Steve got this serious look on his face. “All that stuff you said about the house,” he said slowly. “Was it true?”
I shrugged. I wanted to make some joke and laugh it off but it was like the house might be listening. Overhead the pine branches scraping against each other made whispery sounds.
“’Cause I’m not sure whether I should tell you this,” said Steve. He glanced away, like he was afraid to look me in the eye.
“Tell me,” I demanded, grabbing Steve’s arm.
“OK, OK,” said Steve. “But you have to promise not to tell anyone.”
I nodded impatiently. “I promise.”
Steve leaned close to me and squinted up at the house. He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “This happened a few years ago when I was just a little kid and didn’t know what to do about anything.”
I nodded. “Go on.”
“I wandered over here to check the old place out, right? I was right by that tree with the flowers by the side of the house—”
“It’s a cherry tree,” I said.
“Whatever,” said Steve, glaring at me. “I just happened to look up.” He paused and bit his lip as if remembering something he hoped to forget.
“Come on,” I said. “Tell me.”
Steve sighed deeply. “I looked up and saw this old lady in the kitchen tying something up. It looked funny—kind of wiggly—so I crawled closer until I was right under the window. Then I stood and looked in.” Steve’s eyes widened. “You’re not going to believe what I saw.”
I groaned. “Probably not.”
“You know, it’s not easy for me to tell you about this,” said Steve, acting as if his feelings were hurt.
“All right. I won’t say another word,” I promised.
“There was a little kid in there,” whispered Steve. “She’d squeezed him into a roasting pan and while I was watching she stuck him in the oven and cooked him just like you cook a turkey!”
Suddenly Steve pushed me and burst out laughing. “You believed me!” Steve hooted.
“No way, you liar.”
“You should have seen your face.” He made a bug-eyed face with his mouth hanging open, drool spilling out the side.
I winced, but Steve was laughing too hard to keep it up for long.
“Jayyy-sonnnnn!”
That was Mom, calling me for lunch.
“See you later, you liar,” I said.
Steve stopped me. He looked serious again, as if he was sorry for making stuff up. I should have known better.
“Better take a close look at your lunch, Jason,” he teased. “Better check that your mom’s not feeding you roasted little kid!”
13
Sally was eating peanut butter and jelly. Mom was at the stove, frying something that smelled like hamburger. “Wash your hands,” she said automatically.
“But, Mom—” I thought she should cut me a little slack after my morning washing experience.
“The pipes are fixed,” she interrupted. “I think it’s safe to go back in the bathroom.”
No point in arguing. Sally giggled as I left the kitchen and went into the bathroom.
Here goes nothing, I thought, and approached the sink warily. The new pipes gleamed. I left the door open and twisted the faucet lever slowly, ready to get out of there in a hurry. But the water flowed normally and there were no strange noises in the plumbing.
At least that was fixed.
When I went back into the kitchen there was a bun on my plate. I picked up the top, checked it out. Looked like hamburger. I glopped ketchup on it and took a big bite. Yep, tasted like hamburger.
“When you finish your lunch, Jay, check the basement and see if there are any extra trash cans,” said Mom, wiping Sally’s face and hands. “Your father has promised to take Sally for a walk while I get some work done in the office. So I want it quiet around here, OK?”
“No problem, Mom,” I said, and made a zipping motion across my lips.
I wolfed down the rest of the burger, trying to think how I’d get back at Steve for that stupid story. It would have to be something really good. Lock him in the attic for a couple of hours, maybe.
I was on my way up to my bedroom to change for a swim when I remembered about the trash cans. Right. Check out the basement.
The basement door was off the kitchen. I hadn’t been down there yet. I wondered if anyone had. Maybe my dad, looking for screens. Or maybe not, he’d been pretty busy setting up the office.
Go on, get it over with. What’s the big deal?
I opened the basement door and peered down into the dark. The air coming up out of the basement was cold and dank. There was a light switch by the door. I flipped it on and was relieved to see the stairs spring into view all the way to the shadowy bottom.
The steps were old and worn, rounded at the edge of each tread. I started down. The stairs creaked loudly. The musty smell grew stronger and the air colder.
I couldn’t find another light switch at the bottom of the stairs. There was only the one bare bulb hanging on a wire from the ceiling, and it was pretty dim. It didn’t look as if anybody had been down here in years. Cobwebs hung off the light-bulb.
I stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked around. The basement was big and it was full of old boxes and things that cast strange shadows.
Way in the back I spotted something that looked like a trash can.
My nerves were on edge, but there was nothing to be scared of, right? Right? So I worked my way over to where I’d seen the trash can. Or something that looked like a trash can. What else could it be?
A long snaky shadow reared up at me. I jumped, but it turned out to be a floor lamp.
The next step my foot sank into something soft. I
