Once again, Tick shivered. No doubt about it, this was plain creepy.
Hoping it didn’t matter exactly where he stood when he performed his little song and dance as long as he was inside the cemetery, Tick stayed close to the entrance, near a tight pack of graves reserved for young children. Tick pulled out his flashlight and flicked it on, examining some of the names while he waited for the last few minutes to pass. Most of the names he didn’t know, but he did recognize a few that had been much-publicized tragedies over the last few years. A car accident. Cancer.
Despite his youth, Tick knew there must be nothing in the world so bad as losing one of your kids. Like he’d just swallowed a bag of sand, it hit him then that if anything happened to him tonight, his mom would be devastated. His poor mom. Of course, she’d be so busy yelling at his dad for letting him go in the first place that maybe she wouldn’t have the time or energy to hurt properly.
He turned off his flashlight and returned it to his bag. He pulled out the jacket and gloves and put them on, not wanting to take any chances that the instructions to dress warmly had been anything but literal. He tightened his scarf and glanced at his watch. He could see the numbers perfectly in the moonlight.
Five minutes to go.
He put his backpack on the ground, then thought better of it, swinging it back onto his shoulders. If he were about to magically travel somewhere, much better to have everything… attached.
For the millionth time, he wondered which was stranger-the things he’d been through or the fact that he actually believed there was something true behind it all. That he wasn’t crazy.
One minute to go.
Tick stared at his watch now, clicking the button that made it show the ticking seconds as well as the hour and minute. As the appointed time grew closer and closer, his heart picked up; sweat beaded all over his body; he felt himself on the verge of throwing up.
Ten seconds.
He quickly put his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, counting down the last few seconds inside his mind.
Five… four… three… two… one…
Tick closed his eyes and shouted out the words, “MASTER GEORGE!” He stomped the ground below him ten times with his right foot and a quick and cold shiver of excitement went up and down his back.
Tick waited, holding his breath for a long minute. He finally opened his eyes and looked around, but saw that he stood in the exact same spot as when he began. Everything was the same. He waited longer still, hoping something would change around him. Several more minutes passed. Then a half hour. Then an hour. Then two. Desperate, he went through the entire ritual again.
Nothing happened.
Absolutely nothing.
Chapter 37
Knowing for a fact he’d never felt so depressed in all his life, Tick began the long walk back home. He wished he had a cell phone so he could prevent his dad from telling his mom about everything-now that it was all moot. Now that Tick had failed, and wouldn’t be going anywhere after all. At least then he could enjoy the one saving grace of Mom not thinking her husband and only son had gone bonkers.
If the town had been quiet before, it now seemed completely devoid of any life whatsoever. Tick didn’t see one person as he walked past the fountain area, and there wasn’t a light to be seen anywhere. Even the streetlamps had been extinguished, or they’d burned out. Only the moon shone its pale milky brilliance around the square, making everything look like a much bigger version of the graveyard he’d just left.
Dead and quiet. Full of shadows.
Tick picked up his pace.
When he left the town behind him and started down the long road leading to his house, the creepiness increased. He couldn’t explain it, but Tick felt a constant chill in his bones, like something very big and very hungry watched him from the woods. He looked back and forth, scanning both sides of the road, but saw only the tall shadows of the trees, black on black. This time, Tick threw all reservations out the window and simply ran, resolving not to stop until he lay in his bed where he could cry himself to sleep.
As he jostled down the road, concentrating on his feet so he wouldn’t trip, Tick had to consciously ignore the feeling that an enormous ghost was right behind him, ready to tap him on the shoulder. Goose bumps broke out all over his body, slick with sweat. He kept running.
He made it to his neighborhood and finally to his house, not slowing until he reached the porch. He stopped, bending over with his hands on his knees as he gulped in air to catch his breath. He didn’t want to walk back inside panting like a chased dog. But then the feeling he’d had near the forest returned full force and he ran up the steps to the front door.
The handle rattled when he gripped it, but didn’t turn. Locked. He glanced at his watch where he could barely see it was just past eleven o’clock. Tick stepped back, looking for the first time at all the windows on the bottom floor. He should’ve noticed before-everything was dark, not a single light was on in the house. Yes, it was late, but his dad was supposed to be telling a very long story to his mom, so surely his parents were still up. They would stay up and watch for him, wouldn’t they?
Tick knew his dad kept a spare key to the house hidden in a fake rock placed behind the bushes. He walked back down the porch steps and searched for it, even getting down on his knees to feel around with his hands. But they came up empty, even after scouring the usual area several times.
He couldn’t find the key anywhere.
Tick sat back on his heels. What in the world?
Frustrated, Tick gave up and walked back to the front door, where he reluctantly pushed the doorbell.
A long moment passed. No one answered. Not a sound came from within the house. Tick, getting more worried by the second, pushed the doorbell again.
Still no response.
Finally, in a panic, he pushed the bell over and over again, hearing the loud ring through the wood of the door. He stopped when he heard a booming shout; it sounded like it came from one of the upstairs bedrooms. The shout was followed by a quick series of loud thumps-someone running down the stairs. Then the door jerked open, revealing a man Tick had never seen before in his life.
“What do you want!” the stranger screamed at the top of his lungs, spittle flying out of his mouth. The man was pale and sickly, so thin he looked like he’d crumble into a pile of sticks at any moment. His ruffled black hair stood up in patches on his head, his face covered in a scraggly beard. Dark, sleep-worn eyes stared at Tick, full of fire and anger. “Who are you, you little brat? What do you want?”
Tick felt a sick fear swell inside his stomach. “I’m… I’m
… Atticus Higginbottom. I… I live here.”
“ Live here? What are you, one of those no-good townies? Get out of here!” The man kicked out, missing Tick badly. “Get!” He slammed the door closed.
Tick, his world crashing down around him, turned and ran, the darkness weighing on his shoulders like black stone.
Edgar stood in the dark cemetery, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He’d searched everywhere-behind every tombstone, tree, and bush in sight. He didn’t know how it could be possible, but what he’d seen from his hiding spot across the road must not have been a trick of his mind.
It had really happened.
What he’d seen had really happened.
Tick had disappeared. Like a Las Vegas magic show, Edgar’s only son had vanished from sight. There one second, gone the next. No smoke, no sound, nothing.
