Katie was still unconscious, but breathing.
“How did this happen?” one of the medical people asked me.
I knew they wouldn’t believe me about the haunted house, so I didn’t even try. “My little sister got trapped out on the roof,” I said, making up a story. “Katie tried to rescue her.”
At least half of it was true.
“She’ll be okay,” the ambulance driver said. “But she’ll have to spend a few days in the hospital, getting X rays and a cast put on her broken arm.”
I sighed with relief and hugged Sally, who hadn’t said a word since she came down from the roof. The noise inside had stopped the moment the ambulance arrived.
“Where are your parents?” somebody asked.
“I’m going to call them right now,” I promised.
The ambulance driver ruffled my hair. “You did good,” he said, “but now we’d better get her to the hospital.”
And that was it. They drove away, lights flashing.
Sally and I were alone.
“Poor Katie,” Sally said, wiping a tear from her eye. “Bobby is sorry.”
I looked back at the house. It seemed to be watching me. I’d promised to call my parents but something told me not to go back inside the house.
Not again. Not at night.
So my little sister and I huddled under the cherry tree until the first streaks of light showed in the sky.
Sally had finally fallen asleep. It was time to make the phone call, but I didn’t want to wake her.
And I knew she’d be safe under the cherry tree.
That’s my excuse. That’s why I went back to the house by myself. How long could it take, making a phone call?
Inside, the house was silent. Not a sound. That made me uneasy.
Where was the witch-thing? Had she faded away when the sun came up?
But I couldn’t worry about that, I had to act fast. I went to the kitchen and looked up at the list of numbers Mom had tacked to the wall for Katie.
It wasn’t there.
The paper was gone.
It was the only place Mom and Dad’s number was written down. I had no idea how to reach them.
Sally and I were alone. Really alone.
I was breathing hard but there was no time to rest. I grabbed the handle of the trunk.
It was lighter than I expected.
But what had I thought was in it? A body?
I heaved and hauled the trunk through the path I’d sort of made, banging into boxes and knocking things over.
Then I was clear of the mess of junk and halfway to the stairs. The bottom of the trunk scraped over the dirt floor as I dragged it, my breath sounding ragged in my ears.
I reached the stairs and started humping it up, making an awful racket.
My heart was ready to burst with effort.
Suddenly a black shape darted out of the darkness and rushed me.
The witch was back. Hissing and spitting, she grabbed hold of the handle on the other end of the trunk.
“Mine!” she moaned. “Mine!”
I yanked back harder but I was nearly out of strength.
She pulled the trunk down a step, then another, dragging me down, too.
The witch had won again—but I couldn’t let go.
My hand seemed permanently frozen to that handle. She was pulling my arm right out of its socket!
Gritting my teeth against the pain, I started to imagine all the horrible things the creature would do to me when she got me back down into the basement.
“The trunk is mine!” she hissed. “And so are you!”
Turn the page to continue reading from the House on Cherry Street series
1
My sister and I were alone. Really alone. And something inside the house on Cherry Street wanted to hurt us, just like it had hurt the baby-sitter.
“Jay-sonnnnn! Jason come here!”
That was Sally, my four-year-old sister. Sally was outside, watching the ambulance take the baby-sitter away after she’d fallen and gotten knocked out.
I’d gone back into the house—a house I knew was haunted—to call my parents. I wasn’t going to tell them about the ghost because they’d never believe me.
In as calm a voice as possible I was going to ask my parents to come right home. Come home before it was too late.
But the phone number was gone. I had no idea how to reach them.
“That’s it,” I said to myself. “I’ve got to get us out of here.”
I headed for the front door, determined not to spend another moment in that creepy old house. No way.
Just as I got to the door, the lock snapped shut!
Eerie laughter echoed from inside the walls. Laughter of a witch who’d been dead for a hundred years. Laughter from an empty tomb.
I pounded my fist on the door. It was no use—the house had taken me prisoner.
“Jayyy-ssssssonnnnnnn!” something whispered from the dark.
It wasn’t my sister’s voice. It wasn’t the voice of anything alive.
“Get out!” I shouted. “Get out of this house and leave us alone!”
Who was I kidding? You can’t scare a ghost away by shouting. The thing was here to stay—and now it wanted to keep me here forever, too.
Maybe someday I’d be the ghost in the walls. Maybe I’d be the spirit who wandered around at night, repeating the moment of my death.
I shuddered at the thought—I had to get out before the creeping fear drove me crazy.
“Jason, come quick!”
That was Sally, calling from outside. It sounded like she was in trouble.
I raced to a window, but it slammed shut just as I got there.
Then something moved behind me. I whirled around, but all I could see were shadows. Dark, murky shadows reaching out to touch me.
I closed my eyes. “Get a grip,” I told myself. “Your eyes are playing tricks again.”
But when I opened my eyes, something was reaching for me.
“Jason!”
A hand came out of the darkness and grabbed me.
2
It was my sister. Standing there tugging on my arm as she looked up at me.
“How’d you get in here?” I demanded.
“I walked in the door, silly,” she said.
I
