, hidden behind the trees, and long shadows passed over the station wagon.
It was as if the sun had been erased from the sky.
“Well, there’s certainly plenty of shade,” said my mom doubtfully.
“And don’t forget there’s a lake at the other end of Cherry Street,” said my dad, trying to sound cheerful.
Right then we came out of the shadows and suddenly there it was, much closer this time, looming over us.
The house.
The sun glinted off the windows, winking and flashing through the tree branches. So bright it was like looking into a flame. As we rolled up the driveway the whole house finally came completely into view. It was a rambling, gabled old place with a wide front porch. The porch roof sagged slightly and the house needed painting, like nobody had taken care of it for a long time.
It was easily the biggest house on Cherry Street. The other places we passed were all one-or two-story summer cottages, small and plain-looking. This was a real house, almost a mansion.
I was staring up at the second floor, wondering if we’d be able to see the lake from there, when I saw something strange.
Something was there in the house. Something was watching us.
“Hey, did you see that!” I said, pointing. “Someone looking at us from the upstairs window.”
“Maybe the cleaning lady is still here,” Mom said.
“Or a trick of the sunlight reflecting off the glass,” Dad said, easing his foot off the brake. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in quite a while.”
Yeah, right. They always think I’m imagining stuff, but I know what I saw. Someone was there, and it wasn’t a trick of the light. I searched the windows for another glimpse of the shadowy figure, but it was gone.
That’s when my little sister Sally stirred, waking from her nap. She started squirming around in her seat belt, looking for attention. “There yet?” she asked. “There yet?”
Sally’s just turned four and she’d been asking “There yet?” for the whole trip.
I told her we’d finally made it, and she started peppering me with a bunch of questions, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was thinking about what had been looking at us from the window. I’d only seen it for a moment, couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman or even a child. The shape had had a shimmery quality, and I might have thought Dad was right about a trick of the light if it hadn’t been for the eyes. Because the thing in the window had eyes. Eyes that had bored right into me.
And now all the windows of the house seemed to be turned toward our station wagon, staring, sizing us up.
“Mommy, are we really there yet?” said Sally. She was wide-awake and fidgeting now.
“Yes, honey. Wait till Daddy stops the car before you take off your seat belt.”
I leaned over and straightened out Sally’s T-shirt and she giggled and gave me a big grin. I hear some guys complain about having little sisters, but Sally is cool even if sometimes she is a pain, always asking questions and repeating stuff until your head aches.
The old garage looked locked up, so Dad parked the wagon by the side of the house.
“Oh, look,” Mom said. “A cherry tree.”
The cherry tree was close to the side of the house, almost like it was growing out of the house somehow, and the branches were full of small pink blossoms.
“Isn’t it late in the year for a cherry tree to be in bloom?” asked Mom of no one in particular.
Dad cranked down his window and took a deep, satisfied breath. “Just smell that fresh air,” he said.
“Jason, would you—”
But I was already out of the car and running for the front door. Looking around, I realized you couldn’t see any other houses from here. It was like we were all alone in the woods.
It was a neat old house, that was for sure, and I couldn’t wait to see the inside. So I sprinted up the porch steps like an Olympic hurdler and reached for the front doorknob.
Out of nowhere a blast of cold air hit me. I mean cold air, so cold I couldn’t move. Air so cold it felt thick.
I gasped as the frigid stuff flowed down into my throat. It tasted of earth, moldy earth. It smelled of the grave.
Shivering, I realized it was blowing up at me from under the front door. From inside the house.
I started to take a step backwards. Only my feet wouldn’t move. I was stuck there! And the awful cold was seeping though my T-shirt and shorts.
I could feel ice forming around my stomach, creeping up my spine, icy fingers reaching for my heart.
I tried to turn my head and yell but my neck had gone rigid.
I was frozen to the spot and getting colder by the second.
2
Someone clapped a hand on my shoulder.
It was my dad.
“Come on, Jay, give us a hand unloading the car, then you can explore all you want.”
He reached past me and slipped a key into the lock.
The spell was broken. The icy grip had slipped away with my father’s touch. I shrugged my shoulders, feeling the blood humming through my veins once more, warmth returning
