14

I yelled.

I screamed and kicked and pulled, but the thing held on.

My heart sank when I remembered no one could hear me. Dad and Sally were outside and Mom was in the office with the door closed.

It had me and it wouldn’t let go.

The icy grip was burning into my flesh, eating through to the bone. It was too dark to see, but in my imagination I pictured a fleshless creature under the stairs, scaly, sharp-toothed mouth grinning at me.

Got to get loose!

I kicked harder. I had to get away, but whatever had my ankle wouldn’t let go. I couldn’t see anything down there, but something told me there was a second claw ready to snatch my other ankle. Once it had both feet, I was a goner.

I strained until it seemed as if my muscles would snap like rubber bands. Then with a crack and a sudden jolt the step gave way, the tread breaking through.

There was a scream from under the stairs and the bony claw let go of my ankle.

I yanked my foot free and scrambled up the stairs on my hands and knees.

I slammed the door and leaned against it, my chest heaving.

When I finally got my breath back I looked down at my hands and almost laughed. I still had the trash can!

Good going, butter brains, you’re a real hero. Except the only reason you didn’t let go is because you were too scared to think straight.

I dragged the trash can outside and left it there, prying my hands off the sticky handles.

“Hey, Jay!”

My dad was shouting from the top of the hill, where he and Sally were playing. I waved. Then I ran up to them, ready to tell Dad about what had happened in the basement.

With every step I became less sure. What really had happened?

The dim basement had gotten on my nerves. A little mouse had scared me. My ankle had gotten caught between the steps.

And the laugh? Maybe that evil laughter was all in my head.

When I got up to the top of the hill the first thing I said was, “Better not go down into the basement, Dad.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“The steps got busted. They’re pretty old and rotten, I guess.”

“Thanks for the warning,” he said. He glanced at my ankle. “I notice you’re limping, are you OK?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just make sure you don’t go down there, OK? You or anybody else.”

Dad looked at me kind of funny. “Sure, anything you say,” he said. “Your new friend Steve was around—wanted to know if you wanted to go swimming. Said he’d meet you down at the lake.”

Steve. I’d almost forgotten.

Ten minutes later I was cannonballing off the end of the dock. KERPLUNK! The water was cold but it felt good. It woke me up, as if the incident in the basement had been some kind of bad dream.

Except my ankle was still sore. So that part was true.

I figured it was partly Steve’s fault, telling me that spooky story. Putting ideas into my head. So I decided to get back at him. It turned out he didn’t like to touch bottom in the lake.

“Gross,” he said. “The mud squishes between your toes.”

“What are you afraid of, Steve?”

“I just think it’s gross, that’s all,” he said.

But he was real jumpy in the water, like he was scared something was going to bite him. Snapping turtles or snakes. I’m a pretty good swimmer—better than Steve, as it turned out—and that gave me an idea.

When Steve wasn’t looking, I dove under as quietly as I could and swam in his direction. I reached down, got hold of his big toe, and held on.

Even under water I could hear him yelling bloody murder.

“Help!” he screamed. “Help! It’s got me! Help!”

It was great. I held on as long as I could and then let go and broke the surface with a huge splash. I was laughing so hard I had to get out of the water. Steve was beet red.

“Gotcha,” I said.

“That’s cheating. I never snuck up on you. All I did was tell a scary story.”

“Hey, Steve!”

I wheeled around. That was a girl’s voice calling Steve. It turned out to be this black-haired girl with big, dark eyes. She came down to the landing and stood there with her hands in the pockets of her denim cutoffs. “I heard somebody calling for help,” she said.

“Forget about it, Lucy,” Steve said. He made a face at me to shut up.

“Hi,” I said. “We were just fooling around.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m Jason. Do you live around here, Lucy?”

“My family comes here every summer,” she said, smiling. “I’ve known Steve since I was six.”

“Careful of him, Lucy.” Steve warned. “Jason’s our age but sometimes he acts about six. Or maybe he’s possessed by the old witch that haunts that house he’s staying in.”

“Whaaat?” Lucy raised her eyebrows at me.

“Steve’s just mad ’cause he can’t take a joke,” I said.

“Jason’s spending the summer in that creepy old place on Cherry Street,” said Steve. “The one that weird old lady used to live in.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard stories about that place, too. What’s it like, living there?”

“What kind of stories?” I asked, my pulse quickening.

Lucy looked away. “Nothing much really. Just silly stuff. You know how people make things up.”

“Go on, Lucy,” urged Steve wickedly. “Tell him.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Tell me.” At first I didn’t want to know but now I had to, she was acting so mysterious.

“Well,” said Lucy. “A family came to stay in that house last year but they only stayed a couple of days.”

I nodded. Steve had already told me that.

“My parents talked to them just before they left. They said that one night the ghost of an old woman came into their kids’ bedroom,” said Lucy. “Although it wasn’t an old woman, really, more a skeleton, all bent over and wearing some kind of black cape. She pointed her fingerbone at the little kids and warned them to get out. They said her voice sounded like it came from the grave.”

I snorted. It sounded like another made-up story.

Lucy held up her hand. “That’s not the end of it. The ghost then snapped her skeleton fingers and there was a huge clap of thunder and the bed lifted up and turned over on the kids. They thought they were going to suffocate! Their parents found them like that, trapped under the bed. Naturally they left the next day and nobody’s been in that house since. Until you.” She looked questioningly at me.

I tried to think of something funny to say but nothing sprang to mind. “There’s always stories about old houses,” I finally said dismissively.

“Of course,” said Lucy. “We know there isn’t really any such thing as ghosts.”

She had a real nice way of laughing, I noticed.

Lucy took a band off her wrist and pulled her long hair into a ponytail. “The real truth is probably something boring like the kids heard noises all night. All old houses make strange noises. They got scared and made up that story so their parents would leave.”

“Or maybe she threatened to roast the kids like Thanksgiving turkeys,” Steve said with a big laugh, shoving me and then dodging away.

“Or maybe she sneaked in and pinched their toes, scaring them half to death,” I teased.

Lucy looked at us and shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m going for a swim.”

“I’ll come, too,” I said.

“I’m waterlogged,” said Steve, dropping into one of the wooden chairs on the little beach.

As we entered the water, I turned to Lucy and asked what she knew about the house on Cherry Street. “Okay, you don’t believe in ghosts,” I said. “But was there really an old lady who lived there?”

Lucy nodded, her eyes very serious. “Oh, yes. For years and years. She was kind of crazy, I guess. If a kid so much as stepped on her property she would come out screaming and cursing them. Everybody said she was a witch. But that was a long time ago. I don’t remember her at all. She died when I was a little girl.”

I took a deep breath. I had to know. “Did she die in the house?”

Lucy hesitated. “No one really knows. They never found her body.”