I flinch and call out, "Dad?"
I pull the phone away from my ear to hear if he replies, but the car alarm is too loud. I know he's not home, or at least, I think I heard him leave, and his car was in the garage, so I can't tell from my window.
"Kinley, let me call you back." I click the phone off and toss it onto my bed.
I tiptoe into the hall and listen.
"Dad?"
Silence.
Maybe it was something outside, and it just sounded like it was closer?
I turn to go back to my room, and a door slams downstairs. The floorboards beneath my feet vibrate. I flinch and stare at my phone on my comforter. I need to grab it and call 911, but what if it's just the wind? I couldn't face Troy if I called the cops because Mother Nature shut a door. Not after his being cool with my playing sleuth. He'll think I can't handle it.
With my stomach practically in my throat, I walk down the stairs sideways, my back pressed against the wall so I can watch in front and behind me at the same time. Well, not the exact same time, obviously, but a quick glance in each direction tells me I'm alone. I may be overly paranoid, I may have watched way too many crime dramas and horror movies, but at least I won't be caught off guard by some heinous villain.
At the bottom, I peek around the staircase, down the hall. Dad's office door is shut, but it can't make that sound anyway. The coat closet and garage-slash-basement door are shut too. It doesn't mean they weren't open a minute ago though. I edge forward and open the closet with a wide jerk. Nothing but Dad's and my jackets and a couple of umbrellas. No coats or boots. It's been a few years since we've lived up North, so when the cold comes we'll have to go shopping.
I grab the garage doorknob and turn it. I walk down one step. The empty garage is another step straight ahead, and to my left is the dark flight down to the basement. I reach out to flip the light switch and hesitate. Why bother? I'm not going down there. Never go into a basement or attic. That's the number one rule in horror films. Along with no running through the woods in high heels, and the first people to die are either black or having pre-marital sex. I don't plan on doing the first or last, and the middle one I can't control.
I turn around, slam the door shut, and head to the kitchen. The light above the stove is on, and I stare at the orange, triangular glow on the floor. Once I'm standing in it, I notice one of the table chairs overturned. Maybe that was the first crash? Great, but how'd it happen, and what about the door?
The car alarm still beeps, but at least it's quieter back here.
A cold chill starts at my head and dances around me to my feet. I shiver and glance up at the vent in the wall. There's one beside the doorframe and another at the baseboard by the table. Even if something's blowing though, it would be the heat, and it's definitely getting colder in here.
Something behind me rattles. I twirl around but don't see anything. I take a couple of steps, stand in the doorframe and spot movement from the corner of my eye. It's Dad's office door. It's sliding open at turtle speed.
I have to be seeing things. This is insane. And even crazier is that I haven't bolted out the door and into the road yet. As freaked out as I am though, part of my brain is screaming that there's a logical explanation. And that's why I take a few more tentative steps, until I'm in front of Dad's door. I peek in, but no one is on the other side. How is it doing that on its own? More importantly, what the hell is wrong with this house?
The cold from the kitchen gushes down the hall, straight at me. It blows my hair off my shoulders, takes a right, and passes me into the office. It rustles the papers on Dad's desk, growing stronger and stronger until the curtains blow and a whirlwind circles the room. Papers fly, and something from Dad's bulletin board pulls free and circles, mid-air, like water circling a drain.
I step inside and stretch out my arm until my hand is inside the windstorm. My fingers become instantly cold, as if holding an ice cube. I pull back and rub my knuckles.
Suddenly the wind stops, and the paper falls. It's the photograph of Cameron McDougal.
My heart thumps so loud it competes with the car alarm. I don't believe in the supernatural. It's fantasy and illogical, but it's also the first thought that enters my mind. Is Cameron's spirit here trying to tell me something?
The floorboards creak behind me. I whirl around, but no one's there. I walk back into the hall. Both the basement and closet doors are ajar. I want to laugh it off, nervous giggling like Kinley, but fear has seized every cell of my body.
Dad's office door slides shut. A small gust whooshes at me.
I jump and scream.
The front door opens, and Dad walks in wide-eyed. "What's going on?"
The chill leaves the air, and the thick humidity instantly returns.
I stare at him, not sure what to say or what just happened. "I…uh…"
The car alarm stops.
"Were you in my office again? How many times…"
"I think the heat has gone berserk." It's the only thing I can think of, the only explanation, even though it doesn't really make sense.
He hands me a jug of milk and walks to the basement door. "I'll check it out."
When he goes down, I stand there and listen, wait for something to start again, but all I hear is Dad clanking downstairs. Maybe it was just the furnace. Dad will come up, and it'll be fixed.
But as I put the milk in the fridge, I glance over my shoulder, making sure I'm alone.
* * *
I stir my Fruity Pebbles until the milk is pink and the once crunchy bits become soggy and break apart. I slept fitfully, with nightmares of killer cars and aliens trying to suck out my soul with a gravy syringe. Quite frightening. Then I woke up but didn't really, I only thought I was awake, and saw Mom enter my room. It was too dark to make her out, but I saw her silhouette. She smelled of lilacs or roses—something floral. I haven't dreamt about her in a long time.
"Not hungry?" Dad sets down his tablet. The New York Times is displayed. Troy's right. Print is dying.
I shrug. "Just didn't sleep well." I don't want to share the weirdness from last night.
When he came up from the basement, he didn't find anything wrong. I only told him about the gushes of air. He said it was probably a mechanical problem and he'd call Bridget. Then he went into his office, lectured me about not snooping, and shut himself inside for the rest of the night. I went to my room, never telling him what really happened. It's too strange. He won't believe me.
"Do you have any plans today? Going to hang out with Kinley?" He sips his coffee.
I sit up straight and push my bowl away. "Dad, it's a holiday. Can't we go see the fireworks?"
He shakes his head. "I have so much work to get done, Piper. I can't take a break this early."
He likes to pretend work is the reason why he does nothing else, but even when the books are done, he still stays home.
"I don't want to sit around the house while everyone else is out having fun. If you don't want to go, can I go with Troy?"
He nearly chokes on his toast. "You know the rules. No dating until sixteen."
Yeah, yeah. "It won't be a date." Not if the entire town's there.
"You just said…"
"Not just Troy. Troy and Kinley. Can I go if Kinley comes too?"
He thinks about it for a sec then nods. "If Kinley's parents say okay, then yes. But I want him picking you both up here."
That way he knows Kinley's really going? Geesh, Dad, way to trust your daughter.
I jump up and kiss his cheek anyway.
After dressing, I text to make sure Troy can still take me, and if Kinley can come along. He texts back immediately. Yes. Then I text Kinley and rush over to her house. Our street is quiet. As far as I know, Linzy's still missing. It almost feels wrong to look forward to tonight when her family is suffering.
Kinley opens her door with a toothbrush stuck in her mouth. White foam oozes on her lips. "I have to spit. Come on."
I shut the door behind me and follow her upstairs to the hall bathroom. While she finishes her oral hygiene, I fill her in on the convo with Dad.
"So will you come?"
She pats her mouth with the towel. "Of course, but I'm not sure if my parents will let me. We usually go as a family."
She's lucky.
"I can't go unless you're with me. Can we ask?"
She widens her eyes. "Of course. I'd rather hang with you and Troy than Mom and Dad."
We run downstairs and into the kitchen where Mrs. Abbott washes the counters. She always seems to be doing that.
"Hey Mom, where's Dad?"
"He had to run to the office."
"On a holiday?" Kinley's voice dips with disappointment.
Her mom offers her a weak smile. "He won't be long. You know how hard he works."
Sounds like they wish he was home more, while I wouldn't mind if Dad went out more.
"Did you need something?" Mrs. Abbott asks.
"Well, Piper asked me to go to the fireworks with her and Troy tonight. Can I?"
Mrs. Abbott stops wiping and stares at me. "Just you children?"
I can see the "no" forming on her mouth. Then I'll have to stay home and deal with our eerie house.
"My dad's going too," I blurt out and immediately bite my tongue.
Kinley gives me a sideways glance. She can't be that upset about lying. She did it with my Dad last night.
Mrs. Abbott smiles. "Well, if Mr. Grimaldi will be there then, yes, you may go."
Kinley squeals so loudly I shut my eyes. She wraps her arms around her mother. "Thanks, Mom."
As we run up to her room, she whispers, "Now we'll just have to not run into my parents all night. But that shouldn't be too hard. I doubt they'll hang near the teens."
"Right. And their attention will be on the fireworks. It's not like anything else will divert it."