I grabbed a package of cookies from the counter and dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, kicking another one out for Steve. I opened the cookies and held out the package. “Tell me about this house,” I said.
Steve sat down and helped himself to a fistful of Oreos. He broke one apart and ate it, inside first, while I waited, watching him. Steve sighed and leaned across the table. “OK. There was some people rented it last year. They had a couple of little kids, about the same age as your sister. I don’t know anything except they left in the middle of the night and never came back.”
“That’s it?” I said.
Steve looked stung. He looked over his shoulder and leaned in close again. “There used to be an old lady lived here. All by herself for years and years. She had bedbugs in her attic, if you know what I mean. And she was mean—she hated kids, I guess.” He sat back and reached for another cookie, looking pleased with himself. “I heard she died in here and nobody ever found the body.” He grinned at me. “What do you say we look for it?”
The backdoor opened and sunlight fell across the table. “OK, guys, out of here.” Mom came in and the first thing she did was confiscate the cookies. “I want to get the rest of our stuff unpacked and I don’t need you boys underfoot.”
“Sure, Mrs. Winter,” said Steve, standing quickly. “I’ll show Jason the lake.”
Good idea. I needed to get out of that musty old house and clear my head.
“Wait a second,” said Mom. “Put these empty boxes in the garage, will you?”
“Sure, Mom, no problemo.”
The garage was this old, rickety building attached to the side of the house. When we’d first come up the driveway, the overhead door had been shut. Now it was wide open.
“What a mess,” Steve said. “Look at all that neat old stuff.”
The garage was dark—no windows—but I could make out all the old junk stacked inside. There hardly seemed to be room for any more empty boxes.
I stepped over a broken chair, making my way toward the rear of the building.
Steve followed. “All this junk must have belonged to the old woman,” he said, picking up a battered lampshade. He lowered his voice to a spooky whisper. “I didn’t tell you everything.”
“Yeah, right.” I rolled my eyes sarcastically but of course Steve couldn’t see me in the gloom.
“No, really. She was a witch. And she really hated kids. Especially little kids. Of course, now that she’s a ghost she has more power. She can do anything. Over the years lots of little children have disappeared from this neighborhood.”
Right then I banged my shin on a rusted rake. “Ouch! You know what, Steve? I think you’re making all this up. Give me a hand here.”
“Am not,” Steve protested as he helped me shove the empty boxes way up on a stack of junk.
“Yeah? Then prove it,” I said. “Prove that this place is haunted.”
Suddenly the garage door slammed shut.
It was as if the sun had winked out. The garage was instantly, totally, utterly dark.
“How’d that happen?” Steve whispered, his voice shaky.
“I don’t know but let’s get out of here.”
I pushed past Steve and began to pick my way toward the front of the garage. I kept bumping into things and stumbling over old paint cans.
Finally my outstretched hands found the door. “I got it,” I shouted, fumbling for the handle. “We’re out of here!”
Behind me I could hear Steve letting out a long sigh of relief.
My fingers found the handle, turned and pulled. Nothing happened.
The door was locked. We were trapped.
5
“We gotta get out of here,” said Steve, his voice rising.
Somewhere in all the mess something rustled.
“Was that you?” I said.
“Was what me?”
It came again, a scratching, scrabbling kind of sound. Whatever it was, it wasn’t human.
“That’s not me,” said Steve. “I didn’t move a muscle.”
A cobweb brushed my forehead and I jerked my head away. You never know about poisonous spiders.
“I’ll bet there’s rats in here,” I said. “That must be what’s making that scrabbling noise. Rats.”
Steve groaned in the dark. “Stop fooling around and open the door, Jason. It wasn’t true what I said, I admit it, OK?”
Wasn’t true? What was he talking about?
“About the old lady,” said Steve. “I don’t know anything about any missing kids. Now get us out of here.”
I should have been relieved that he was making it up, but something about the darkness put a creepy-crawly feeling in my stomach. Like there were shapes in the dark I couldn’t quite see, or invisible hands reaching out to touch me.
Yeah, right. I was acting like a five-year-old, scared of the dark!
“Jason, get us out of here, OK?” Steve said. His voice was kind of high-pitched.
The darkness was getting to both of us.
We pounded on the door and shouted as loud as we could but no one came.
“It could be hours,” I said dejectedly. “My mom’s inside and my dad’s probably helping her. They’ll never hear us.”
“Let’s try again.” Steve’s breath sounded ragged.
I banged again on the door and shouted as loud as I could. Steve shouted even louder and banged on the wall. We were making so much noise we didn’t hear the smooth click of the lock.
Suddenly the door opened and sunlight blinded us. I blinked and shaded my eyes, trying to make out the looming figure coming into the garage.
It was my dad, of course. Who else had I been expecting? Some made-up little old lady? Yeah, right.
“You boys stop your goofing around,” my father said. “I’ve got too much to do to be watching out for you.”
“We weren’t fooling around,” I insisted. “I was putting some stuff away for Mom and someone came along and shut the door. It wasn’t you?”
“This is an old house,” Dad said. “I don’t want you horsing around and breaking something valuable or putting your foot
