It was Tom’s idea to take the shortcut home on the last day of school.

Gus, Raymond, and I followed him out of the school building, past the buses, past the screaming kids. He led us into the woods behind the school. It was faster than walking through the neighborhood and much cooler than taking the bus.

We had heard stories about the woods. Grown-ups said there had been a farm there years ago. A tornado had ripped through the town, across the fields, and swept up the farmer, his family, and his entire house. There was nothing left but a few lost pigs and a cow. Trees and weeds took over the abandoned fields. No one ever moved in.

Now kids said the woods were haunted.

As we walked through the trees, pushing branches out of the way, Gus said, “I bet this place is haunted.” He was always saying the obvious.

“Watch out for the bloody farmer,” Tom called from up ahead. “He hides up in the trees, waiting for a victim.”

“To eat?” asked Gus.

“That reminds me,” I said. “I still have some lunch left. Anyone want a pickle?”

No one was hungry.

Tom and Raymond went ahead to explore, while Gus and I walked slowly.

The woods were thicker than I’d expected. Darker, too. We all froze when Raymond suddenly shouted, “You guys! Come quick!”

He was standing in a small clearing up ahead, pointing at the ground. He had a rip in his jeans and dirt all over his face.

“You have dirt all over your face,” said Gus.

“I know, I know,” said Raymond. “Look what I tripped over.”

He pointed to a flat piece of wood in the dirt. A rusty metal handle stuck out of it. It looked like part of an old door.

“The door to the old farmer’s house,” whispered Tom.

“The house that was wrecked by the tornado?” asked Gus.

Raymond stood over the metal handle and kicked away some dirt with his shoe. “It’s bigger,” he said. We all joined in, digging and kicking at the dirt. After a minute we had uncovered the whole door.

Tom knelt down and looked hard at the handle. Underneath it was a small, round keyhole. Tom put his face close to the keyhole. He glanced up at me with a funny look.

“Garvey,” he whispered. He always called me by my last name. “Put your hand over this.”

I bent down and held out my hand. I felt a cool stream of air escape from the rusty keyhole.

Tom stood up. “This ain’t just a door,” he said. “I mean, this is a real door. A door with something behind it.”

“It’s a storm shelter,” said Gus. We all stared at him. None of us had heard Gus actually come up with an idea before. “Where you hide from a tornado,” he explained. “My great-grandma has one under her house.”

A shelter. Where the farmer and his family hid during the storm years ago. We were all thinking the same thing. No one wanted to say it out loud. Dead bodies.

“Or it could be a root cellar,” Gus said. “My great-grandma puts stuff in jars and keeps them in a different cellar.”

“Preserves,” said Raymond.

Gus nodded. “Like pickles and apples and jelly and stuff.”

“Or maybe,” said Tom, “it’s buried treasure.” He leaned down, gripped the handle, and pulled open the door. We all stepped back.

A wave of cool air rushed up out of the hole. Old wooden steps led down into darkness.

“It’s dark down there,” said Gus.

“Who wants to go first?” Raymond asked. No one spoke.

“Tom opened it,” I said.

“Garvey’s not scared,” Tom said, still holding the door. “He’ll go.”

I nodded but didn’t say anything. Now I had to go.

I walked to the top of the steps. It was impossible to see anything down there. I took a step down.

“See anything?” asked Gus.

“I’m not even down there yet,” I said.

I took a few more steps. It was still too dark to see. It felt cooler.

The smell wasn’t bad. It reminded me of how the grass smells after my dad mows the lawn. But there was another smell, too. It smelled like there might be animals down here.

My eyes were getting used to the darkness. I heard something squeak.

“Any treasure?” Gus called from above.

I heard a hiss from below. Then a word. “Ssssafe,” I thought it said.

I was so scared, I was barely able to talk. “Wh-who’s there?” I said.

“Is it… safe?” came the voice.

Someone lit a match, and the light from it blinded me. I saw a candle in midair. Then I saw the hand holding it. A hand that was wrinkly and covered in dirt. It had black fingernails curved like claws.

“Is the tornado gone?” asked another higher voice.

Four shadows stood in front of me. It looked like a family. A husband and wife and two children. When my eyes got used to the light, I saw that their skin hung off their bones. I had seen a mummy once on a school field trip to the museum. Their four faces looked like that. Sunken eyes. Hollow cheeks.

“That tornado’s bad,” said the man.

“Good thing we have this shelter,” said the woman.

“Good thing we have some food down here, too,” said the man. “How bad is it out there, son?” he asked.

I tried to take a step back, but the stair I was standing on broke, and I fell. “Help!” I shouted.

I heard Gus scream from above. Tom yelled a curse word and let go of the door. It dropped with a bang, and the whoosh of air made the candle blow out.

“Help!” I cried again. I could hear my friends shouting to each other as they ran away. I tried backing up the stairs, but they rotted and crumbled into dust. The door was too high to reach. I couldn’t see a thing.

“You’re safe from the storm down here,” said the farmer.

“We’ll stay here till it’s all over,” said the farmer’s wife.

I heard them coming closer. It sounded like their bodies were dragging across the dirt floor.

There was another voice, quiet and mumbly. I was only able to make out a single word. “Hungry… hungry…”

The dragging sound came again from the dirt floor.

“Mumummm… hungry…?”

The voice sounded much closer. It was the boy. The farmer’s son. Was he going to eat me?

I heard shuffling and then the sound of metal grind against glass. A lid was being unscrewed. Then I heard the voice again. The boy’s mouth was next to my ear. I could feel his warm, stinky breath.

“Are you hungry?” said the boy. “Want a pickle?”