The farther I got from the safety of the stairs—and the small pool of light from the single bulb—the more it felt as if I was entering another world. A world full of small, secret, furtive sounds and creatures hidden beyond the reach of my eyes. A world that thrived in the shadows and in years of layers of dust.
I let out my breath when I got to the trash can. I didn’t belong down here with all these creepoid shadows and I was going to leave, right now.
I picked up the trash can. And it started to shake.
A thumping, drumming noise started up—inside the can!
I tried to let go, but my hands were stuck to the handles. I went nuts trying to get loose, and finally the can fell with a clang, tipping onto its side.
A tiny, terrified mouse escaped, running for its life. Just a mouse!
I slumped in relief. Then I wiped my sticky hands on my shorts and picked the trash can up again, peeking cautiously inside. Empty. The startled mouse must have been flinging itself around in blind panic. It made a lot of noise for such a little thing—must have been amplified by the metal sides of the can. Yeah, that was it.
Scared by a stupid little mouse—good thing Steve wasn’t here to see that.
I dragged the can back across the floor, making enough noise to drown out any other scuttling mice. It felt safer when I reached the circle of light. At the bottom of the stairs I looked up.
For some reason the stairway looked longer from down here. Maybe because of the dim light. Some kind of optical illusion. Whatever, I was heading back up right that very minute, anxious to return to the daylight.
As I heaved the can up the stairs, the shadows seemed to be pulling me backwards, as if they wanted me to stay down there in the dark.
Was that the shadows sighing?
I paused, holding stock-still. Something was making a sighing noise. What was it?
I heard breathing. Ragged breathing
Something coughed.
It was right under me. There was somebody hiding under the stairs!
I started to run up the stairs.
But I didn’t get far.
An icy hand reached up between the treads and snagged my ankle.
Bony fingers gripped me like iron.
Then I heard a soft, triumphant cackle beneath the stairs.
14
I yelled.
I screamed and kicked and pulled, but the thing held on.
My heart sank when I remembered no one could hear me. Dad and Sally were outside and Mom was in the office with the door closed.
It had me and it wouldn’t let go.
The icy grip was burning into my flesh, eating through to the bone. It was too dark to see, but in my imagination I pictured a fleshless creature under the stairs, scaly, sharp-toothed mouth grinning at me.
Got to get loose!
I kicked harder. I had to get away, but whatever had my ankle wouldn’t let go. I couldn’t see anything down there, but something told me there was a second claw ready to snatch my other ankle. Once it had both feet, I was a goner.
I strained until it seemed as if my muscles would snap like rubber bands. Then with a crack and a sudden jolt the step gave way, the tread breaking through.
There was a scream from under the stairs and the bony claw let go of my ankle.
I yanked my foot free and scrambled up the stairs on my hands and knees.
I slammed the door and leaned against it, my chest heaving.
When I finally got my breath back I looked down at my hands and almost laughed. I still had the trash can!
Good going, butter brains, you’re a real hero. Except the only reason you didn’t let go is because you were too scared to think straight.
I dragged the trash can outside and left it there, prying my hands off the sticky handles.
“Hey, Jay!”
My dad was shouting from the top of the hill, where he and Sally were playing. I waved. Then I ran up to them, ready to tell Dad about what had happened in the basement.
With every step I became less sure. What really had happened?
The dim basement had gotten on my nerves. A little mouse had scared me. My ankle had gotten caught between the steps.
And the laugh? Maybe that evil laughter was all in my head.
When I got up to the top of the hill the first thing I said was, “Better not go down into the basement, Dad.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“The steps got busted. They’re pretty old and rotten, I guess.”
“Thanks for the warning,” he said. He glanced at my ankle. “I notice you’re limping, are you OK?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just make sure you don’t go down there, OK? You or anybody else.”
Dad looked at me kind of funny. “Sure, anything you say,” he said. “Your new friend Steve was around—wanted to know if you wanted to go swimming. Said he’d meet you down at the lake.”
Steve. I’d almost forgotten.
Ten minutes later I was cannonballing off the end of the dock. KERPLUNK! The water was cold but it felt good. It woke me up, as if the incident in the basement had been some kind of bad dream.
Except my ankle was still sore. So that part was true.
I figured it was partly Steve’s fault, telling me that spooky story. Putting ideas into my head. So I decided to get back at him. It turned out he didn’t like to touch bottom in the lake.
“Gross,” he said. “The mud squishes between your toes.”
“What are you afraid of, Steve?”
“I just think it’s gross, that’s all,” he said.
But he was real jumpy in the water, like he was scared something was going to bite him. Snapping turtles or snakes. I’m a pretty good swimmer—better than Steve, as it turned out—and that gave me an idea.
When Steve wasn’t looking, I dove under as quietly as I could and swam in his direction. I reached down, got hold of
