WELCOMETODEADHOUSE

Goosebumps-01R.L.Stine

(AnUndeadScanv1.5)

1

JoshandIhatedournewhouse.Sure,itwasbig.Itlookedlikeamansioncomparedtoouroldhouse.It

wasa tall redbrickhousewitha slopingblack roofand rowsofwindowsframedbyblackshutters.

It’s so dark, I thought, studying it from the street. Thewhole housewascoveredindarkness,asifitwerehidingintheshadowsofthegnarled,oldtreesthatbentoverit.

Itwas themiddleof July,butdeadbrown leavesblanketed the frontyard. Our sneakers crunched over them as we trudged up the graveldriveway.

Tall weeds poked up everywhere through the dead leaves. Thickclumpsofweedshadcompletelyovergrownanold flowerbedbeside thefrontporch.

Thishouseiscreepy,Ithoughtunhappily.Joshmusthavebeen thinking the same thing.Lookingup at theold

house,webothgroanedloudly.Mr.Dawes, the friendlyyoungman from the local real estateoffice,

stoppednearthefrontwalkandturnedaround.“Everythingokay?”heasked,staringfirstatJosh,thenatme,withhis

crinklyblueeyes.“Josh and Amanda aren’t happy about moving,” Dad explained,

tuckinghisshirttailin.Dadisalittleoverweight,andhisshirtsalwaysseemtobecominguntucked.

“It’shardforkids,”mymotheradded,smilingatMr.Dawes,herhandsshoved intoher jeanspocketsasshecontinuedup to thefrontdoor.“Youknow.Leavingalloftheirfriendsbehind.Movingtoastrangenewplace.”

“Strangeisright,”Joshsaid,shakinghishead.“Thishouseisgross.”Mr. Dawes chuckled. “It’s an old house, that’s for sure,” he said,

pattingJoshontheshoulder.“Itjustneedssomework,Josh,”Dadsaid,smilingatMr.Dawes.“No

onehaslivedinitforawhile,soit’lltakesomefixingup.”“Lookhowbigitis,”Momadded,smoothingbackherstraightblack

hairandsmilingatJosh.“We’llhaveroomforadenandmaybearecroom,too.You’dlikethat—wouldn’tyou,Amanda?”

Ishrugged.Acoldbreezemademeshiver.Itwasactuallyabeautiful,hotsummerday.Butthecloserwegottothehouse,thecolderIfelt.

Iguesseditwasbecauseofallthetall,oldtrees.IwaswearingwhitetennisshortsandasleevelessblueT-shirt.Ithad

beenhot inthecar.ButnowIwasfreezing.Maybeit’llbewarmerinthehouse,Ithought.

“Howoldare they?”Mr.DawesaskedMom,steppingonto thefrontporch.

“Amanda is twelve,” Mom answered. “And Josh turned eleven lastmonth.”

“Theylooksomuchalike,”Mr.DawestoldMom.Icouldn’tdecideifthatwasacomplimentornot.Iguessit’strue.Josh

andIarebothtallandthinandhavecurlybrownhairlikeDad’s,anddarkbrowneyes.Everyonesayswehave“serious”faces.

“Ireallywanttogohome,”Joshsaid,hisvoicecracking.“Ihatethisplace.”

Mybrotheristhemostimpatientkidintheworld.Andwhenhemakesuphismindaboutsomething,that’sit.He’salittlespoiled.Atleast,Ithinkso.Wheneverhemakesabigfussaboutsomething,heusuallygetshisway.

Wemay look alike, butwe’re really not that similar. I’m a lotmorepatient than Josh is.A lotmore sensible.Probablybecause I’molder andbecauseI’magirl.

JoshhadholdofDad’shandandwastryingtopullhimbacktothecar.“Let’sgo.Comeon,Dad.Let’sgo.”

IknewthiswasonetimeJoshwouldn’tgethisway.Weweremovingtothishouse.Nodoubtaboutit.Afterall,thehousewasabsolutelyfree.Agreat-uncle of Dad’s, a man we didn’t even know, had died and left thehousetoDadinhiswill.

I’llneverforgetthelookonDad’sfacewhenhegottheletterfromthelawyer.Heletoutaloudwhoopandbegandancingaroundthelivingroom.JoshandIthoughthe’dflippedorsomething.

“My Great-Uncle Charles has left us a house in his will,” Dadexplained, reading and rereading the letter. “It’s in a town called DarkFalls.”

“Huh?”JoshandIcried.“Where’sDarkFalls?”Dadshrugged.“I don’t remember your Uncle Charles,”Mom said, moving behind

Dadtoreadtheletteroverhisshoulder.“Neither do I,” admitted Dad. “But he must’ve been a great guy!

Wow!Thissoundslikeanincrediblehouse!”HegrabbedMom’shandsandbegandancinghappilywithheracrossthelivingroom.

Dad sure was excited. He’d been looking for an excuse to quit hisboringofficejobanddevoteallofhistimetohiswritingcareer.Thishouse—absolutelyfree—wouldbejusttheexcuseheneeded.

Andnow,aweeklater,herewewereinDarkFalls,afour-hourdrivefrom our home, seeing our new house for the first time.We hadn’t evengoneinside,andJoshwastryingtodragDadbacktothecar.

“Josh—stop pullingme,”Dad snapped impatiently, trying to tug hishandoutofJosh’sgrasp.

Dad glanced helplessly at Mr. Dawes. I could see that he wasembarrassedbyhowJoshwascarryingon.IdecidedmaybeIcouldhelp.

“Let go, Josh,” I said quietly, grabbing Josh by the shoulder. “Wepromisedwe’dgiveDarkFallsachance—remember?”

“Ialreadygaveitachance,”Joshwhined,notlettinggoofDad’shand.“ThishouseisoldanduglyandIhateit.”

“Youhaven’tevengoneinside,”Dadsaidangrily.“Yes.Let’sgoin,”Mr.Dawesurged,staringatJosh.“I’mstayingoutside,”Joshinsisted.He can be really stubborn sometimes. I felt just as unhappy as Josh

lookingatthisdark,oldhouse.ButI’dnevercarryonthewayJoshwas.“Josh,don’tyouwanttopickoutyourownroom?”Momasked.“No,”Joshmuttered.HeandIbothglanceduptothesecondfloor.Thereweretwolargebay

windowssidebysideupthere.Theylookedliketwodarkeyesstaringbackatus.

“Howlonghaveyoulived inyourpresenthouse?”Mr.DawesaskedDad.

Dadhad to thinkforasecond.“About fourteenyears,”heanswered.“Thekidshavelivedtherefortheirwholelives.”

“Movingisalwayshard,”Mr.Dawessaidsympathetically,turninghis

gazeonme. “Youknow,Amanda, Imovedhere toDarkFalls just a fewmonths ago. I didn’t like itmucheither, at first.Butnow Iwouldn’t liveanywhereelse.”Hewinkedatme.Hehadacutedimpleinhischinwhenhesmiled.“Let’sgoinside.It’sreallyquitenice.You’llbesurprised.”

Allofus followedMr.Dawes,exceptJosh.“Are thereotherkidsonthisblock?”Joshdemanded.Hemadeitsoundmorelikeachallengethanaquestion.

Mr. Dawes nodded. “The school’s just two blocks away,” he said,pointingupthestreet.

“See?”Momquickly cut in. “A shortwalk to school.Nomore longbusrideseverymorning.”

“Ilikedthebus,”Joshinsisted.Hismindwasmadeup.Hewasn’tgoingtogivemyparentsabreak,

eventhoughwe’dbothpromisedtobeopen-mindedaboutthismove.Idon’tknowwhatJoshthoughthehadtogainbybeingsuchapain.I

mean,Dadalreadyhadplentytoworryabout.Foronething,hehadn’tbeenabletosellouroldhouseyet.

I didn’t like the idea ofmoving. But I knew that inheriting this bighouse was a great opportunity for us. We were so cramped in our littlehouse.

And once Dad managed to sell the old place, we wouldn’t have toworryatallaboutmoneyanymore.

Joshshouldatleastgiveitachance.That’swhatIthought.Suddenly, from our car at the foot of the driveway, we heard Petey

barkingandhowlingandmakingafuss.Petey is our dog, awhite, curly-haired terrier, cute as a button, and

usuallywell-behaved.Henevermindedbeing left in the car.But nowhewasyowlingandyappingatfullvolumeandscratchingatthecarwindow,desperatetogetout.

“Petey—quiet!Quiet!”Ishouted.Peteyusuallylistenedtome.Butnotthistime.“I’m going to let him out!” Josh declared, and took off down the

drivewaytowardthecar.“No.Wait—”Dadcalled.ButIdon’tthinkJoshcouldhearhimoverPetey’swails.“Mightaswellletthedogexplore,”Mr.Dawessaid.“It’sgoingtobe

hishouse,too.”Afewsecondslater,Peteycamechargingacrossthelawn,kickingup

brownleaves,yippingexcitedlyasheranuptous.Hejumpedonallofusas if he hadn’t seen us in weeks and then, to our surprise, he startedgrowlingmenacinglyandbarkingatMr.Dawes.

“Petey—stop!”Momyelled.“He’sneverdonethis,”Dadsaidapologetically.“Really.He’susually

veryfriendly.”“He probably smells something on me. Another dog, maybe,” Mr.

Dawessaid,looseninghisstripedtie,lookingwarilyatourgrowlingdog.Finally, Josh grabbed Petey around the middle and lifted him away

fromMr.Dawes.“Stopit,Petey,”Joshscolded,holdingthedogupclosetohisfacesothattheywerenose-to-nose.“Mr.Dawesisourfriend.”

PeteywhimperedandlickedJosh’sface.Afterashortwhile,Joshsethimbackdownontheground.PeteylookedupatMr.Dawes,thenatme,thendecidedtogosniffingaroundtheyard,lettinghisnoseleadtheway.

“Let’sgoinside,”Mr.Dawesurged,movingahandthroughhisshortblondhair.Heunlockedthefrontdoorandpusheditopen.

Mr.Dawes held the screen door open for us. I started to followmyparentsintothehouse.

“I’llstayoutherewithPetey,”Joshinsistedfromthewalk.Dad started to protest, but changed hismind. “Okay. Fine,” he said,

sighingandshakinghishead.“I’mnotgoingtoarguewithyou.Don’tcomein.Youcanliveoutsideifyouwant.”Hesoundedreallyexasperated.

“IwanttostaywithPetey,”Joshsaidagain,watchingPeteynosehiswaythroughthedeadflowerbed.

Mr.Dawesfollowedusintothehallway,gentlyclosingthescreendoorbehind him, giving Josh a final glance. “He’ll be fine,” he said softly,smilingatMom.

“He can be so stubborn sometimes,” Mom said apologetically. Shepeeked into the living room. “I’m really sorry about Petey. I don’t knowwhatgotintothatdog.”

“Noproblem.Let’sstartinthelivingroom,”Mr.Dawessaid,leadingtheway. “I thinkyou’ll bepleasantly surprisedbyhow spacious it is.Ofcourse,itneedswork.”

Hetookusona tourofeveryroomin thehouse. Iwasbeginning to

getexcited.Thehousewasreallykindofneat.Thereweresomanyroomsandsomanyclosets.Andmyroomwashugeandhaditsownbathroomandan old-fashionedwindow seat where I could sit at the window and lookdownatthestreet.

IwishedJoshhadcomeinsidewithus.Ifhecouldseehowgreatthehousewasinside,Iknewhe’dstarttocheerup.

Icouldn’tbelievehowmanyrooms therewere.Evena finishedatticfilled with old furniture and stacks of old, mysterious cartons we couldexplore.

Wemusthavebeeninsideforatleasthalfanhour.Ididn’treallykeeptrackofthetime.Ithinkallthreeofuswerefeelingcheeredup.

“Well,I thinkI’veshownyoueverything,”Mr.Dawessaid,glancingathiswatch.Heledthewaytothefrontdoor.

“Wait—I want to take one more look at my room,” I told themexcitedly.Istartedupthestairs,takingthemtwoatatime.“I’llbedowninasecond.”

“Hurry, dear. I’m sure Mr. Dawes has other appointments,” Momcalledafterme.

I reached the second-floor landing and hurried down the narrowhallwayandintomynewroom.“Wow!”Isaidaloud,andthewordechoedfaintlyagainsttheemptywalls.

Itwas so big.And I loved the baywindowwith thewindow seat. Iwalkedovertoitandpeeredout.Throughthetrees,Icouldseeourcarinthedrivewayand,beyondit,ahousethatlookedalotlikeoursacrossthestreet.

I’mgoing toputmybedagainst thatwallacross fromthewindow,Ithought happily. And my desk can go over there. I’ll have room for acomputernow!

Itookonemorelookatmycloset,along,walk-inclosetwithalightintheceiling,andwideshelvesagainstthebackwall.

I was heading to the door, thinking about which of my posters Iwantedtobringwithme,whenIsawtheboy.

He stood in the doorway for just a second.And then he turned anddisappeareddownthehall.

“Josh?”Icried.“Hey—comelook!”Withashock,Irealizeditwasn’tJosh.

Foronething,theboyhadblondhair.“Hey!” I called and ran to the hallway, stopping just outside my

bedroomdoor,lookingbothways.“Who’shere?”Butthelonghallwasempty.Allofthedoorswereclosed.“Whoa,Amanda,”Isaidaloud.WasIseeingthings?MomandDadwerecallingfromdownstairs.Itookonelastlookdown

thedarkcorridor,thenhurriedtorejointhem.“Hey,Mr. Dawes,” I called as I ran down the stairs, “is this house

haunted?”Hechuckled.Thequestionseemedtostrikehimfunny.“No.Sorry,”he

said,lookingatmewiththosecrinklyblueeyes.“Noghostincluded.Alotofoldhousesaroundherearesaidtobehaunted.ButI’mafraidthis isn’toneofthem.”

“I—IthoughtIsawsomething,”Isaid,feelingalittlefoolish.“Probablyjustshadows,”Momsaid.“Withallthetrees,thishouseis

sodark.”“Why don’t you run outside and tell Josh about the house,” Dad

suggested, tucking in the front of his shirt. “YourMomand I have somethingstotalkoverwithMr.Dawes.”

“Yes,master,” I saidwith a little bow, andobediently ranout to tellJoshallaboutwhathehadmissed.“Hey,Josh,”Icalled,eagerlysearchingtheyard.“Josh?”

Myheartsank.JoshandPeteyweregone.

2

“Josh!Josh!”FirstIcalledJosh.ThenIcalledPetey.Buttherewasnosignofeither

ofthem.Irandowntothebottomofthedrivewayandpeeredintothecar,but

theyweren’tthere.MomandDadwerestillinsidetalkingwithMr.Dawes.Ilookedalongthestreetinbothdirections,buttherewasnosignofthem.

“Josh!Hey,Josh!”Finally, Mom and Dad came hurrying out the front door, looking

alarmed.Iguesstheyheardmyshouts.“Ican’tfindJoshorPetey!”Iyelleduptothemfromthestreet.

“Maybethey’rearoundback,”Dadshouteddowntome.I headedup thedriveway, kicking awaydead leaves as I ran. Itwas

sunnydownonthestreet,butassoonasIenteredouryard,Iwasbackintheshade,anditwasimmediatelycoolagain.

“Hey,Josh!Josh—whereareyou?”WhydidIfeelsoscared?ItwasperfectlynaturalforJoshtowander

off.Hediditallthetime.Iranfullspeedalongthesideofthehouse.Talltreesleanedoverthe

houseonthisside,blockingoutnearlyallofthesunlight.The backyard was bigger than I’d expected, a long rectangle that

slopedgraduallydown toawooden fenceat theback. Just like the front,thisyardwasamassof tallweeds,pokingupthroughathickcoveringofbrownleaves.Astonebirdbathhadtoppledontoitsside.Beyondit,Icouldseethesideofthegarage,adark,brickbuildingthatmatchedthehouse.

“Hey—Josh!”Hewasn’tbackhere.Istoppedandsearchedthegroundforfootprints

orasignthathehadrunthroughthethickleaves.“Well?”Outofbreath,Dadcamejogginguptome.“Nosignofhim,”Isaid,surprisedathowworriedIfelt.“Didyoucheckthecar?”Hesoundedmoreangrythanworried.“Yes. It’s the first place I looked.” I gave the backyard a last quick

search.“Idon’tbelieveJoshwouldjusttakeoff.”

“I do,”Dad said, rollinghis eyes. “Youknowyour brotherwhenhedoesn’tgethisway.Maybehewantsustothinkhe’srunawayfromhome.”Hefrowned.

“Whereishe?”Momaskedaswereturnedtothefrontofthehouse.DadandIbothshrugged.“Maybehemadeafriendandwanderedoff,”

Dadsaid.Heraisedahandandscratchedhiscurlybrownhair.Icouldtellthathewasstartingtoworry,too.

“We’vegot to find him,”Mom said, gazing down to the street. “Hedoesn’tknowthisneighborhoodatall.Heprobablywanderedoffandgotlost.”

Mr. Dawes locked the front door and stepped down off the porch,pocketing thekeys.“Hecouldn’thavegottenfar,”hesaid,givingMomareassuringsmile.“Let’sdrivearoundtheblock.I’msurewe’llfindhim.”

MomshookherheadandglancednervouslyatDad.“I’llkillhim,”shemuttered.Dadpattedherontheshoulder.

Mr.Dawesopened the trunkof the smallHonda,pulledoffhisdarkblazer, and tossed it inside. Then he took out a wide-brimmed, blackcowboyhatandputitonhishead.

“Hey—that’squiteahat,”Dadsaid,climbingintothefrontpassengerseat.

“Keepsthesunaway,”Mr.Dawessaid,slidingbehindthewheelandslammingthecardoor.

MomandIgotinback.Glancingoverather,IsawthatMomwasasworriedasIwas.

Weheadeddowntheblockinsilence,allfourofusstaringoutthecarwindows.Thehouseswepassedall seemedold.Mostof themwereevenbiggerthanourhouse.Allofthemseemedtobeinbettercondition,nicelypaintedwithneat,well-trimmedlawns.

Ididn’tseeanypeopleinthehousesoryards,andtherewasnooneonthestreet.

Itcertainlyisaquietneighborhood,Ithought.Andshady.Thehousesallseemedtobesurroundedby tall, leafy trees.Thefrontyardswedroveslowlypastallseemedtobebathedinshade.Thestreetwastheonlysunnyplace,anarrowgoldribbonthatranthroughtheshadowsonbothsides.

Maybethat’swhyit’scalledDarkFalls,Ithought.“Where is that son of mine?” Dad asked, staring hard out the

windshield.“I’llkillhim.Ireallywill,”Mommuttered.Itwasn’tthefirsttimeshe

hadsaidthataboutJosh.Wehadgonearoundtheblocktwice.Nosignofhim.Mr.Dawes suggestedwedrivearound thenext fewblocks, andDad

quicklyagreed.“HopeIdon’tgetlost.I’mnewhere,too,”Mr.Dawessaid,turningacorner.“Hey,there’stheschool,”heannounced,pointingoutthewindowatatallredbrickbuilding.Itlookedveryold-fashioned,withwhitecolumns on both sides of the double front doors. “Of course, it’s closednow,”Mr.Dawesadded.

Myeyessearchedthefenced-inplaygroundbehindtheschool.Itwasempty.Noonethere.

“Could Josh havewalked this far?”Momasked, her voice tight andhigherthanusual.

“Joshdoesn’twalk,”Dadsaid,rollinghiseyes.“Heruns.”“We’ll findhim,”Mr.Dawessaidconfidently, tappinghis fingerson

thewheelashesteered.We turned a corner onto another shady block. A street sign read

“CemeteryDrive”,andsureenough,alargecemeteryroseupinfrontofus.Granitegravestonesrolledalongalowhill,whichslopeddownandthenupagainontoalargeflatstretch,alsomarkedwithrowsoflowgravemarkersandmonuments.

Afewshrubsdottedthecemetery,butthereweren’tmanytrees.Aswedroveslowlypast,thegravestonespassingbyinablurontheleft,IrealizedthatthiswasthesunniestspotIhadseeninthewholetown.

“There’syourson.”Mr.Dawes,pointingoutthewindow,stoppedthecarsuddenly.

“Oh, thankgoodness!”Momexclaimed, leaningdown to seeout thewindowonmysideofthecar.

Sureenough, therewasJosh, runningwildlyalongacrooked rowoflow,whitegravestones.“What’shedoinghere?”Iasked,pushingopenmycardoor.

I stepped down from the car, took a few steps onto the grass, andcalled to him. At first, he didn’t react to my shouts. He seemed to beducking and dodging through the tombstones. He would run in onedirection,thencuttotheside,thenheadinanotherdirection.

Whywashedoingthat?Itookanotherfewsteps—andthenstopped,grippedwithfear.I suddenly realized why Josh was darting and ducking like that,

runningsowildlythroughthetombstones.Hewasbeingchased.Someone—orsomething—wasafterhim.

3

Then,asItookafewreluctantstepstowardJosh,watchinghimbendlow,thenchangedirections,hisarmsoutstretchedashe ran, I realized Ihad itcompletelybackward.

Joshwasn’tbeingchased.Joshwaschasing.HewaschasingafterPetey.Okay, okay. So sometimes my imagination runs away with me.

Running throughanoldgraveyard like this—even inbrightdaylight—it’sonlynaturalthatapersonmightstarttohaveweirdthoughts.

IcalledtoJoshagain,andthistimeheheardmeandturnedaround.Helookedworried.“Amanda—comehelpme!”hecried.

“Josh,what’sthematter?”IranasfastasIcouldtocatchupwithhim,buthekeptdartingthroughthegravestones,movingfromrowtorow.

“Help!”“Josh—what’s wrong?” I turned and saw that Mom and Dad were

rightbehindme.“It’sPetey,”Joshexplained,outofbreath.“Ican’tgethim tostop. I

caughthimonce,buthepulledawayfromme.”“Petey! Petey!” Dad started calling the dog. But Petey was moving

fromstonetostone,sniffingeachone,thenrunningtothenext.“Howdidyougetallthewayoverhere?”Dadaskedashecaughtup

withmybrother.“IhadtofollowPetey,”Joshexplained,stilllookingveryworried.“He

justtookoff.Onesecondhewassniffingaroundthatdeadflowerbedinourfrontyard.Thenextsecond,hejuststartedtorun.Hewouldn’tstopwhenIcalled.Wouldn’tevenlookback.Hekeptrunningtillhegothere.Ihadtofollow.Iwasafraidhe’dgetlost.”

JoshstoppedandgratefullyletDadtakeoverthechase.“Idon’tknowwhatthatdumbdog’sproblemis,”hesaidtome.“He’sjustweird.”

IttookDadafewtries,buthefinallymanagedtograbPeteyandpickhimupofftheground.Ourlittleterriergaveahalfheartedyelpofprotest,thenallowedhimselftobecarriedaway.

Wealltroopedbacktothecaronthesideoftheroad.Mr.Daweswas

waitingbythecar.“Maybeyou’dbettergetaleashforthatdog,”hesaid,lookingveryconcerned.

“Petey’sneverbeenonaleash,”Joshprotested,wearilyclimbingintothebackseat.

“Well, we might have to try one for a while,” Dad said quietly.“Especiallyifhekeepsrunningaway.”DadtossedPeteyintothebackseat.ThedogeagerlycurledupinJosh’sarms.

Therestofuspiledintothecar,andMr.Dawesdroveusbacktohisoffice,atiny,white,flat-roofedbuildingattheendofarowofsmalloffices.Aswerode,IreachedoverandstrokedthebackofPetey’shead.

Whydidthedogrunawaylikethat?Iwondered.Peteyhadneverdonethatbefore.

IguessedthatPeteywasalsoupsetaboutourmoving.Afterall,Peteyhadspenthiswhole life inouroldhouse.Heprobablyfelta lot likeJoshand I did about having to pack up and move and never see the oldneighborhoodagain.

The new house, the new streets, and all the new smells must havefreaked the poor dog out. Joshwanted to run away from thewhole idea.AndsodidPetey.

Anyway,thatwasmytheory.Mr.Dawesparkedthecarinfrontofhistinyoffice,shookDad’shand,

andgavehimabusinesscard.“Youcancomebynextweek,”hetoldMomand Dad. “I’ll have all the legal work done by then. After you sign thepapers,youcanmoveinanytime.”

Hepushedopenthecardoorand,givingusallafinalsmile,preparedtoclimbout.

“ComptonDawes,”Mom said, reading thewhite business card overDad’sshoulder.“That’sanunusualname.IsComptonanoldfamilyname?”

Mr.Dawesshookhishead.“No,”hesaid,“I’mtheonlyComptoninmy family. I have no idea where the name comes from. No idea at all.Maybemyparentsdidn’tknowhowtospellCharlie!”

Chucklingathis terrible joke,heclimbedoutof thecar, lowered thewideblackStetsonhat onhis head, pulledhis blazer from the trunk, anddisappearedintothesmallwhitebuilding.

Dadclimbedbehindthewheel,movingtheseatbacktomakeroomforhisbigstomach.Momgotupfront,andwestartedthelongdrivehome.“I

guess you and Petey had quite an adventure today,” Mom said to Josh,rollingupherwindowbecauseDadhadturnedontheairconditioner.

“Iguess,”Joshsaidwithoutenthusiasm.Peteywassoundasleepinhislap,snoringquietly.

“You’re going to love your room,” I told Josh. “Thewhole house isgreat.Really.”

Joshstaredatmethoughtfully,butdidn’tanswer.Ipokedhimintheribswithmyelbow.“Saysomething.Didyouhear

whatIsaid?”Buttheweird,thoughtfullookdidn’tfadefromJosh’sface.

Thenextcoupleofweeksseemedtocrawlby.Iwalkedaroundthehousethinking about how I’d never see my room again, how I’d never eatbreakfastinthiskitchenagain,howI’dneverwatchTVinthelivingroomagain.Morbidstufflikethat.

I had this sick feeling when the movers came one afternoon anddeliveredatallstackofcartons.Timetopackup.Itwasreallyhappening.Eventhoughitwasthemiddleoftheafternoon,Iwentuptomyroomandflopped down on my bed. I didn’t nap or anything. I just stared at theceilingformorethananhour,andallthesewild,unconnectedthoughtsranthroughmyhead,likeadream,onlyIwasawake.

Iwasn’ttheonlyonewhowasnervousaboutthemove.MomandDadweresnappingateachotherovernothingatall.Onemorningtheyhadabigfightoverwhetherthebaconwastoocrispyornot.

Inaway,itwasfunnytoseethembeingsochildish.Joshwasactingreally sullen all the time.He hardly spoke aword to anyone.And Peteysulked,too.Thatdumbdogwouldn’tevenpickhimselfupandcomeovertomewhenIhadsometablescrapsforhim.

I guess the hardest part about moving was saying good-bye to myfriends.CarolandAmywereawayatcamp,soIhadtowritetothem.ButKathywashome,andshewasmyoldestandbestfriend,andthehardesttosaygood-byeto.

I thinksomepeopleweresurprised thatKathyandIhadstayedsuchgoodfriends.Foronething,welooksodifferent.I’mtallandthinanddark,andshe’sfair-skinned,withlongblondehair,andalittlechubby.Butwe’vebeenfriendssincepreschool,andbestfriendssincefourthgrade.

Whenshecameoverthenightbeforethemove,wewerebothterriblyawkward. “Kathy, you shouldn’t be nervous,” I told her. “You’re not theonewho’smovingawayforever.”

“It’s not like you’removing to China or something,” she answered,chewing hard on her bubble gum. “Dark Falls is only four hours away,Amanda.We’llseeeachotheralot.”

“Yeah,Iguess,”Isaid.ButIdidn’tbelieveit.FourhoursawaywasasbadasbeinginChina,asfarasIwasconcerned.“Iguesswecanstilltalkonthephone,”Isaidglumly.

She blew a small green bubble, then sucked it back into hermouth.“Yeah. Sure,” she said, pretending to be enthusiastic. “You’re lucky, youknow.Movingoutofthiscrummyneighborhoodtoabighouse.”

“It’snotacrummyneighborhood,”Iinsisted.Idon’tknowwhyIwasdefending the neighborhood. I never had before. One of our favoritepastimeswasthinkingofplaceswe’dratherbegrowingup.

“Schoolwon’tbethesamewithoutyou,”shesighed,curlingherlegsunderheronthechair.“Who’sgoingtoslipmetheanswersinmath?”

Ilaughed.“Ialwaysslippedyouthewronganswers.”“But it was the thought that counted,” Kathy said. And then she

groaned.“Ugh.Juniorhigh.Isyournewjuniorhighpartofthehighschoolorpartoftheelementaryschool?”

I made a disgusted face. “Everything’s in one building. It’s a smalltown, remember? There’s no separate high school. At least, I didn’t seeone.”

“Bummer,”shesaid.Bummerwasright.Wechattedforhours.UntilKathy’smomcalledandsaiditwastime

forhertocomehome.Thenwehugged. I hadmadeupmymind that Iwouldn’t cry, but I

could feel thebig,hot tears forming in thecornersofmyeyes.And thentheywererunningdownmycheeks.

“I’msomiserable!”Iwailed.Ihadplanned tobe reallycontrolledandmature.ButKathywasmy

bestfriend,afterall,andwhatcouldIdo?Wemadeapromisethatwe’dalwaysbetogetheronourbirthdays—no

matter what. We’d force our parents to make sure we didn’t miss each

other’sbirthdays.Andthenwehugged—again.AndKathysaid,“Don’tworry.We’llsee

eachotheralot.Really.”Andshehadtearsinhereyes,too.Sheturnedandranoutthedoor.Thescreendoorslammedhardbehind

her.IstoodtherestaringoutintothedarknessuntilPeteycamescamperingin,histoenailsclickingacrossthelinoleum,andstartedtolickmyhand.

Thenextmorning,movingday,wasarainySaturday.Notadownpour.Nothunderorlightning.Butjustenoughrainandwindtomakethelongdriveslowandunpleasant.

Theskyseemedtogetdarkeraswenearedthenewneighborhood.Theheavy trees bent low over the street. “Slow down, Jack,” Mom warnedshrilly.“Thestreetisreallyslick.”

ButDadwasinahurrytogettothehousebeforethemovingvandid.“They’ll just put the stuff anywhere if we’re not there to supervise,” heexplained.

Josh, besideme in the backseat,was being a real pain, as usual.Hekeptcomplainingthathewasthirsty.Whenthatdidn’tgetresults,hestartedwhining that hewas starving.Butwehad all had abigbreakfast, so thatdidn’tgetanyreaction,either.

He justwantedattention,ofcourse. Ikept trying tocheerhimupbytellinghimhowgreatthehousewasinsideandhowbighisroomwas.Hestillhadn’tseenit.

Buthedidn’twanttobecheeredup.HestartedwrestlingwithPetey,gettingthepoordogallworkedup,untilDadhadtoshoutathimtostop.

“Let’s all try really hard not to get on each other’s nerves,” Momsuggested.

Dadlaughed.“Goodidea,dear.”“Don’tmakefunofme,”shesnapped.They started to argue about who was more exhausted from all the

packing. Petey stood up on his hind legs and started to howl at the backwindow.

“Can’tyoushuthimup?”Momscreamed.I pulled Petey down, but he struggled back up and started howling

again.“He’sneverdonethisbefore,”Isaid.“Justgethimquiet!”Mominsisted.

IpulledPeteydownbyhishindlegs,andJoshstartedtohowl.Momturnedaroundandgavehimadirtylook.Joshdidn’tstophowling,though.Hethoughthewasariot.

Finally,Dadpulledthecarupthedrivewayofthenewhouse.Thetirescrunchedoverthewetgravel.Rainpoundedontheroof.

“Home sweet home,” Mom said. I couldn’t tell if she was beingsarcasticornot.Ithinkshewasreallygladthelongcarridewasover.

“Atleastwebeatthemovers,”Dadsaid,glancingathiswatch.Thenhisexpressionchanged.“Hopethey’renotlost.”

“It’sasdarkasnightoutthere,”Joshcomplained.Peteywasjumpingupanddowninmylap,desperatetogetoutofthe

car.Hewasusuallyagoodtraveler.Butoncethecarstopped,hewantedoutimmediately.

Iopenedmycardoorandhe leapedonto thedrivewaywithasplashandstartedtoruninawildzigzagacrossthefrontyard.

“Atleastsomeone’sgladtobehere,”Joshsaidquietly.Dad ran up to the porch and, fumbling with the unfamiliar keys,

managedtogetthefrontdooropen.Thenhemotionedforustocomeintothehouse.

Momand Josh ranacross thewalk, eager toget inoutof the rain. Iclosedthecardoorbehindmeandstartedtojogafterthem.

Butsomethingcaughtmyeye.Istoppedandlookeduptothetwinbaywindowsabovetheporch.

I held a hand over my eyebrows to shield my eyes and squintedthroughtherain.

Yes.Isawit.Aface.Inthewindowontheleft.Theboy.Thesameboywasupthere,staringdownatme.

4

“Wipeyour feet!Don’t trackmudon theniceclean floors!”Momcalled.Hervoiceechoedagainstthebarewallsoftheemptylivingroom.

I stepped into the hallway.Thehouse smelled of paint.Thepaintershad just finished onThursday. Itwas hot in the house,much hotter thanoutside.

“Thiskitchenlightwon’tgoon,”Dadcalledfromtheback.“Didthepaintersturnofftheelectricityorsomething?”

“HowshouldIknow?”Momshoutedback.Theirvoicessoundedsoloudinthebig,emptyhouse.“Mom—there’ssomeoneupstairs!”Icried,wipingmyfeetonthenew

welcomematandhurryingintothelivingroom.Shewasatthewindow,staringoutattherain,lookingforthemovers

probably.ShespunaroundasIcamein.“What?”“There’saboyupstairs.Isawhiminthewindow,”Isaid,strugglingto

catchmybreath.Joshenteredtheroomfromthebackhallway.He’dprobablybeenwith

Dad.Helaughed.“Issomeonealreadylivinghere?”“There’snooneupstairs,”Momsaid, rollinghereyes.“Areyou two

goingtogivemeabreaktoday,orwhat?”“WhatdidIdo?”Joshwhined.“Listen,Amanda,we’reallalittleonedgetoday—”Momstarted.But I interruptedher. “I sawhis face,Mom. In thewindow. I’mnot

crazy,youknow.”“Sayswho?”Joshcracked.“Amanda!”Mombitherlowerlip,thewayshealwaysdidwhenshe

was really exasperated. “You saw a reflection of something. Of a treeprobably.”She turnedback to thewindow.The rainwascomingdown insheetsnow,thewinddrivingitnoisilyagainstthelargepicturewindow.

Irantothestairway,cuppedmyhandsovermymouth,andshouteduptothesecondfloor,“Who’supthere?”

Noanswer.“Who’supthere?”Icalled,alittlelouder.

Momhadherhandsoverherears.“Amanda—please!”Josh had disappeared through the dining room. He was finally

exploringthehouse.“There’s someone up there,” I insisted and, impulsively, I started up

thewoodenstairway,mysneakersthuddingloudlyonthebaresteps.“Amanda—”IheardMomcallafterme.ButIwastooangrytostop.Whydidn’tshebelieveme?Whydidshe

havetosayitwasareflectionofatreeIsawupthere?Iwascurious. Ihad toknowwhowasupstairs. Ihad toproveMom

wrong.IhadtoshowherIhadn’tseenastupidreflection.IguessIcanbeprettystubborn,too.Maybeit’safamilytrait.

ThestairssqueakedandcreakedundermeasIclimbed.Ididn’tfeelatallscareduntilIreachedthesecond-floorlanding.ThenIsuddenlyhadthisheavyfeelinginthepitofmystomach.

Istopped,breathinghard,leaningonthebanister.Who could it be? A burglar? A bored neighborhood kid who had

brokenintoanemptyhouseforathrill?MaybeIshouldn’tbeupherealone,Irealized.Maybetheboyinthewindowwasdangerous.“Anybodyuphere?”Icalled,myvoicesuddenlytremblyandweak.Stillleaningagainstthebanister,Ilistened.AndIcouldhearfootstepsscamperingacrossthehallway.No.Notfootsteps.The rain. That’s what it was. The patter of rain against the slate-

shingledroof.Forsomereason,thesoundmademefeelalittlecalmer.Iletgoofthe

banister and stepped into the long, narrow hallway. It was dark up here,exceptforarectangleofgraylightfromasmallwindowattheotherend.

I took a few steps, the old wooden floorboards creaking noisilybeneathme.“Anybodyuphere?”

Againnoanswer.Isteppeduptothefirstdoorwayonmyleft.Thedoorwasclosed.The

smellof freshpaintwassuffocating.Therewasa lightswitchon thewallnear thedoor.Maybe it’s for thehall light, I thought. I clicked iton.Butnothinghappened.

“Anybodyhere?”MyhandwastremblingasIgrabbedthedoorknob.Itfeltwarminmy

hand.Anddamp.Iturneditand,takingadeepbreath,pushedopenthedoor.Ipeeredintotheroom.Graylightfilteredinthroughthebaywindow.

Aflashoflightningmademejumpback.Thethunderthatfollowedwasadull,distantroar.

Slowly,carefully,Itookastepintotheroom.Thenanother.Nosignofanyone.Thiswasaguestbedroom.OritcouldbeJosh’sroomifhedecidedhe

likedit.Another flash of lightning. The sky seemed to be darkening. It was

pitch-blackoutthereeventhoughitwasjustafterlunchtime.Ibackedintothehall.Thenextroomdownwasgoingtobemine.It

alsohadabaywindowthatlookeddownonthefrontyard.WastheboyIsawstaringdownatmeinmyroom?I crept down the hall, lettingmy hand run along the wall for some

reason,andstoppedoutsidemydoor,whichwasalsoclosed.Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door. “Who’s in there?” I

called.Ilistened.Silence.Then a clap of thunder, closer than the last. I froze as if I were

paralyzed,holdingmybreath.Itwassohotuphere,hotanddamp.Andthesmellofpaintwasmakingmedizzy.

Igrabbedthedoorknob.“Anybodyinthere?”I started to turn the knob—when the boy crept up from behind and

grabbedmyshoulder.

5

Icouldn’tbreathe.Icouldn’tcryout.Myheartseemedtostop.Mychestfeltasifitwereabouttoexplode.Withadesperate,terrifiedeffort,Ispunaround.“Josh!”Ishrieked.“Youscaredmetodeath!Ithought—”Heletgoofmeandtookastepback.“Gotcha!”hedeclared,andthen

started to laugh, a high-pitched laugh that echoed down the long, barehallway.

Myheartwaspoundinghardnow.Myforeheadthrobbed.“You’renotfunny,” I said angrily. I shoved him against thewall. “You really scaredme.”

Helaughedandrolledaroundonthefloor.He’sreallyasicko.Itriedtoshovehimagainbutmissed.

Angrily, I turned away from him—just in time to see my bedroomdoorslowlyswingingopen.

Igaspedindisbelief.Andfroze,gapingatthemovingdoor.Josh stopped laughing and stood up, immediately serious, his dark

eyeswidewithfright.Icouldhearsomeonemovinginsidetheroom.Icouldhearwhispering.Excitedgiggles.“Who—who’s there?” Imanaged to stammer in a high little voice I

didn’trecognize.Thedoor,creakingloudly,openedabitmore,thenstartedtoclose.“Who’sthere?”Idemanded,abitmoreforcefully.Again,Icouldhearwhispering,someonemovingabout.Joshhadbackedupagainstthewallandwasedgingaway,towardthe

stairs.HehadanexpressiononhisfaceI’dneverseenbefore—sheerterror.Thedoor,creakinglikeadoorinamoviehauntedhouse,closedalittle

more.Josh was nearly to the stairway. He was staring at me, violently

motioningwithhishandformetofollow.

Butinstead,Isteppedforward,grabbedthedoorknob,andpushedthedooropenhard.

Itdidn’tresist.I let go of the doorknob and stood blocking the doorway. “Who’s

there?”Theroomwasempty.Thundercrashed.Ittookmeafewsecondstorealizewhatwasmakingthedoormove.

Thewindowon the oppositewall had been left open several inches.Thegustingwindthroughtheopenwindowmusthavebeenopeningandclosingthedoor. Iguessed thatalsoexplained theothersoundsIheard inside theroom,thesoundsIthoughtwerewhispers.

Whohadleftthewindowopen?Thepainters,probably.I took a deep breath and let it out slowly,waiting formy pounding

hearttosettledowntonormal.Feelingalittlefoolish,Iwalkedquicklytothewindowandpushedit

shut.“Amanda—areyouallright?”Joshwhisperedfromthehallway.Istartedtoanswerhim.ButthenIhadabetteridea.Hehadpracticallyscaredmetodeathafewminutesbefore.Whynot

givehimalittlescare?Hedeservedit.SoIdidn’tanswerhim.Icouldhearhimtakeafewtimidstepsclosertomyroom.“Amanda?

Amanda?Youokay?”I tiptoedover tomycloset, pulled thedooropen a thirdof theway.

ThenIlaiddownflatonthefloor,onmyback,withmyheadandshouldershiddeninsidetheclosetandtherestofmeoutintheroom.

“Amanda?”Joshsoundedveryscared.“Ohhhhh,”Imoanedloudly.Iknewwhenhe sawme sprawledon the floor like this, he’d totally

freakout!“Amanda—what’shappening?”Hewasinthedoorwaynow.He’dseemeanysecondnow,lyinginthe

darkroom,myheadhiddenfromview,thelightningflashingimpressivelyandthethundercrackingoutsidetheoldwindow.

Itookadeepbreathandheldittokeepfromgiggling.

“Amanda?”hewhispered.Andthenhemusthaveseenme,becauseheutteredaloud“Huh?!”AndIheardhimgasp.

And then he screamed at the top of his lungs. I heard him runningdown the hall to the stairway, shrieking, “Mom! Dad!” And I heard hissneakersthuddingdownthewoodenstairs,withhimscreamingandcallingallthewaydown.

I snickered to myself. Then, before I could pull myself up, I felt arough,warmtonguelickingmyface.

“Petey!”Hewaslickingmycheeks,lickingmyeyelids,lickingmefrantically,

as ifhewere trying to reviveme,oras if to letmeknow thateverythingwasokay.

“Oh, Petey! Petey!” I cried, laughing and throwingmy arms aroundthesweetdog.“Stop!You’regettingmeallsticky!”

Buthewouldn’tstop.Hekeptonlickingfiercely.Thepoordogisnervous,too,Ithought.“Comeon,Petey,shapeup,”Itoldhim,holdinghispantingfaceaway

withbothmyhands.“There’snothingtobenervousabout.Thisnewplaceisgoingtobefun.You’llsee.”

6

Thatnight,IwassmilingtomyselfasIfluffedupmypillowandslidintobed.IwasthinkingabouthowterrifiedJoshhadbeenthatafternoon,howfrightenedhelookedevenafterIcameprancingdownthestairs,perfectlyokay.HowangryhewasthatI’dfooledhim.

Of course,MomandDaddidn’t think itwas funny.Theywerebothnervous andupset because themovingvanhad just arrived, anhour late.TheyforcedJoshandmetocallatruce.Nomorescaringeachother.

“It’s hardnot to get scared in this creepy old place,” Joshmuttered.Butwereluctantlyagreednottoplayanymorejokesoneachother,ifwecouldpossiblyhelpit.

The men, complaining about the rain, started carrying in all of ourfurniture.JoshandIhelpedshowthemwherewewantedstuffinourrooms.Theydroppedmydresseronthestairs,butitonlygotasmallscratch.

The furniture looked strange and small in this big house. Josh and ItriedtostayoutofthewaywhileMomandDadworkedallday,arrangingthings,emptyingcartons,puttingclothesaway.Momevenmanagedtogetthecurtainshunginmyroom.

Whataday!Now,alittleafterteno’clock,tryingtogettosleepforthefirsttimein

mynewroom,Iturnedontomyside,thenontomyback.Eventhoughthiswasmyoldbed,Icouldn’tgetcomfortable.

Everything seemed so different, so wrong. The bed didn’t face thesame direction as inmy old bedroom.Thewallswere bare. I hadn’t hadtimetohanganyofmyposters.Theroomseemedsolargeandempty.Theshadowsseemedsomuchdarker.

Mybackstartedtoitch,andthenIsuddenlyfeltitchyallover.Thebedisfilledwithbugs!Ithought,sittingup.Butofcoursethatwasridiculous.Itwasmysameoldbedwithcleansheets.

I forcedmyself to settle backdown and closedmy eyes.SometimeswhenIcan’tgettosleep,Icountsilentlybytwos,picturingeachnumberinmymindasIthinkit.ItusuallyhelpstoclearmymindsothatIcandriftofftosleep.

I tried it now, buryingmy face in the pillow, picturing the numbersrollingpast…4…6…8…

Iyawnedloudly,stillwideawakeattwo-twenty.I’mgoingtobeawakeforever,Ithought.I’mnevergoingtobeableto

sleepinthisnewroom.ButthenImusthavedriftedoffwithoutrealizingit.Idon’tknowhow

longIslept.Anhourortwoatthemost.Itwasalight,uncomfortablesleep.Thensomethingwokeme.Isatstraightup,startled.

Despitetheheatoftheroom,Ifeltcoldallover.Lookingdowntotheendofthebed,IsawthatIhadkickedoffthesheetandlightblanket.Withagroan,Ireacheddownforthem,butthenfroze.

Iheardwhispers.Someonewaswhisperingacrosstheroom.“Who—who’s there?” My voice was a whisper, too, tiny and

frightened.Igrabbedmycoversandpulledthemuptomychin.Iheardmorewhispers.Theroomcameintofocusasmyeyesadjusted

tothedimlight.The curtains. The long, sheer curtains from my old room that my

motherhadhungthatafternoonwereflutteringatthewindow.So. That explained the whispers. The billowing curtains must have

wokenmeup.A soft, gray light floated in from outside. The curtains castmoving

shadowsontothefootofmybed.Yawning,Istretchedandclimbedoutofbed.IfeltchilledalloverasI

creptacrossthewoodenfloortoclosethewindow.As I camenear, thecurtains stoppedbillowingand floatedback into

place.Ipushedthemasideandreachedouttoclosethewindow.“Oh!”IutteredasoftcrywhenIrealizedthatthewindowwasclosed.Buthowcouldthecurtainsflutterlikethatwiththewindowclosed?I

stoodthereforawhile,staringoutat thegraysof thenight.Therewasn’tmuchofadraft.Thewindowseemedprettyairtight.

HadIimaginedthecurtainsbillowing?Weremyeyesplayingtricksonme?

Yawning, Ihurriedback through thestrangeshadows tomybedand

pulled the covers up as high as they would go. “Amanda, stop scaringyourself,”Iscolded.

WhenIfellbacktosleepafewminuteslater,Ihadtheugliest,mostterrifyingdream.

Idreamedthatwewerealldead.Mom,Dad,Josh,andme.At first, I saw us sitting around the dinner table in the new dining

room.The roomwas very bright, so bright I couldn’t see our faces verywell.Theywerejustabright,whiteblur.

But,then,slowly,slowly,everythingcameintofocus,andIcouldseethat beneath our hair,we had no faces.Our skinwas gone, and only ourgray-green skullswere left.Bitsof fleshclung tomybonycheeks.Therewereonlydeep,blacksocketswheremyeyeshadbeen.

Thefourofus,alldead,sateatinginsilence.Ourdinnerplates,Isaw,were filledwith small bones.A big platter in the center of the tablewaspiledhighwithgray-greenbones,human-lookingbones.

Andthen,inthisdream,ourdisgustingmealwasinterruptedbyaloudknockingonthedoor,aninsistentpoundingthatgrewlouderandlouder.ItwasKathy,my friend frombackhome. I could seeher at our front door,poundingonitwithbothfists.

Iwantedtogoanswerthedoor.IwantedtorunfromthediningroomandpullopenthedoorandgreetKathy.IwantedtotalktoKathy.Iwantedtotellherwhathadhappenedtome,toexplainthatIwasdeadandthatmyfacehadfallenaway.

IwantedtoseeKathysobadly.ButIcouldn’tgetupfromthetable.Itriedandtried,butIcouldn’tget

up.The pounding on the door grew louder and louder, until it was

deafening.ButIjustsattherewithmygruesomefamily,pickingupbonesfrommydinnerplateandeatingthem.

Iwokeupwithastart, thehorrorof thedreamstillwithme. Icouldstill hear the pounding inmy ears. I shookmy head, trying to chase thedreamaway.

It was morning. I could tell from the blue of the sky outside thewindow.

“Oh,no.”Thecurtains.Theywerebillowingagain,flappingnoisilyastheyblew

intotheroom.Isatupandstared.Thewindowwasstillclosed.

7

“I’ll take a look at the window. There must be a draft or a leak orsomething,” Dad said at breakfast. He shoveled in another mouthful ofscrambledeggsandham.

“But,Dad—it’ssoweird!”Iinsisted,stillfeelingscared.“Thecurtainswereblowinglikecrazy,andthewindowwasclosed!”

“Theremightbeapanemissing,”Dadsuggested.“Amandaisapain!”Joshcracked.Hisideaofareallywittyjoke.“Don’tstartwithyoursister,”Momsaid,puttingherplatedownonthe

tableanddroppingintoherchair.Shelookedtired.Herblackhair,usuallycarefully pulled back, was disheveled. She tugged at the belt on herbathrobe.“Whew.Idon’tthinkIslepttwohourslastnight.”

“NeitherdidI,”Isaid,sighing.“Ikeptthinkingthatboywouldshowupinmyroomagain.”

“Amanda—you’vereallygottostopthis,”Momsaidsharply.“Boysinyourroom.Curtainsblowing.Youhavetorealizethatyou’renervous,andyourimaginationisworkingovertime.”

“But,Mom—”Istarted.“Maybeaghostwasbehindthecurtains,”Joshsaid,teasing.Heraised

uphishandsandmadeaghostly“oooooooh”wail.“Whoa.”Momput a handon Josh’s shoulder. “Rememberwhat you

promisedaboutscaringeachother?”“It’sgoing tobehard forallofus toadjust to thisplace,”Dadsaid.

“Youmayhavedreamedaboutthecurtainsblowing,Amanda.Yousaidyouhadbaddreams,right?”

Theterrifyingnightmareflashedbackintomymind.OnceagainIsawthebigplatterofbonesonthetable.Ishivered.

“It’ssodampinhere,”Momsaid.“Alittlesunshinewillhelpdrytheplaceout,”Dadsaid.Ipeeredoutthewindow.Theskyhadturnedsolidgray.Treesseemed

tospreaddarknessoverourbackyard.“Where’sPetey?”Iasked.“Outback,”Momreplied,swallowingamouthfulofeggs.“Hegotup

early,too.Couldn’tsleep,Iguess.SoIlethimout.”

“Whatarewedoing today?” Joshasked.Healwaysneeded toknowtheplanfortheday.Everydetail.Mainlysohecouldargueaboutit.

“Your father and I still have a lot of unpacking to do,”Mom said,glancing to thebackhallway,whichwasclutteredwithunopenedcartons.“Youtwocanexploretheneighborhood.Seewhatyoucanfindout.Seeifthereareanyotherkidsyouragearound.”

“Inotherwords,youwantustogetlost!”Isaid.MomandDadbothlaughed.“You’reverysmart,Amanda.”“ButIwanttohelpunpackmystuff,”Joshwhined.Iknewhe’dargue

withtheplan,justlikealways.“Go get dressed and take a longwalk,”Dad said. “Take Peteywith

you,okay?Andtakealeashforhim.Ileftonebythefrontstairs.”“Whataboutourbikes?Whycan’twerideourbikes?”Joshasked.“They’re buried in the back of the garage,” Dad told him. “You’ll

neverbeabletogettothem.Besides,youhaveaflattire.”“IfIcan’tridemybike,I’mnotgoingout,”Joshinsisted,crossinghis

armsinfrontofhischest.MomandDadhadtoarguewithhim.Thenthreatenhim.Finally,he

agreedtogofor“ashortwalk.”I finishedmy breakfast, thinking about Kathy andmy other friends

backhome.IwonderedwhatthekidswerelikeinDarkFalls.IwonderedifI’dbeabletofindnewfriends,realfriends.

I volunteered to do the breakfast dishes sinceMomandDad had somuchworktodo.ThewarmwaterfeltsoothingonmyhandsasIspongedthedishesclean.IguessmaybeI’mweird.Ilikewashingdishes.

Behindme, from somewhere in the front of the house, I could hearJosh arguingwith Dad. I could just barelymake out the words over thetrickleofthetapwater.

“Yourbasketball ispackedinoneof thesecartons,”Dadwassaying.Then Josh said something. Then Dad said, “How should I know whichone?”ThenJoshsaidsomething.ThenDadsaid,“No,Idon’thavetimetolooknow.Believeitornot,yourbasketballisn’tatthetopofmylist.”

Istackedthelastdishontothecountertodrain,andlookedforadishtowel todrymyhands.Therewasnoneinsight. Iguess theyhadn’tbeenunpackedyet.

Wipingoffmyhandsonthefrontofmyrobe,Iheadedforthestairs.

“I’llbedressedinfiveminutes,”IcalledtoJosh,whowasstillarguingwithDadinthelivingroom.“Thenwecangoout.”

Istartedupthefrontstairs,andthenstopped.Abovemeonthelandingstoodastrangegirl,aboutmyage,withshort

blackhair.Shewassmilingdownatme,notawarmsmile,notafriendlysmile,butthecoldest,mostfrighteningsmileIhadeverseen.

8

Ahandtouchedmyshoulder.Ispunaround.It was Josh. “I’m not going for a walk unless I can take my

basketball,”hesaid.“Josh—please!”Ilookedbackuptothelanding,andthegirlwasgone.Ifeltcoldallover.Mylegswerealltrembly.Igrabbedthebanister.“Dad!Comehere—please!”Icalled.Josh’sfacefilledwithalarm.“Hey,Ididn’tdoanything!”heshouted.“No—it’s—it’snotyou,”Isaid,andcalledDadagain.“Amanda,I’mkindofbusy,”Dadsaid,appearingbelowatthefootof

thestairs,alreadyperspiringfromuncratinglivingroomstuff.“Dad,Isawsomebody,”Itoldhim.“Upthere.Agirl.”Ipointed.“Amanda, please,” he replied,making a face. “Stop seeing things—

okay?There’snoone in thishouseexcept the fourofus….andmaybeafewmice.”

“Mice?”Joshaskedwithsuddeninterest.“Really?Where?”“Dad,Ididn’timagineit,”Isaid,myvoicecracking.Iwasreallyhurt

thathedidn’tbelieveme.“Amanda, lookup there,”Dadsaid,gazingup to the landing.“What

doyousee?”I followed his gaze. Therewas a pile ofmy clothes on the landing.

Mommusthavejustunpackedthem.“It’s justclothes,”Dadsaid impatiently.“It’snotagirl. It’sclothes.”

Herolledhiseyes.“Sorry,”Isaidquietly.IrepeateditasIstartedupthestairs.“Sorry.”ButIdidn’treallyfeelsorry.Ifeltconfused.Andstillscared.WasitpossiblethatIthoughtapileofclotheswasasmilinggirl?No.Ididn’tthinkso.I’mnotcrazy.AndIhavereallygoodeyesight.Sothen,whatwasgoingon?

Iopenedthedoortomyroom,turnedontheceilinglight,andsawthecurtainsbillowinginfrontofthebaywindow.

Oh,no.Notagain,Ithought.Ihurriedovertothem.Thistime,thewindowwasopen.Whoopenedit?Mom,Iguessed.Warm, wet air blew into the room. The skywas heavy and gray. It

smelledlikerain.Turningtomybed,Ihadanothershock.Someonehadlaidoutanoutfitforme.Apairoffadedjeansandapale

blue,sleevelessT-shirt.Theywerespreadoutsidebysideatthefootofthebed.

Whohadputthemthere?Mom?Istoodatthedoorwayandcalledtoher.“Mom?Mom?Didyoupick

outclothesforme?”Icouldhearhershoutsomethingfromdownstairs,butIcouldn’tmake

outthewords.Calmdown,Amanda,Itoldmyself.Calmdown.OfcourseMompulledtheclothesout.OfcourseMomputthemthere.Fromthedoorway,Iheardwhisperinginmycloset.Whisperingandhushedgigglingbehindtheclosetdoor.Thiswasthelaststraw.“What’sgoingonhere?”Iyelledatthetopof

mylungs.Istormedovertotheclosetandpulledopenthedoor.Frantically,Ipushedclothesoutoftheway.Nooneinthere.Mice?Ithought.HadIheardthemicethatDadwastalkingabout?“I’vegottogetoutofhere,”Isaidaloud.Theroom,Irealized,wasdrivingmecrazy.No.Iwasdrivingmyselfcrazy.Imaginingalloftheseweirdthings.Therewasalogicalexplanationforeverything.Everything.AsIpulledupmyjeansandfastenedthem,Isaidtheword“logical”

overandoverinmymind.Isaiditsomanytimesthatitdidn’tsoundlikearealwordanymore.

Calmdown,Amanda.Calmdown.Itookadeepbreathandheldittoten.“Boo!”

“Josh—cut it out. You didn’t scare me,” I told him, soundingmorecrossthanIhadmeantto.

“Let’sgetoutofhere,”hesaid,staringatmefromthedoorway.“Thisplacegivesmethecreeps.”

“Huh?You,too?”Iexclaimed.“What’syourproblem?”He started to say something, then stopped. He suddenly looked

embarrassed.“Forgetit,”hemuttered.“No,tellme,”Iinsisted.“Whatwereyougoingtosay?”He kicked at the floor molding. “I had a really creepy dream last

night,”hefinallyadmitted,lookingpastmetotheflutteringcurtainsatthewindow.

“Adream?”Irememberedmyhorribledream.“Yeah.Therewerethesetwoboysinmyroom.Andtheyweremean.”“Whatdidtheydo?”Iasked.“I don’t remember,” Josh said, avoiding my eyes. “I just remember

theywerescary.”“Andwhathappened?”Iasked,turningtothemirrortobrushmyhair.“Iwoke up,” he said.And then added impatiently, “Come on.Let’s

go.”“Didtheboyssayanythingtoyou?”Iasked.“No.Idon’tthinkso,”heansweredthoughtfully.“Theyjustlaughed.”“Laughed?”“Well, giggled, sort of,” Josh said. “I don’t want to talk about it

anymore,”hesnapped.“Arewegoingforthisdumbwalk,ornot?”“Okay.I’mready,”Isaid,puttingdownmybrush,takingonelastlook

inthemirror.“Let’sgoonthisdumbwalk.”Ifollowedhimdownthehall.Aswepassedthestackofclothesonthe

landing, I thoughtabout thegirl Ihad seenstanding there.And I thoughtabouttheboyinthewindowwhenwefirstarrived.AndthetwoboysJoshhadseeninhisdream.

I decided it proved that Josh and I were both really nervous aboutmovingtothisnewplace.MaybeMomandDadwereright.Wewerelettingourimaginationsrunawaywithus.

Ithadtobeourimaginations.Imean,whatelsecoulditbe?

9

Afewsecondslater,westeppedintothebackyardtogetPetey.Hewasasglad to see us as ever, leaping on us with his muddy paws, yappingexcitedly,runninginfranticcirclesthroughtheleaves.Itcheeredmeupjusttoseehim.

Itwas hot andmuggy even though the skywas gray. Therewas nowindatall.Theheavy,oldtreesstoodasstillasstatues.

Weheadeddownthegraveldriveway toward thestreet,oursneakerskicking at the dead, brown leaves, Petey running in zigzags at our sides,first in frontofus, thenbehind. “At leastDadhasn’t askedus to rakealltheseoldleaves,”Joshsaid.

“Hewill,”Iwarned.“Idon’tthinkhe’sunpackedtherakeyet.”Joshmadeaface.Westoodat thecurb, lookingupatourhouse, the

twosecond-floorbaywindowsstaringbackatuslikeeyes.Thehousenextdoor, Inoticedfor thefirst time,wasabout thesame

sizeasours,exceptitwasshingleinsteadofbrick.Thecurtainsinthelivingroomweredrawnshut.Someoftheupstairswindowswereshuttered.Talltreescasttheneighbors’houseindarkness,too.

“Whichway?”Joshasked,tossingastickforPeteytochase.Ipointedupthestreet.“Theschoolisupthatway,”Isaid.“Let’scheck

itout.”The road slopeduphill. Joshpickedup a small tree branch from the

sideoftheroadanduseditasawalkingstick.PeteykepttryingtochewonitwhileJoshwalked.

We didn’t see anyone on the street or in any of the front yards wepassed.Nocarswentby.

Iwasbeginning to think thewhole townwasdeserted,until theboysteppedoutfrombehindthelowledge.

He popped out so suddenly, both Josh and I stopped in our tracks.“Hi,”hesaidshyly,givingusalittlewave.

“Hi,”JoshandIansweredatthesametime.Then,beforewecouldpullhimback,Peteyranuptotheboy,sniffed

his sneakers, and began snarling and barking. The boy stepped back and

raised his hands as if he were protecting himself. He looked reallyfrightened.

“Petey—stop!”Icried.Joshgrabbedthedogandpickedhimup,buthekeptgrowling.“Hedoesn’tbite,”Itoldtheboy.“Heusuallydoesn’tbark,either.I’m

sorry.”“That’sokay,”theboysaid,staringatPetey,whowassquirmingtoget

outofJosh’sarms.“Heprobablysmellssomethingonme.”“Petey,stop!”Ishouted.Thedogwouldn’tstopsquirming.“Youdon’t

wanttheleash—doyou?”Theboyhadshort,wavyblondhairandverypaleblueeyes.Hehada

funnyturned-upnosethatseemedoutofplaceonhisserious-lookingface.Hewaswearingamaroonlong-sleevedsweatshirtdespitethemugginessoftheday,andblackstraight-leggedjeans.Hehadabluebaseballcapstuffedintothebackpocketofhisjeans.

“I’mAmandaBenson,”Isaid.“AndthisismybrotherJosh.”Josh hesitantly put Petey back on the ground.The dog yipped once,

stared up at the boy, whimpered softly, then sat down on the street andbegantoscratchhimself.

“I’m Ray Thurston,” the boy said, stuffing his hands into his jeanspockets, still staringwarily at Petey.He seemed to relax a little, though,seeingthatthedoghadlostinterestinbarkingandgrowlingathim.

I suddenly realized that Ray looked familiar.Where had I seen himbefore?Where?IstaredhardathimuntilIremembered.

AndthenIgaspedinsuddenfright.Raywastheboy,theboyinmyroom.Theboyinthewindow.“You—”Istammeredaccusingly.“Youwereinourhouse!”Helookedconfused.“Huh?”“Youwereinmyroom—right?”Iinsisted.Helaughed.“Idon’tgetit,”hesaid.“Inyourroom?”PeteyraisedhisheadandgavealowgrowlinRay’sdirection.Thenhe

wentbacktohisseriousscratching.“IthoughtIsawyou,”Isaid,beginningtofeelalittledoubtful.Maybe

itwasn’thim.Maybe….“Ihaven’tbeeninyourhouseinalongtime,”Raysaid,lookingdown

warilyatPetey.

“Alongtime?”“Yeah.Iusedtoliveinyourhouse,”hereplied.“Huh?”JoshandIstaredathiminsurprise.“Ourhouse?”Raynodded.“Whenwefirstmovedhere,”hesaid.Hepickedupaflat

pebbleandheaveditdownthestreet.Peteygrowled,startedtochaseit,changedhismind,andploppedback

downonthestreet,hisstubofatailwaggingexcitedly.Heavy clouds lowered across the sky. It seemed to grow darker.

“Wheredoyoulivenow?”Iasked.Raytossedanotherstone,thenpointeduptheroad.“Didyoulikeourhouse?”JoshaskedRay.“Yeah,itwasokay,”Raytoldhim.“Niceandshady.”“Youlikedit?”Joshcried.“Ithinkit’sgross.It’ssodarkand—”Peteyinterrupted.HedecidedtostartbarkingatRayagain,runningup

tillhewasafewinchesinfrontofRay,thenbackingaway.Raytookafewcautiousstepsbacktotheedgeofthecurb.

Joshpulledtheleashfromthepocketofhisshorts.“Sorry,Petey,”hesaid.IheldthegrowlingdogwhileJoshattachedtheleashtohiscollar.

“He’sneverdonethisbefore.Really,”Isaid,apologizingtoRay.TheleashseemedtoconfusePetey.Hetuggedagainstit,pullingJosh

acrossthestreet.Butatleasthestoppedbarking.“Let’sdosomething,”Joshsaidimpatiently.“Like what?” Ray asked, relaxing again now that Petey was on the

leash.Weallthoughtforawhile.“Maybewecouldgotoyourhouse,”JoshsuggestedtoRay.Ray shook his head. “No. I don’t think so,” he said. “Not now

anyway.”“Whereiseveryone?”Iasked,lookingupanddowntheemptystreet.

“It’sreallydeadaroundhere,huh?”Hechuckled.“Yeah.Iguessyoucouldsaythat,”hesaid.“Wanttogo

totheplaygroundbehindtheschool?”“Yeah.Okay,”Iagreed.Thethreeofusheadedupthestreet,Rayleadingtheway,mewalking

afewfeetbehindhim,Joshholdinghistreebranchinonehand,theleashintheother,Peteyrunningthisway,thenthat,givingJoshareallyhardtime.

Wedidn’tseethegangofkidstillweturnedthecorner.Therewere ten or twelve of them,mostly boys but a fewgirls, too.

They were laughing and shouting, shoving each other playfully as theycame towardusdown thecenterof thestreet.Someof them, I saw,wereaboutmyage.Therestwereteenagers.TheywerewearingjeansanddarkT-shirts.One of the girls stood out because she had long, straight blondehairandwaswearinggreenspandextights.

“Hey,look!”atallboywithslicked-backblackhaircried,pointingatus.

Seeing Ray, Josh, and me, they grew quiet but didn’t stop movingtowardus.A fewof themgiggled,as if theywereenjoyingsomekindofprivatejoke.

The three of us stopped and watched them approach. I smiled andwaitedtosayhi.Peteywaspullingathisleashandbarkinghisheadoff.

“Hi,guys,”thetallboywiththeblackhairsaid,grinning.Theothersthoughtthiswasveryfunnyforsomereason.Theylaughed.Thegirlinthegreen tights gave a short, red-haired boy a shove that almost sent himsprawlingintome.

“How’s itgoing,Ray?”agirlwithshortblackhairasked,smilingatRay.

“Notbad.Hi,guys,”Rayanswered.HeturnedtoJoshandme.“Thesearesomeofmyfriends.They’reallfromtheneighborhood.”

“Hi,”Isaid,feelingawkward.IwishedPeteywouldstopbarkingandpullingathisleashlikethat.PoorJoshwashavingaterribletimeholdingontohim.

“ThisisGeorgeCarpenter,”Raysaid,pointingtotheshort,red-hairedboy,whonodded. “And JerryFranklin,KarenSomerset,BillGregory…”Hewent around the circle, naming each kid. I tried to remember all thenamesbut,ofcourseitwasimpossible.

“HowdoyoulikeDarkFalls?”oneofthegirlsaskedme.“Idon’treallyknow,”Itoldher.“It’smyfirstdayhere,really.Itseems

nice.”Someofthekidslaughedatmyanswer,forsomereason.“Whatkindofdogisthat?”GeorgeCarpenteraskedJosh.Josh,holdingtighttotheleashhandle,toldhim.Georgestaredhardat

Petey,studyinghim,asifhehadneverseenadoglikePeteybefore.

KarenSomerset,a tall,prettygirlwithshortblondehair,cameup tomewhilesomeoftheotherkidswereadmiringPetey.“Youknow,Iusedtoliveinyourhouse,”shesaidsoftly.

“What?”Iwasn’tsureI’dheardhercorrectly.“Let’sgototheplayground,”Raysaid,interrupting.NoonerespondedtoRay’ssuggestion.Theygrewquiet.EvenPeteystoppedbarking.HadKarenreallysaidthatsheusedtoliveinourhouse?Iwantedto

askher,butshehadsteppedbackintothecircleofkids.Thecircle.MymouthdroppedopenasIrealizedtheyhadformedacirclearound

Joshandme.Ifeltastaboffear.WasIimaginingit?Wassomethinggoingon?Theyallsuddenlylookeddifferenttome.Theyweresmiling,buttheir

facesweretense,watchful,asiftheyexpectedtrouble.Twoofthem,Inoticed,werecarryingbaseballbats.Thegirlwiththe

greentightsstaredatme,lookingmeupanddown,checkingmeout.Noonesaidaword.Thestreetwassilentexcept forPetey,whowas

nowwhimperingsoftly.Isuddenlyfeltveryafraid.Whyweretheystaringatuslikethat?Orwasmyimaginationrunningawaywithmeagain?I turned to Ray, who was still beside me. He didn’t seem at all

troubled.Buthedidn’treturnmygaze.“Hey,guys—”Isaid.“What’sgoingon?”I triedtokeepit light,but

myvoicewasalittleshaky.IlookedoveratJosh.HewasbusysoothingPeteyandhadn’tnoticed

thatthingshadchanged.Thetwoboyswithbaseballbatsheldthemupwaisthighandmoved

forward.Iglancedaroundthecircle,feelingthefeartightenmychest.Thecircletightened.Thekidswereclosinginonus.

10

Theblackcloudsoverheadseemedtolower.Theairfeltheavyanddamp.Josh was fussing with Petey’s collar and still didn’t see what was

happening.IwonderedifRaywasgoingtosayanything,ifhewasgoingtodoanything to stop them.Buthe stayed frozenandexpressionlessbesideme.

Thecirclegrewsmallerasthekidsclosedin.IrealizedI’dbeenholdingmybreath.Itookadeepbreathandopened

mymouthtocryout.“Hey,kids—what’sgoingon?”Itwasaman’svoice,callingfromoutsidethecircle.Everyone turned toseeMr.Dawescomingquickly towardus, taking

longstridesashecrossed thestreet,hisopenblazer flappingbehindhim.Hehadafriendlysmileonhisface.“What’sgoingon?”heaskedagain.

Hedidn’tseemtorealizethatthegangofkidshadbeenclosinginonJoshandme.

“We’re heading to the playground,” George Carpenter told him,twirlingthebatinhishand.“Youknow.Toplaysoftball.”

“Gooddeal,”Mr.Dawessaid,pullingdownhisstripedtie,whichhadblown over his shoulder. He looked up at the darkening sky. “Hope youdon’tgetrainedout.”

Severalofthekidshadbackedup.Theywerestandinginsmallgroupsoftwoandthreenow.Thecirclehadcompletelybrokenup.

“Isthatbatforsoftballorhardball?”Mr.DawesaskedGeorge.“George doesn’t know,” another kid replied quickly. “He’s never hit

anythingwithit!”Thekidsalllaughed.Georgeplayfullymenacedthekid,pretendingto

comeathimwiththebat.Mr.Dawesgavealittlewaveandstartedtoleave.Butthenhestopped,

and his eyes opened wide with surprise. “Hey,” he said, flashing me afriendlysmile.“Josh.Amanda.Ididn’tseeyouthere.”

“Goodmorning,”Imuttered.Iwasfeelingveryconfused.Amomentago, I’d felt terribly scared. Now everyone was laughing and kidding

around.Had I imagined that the kids were moving in on us? Ray and Josh

hadn’tseemedtonoticeanythingpeculiar.Wasitjustmeandmyoveractiveimagination?

WhatwouldhavehappenedifMr.Daweshadn’tcomealong?“Howareyoutwogettingalonginthenewhouse?”Mr.Dawesasked,

smoothingbackhiswavyblondhair.“Okay,” Josh and I answered together. Looking up at Mr. Dawes,

Peteybegantobarkandpullattheleash.Mr. Dawes put an exaggerated hurt expression on his face. “I’m

crushed,” he said. “Your dog still doesn’t like me.” He bent over Petey.“Hey,dog—lightenup.”

Peteybarkedbackangrily.“He doesn’t seem to like anybody today,” I told Mr. Dawes

apologetically.Mr. Dawes stood back up and shrugged. “Can’t win ’em all.” He

startedback tohis car, parkeda fewyardsdown the street. “I’mheadingover to your house,” he told Josh and me. “Just want to see if there’sanythingIcandotohelpyourparents.Havefun,kids.”

Iwatchedhimclimbintohiscaranddriveaway.“He’saniceguy,”Raysaid.“Yeah,” I agreed. Iwas still feeling uncomfortable,wonderingwhat

thekidswoulddonowthatMr.Daweswasgone.Wouldtheyformthatfrighteningcircleagain?No. Everyone started walking, heading down the block to the

playground behind the school. Theywere kidding each other and talkingnormally,andprettymuchignoredJoshandme.

Iwasstartingtofeelalittlesilly.Itwasobviousthattheyhadn’tbeentrying to scare Joshandme. Imusthavemade thewhole thingup inmymind.

Imusthave.At least, I toldmyself, Ihadn’tscreamedormadeascene.At leastI

hadn’tmadeatotalfoolofmyself.Theplaygroundwascompletelyempty. Iguessed thatmostkidshad

stayed insidebecauseof the threateningsky.Theplaygroundwasa large,flatgrassy field, surroundedonall four sidesbya tallmetal fence.There

wereswingsandslidesat theendnearest theschoolbuilding.Thereweretwobaseball diamondson theother end.Beyond the fence, I could see arowoftenniscourts,alsodeserted.

JoshtiedPeteytothefence,thencamerunningovertojointherestofus.TheboynamedJerryFranklinmadeup the teams.RayandIwereonthesameteam.Joshwasontheother.

Asourteamtookthefield,Ifeltexcitedandalittlenervous.I’mnotthebestsoftballplayerintheworld.Icanhittheballprettywell.Butinthefield,I’macompleteklutz.Luckily,Jerrysentmeouttorightfieldwherenotmanyballsarehit.

Thecloudsbegantopartalittleandtheskygotlighter.Weplayedtwofullinnings.Theotherteamwaswinning,eighttotwo.Iwashavingfun.

Ihadonlymessedupononeplay.AndIhitadoublemyfirsttimeatbat.

Itwasfunbeingwithawholenewgroupofkids.Theyseemedreallynice,especiallythegirlnamedKarenSomerset,whotalkedwithmewhilewewaited for our turn at bat. Karen had a great smile, even though shewore braces on all her teeth, up and down. She seemed very eager to befriends.

The sunwascomingout asmy teamstarted to take the field for thebeginning of the third inning. Suddenly, I heard a loud, shrill whistle. Ilooked around until I saw that it was Jerry Franklin, blowing a silverwhistle.

Everyonecamerunninguptohim.“We’dbetterquit,”hesaid,lookingupatthebrighteningsky.“Wepromisedourfolks,remember,thatwe’dbehomeforlunch.”

Iglancedatmywatch.Itwasonlyeleven-thirty.Stillearly.Buttomysurprise,nooneprotested.Theyallwavedtoeachotherandcalledoutfarewells,andthenbegan

to run. I couldn’t believe how fast everyone left. It was as if they wereracingorsomething.

Karenranpastmeliketheothers,herheaddown,aseriousexpressionon her pretty face. Then she stopped suddenly and turned around. “Nicemeeting you, Amanda,” she called back. “We should get togethersometime.”

“Great!”Icalledtoher.“DoyouknowwhereIlive?”

I couldn’thearher answerverywell.Shenodded, and I thought shesaid,“Yes.Iknowit.Iusedtoliveinyourhouse.”

Butthatcouldn’thavebeenwhatshesaid.

11

Severaldayswentby.JoshandIweregettingused toournewhouseandournewfriends.

Thekidswemeteverydayat theplaygroundweren’texactlyfriendsyet.They talkedwith Josh andme, and let us on their teams.But itwasreallyhardtogettoknowthem.

Inmy room, Ikepthearingwhispers late atnight, and softgiggling,butIforcedmyselftoignoreit.Onenight,IthoughtIsawagirldressedallin white at the end of the upstairs hall. But when I walked over toinvestigate,therewasjustapileofdirtysheetsandotherbedclothesagainstthewall.

JoshandIwereadjusting,butPeteywasstillactingreallystrange.Wetookhimwithustotheplaygroundeveryday,butwehadtoleashhimtothefence.Otherwise,he’dbarkandsnapatallthekids.

“He’s still nervous being in a new place,” I told Josh. “He’ll calmdown.”

But Petey didn’t calm down. And about two weeks later, we werefinishing up a softball game with Ray, and Karen Somerset, and JerryFranklin,andGeorgeCarpenter,andabunchofotherkids,whenIlookedovertothefenceandsawthatPeteywasgone.

Somehowhehadbrokenoutofhisleashandrunaway.Welookedforhours,calling“Petey!”wanderingfromblocktoblock,

searching front yards and backyards, empty lots and woods. Then, aftercircling the neighborhood twice, Josh and I suddenly realizedwe had noideawherewewere.

The streets ofDarkFalls looked the same.Theywere all linedwithsprawlingoldbrickorshinglehouses,allfilledwithshadyoldtrees.

“Idon’tbelieveit.We’relost,”Joshsaid,leaningagainstatreetrunk,tryingtocatchhisbreath.

“Thatstupiddog,”Imuttered,myeyessearchingupthestreet.“Whydidhedothis?He’sneverrunawaybefore.”

“I don’t know how he got loose,” Josh said, shaking his head, thenwiping his sweaty foreheadwith the sleeve of his T-shirt. “I tied him up

reallywell.”“Hey—maybeheranhome,”Isaid.Theideaimmediatelycheeredme

up.“Yeah!”Joshsteppedawayfromthetreeandheadedbackovertome.

“I’llbetyou’reright,Amanda.He’sprobablybeenhomeforhours.Wow.We’vebeenstupid.Weshould’vecheckedhomefirst.Let’sgo!”

“Well,” I said, looking around at the empty yards, “we just have tofigureoutwhichwayishome.”

Ilookedupanddownthestreet,tryingtofigureoutwhichwaywe’dturnedwhenwelefttheschoolplayground.Icouldn’tremember,sowejuststartedwalking.

Luckily,aswereachedthenextcorner,theschoolcameintosight.Wehadmadeafullcircle.Itwaseasytofindourwayfromthere.

Passingtheplayground,IstaredatthespotonthefencewherePeteyhad been tied. That troublemaking dog. He’d been acting so badly eversincewecametoDarkFalls.

Wouldhebehomewhenwegotthere?Ihopedso.Afewminuteslater,JoshandIwererunningupthegraveldriveway,

calling thedog’snameat the topofour lungs.The frontdoorburstopenandMom,herhair tied ina redbandanna, thekneesofher jeanscoveredwith dust, leaned out. She and Dad had been painting the back porch.“Wherehaveyoutwobeen?Lunchtimewastwohoursago!”

JoshandIbothansweredatthesametime.“IsPeteyhere?”“We’vebeenlookingforPetey!”“Ishehere?”Mom’sfacefilledwithconfusion.“Petey?Ithoughthewaswithyou.”My heart sank. Josh slumped to the driveway with a loud sigh,

sprawlingflatonhisbackinthegravelandleaves.“You haven’t seen him?” I asked, my trembling voice showing my

disappointment.“Hewaswithus.Butheranaway.”“Oh. I’m sorry,” Mom said, motioning for Josh to get up from the

driveway.“Heranaway?Ithoughtyou’vebeenkeepinghimonaleash.”“You’vegottohelpusfindhim,”Joshpleaded,notbudgingfromthe

ground.“Getthecar.We’vegottofindhim—rightnow!”“I’m sure he hasn’t gotten far,” Mom said. “You must be starving.

Comeinandhavesomelunchandthenwe’ll—”

“No.Rightnow!”Joshscreamed.“What’sgoingon?”Dad,hisfaceandhaircoveredwithtinyflecksof

whitepaint,joinedMomonthefrontporch.“Josh—what’salltheyelling?”WeexplainedtoDadwhathadhappened.Hesaidhewastoobusyto

drivearoundlookingforPetey.Momsaidshe’ddoit,butonlyafterwehadsomelunch.IpulledJoshupbybotharmsanddraggedhimintothehouse.

We washed up and gulped down some peanut butter and jellysandwiches.ThenMomtookthecaroutofthegarage,andwedrovearoundandaroundtheneighborhoodsearchingforourlostpet.

Withnoluck.Nosignofhim.JoshandIweremiserable.Heartbroken.MomandDadcalledthelocal

police.DadkeptsayingthatPeteyhadagoodsenseofdirection,thathe’dshowupanyminute.

Butwedidn’treallybelieveit.Wherewashe?Thefourofusatedinnerinsilence.Itwasthelongest,mosthorrible

evening of my life. “I tied him up really good,” Josh repeated, close totears,hisdinnerplatestillfull.

“Dogs are great escape artists,”Dad said, “Don’tworry.He’ll showup.”

“Somenightforaparty,”Momsaidglumly.I’dcompletelyforgottenthattheyweregoingout.Someneighborson

thenextblockhadinvitedthemtoabigpotluckdinnerparty.“Isuredon’tfeellikepartying,either,”Dadsaidwithasigh.“I’mbeat

frompaintingallday.ButIguesswehavetobeneighborly.Sureyoukidswillbeokayhere?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said, thinking aboutPetey. I kept listening for hisbark,listeningforscratchingatthedoor.

Butno.Thehoursdraggedby.Peteystillhadn’tshownupbybedtime.JoshandIbothslinkedupstairs.Ifeltreallytired,wearyfromallthe

worrying, and the running around and searching for Petey, I guess.But IknewI’dneverbeabletogettosleep.

In thehalloutsidemybedroomdoor, Iheardwhisperingfrominsidemyroomandquietfootsteps.Theusualsoundsmyroommade.Iwasn’tatallscaredofthemorsurprisedbythemanymore.

Without hesitating, I stepped intomy roomand clickedon the light.The room was empty, as I knew it would be. The mysterious soundsdisappeared.Iglancedatthecurtains,whichlaystraightandstill.

ThenIsawtheclothesstrewnallovermybed.Several pairs of jeans. Several T-shirts.A couple of sweatshirts.My

onlydress-upskirt.That’s strange, I thought. Mom was such a neat freak. If she had

washedthesethings,shesurelywouldhavehungthemuporputthemintodresserdrawers.

Sighingwearily,Istartedtogatheruptheclothesandputthemaway.Ifigured that Mom simply had too much to do to be bothered. She hadprobablywashedthestuffandthenleftithereformetoputaway.Orshehadputitalldown,planningtocomebacklaterandputitaway,andthengotbusywithotherchores.

Halfanhourlater,Iwastuckedintomybedwideawake,staringattheshadowsontheceiling.

Sometimeafterthat—Ilosttrackofthetime—Iwasstillwideawake,still thinking about Petey, thinking about the new kids I’d met, thinkingabout the new neighborhood, when I heardmy bedroom door creak andswingopen.

Footstepsonthecreakingfloorboards.Isatupinthedarknessassomeonecreptintomyroom.“Amanda—ssshh—it’sme.”Alarmed, it tookmea fewseconds to recognize thehushedwhisper.

“Josh!Whatdoyouwant?Whatareyoudoinginhere?”I gasped as a blinding light forced me to cover my eyes. “Oops.

Sorry,”Joshsaid.“Myflashlight.Ididn’tmeanto—”“Ow, that’sbright,” I said,blinking.Heaimed thepowerfulbeamof

whitelightupattheceiling.“Yeah.It’sahalogenflashlight,”hesaid.“Well,whatdoyouwant?”Iaskedirritably.Istillcouldn’tseewell.I

rubbedmyeyes,butitdidn’thelp.“I knowwhere Petey is,” Joshwhispered, “and I’m going to go get

him.Comewithme?”“Huh?” I looked at the little clock on my bed table. “It’s after

midnight,Josh.”

“So?Itwon’ttakelong.Really.”Myeyeswerenearlynormalbynow.StaringatJoshinthelightfrom

thehalogenflashlight,Inoticedforthefirsttimethathewasfullydressedinjeansandalong-sleevedT-shirt.

“Idon’tget it,Josh,”Isaid,swingingaroundandputtingmyfeetonthefloor.“Welookedeverywhere.WheredoyouthinkPeteyis?”

“In the cemetery,” Joshanswered.His eyes lookedbig anddark andseriousinthewhitelight.

“Huh?”“That’swhereheranthefirsttime,remember?Whenwefirstcameto

DarkFalls?Herantothatcemeteryjustpasttheschool.”“Now,waitaminute—”Istarted.“Wedrovepastitthisafternoon,butwedidn’tlookinside.He’sthere,

Amanda.Iknowheis.AndI’mgoingtogogethimwhetheryoucomeornot.”

“Josh,calmdown,”Isaid,puttingmyhandsonhisnarrowshoulders.Iwas surprised to discover that he was trembling. “There’s no reason forPeteytobeinthatcemetery.”

“That’swherehewentthefirsttime,”Joshinsisted.“Hewaslookingforsomethingtherethatday.Icouldtell.Iknowhe’sthereagain,Amanda.”Hepulledawayfromme.“Areyoucomingornot?”

Mybrotherhas tobe the stubbornest,mostheadstrongperson in theworld.

“Josh, you’re really going towalk into a strange cemetery so late atnight?”Iasked.

“I’mnotafraid,”hesaid,shiningthebrightlightaroundmyroom.Forabriefsecond,Ithoughtthelightcaughtsomeone,lurkingbehind

thecurtains.Iopenedmymouthtocryout.Buttherewasnoonethere.“Youcomingornot?”herepeatedimpatiently.Iwasgoingtosayno.Butthen,glancingatthecurtains,Ithought,it’s

probablynomore spookyout there in thatcemetery than it ishere inmyownbedroom!

“Yeah. Okay,” I said grudgingly. “Get out of here and let me getdressed.”

“Okay,” he whispered, turning off the flashlight, plunging us intoblackness.“Meetmedownattheendofthedriveway.”

“Josh—onequicklookatthecemetery,thenwehurryhome.Gotit?”Itoldhim.

“Yeah.Right.We’llbehomebeforeMomandDadgetbackfromthatparty.”He crept out. I could hear himmaking hisway quickly down thestairs.

This is the craziest idea ever, I told myself as I searched in thedarknessforsomeclothestopullon.

Anditwasalsokindofexciting.Joshwaswrong.Nodoubtaboutit.Peteywouldn’tbehangingaround

inthatcemeterynow.Whyonearthshouldhe?Butatleastitwasn’talongwalk.Anditwasanadventure.Something

towriteabouttoKathybackhome.AndifJoshhappenedtoberight,andwedidmanagetofindpoor,lost

Petey,well,thatwouldbegreat,too.Afewminuteslater,dressedinjeansandasweatshirt,Icreptoutofthe

house and joined Josh at the bottomof the driveway.The nightwas stillwarm.Aheavyblanketofcloudscoveredthemoon.Irealizedforthefirsttimethattherewerenostreetlightsonourblock.

Josh had the halogen flashlight on, aimed down at our feet. “Youready?”heasked.

Dumbquestion.WouldIbestandingthereifIweren’tready?Wecrunchedoverdeadleavesasweheadeduptheblock,towardthe

school.Fromthere,itwasjusttwoblockstothecemetery.“It’s so dark,” Iwhispered.Thehouseswere black and silent.There

wasnobreezeatall.Itwasasifwewereallaloneintheworld.“It’stooquiet,”Isaid,hurryingtokeepupwithJosh.“Nocricketsor

anything.Areyousureyoureallywanttogotothecemetery?”“I’m sure,” he said, his eyes following the circle of light from the

flashlightasitbumpedovertheground.“IreallythinkPeteyisthere.”Wewalkedinthestreet,keepingclosetothecurb.Wehadgonenearly

twoblocks.Theschoolwasjustcomingintosightonthenextblockwhenweheardthescrapingstepsbehindusonthepavement.

JoshandIbothstopped.Heloweredthelight.Webothheardthesounds.Iwasn’timaginingthem.Someonewasfollowingus.

12

Joshwassostartled,theflashlighttumbledfromhishandandclatteredontothestreet.Thelightflickeredbutdidn’tgoout.

BythetimeJoshhadmanagedtopickitup,ourpursuerhadcaughtuptous.Ispunaroundtofacehim,myheartpoundinginmychest.

“Ray!Whatareyoudoinghere?”JoshaimedthelightatRay’sface,butRayshothisarmsuptoshield

hisfaceandduckedbackintothedarkness.“Whatareyoutwodoinghere?”hecried,soundingalmostasstartledasIdid.

“You—you scared us,” Josh said angrily, aiming the flashlight backdownatourfeet.

“Sorry,” Ray said, “I would’ve called out, but I wasn’t sure it wasyou.”

“JoshhasthiscrazyideaaboutwherePeteymightbe,”Itoldhim,stillstrugglingtocatchmybreath.“That’swhywe’reouthere.”

“Whataboutyou?”JoshaskedRay.“Well,sometimesIhavetroublesleeping,”Raysaidsoftly.“Don’tyourparentsmindyoubeingoutsolate?”Iasked.In theglow from the flashlight, I could seeawickedsmilecrosshis

face.“Theydon’tknow.”“Are we going to the cemetery or not?” Josh asked impatiently.

Without waiting for an answer, he started jogging up the road, the lightbobbingonthepavementinfrontofhim.Iturnedandfollowed,wantingtostayclosetothelight.

“Whereareyougoing?”Raycalled,hurryingtocatchup.“Thecemetery,”Icalledback.“No,”Raysaid.“You’renot.”Hisvoicewassolow,sothreatening,thatIstopped.“What?”“You’renotgoingthere,”Rayrepeated.Icouldn’tseehisface.Itwas

hiddenindarkness.Buthiswordssoundedmenacing.“Hurry!” Josh called back to us.He hadn’t slowed down.He didn’t

seemtonoticethethreatinRay’swords.“Stop,Josh!”Raycalled.Itsoundedmorelikeanorderthanarequest.

“Youcan’tgothere!”“Whynot?” I demanded, suddenly afraid.WasRay threatening Josh

andme?Didheknowsomethingwedidn’t?OrwasImakingabigdealoutofnothingonceagain?

Istaredintothedarkness,tryingtoseehisface.“You’dbenutstogothereatnight!”hedeclared.IbegantothinkIhadmisjudgedhim.Hewasafraidtogothere.That’s

whyhewastryingtostopus.“Areyoucomingornot?”Joshdemanded,gettingfartherandfarther

aheadofus.“Idon’tthinkweshould,”Raywarned.Yes,he’safraid,Idecided.Ionlyimaginedthathewasthreateningus.“Youdon’thaveto.Butwedo,”Joshinsisted,pickinguphisspeed.“No.Really,”Raysaid.“This isabad idea.”ButnowheandIwere

runningsidebysidetocatchupwithJosh.“Petey’sthere,”Joshsaid,“Iknowheis.”We passed the dark, silent school. It seemed much bigger at night.

Josh’s lightflashedthroughthelowtreebranchesasweturnedthecornerontoCemeteryDrive.

“Wait—please,”Raypleaded.ButJoshdidn’tslowdown.NeitherdidI.Iwaseagertogetthereandgetitoverwith.

I wiped my forehead with my sleeve. The air was hot and still. IwishedIhadn’twornlongsleeves.Ifeltmyhair.Itwasdrippingwet.

The clouds still covered the moon as we reached the cemetery.Westepped through a gate in the low wall. In the darkness, I could see thecrookedrowsofgravestones.

Josh’slighttraveledfromstonetostone,jumpingupanddownashewalked.“Petey!”hecalledsuddenly,interruptingthesilence.

He’sdisturbingthesleepofthedead,Ithought,feelingasuddenchilloffear.

Don’t be silly, Amanda. “Petey!” I called, too, forcing away mymorbidthoughts.

“Thisisaverybadidea,”Raysaid,standingveryclosetome.“Petey!Petey!”Joshcalled.“Iknowit’sabadidea,”IadmittedtoRay.“ButIdidn’twantJoshto

comeherebyhimself.”

“Butweshouldn’tbehere,”Rayinsisted.I was beginning to wish he’d go away. No one had forced him to

come.Whywashegivingussuchahardtime?“Hey—lookatthis!”Joshcalledfromseveralyardsupahead.My sneakers crunching over the soft ground, I hurried between the

rows of graves. I hadn’t realized that we had already walked the entirelengthofthegraveyard.

“Look,”Joshsaidagain,hisflashlightplayingoverastrangestructurebuiltattheedgeofthecemetery.

Ittookmealittlewhiletofigureoutwhatitwasinthesmallcircleoflight.Itwassounexpected.Itwassomekindoftheater.Anamphitheater,Iguess you’d call it, circular rows of bench seats dug into the ground,descendinglikestairstoalowstagelikeplatformatthebottom.

“Whatonearth!”Iexclaimed.Istartedforwardtogetacloserlook.“Amanda—wait.Let’sgohome,”Raycalled.Hegrabbedatmyarm,

butIhurriedaway,andhegrabbedonlyair.“Weird! Who would build an outdoor theater at the edge of a

cemetery?”Iasked.I looked back to see if Josh and Ray were following me, and my

sneaker caught against something. I stumbled to the ground, hitting mykneehard.

“Ow.Whatwasthat?”JoshshonethelightonitasIclimbedslowly,painfully,tomyfeet.I

hadtrippedoveranenormous,upraisedtreeroot.Intheflickeringlight,Ifollowedthegnarledrootovertoawide,old

tree several yards away. The huge treewas bent over the strange below-ground theater, leaningat sucha lowangle that it looked likely to toppleoverat any second.Bigclumpsof rootswere raisedup from theground.Overhead, the tree’s branches, heavy with leaves, seemed to lean to theground.

“Timberrr!”Joshyelled.“Howweird!”Iexclaimed.“Hey,Ray—whatisthisplace?”“It’s a meeting place,” Ray said quietly, standing close beside me,

staring straight aheadat the leaning tree. “Theyuse it sortof like a townhall.Theyhavetownmeetingshere.”

“Inthecemetery?”Icried,findingithardtobelieve.“Let’sgo,”Rayurged,lookingverynervous.Allthreeofusheardthefootsteps.Theywerebehindus,somewherein

therowsofgraves.Weturnedaround.Josh’slightsweptovertheground.“Petey!”There hewas, standing between the nearest rowof low, stone grave

markers. I turnedhappily to Josh.“Idon’tbelieve it!” Icried.“Youwereright!”

“Petey!Petey!”JoshandIbothstartedrunningtowardourdog.ButPeteyarchedbackonhishindlegsasifheweregettingreadyto

run away. He stared at us, his eyes red as jewels in the light of theflashlight.

“Petey!Wefoundyou!”Icried.Thedogloweredhisheadandstartedtotrotaway.“Petey!Hey—comeback!Don’tyourecognizeus?”Withaburstofspeed,Joshcaughtupwithhimandgrabbedhimupoff

theground.“Hey,Petey,what’sthematter,fella?”AsIhurriedover,JoshdroppedPeteybacktothegroundandstepped

back.“Ooh—hestinks!”“What?”Icried.“Petey—hestinks.Hesmellslikeadeadrat!”Joshheldhisnose.Peteystartedtowalkslowlyaway.“Josh, he isn’t glad to see us,” I wailed. “He doesn’t even seem to

recognizeus.Lookathim!”Itwastrue.Peteywalkedtothenextrowofgravestones, thenturned

andglaredatus.Isuddenlyfeltsick.WhathadhappenedtoPetey?Whywasheacting

sodifferently?Whywasn’thegladtoseeus?“Idon’t get it,” Josh said, stillmaking a face from theodor thedog

gave off. “Usually, ifwe leave the room for thirty seconds, he goes nutswhenwecomeback.”

“We’dbettergo!”Raycalled.Hewasstillattheedgeofthecemeteryneartheleaningtree.

“Petey—what’s wrong with you?” I called to the dog. He didn’trespond.“Don’tyourememberyourname?Petey?Petey?”

“Yuck!Whatastink!”Joshexclaimed.

“We’vegot togethimhomeandgivehimabath,” I said.Myvoicewasshaking.Ifeltreallysad.Andfrightened.

“Maybethisisn’tPetey,”Joshsaidthoughtfully.Thedog’seyesagainglaredredinthebeamoflight.

“It’shimallright,”Isaidquietly.“Look.He’sdraggingtheleash.Gogethim,Josh—andlet’sgohome.”

“Yougethim!”Joshcried.“Hesmellstoobad!”“Justgrabhisleash.Youdon’thavetopickhimup,”Isaid.“No.You.”Josh was being stubborn again. I could see that I had no choice.

“Okay,”Isaid.“I’llgethim.ButI’llneedthelight.”IgrabbedtheflashlightfromJosh’shandandstartedtoruntowardPetey.

“Sit, Petey. Sit!” I ordered. It was the only command Petey everobeyed.

But he didn’t obey it this time. Instead, he turned and trotted away,holdinghisheaddownlow.

“Petey—stop!Petey,comeon!”Iyelled,exasperated.“Don’tmakemechaseyou.”

“Don’tlethimgetaway!”Joshyelled,runningupbehindme.Imoved theflashlight fromside tosidealong theground.“Where is

he?”“Petey!Petey!”Joshcalled,soundingshrillanddesperate.Icouldn’tseehim.“Oh,no.Don’ttellmewe’velosthimagain!”Isaid.Webothstartedtocallhim.“What’swrongwiththatmutt?”Icried.Imoved the beamof light downone long rowof gravestones, then,

movingquickly,down thenext.Nosignofhim.Webothkeptcallinghisname.

And then the circle of light came to rest on the front of a granitetombstone.

Readingthenameonthestone,Istoppedshort.Andgasped.“Josh—look!”IgrabbedJosh’ssleeve.Iheldontight.“Huh?What’swrong?”Hisfacefilledwithconfusion.“Look!Thenameonthegravestone.”ItwasKarenSomerset.

Joshreadthename.Hestaredatme,stillconfused.“That’s my new friend Karen. The one I talk to on the playground

everyday,”Isaid.“Huh?Itmustbehergrandmotherorsomething,”Joshsaid,andthen

addedimpatiently,“Comeon.LookforPetey.”“No.Lookatthedates,”Isaidtohim.WebothreadthedatesunderKarenSomerset’sname.1960-1972.“Itcan’tbehermotherorgrandmother,” Isaid,keeping thebeamof

lightonthestonedespitemytremblinghand.“Thisgirldiedwhenshewastwelve.Myage.AndKarenistwelve,too.Shetoldme.”

“Amanda—”Joshscowledandlookedaway.ButItookafewstepsandbeamedthelightontothenextgravestone.

There was a name on it I’d never heard before. I moved on to the nextstone.AnothernameI’dneverheard.

“Amanda,comeon!”Joshwhined.ThenextgravestonehadthenameGeorgeCarpenteronit.1975-1988.“Josh—look!It’sGeorgefromtheplayground,”Icalled.“Amanda,wehavetogetPetey,”heinsisted.ButIcouldn’tpullmyselfawayfromthegravestones.Iwentfromone

tothenext,movingtheflashlightovertheengravedletters.Tomygrowinghorror,IfoundJerryFranklin.AndthenBillGregory.All the kids we had played softball with. They all had gravestones

here.My heart thudding, I moved down the crooked row, my sneakers

sinkingintothesoftgrass.Ifeltnumb,numbwithfear.IstruggledtoholdthelightsteadyasIbeameditontothelaststoneintherow.

RAYTHURSTON.1977-1988.“Huh?”I could hear Josh calling me, but I couldn’t make out what he was

saying.The rest of theworld seemed to fall away. I read the deeply etched

inscriptionagain:RAYTHURSTON.1977-1988.I stood there, staring at the letters and numbers. I stared at them till

theydidn’tmakesenseanymore,untiltheywerejustagrayblur.Suddenly, I realized thatRayhadcreptupbeside thegravestoneand

wasstaringatme.“Ray—” I managed to say, moving the light over the name on the

stone.“Ray,thisoneis…you!”Hiseyesflared,glowinglikedyingembers.“Yes, it’s me,” he said softly, moving toward me. “I’m so sorry,

Amanda.”

13

I tookastepback,mysneakers sinking into thesoftground.Theairwasheavyandstill.Noonemadeasound.Nothingmoved.

Dead.I’msurroundedbydeath,Ithought.Then, frozen to the spot, unable to breathe, the darkness swirling

aroundme,thegravestonesspinningintheirownblackshadows,Ithought:Whatishegoingtodotome?

“Ray—”Imanagedtocallout.Myvoicesoundedfaintandfaraway.“Ray,areyoureallydead?”

“I’msorry.Youweren’t supposed to findoutyet,”hesaid,hisvoicefloatinglowandheavyonthestiflingnightair.

“But—how?Imean…Idon’tunderstand….”Ilookedpasthimtothedartingwhitelightoftheflashlight.Joshwasseveralrowsaway,almosttothestreet,stillsearchingforPetey.

“Petey!”Iwhispered,dreadchokingmythroat,mystomachtighteninginhorror.

“Dogs always know,” Ray said in a low, flat tone. “Dogs alwaysrecognize the living dead.That’swhy they have to go first. They alwaysknow.”

“Youmean—Petey’s…dead?”Ichokedoutthewords.Raynodded.“Theykillthedogsfirst.”“No!” I screamed and took another step back, nearly losing my

balanceasIbumpedintoalowmarblegravestone.Ijumpedawayfromit.“You weren’t supposed to see this,” Ray said, his narrow face

expressionlessexceptforhisdarkeyes,whichrevealedrealsadness.“Youweren’t supposed to know. Not for another few weeks, anyway. I’m thewatcher.Iwassupposedtowatch,tomakesureyoudidn’tseeuntilitwastime.”

Hetookasteptowardme,hiseyeslightingupred,burningintomine.“Wereyouwatchingmefromthewindow?”Icried.“Wasthatyouin

myroom?”Againhenoddedyes. “Iused to live inyourhouse,”he said, taking

anotherstepcloser,forcingmebackagainstthecoldmarblestone.“I’mthewatcher.”

I forcedmyself to lookaway, tostopstaring intohisglowingeyes. IwantedtoscreamtoJoshtorunandgethelp.Buthewastoofaraway.AndIwasfrozenthere,frozenwithfear.

“Weneedfreshblood,”Raysaid.“What?”Icried.“Whatareyousaying?”“The town—it can’t survive without fresh blood. None of us can.

You’llunderstandsoon,Amanda.You’llunderstandwhywehad to inviteyoutothehouse,tothe…DeadHouse.”

In the darting, zigzagging beam of light, I could see Josh movingcloser,headingourway.

Run,Josh,Ithought.Runaway.Fast.Getsomeone.Getanyone.Icouldthinkthewords.Whycouldn’tIscreamthem?Ray’seyesglowedbrighter.Hewasstandingrightinfrontofmenow,

hisfeaturesset,hardandcold.“Ray?”Eventhroughmyjeans,themarblegravestonefeltcoldagainst

thebackofmylegs.“Imessedup,”hewhispered.“Iwasthewatcher.ButImessedup.”“Ray—whatareyougoingtodo?”Hisredeyesflickered.“I’mreallysorry.”Hestartedtoraisehimselfofftheground,tofloatoverme.Icouldfeelmyselfstarttochoke.Icouldn’tbreathe.Icouldn’tmove.I

openedmymouthtocallouttoJosh,butnosoundcameout.Josh?Wherewashe?Ilookeddowntherowsofgravestonesbutcouldn’tseehislight.Ray floated up a little higher. He hovered over me, choking me

somehow,blindingme,suffocatingme.I’mdead,Ithought.Dead.NowI’mdead,too.

14

Andthen,suddenly,lightbrokethroughthedarkness.ThelightshoneinRay’sface,thebrightwhitehalogenlight.“What’s going on?” Josh asked, in a high-pitched, nervous voice.

“Amanda—what’shappening?”Raycriedoutanddroppedbacktotheground.“Turnthatoff!Turnit

off!”he screeched,hisvoicea shrillwhisper, likewind throughabrokenwindowpane.

But Josh held the bright beam of light on Ray. “What’s going on?Whatareyoudoing?”

Icouldbreatheagain.AsIstaredintothelight,Istruggledtostopmyheartfrompoundingsohard.

Raymovedhisarmstoshieldhimselffromthelight.ButIcouldseewhatwashappeningtohim.Thelighthadalreadydoneitsdamage.

Ray’s skin seemed to be melting. His whole face sagged, then fell,droppingoffhisskull.

I stared into the circle ofwhite light, unable to look away, asRay’sskin folded and drooped and melted away. As the bone underneath wasrevealed, his eyeballs rolled out of their sockets and fell silently to theground.

Josh, frozen inhorror, somehowheld thebright light steady, andwebothstaredatthegrinningskull,itsdarkcratersstaringbackatus.

“Oh!”IshriekedasRaytookasteptowardme.ButthenIrealizedthatRaywasn’twalking.Hewasfalling.Ijumpedasideashecrumpledtotheground.Andgaspedashisskull

hit the top of themarble gravestone, and cracked openwith a sickeningsplat.

“Comeon!”Joshshouted.“Amanda—comeon!”Hegrabbedmyhandandtriedtopullmeaway.

ButIcouldn’tstopstaringdownatRay,nowapileofbonesinsideapuddleofcrumpledclothes.

“Amanda,comeon!”Then,beforeIevenrealizedit,Iwasrunning,runningbesideJoshas

fast as I could down the long row of graves toward the street. The lightflashedagainsttheblurofgravestonesasweran,slippingonthesoft,dew-coveredgrass,gaspinginthestill,hotair.

“We’vegottotellMomandDad.Gottogetawayfromhere!”Icried.“They—theywon’tbelieveit!”Joshsaid,aswereachedthestreet.We

kept running, our sneakers thudding hard against the pavement. “I’m notsureIbelieveitmyself!”

“They’vegottobelieveus!”Itoldhim.“Iftheydon’t,we’lldragthemoutofthathouse.”

Thewhitebeamoflightpointedthewayasweranthroughthedark,silentstreets.Therewerenostreetlights,nolightsoninthewindowsofthehouseswepassed,nocarheadlights.

Suchadarkworldwehadentered.Andnowitwastimetogetout.Werantherestofthewayhome.Ikeptlookingbacktoseeifwewere

being followed.But I didn’t see anyone. The neighborhoodwas still andempty.

Ihadasharppaininmysideaswereachedhome.ButIforcedmyselfto keep running, up the gravel driveway with its thick blanket of deadleaves,andontothefrontporch.

IpushedopenthedoorandbothJoshandIstartedtoscream.“Mom!Dad!Whereareyou?”

Silence.Weranintothelivingroom.Thelightswerealloff.“Mom?Dad?Areyouhere?”Please be here, I thought,my heart racing, the pain inmy side still

sharp.Pleasebehere.Wesearchedthehouse.Theyweren’thome.“Thepotluckparty,”Joshsuddenlyremembered.“Cantheystillbeat

thatparty?”Wewerestanding in the living room,bothofusbreathinghard.The

paininmysidehadletupjustabit.Ihadturnedonallthelights,buttheroomstillfeltgloomyandmenacing.

Iglancedattheclockonthemantel.Nearlytwointhemorning.“Theyshouldbehomebynow,”Isaid,myvoiceshakyandweak.“Wheredidtheygo?Didtheyleaveanumber?”Joshwasalreadyon

hiswaytothekitchen.I followed him, turning on lights as wewent.Wewent right to the

memopadonthecounterwhereMomandDadalwaysleaveusnotes.Nothing.Thepadwasblank.“We’vegottofindthem!”Joshcried.Hesoundedveryfrightened.His

wideeyesreflectedhisfear.“Wehavetogetawayfromhere.”Whatifsomethinghashappenedtothem?That’swhatIstartedtosay.ButIcaughtmyselfjustintime.Ididn’t

wanttoscareJoshanymorethanhewasalready.Besides,he’dprobablythoughtofthat,too.“Shouldwecallthepolice?”heasked,aswewalkedbacktotheliving

roomandpeeredoutthefrontwindowintothedarkness.“Idon’tknow,”Isaid,pressingmyhotforeheadagainstthecoolglass.

“Ijustdon’tknowwhattodo.Iwantthemtobehome.Iwantthemheresowecanallleave.”

“What’syourhurry?”agirl’svoicesaidfrombehindme.JoshandIbothcriedoutandspunaround.Karen Somerset was standing in the center of the room, her arms

crossedoverherchest.“But—you’redead!”Iblurtedout.Shesmiled,asadsmile,abittersmile.And then twomore kids stepped in from the hallway. One of them

clicked off the lights. “Too bright in here,” he said. Theymoved next toKaren.

Andanotherkid, JerryFranklin—anotherdeadkid—appearedby thefireplace.AndIsawthegirlwithshortblackhair,theoneIhadseenonthestairs,movebesidemebythecurtains.

Theywere all smiling, their eyes glowing dully in the dim light, allmovinginonJoshandme.

“Whatdoyouwant!” I screamed in avoice I didn’t even recognize.“Whatareyougoingtodo?”

“Weusedtoliveinyourhouse,”Karensaidsoftly.“Huh?”Icried.“Weusedtoliveinyourhouse,”Georgesaid.“And now, guess what?” Jerry added. “Now we’re dead in your

house!”

Theothersstartedtolaugh,crackling,drylaughs,astheyallclosedinonJoshandme.

15

“They’regoingtokillus!”Joshcried.Iwatchedthemmoveforwardinsilence.JoshandIhadbackedupto

thewindow.Ilookedaroundthedarkroomforanescaperoute.Buttherewasnowheretorun.“Karen—you seemed sonice,” I said.Thewords just tumbledout. I

hadn’tthoughtbeforeIsaidthem.Her eyes glowed a little brighter. “Iwasnice,” she said in a glum

monotone,“untilImovedhere.”“Wewereallnice,”GeorgeCarpentersaidinthesamelowmonotone.

“Butnowwe’redead.”“Letusgo!”Joshcried,raisinghishandsinfrontofhimasiftoshield

himself.“Please—letusgo.”Theylaughedagain,thedry,hoarselaughter.Deadlaughter.“Don’t be scared, Amanda,” Karen said. “Soon you’ll be with us.

That’swhytheyinvitedyoutothishouse.”“Huh?Idon’tunderstand,”Icried,myvoiceshaking.“ThisistheDeadHouse.Thisiswhereeveryoneliveswhentheyfirst

arriveinDarkFalls.Whenthey’restillalive.”This seemed to strike the others as funny. They all snickered and

laughed.“Butourgreat-uncle—”Joshstarted.Karenshookherhead,hereyesglowingwithamusement.“No.Sorry,

Josh.Nogreat-uncle.Itwasjustatricktobringyouhere.Onceeveryyear,someone new has tomove here.Other years, itwas us.We lived in thishouse—untilwedied.Thisyear,it’syourturn.”

“Weneednewblood,”JerryFranklinsaid,hiseyesglowingredinthedimlight.“Onceayear,yousee,weneednewblood.”

Movingforwardinsilence,theyhoveredoverJoshandme.Itookadeepbreath.Alastbreath,perhaps.Andshutmyeyes.AndthenIheardtheknockonthedoor.Aloudknock,repeatedseveraltimes.Iopenedmyeyes.Theghostlykidsallvanished.

Theairsmelledsour.Josh and I stared at each other, dazed, as the loud knocking started

again.“It’sMomandDad!”Joshcried.We both ran to the door. Josh stumbled over the coffee table in the

dark,soIgottothedoorfirst.“Mom!Dad!”Icried,pullingopenthedoor.“Wherehaveyoubeen?”Ireachedoutmyarmstohugthemboth—andstoppedwithmyarms

intheair.MymouthdroppedopenandIutteredasilentcry.“Mr.Dawes!”Joshexclaimed,comingupbesideme.“Wethought—”“Oh,Mr. Dawes, I’m so glad to see you!” I cried happily, pushing

openthescreendoorforhim.“Kids—you’re okay?” he asked, eyeing us both, his handsome face

tightwithworry.“Oh,thankGod!”hecried.“Igothereintime!”“Mr.Dawes—”Istarted,feelingsorelieved,Ihadtearsinmyeyes.“I

—”Hegrabbedmyarm.“There’snotimetotalk,”hesaid,lookingbehind

him to the street. I could see his car in the driveway. The engine wasrunning.Onlytheparkinglightswereon.“I’vegot togetyoukidsoutofherewhilethere’sstilltime.”

JoshandIstartedtofollowhim,thenhesitated.WhatifMr.Daweswasoneofthem?“Hurry,” Mr. Dawes urged, holding open the screen door, gazing

nervouslyoutintothedarkness.“Ithinkwe’reinterribledanger.”“But—”I started, staring intohis frightenedeyes, trying todecide if

wecouldtrusthim.“I was at the party with your parents,” Mr. Dawes said. “All of a

sudden,theyformedacircle.Everyone.Aroundyourparentsandme.They—theystartedtocloseinonus.”

JustlikewhenthekidsstartedtocloseinonJoshandme,Ithought.“We broke through them and ran,”Mr. Dawes said, glancing to the

drivewaybehindhim.“Somehowthethreeofusgotaway.Hurry.We’veallgottogetawayfromhere—now!”

“Josh, let’s go,” I urged. Then I turned to Mr. Dawes. “Where areMomandDad?”

“Comeon.I’llshowyou.They’resafefornow.ButIdon’tknowfor

howlong.”Wefollowedhimoutof thehouseanddownthedrivewaytohiscar.

Thecloudshadparted.Asliverofmoonshonelowinapale,earlymorningsky.

“There’s something wrong with this whole town,” Mr. Dawes said,holdingthefrontpassengerdooropenformeasJoshclimbedintotheback.

I slumpedgratefully into the seat, and he slammed the door shut. “Iknow,”Isaid,asheslidbehindthewheel.“JoshandI.Weboth—”

“We’vegottogetasfarawayaswecanbeforetheycatchupwithus,”Mr. Dawes said, backing down the drive quickly, the tires sliding andsquealingashepulledontothestreet.

“Yes,” I agreed. “Thank goodness you came. My house—it’s filledwithkids.Deadkidsand—”

“Soyou’veseenthem,”Mr.Dawessaidsoftly,hiseyeswidewithfear.Hepusheddownharderonthegaspedal.

AsI lookedout into thepurpledarkness,a low,orangesunbegan toshowoverthegreentreetops.“Whereareourparents?”Iaskedanxiously.

“There’sakindofoutdoor theaternext to thecemetery,”Mr.Dawessaid, staring straight ahead through the windshield, his eyes narrow, hisexpression tense.“It’sbuilt right into theground,and it’shiddenbyabigtree. I left them there. I told them not tomove. I think they’ll be safe. Idon’tthinkanyone’llthinktolookthere.”

“We’ve seen it,” Josh said.Abright light suddenly flashedon in thebackseat.

“What’sthat?”Mr.Dawesasked,lookingintotherearviewmirror.“My flashlight,” Josh answered, clicking it off. “I brought it just in

case.Butthesunwillbeupsoon.Iprobablywon’tneedit.”Mr.Daweshitthebrakeandpulledthecartothesideoftheroad.We

wereattheedgeofthecemetery.Iclimbedquicklyoutofthecar,eagertoseemyparents.

Theskywasstilldark,streakedwithvioletnow.Thesunwasadarkorangeballoonjustbarelypokingoverthetrees.Acrossthestreet,beyondthejaggedrowsofgravestones,Icouldseethedarkoutlineoftheleaningtreethathidthemysteriousamphitheater.

“Hurry,”Mr.Dawesurged,closinghiscardoorquietly.“I’msureyourparentsaredesperatetoseeyou.”

Weheadedacrossthestreet,half-walking,half-jogging,Joshswingingtheflashlightinonehand.

Suddenly,attheedgeofthecemeterygrass,Joshstopped.“Petey!”hecried.

Ifollowedhisgaze,andsawourwhiteterrierwalkingslowlyalongaslopeofgravestones.

“Petey!”Joshyelledagain,andbeganrunningtothedog.My heart sank. I hadn’t had a chance to tell Josh what Ray had

revealedtomeaboutPetey.“No—Josh!”Icalled.Mr. Dawes looked very alarmed. “We don’t have time.We have to

hurry,”hesaidtome.ThenhebeganshoutingforJoshtocomeback.“I’llgogethim,”Isaid,andtookoff,runningasfastasIcouldalong

the rows of graves, calling to my brother. “Josh! Josh, wait up! Don’t!Don’tgoafterhim!Josh—Peteyisdead!”

Joshhadbeengainingonthedog,whichwasamblingalong,sniffingtheground,notlookingup,notpayinganyattentiontoJosh.Thensuddenly,Joshtrippedoveralowgravemarker.

He cried out as he fell, and the flashlight flew out of his hand andclatteredagainstagravestone.

Iquicklycaughtupwithhim.“Josh—areyouokay?”Hewaslyingonhisstomach,staringstraightahead.“Josh—answerme.Areyouokay?”Igrabbedhimby theshouldersand tried topullhimup,buthekept

staringstraightahead,hismouthopen,hiseyeswide.“Josh?”“Look,”hesaidfinally.I breathed a sighof relief, knowing that Joshwasn’t knockedout or

something.“Look,” he repeated, and pointed to the gravestone he had tripped

over.I turned and squinted at the grave. I read the inscription, silently

mouthingthewordsasIread:COMPTONDAWES.R.I.P.1950-1980.My head began to spin. I felt dizzy. I steadiedmyself, holding onto

Josh.COMPTONDAWES.

Itwasn’thisfatherorhisgrandfather.HehadtoldushewastheonlyComptoninhisfamily.

SoMr.Daweswasdead,too.Dead.Dead.Dead.Deadaseveryoneelse.Hewasoneofthem.Oneofthedeadones.Josh and I stared at each other in the purple darkness. Surrounded.

Surroundedbythedead.Nowwhat?Iaskedmyself.Nowwhat?

16

“Getup,Josh,”Isaid,myvoiceachokedwhisper.“We’vegottogetawayfromhere.”

Butweweretoolate.Ahandgrabbedmefirmlybytheshoulder.I spun around to seeMr.Dawes, his eyes narrowing as he read the

inscriptiononhisowngravestone.“Mr. Dawes—you, too!” I cried, so disappointed, so confused, so…

scared.“Me, too,” he said, almost sadly. “All of us.” His eyes burned into

mine.“Thiswasanormaltownonce.Andwewerenormalpeople.Mostofusworkedintheplasticsfactoryontheoutskirtsof town.Thentherewasanaccident.Somethingescaped fromthe factory.Ayellowgas. It floatedoverthetown.Sofastwedidn’tseeit…didn’trealize.Andthen,itwastoolate, and Dark Falls wasn’t a normal town anymore. We were all dead,Amanda.Deadandburied.Butwecouldn’t rest.Wecouldn’t sleep.DarkFallswasatownoflivingdead.”

“What—whatareyougoingtodotous?”Imanagedtoask.Mykneeswere trembling sohard, I couldbarely stand.Adeadmanwas squeezingmyshoulder.Adeadmanwasstaringhardintomyeyes.

Standingthisclose,Icouldsmellhissourbreath.Iturnedmyhead,butthesmellalreadychokedmynostrils.

“Where are Mom and Dad?” Josh asked, climbing to his feet andstandingrigidlyacrossfromus,glaringaccusinglyatMr.Dawes.

“Safeandsound,”Mr.Dawessaidwithafaintsmile.“Comewithme.It’stimeforyoutojointhem.”

Itriedtopullawayfromhim,buthishandwaslockedonmyshoulder.“Letgo!”Ishouted.

Hissmilegrewwider.“Amanda,itdoesn’thurttodie,”hesaidsoftly,almostsoothingly.“Comewithme.”

“No!” Josh shouted. And with sudden quickness, he dived to thegroundandpickeduphisflashlight.

“Yes!”Icried.“Shine itonhim,Josh!”The lightcouldsaveus.The

lightcoulddefeatMr.Dawes,as ithadRay.The lightcoulddestroyhim.“Quick—shineitonhim!”Ipleaded.

Josh fumbledwith the flashlight, then pointed it towardMr.Dawes’startledface,andclickediton.

Nothing.Nolight.“It—it’sbroken,”Joshsaid.“Iguesswhenithitthegravestone….”Myheartpounding,IlookedbackatMr.Dawes.Thesmileonhisface

wasasmileofvictory.

17

“Nicetry,”Mr.DawessaidtoJosh.Thesmilefadedquicklyfromhisface.Closeup,hedidn’tlooksoyoungandhandsome.Hisskin,Icouldsee,

wasdryandpeelingandhunglooselybeneathhiseyes.“Let’s go, kids,” he said, giving me a shove. He glanced up at the

brighteningsky.Thesunwasraisingitselfoverthetreetops.Joshhesitated.“Isaidlet’sgo,”Mr.Dawessnappedimpatiently.Heloosenedhisgrip

onmyshoulderandtookamenacingsteptowardJosh.Joshglanceddownattheworthlessflashlight.Thenhepulledhisarm

backandheavedtheflashlightatMr.Dawes’head.Theflashlighthititstargetwithasickeningcrack.IthitMr.Dawesin

thecenterofhisforehead,splittingalargeholeintheskin.Mr.Dawesutteredalowcry.Hiseyeswidenedinsurprise.Dazed,he

reached a hand up to the hole where a few inches of gray skull pokedthrough.

“Run,Josh!”Icried.But there was no need to tell him that. He was already zigzagging

throughtherowsofgraves,hisheadduckedlow.Ifollowedhim,runningasfastasIcould.

Glancing back, I saw Mr. Dawes stagger after us, still holding hisrippedforehead.Hetookseveralsteps,thenabruptlystopped,staringupatthesky.

It’stoobrightforhim,Irealized.Hehastostayintheshade.Josh had ducked down behind a tall marble monument, old and

slightly tilted, crackeddown themiddle. I slid downbeside him, gaspingforbreath.

Leaning on the coolmarble,we both peered around the sides of themonument.Mr.Dawes,ascowlonhisface,washeadingbacktowardtheamphitheater,keepingintheshadowsofthetrees.

“He—he’s not chasing us,” Joshwhispered, his chest heaving as hestruggledtocatchhisbreathandstiflehisfear.“He’sgoingback.”

“The sun is too bright for him,” I said, holding onto the side of the

monument.“HemustbegoingtogetMomandDad.”“Thatstupidflashlight,”Joshcried.“Nevermind that,” I said,watchingMr.Dawes until he disappeared

behindthebigleaningtree.“Whatarewegoingtodonow?Idon’tknow—”

“Shhh. Look!” Josh poked me hard on the shoulder, and pointed.“Who’sthat?”

Ifollowedhisstareandsawseveraldarkfigureshurryingthroughtherowsoftombstones.Theyseemedtohaveappearedfromoutofnowhere.

Didtheyriseoutofthegraves?Walkingquickly,seemingtofloatoverthegreen,slopingground,they

headed into the shadows.Allwerewalking in silence, their eyes straightahead. They didn’t stop to greet one another. They strode purposefullytoward the hidden amphitheater, as if theywere being drawn there, as iftheywerepuppetsbeingpulledbyhiddenstrings.

“Whoa. Look at them all!” Josh whispered, ducking his head backbehindthemarblemonument.

Thedark,moving formsmadeall theshadows ripple. It lookedas ifthetrees,thegravestones,theentirecemeteryhadcometolife,hadstartedtowardthehiddenseatsoftheamphitheater.

“TheregoesKaren,”Iwhispered,pointing.“AndGeorge.Andalltherestofthem.”

The kids from our house were moving quickly in twos and threes,followingtheothershadows,assilentandbusinesslikeaseveryoneelse.

EveryonewashereexceptRay,Ithought.BecausewekilledRay.Wekilledsomeonewhowasalreadydead.“DoyouthinkMomandDadarereallydowninthatweirdtheater?”

Josh asked, interrupting my morbid thoughts, his eyes on the movingshadows.

“Comeon,”Isaid,takingJosh’shandandpullinghimawayfromthemonument.“We’vegottofindout.”

Wewatchedthelastofthedarkfiguresfloatpasttheenormousleaningtree. The shadows stoppedmoving. The cemeterywas still and silent. Asolitarycrowfloated,highaboveintheclearblue,cloudlesssky.

Slowly, Josh and I edged ourway toward the amphitheater, ducking

behindgravestones,keepinglowtotheground.Itwasastruggletomove.IfeltasifIweighedfivehundredpounds.

Theweightofmyfear,Iguess.IwasdesperatetoseeifMomandDadwerethere.Butatthesametime,Ididn’twanttosee.Ididn’twant to see thembeingheldprisonerbyMr.Dawesand the

others.Ididn’twanttoseethem…killed.Thethoughtmademestop.IreachedoutanarmandhaltedJosh.We were standing behind the leaning tree, hidden by its enormous

clumpofupraisedroots.Beyondthetree,downinthetheaterbelow,Icouldhearthelowmurmurofvoices.

“AreMom andDad there?” Joshwhispered. He started to poke hishead around the side of the bent tree trunk, but I cautiously pulled himback.

“Becareful,”Iwhispered.“Don’tletthemseeyou.They’repracticallyrightbeneathus.”

“ButI’vegottoknowifMomandDadarereallyhere,”hewhispered,hiseyesfrightened,pleading.

“Me,too,”Iagreed.Webothleanedoverthemassivetrunk.Thebarkfeltsmoothundermy

handsasIgazedintothedeepshadowscastbythetree.AndthenIsawthem.MomandDad.Theyweretiedup,back-to-back,standinginthecenter

oftheflooratthebottomoftheamphitheaterinfrontofeveryone.They looked so uncomfortable, so terrified. Their arms were tied

tightlydownat theirsides.Dad’sfacewasbrightred.Mom’shairwasallmessedup,hangingwildlydownoverherforehead,herheadbowed.

Squintingintothedarknesscastbythetree,IsawMr.Dawesstandingbesidethemalongwithanother,olderman.AndIsawthattherowsoflongbenchesbuilt into thegroundwere filledwithpeople.Notasingleemptyspace.

Everyoneintownmustbehere,Irealized.EveryoneexceptJoshandme.“They’regoing tokillMomandDad,”Joshwhispered,grabbingmy

arm,squeezing it in fear.“They’regoing tomakeMomandDad just like

them.”“Thenthey’llcomeafterus,”Isaid,thinkingoutloud,staringthrough

theshadowsatmypoorparents.Bothofthemhadtheirheadsbowednowas they stood before the silent crowd. Both of them were awaiting theirfates.

“Whatarewegoingtodo?”Joshwhispered.“Huh?”IwasstaringsohardatMomandDad,IguessImomentarily

blankedout.“What are we going to do?” Josh repeated urgently, still holding

desperatelytomyarm.“Wecan’tjuststandhereand—”Isuddenlyknewwhatweweregoingtodo.Itjustcametome.Ididn’tevenhavetothinkhard.“Maybewecansavethem,”Iwhispered,backingawayfromthetree.

“Maybewecandosomething.”Joshletgoofmyarm.Hestaredatmeeagerly.“We’re going to push this tree over,” I whispered with so much

confidence that I surprisedmyself. “We’regoing topush the treeover sothesunlightwillfilltheamphitheater.”

“Yes!”Joshcriedimmediately.“Lookatthistree.It’spracticallydownalready.Wecandoit!”

Iknewwecoulddoit.Idon’tknowwheremyconfidencecamefrom.ButIknewwecoulddoit.

AndIknewwehadtodoitfast.Peeringover the topof the trunkagain,struggling tosee throughthe

shadows,Icouldseethateveryoneinthetheaterhadstoodup.Theywereallstartingtomoveforward,downtowardMomandDad.

“Comeon,Josh,”Iwhispered.“We’ll takearunningjump,andpushthetreeover.Comeon!”

Withoutanotherword,webothtookseveralstepsback.We just had togive the trunk agood,hardpush, and the treewould

topple right over. The roots were already almost entirely up out of theground,afterall.

Onehardpush.That’sallitwouldtake.Andthesunlightwouldpourintothetheater.Beautiful,goldensunlight.Bright,brightsunlight.

Thedeadpeoplewouldallcrumble.AndMomandDadwouldbesaved.

Allfourofuswouldbesaved.“Comeon,Josh,”Iwhispered.“Ready?”Henodded,hisfacesolemn,hiseyesfrightened.“Okay.Let’sgo!”Icried.Webothranforward,diggingoursneakersintotheground,movingas

fastaswecould,ourarmsoutstretchedandready.Inasecond,wehitthetreetrunkandpushedwithallofourstrength,

shovingitwithourhandsandthenmovingourshouldersintoit,pushing…pushing…pushing…

Itdidn’tbudge.

18

“Push!”Icried.“Pushitagain!”Josh let out an exasperated, defeated sigh. “I can’t,Amanda. I can’t

moveit.”“Josh—”Iglaredathim.Hebackeduptotryagain.Below,Icouldhearstartledvoices,angryvoices.“Quick!”Iyelled.“Push!”Wehurtledintothetreetrunkwithourshoulders,bothofusgrunting

fromtheeffort,ourmusclesstraining,ourfacesbrightred.“Push!Keeppushing!”Theveinsatmytemplesfeltabouttopop.Wasthetreemoving?No.Itgavealittle,butbouncedrightback.Thevoicesfrombelowweregettinglouder.“We can’t do it!” I cried, so disappointed, so frustrated, so terrified.

“Wecan’tmoveit!”Defeated, I slumpedoveronto the tree trunk,andstarted toburymy

faceinmyhands.Ipulledbackwithagaspwhen Iheard thesoftcrackingsound.The

crackingsoundgrewlouderuntilitwasarumble,thenaroar.Itsoundedasifthegroundwererippingapart.

The old tree fell quickly. It didn’t have far to fall. But it hit with athunderingcrashthatseemedtoshaketheground.

IgrabbedJoshandwebothstoodinamazementanddisbeliefasbrightsunlightpouredintotheamphitheater.

Thecrieswentupinstantly.Horrifiedcries.Angrycries.Franticcries.Thecriesbecamehowls.Howlsofpain,ofagony.Thepeople in theamphitheater, the livingdeadcaught in thegolden

light, began scrambling over one another, screeching, pulling, climbing,pushing,tryingtoclawtheirwaytoshade.

Butitwastoolate.Theirskinbegantodropofftheirbonesand,asIstaredopen-mouthed,

they crumbled to powder and dissolved to the ground, their clothesdisintegratingalongwiththem.

Thepainfulcriescontinuedtoringoutasthebodiesfellapart,theskinmelted away, the dry bones collapsed. I saw Karen Somerset staggeringacross the floor. I sawherhair fall to theground inaheap, revealing thedarkskullunderneath.Shecastaglanceupatme,alonginglook,alookofregret.Andthenhereyeballsrolledoutoftheirsockets,andsheopenedhertoothless mouth, and she cried, “Thank you, Amanda! Thank you!” andcollapsed.

Josh and I covered our ears to shut out the ghastly cries. We bothlooked away, unable to keep watching the entire town fall in agony andcrumbletopowder,destroyedbythesun,theclear,warmsun.

Whenwelookedback,theyhadalldisappeared.MomandDadwerestandingrightwheretheyhadbeen,tiedback-to-

back,theirexpressionsamixtureofhorroranddisbelief.“Mom!Dad!”Icried.I’llneverforgettheirsmilesasJoshandIranforwardtofreethem.

Itdidn’t takeourparents long togetuspackedupand to arrange for themoverstotakeusbacktoouroldneighborhoodandouroldhouse.“Iguessit’s lucky after all that we couldn’t sell the old place,” Dad said, as weeagerlypiledintothecartoleave.

Dadbackeddownthedrivewayandstartedtoroaraway.“Stop!” I cried suddenly. I’m not sure why, but I had a sudden,

powerfulurgetotakeonelastlookattheoldhouse.Asbothofmyparentscalledouttomeinconfusion,Ipushedopenthe

doorandjoggedbacktothedriveway.Standinginthemiddleoftheyard,Istaredupat thehouse, silent, empty, still covered in thick layersofblue-grayshadows.

I foundmyselfgazingupat theoldhouseas if Iwerehypnotized. Idon’tknowhowlongIstoodthere.

The crunch of tires on the gravel driveway snapped me out of myspell.Startled,Iturnedtoseearedstationwagonparkedinthedriveway.

Two boys about Josh’s age jumped out of the back. Their parents

followed.Staringupatthehouse,theydidn’tseemtonoticeme.“Here we are, kids,” the mother said, smiling at them. “Our new

house.”“Itdoesn’tlooknew.Itlooksold,”oneoftheboyssaid.Andthenhisbrother’seyeswidenedashenoticedme.“Whoareyou?”

hedemanded.Theothermembersofhisfamilyturnedtostareatme.“Oh.I…uh…”Hisquestioncaughtmebysurprise. Icouldhearmy

dadhonkinghishornimpatientlydownonthestreet.“I…uh…usedtoliveinyourhouse,”Ifoundmyselfanswering.

AndthenIturnedandranfullspeeddowntothestreet.Wasn’t that Mr. Dawes standing at the porch, clipboard in hand? I

wondered,catchingaglimpseofadarkfigureasIrantothecar.No,itcouldn’tbeMr.Dawesuptherewaitingforthem,Idecided.Itjustcouldn’tbe.I didn’t look back. I slammed the car door behindme, andwe sped

away.

Scanning,formattingandbasicproofingbyUndead.