“One thing to remember: if that horrible child asks you to tell him the ingredients in the chicken potpie, or what kind of dressing is on the salad, or what a blood orange is, just smile and nod like you can’t understand English or something,” I said.
Brenden, Bahar, and I stood outside the intimidating, spike-studded iron gates of the Purdy House with a wheeled cart containing all the food and settings for my latest professionally catered event. But it was almost like none of us wanted to be the person initially responsible for actually touching and then opening the portal to the most haunted house in Texas.
Karim was nowhere to be found. He’d been hiding in my room ever since Brenden had showed up at my house, probably inside my closet looking for clean clothes or something. I don’t know if he was more afraid of the Purdy House or of having to be face-to-face with Brenden Saltarello.
I went on, “And Bahar will back me up on this: the only reason Boris ever wants to talk to you is to make you feel bad, or to tell you how much he hates things, so trust me, you’re better off just not saying anything at all to him, not one word, because once he tricks you into answering a question, it’s almost like he can take control of your mind or something.”
Brenden Saltarello looked at Bahar and then shifted his eyes to me.
He said, “He’s six years old, right? You’re messing with me, Sam.”
Bahar shook her head. “No. That pretty much describes Boris exactly.”
“Well, I’ve got to see this,” Brenden said.
Then Brenden Saltarello reached out and lifted the latch on the old iron gate and pushed the gate open.
The giant gate made a sound like a super-screechy cat being stepped on by a super-big foot in super-slow motion. For some reason all three of us inhaled at the same time.
And before I knew what was happening, I was inside the grounds of the Purdy House. I felt a little dizzy—not claustrophobia dizzy, just dizzy. I wheeled the cart up to the front steps, and Brenden helped me lift it up onto the porch. Now my actual feet65 were touching the wooden planks of the actual Purdy House’s front porch. I glanced back over my shoulder in the direction of the woods—where Sam’s Well would be—and past that, in the direction of the normal and not-haunted part of Blue Creek.
There was no turning back now.
“Okay. This place is really creepy,” Brenden whispered.
And we weren’t even inside the house yet.
We didn’t get a chance to knock, or to ring whatever horrifying-sounding bell might be installed on the house, because the door swung open with an enthusiastic swish that made us all jump slightly. And standing there was the Blank family—Timmy, Beth, and behind them in the dim shadows of the house’s interior lurked little unpleasant Boris.
“Well, well, well! Thank you for being here on time,” Timmy Blank said. Then he looked at Brenden as though he was trying to remember if he’d been expecting him or not.
I cleared my throat. “Ahem. This is Brenden. He’s part of the waitstaff for Catering by Sam,” I said, suddenly lying as effortlessly as Karim ever did, since Catering by Sam had never existed before the words had come out of my mouth, and there definitely were no employees besides myself, which meant I’d probably need to pay Brenden some of the money I made from the Blanks.
“Nice to meet you, Brenden!” Beth Blank said. “Don’t you boys look like perfect culinary artists!”
Maybe I was just nervous, but the way she said it made it sound like we were the meal and not the servers of it.
“Come in! Come in!” Timmy Blank said, and he stood at the open doorway and held an arm extended back into the depths of the Purdy House. That was when Boris walked right up to Brenden, put his face just about three inches in front of the third button on Brenden’s shirt, and said, “What did you guys make us for dinner?”
But I was too fast for Boris. I intercepted his torpedo before it could get anywhere near to sinking the SS Saltarello.
I waved my hand between Boris and Brenden and said, “Oh. He never talks. Not at all. It is seen as unprofessional in the fine catering business, so you may as well not say anything to Brenden for the rest of the night. He’s as mute as the mechanical llama at Lily Putt’s!”
“So impressive!” Beth Blank said. Then she added, “Here, let me show you boys where to go.”
And just like that I stepped forward, pulling the cart behind me, crossing over the threshold and into the musty and cool interior of the Purdy House.
65. Well, my shoes, with my feet inside them.