Four

We hurried back through the cemetery, weaving around the graves and keeping our voices to a whisper. Between the death records, the messed-up population signs, and the ghost candle, none of us wanted to stick around there any longer than necessary.

The edge of the neighborhood we’d passed through earlier came in to view and I exhaled a breath of relief, excited at the prospect of getting help. I wanted to get back on the road. At this point, I didn’t care if we headed to the concert or back to Mrs. Hooper’s pot roast. I’d be grateful either way.

“Which street? Which house?” Mike asked. The streetlights cast enough light for me to catch the flicker of indecision in his eyes. I knew what he was thinking: it didn’t matter. It was a total crapshoot either way.

I stared down the street in front of me. Black mailboxes lined the side of the road, and perfectly straight brick walkways led to the front doors. Also black. I counted twelve houses on that street, then turned in a half-circle and counted twelve more on the street to my right. I didn’t bother to check the last one; my guess was there were twelve, eerily identical houses lining that street as well.

Apparently, in this town, your choices were limited. You either got the standard three-bedroom white cape with the black shutters and a black front door, or the standard three-bedroom white cape with the black shutters and a black front door. Even the flower beds looked the same, artistically curved around the base of each mailbox, each one planted with the exact same shade of nearly dead yellow and burnt-orange flowers.

Stripping off my gloves, I blew hot air into my hands. The houses lining the streets didn’t exactly make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. In fact, they had me wondering what kind of dull, repressed people lived here.

Something about this whole neighborhood felt wrong. Horribly wrong. My senses hadn’t been this jacked up in years. Not since that first night in the group home when I realized the girl bunking below me kept a makeshift knife tucked into the springs of her mattress. I’d spent my entire two-week stint there trying to avoid falling asleep, and I had a distinct feeling that if we didn’t get out of here soon, I’d spend tonight doing the exact same thing.

“Holy house farm. They even have the same landscaping, right down to the flowerpot on the front step,” Luke said.

“You think we’ll get lucky and find a house key under one of those pots?” Mike asked.

“From the looks of it, I bet one damn key opens every house,” I replied.

“Probably right. Let’s go to that first one. I’m already halfway to hypothermia here,” Mike suggested, only pausing when he noticed Luke counting the houses. “No. Don’t even go there.”

“House number three. We need to go to house number three.” Luke grinned at me, no doubt preparing to take another verbal lashing over his idiotic fascination with triples. He played both football and lacrosse and insisted his uniform number be three. He’d applied to three colleges, and each one had to be within three hundred miles of home. He was even born on March third.

“Oh God,” I sighed, dropping my head into my hands. “Here we go again.”

“Hell no,” Mike said. “We’re going to the one right there.” He pointed to the house closest to us. “Screw your lucky number obsession. I can’t feel my legs anymore, and my nuts are already the size of raisins.”

Luke smirked, undeterred by his brother. “It’s not an obsession. It’s lucky. I won big on it last week!”

I held my hand up to stop him. “That was a pee wee football ticket you bought from your cousin, and you won two tickets to a movie we’d already seen.”

I was only half joking about my annoyance. The fact was, Luke had always favored the number three. Last spring he had it tattooed onto his middle finger. He claimed it was his own personal lucky charm. I’d laughed and told him I was supposed to be his lucky charm. I smiled whenever I thought about that tattoo, knowing full well he didn’t choose that finger randomly. And I was fine with his little obsession back home, when it meant nothing more than watching the third movie in our Netflix queue rather than the first.

“Come on, guys. It’s not like I’m asking for much,” Luke said. He kissed my cheek, his dark eyes begging me to approve. “It’s just two houses farther; we can see it from here. Plus, I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

“Fine,” I mumbled. “But if I end up with frostbite because of this, you aren’t getting any for a month.”

“Fair enough,” Luke said as he came up beside me. “And I promise, Dee, I’ll make it up to you later.”

I grumbled under my breath. His hushed words left little to the imagination. Usually that tone would have left me feeling warm and buzzed, looking to ditch his brother at the nearest curb, but not tonight. Tonight was quickly turning into one giant bag of suck, and thoughts of being alone with Luke had died the second we hit that cemetery. There’s nothing like the heel of your shoe sinking into a freshly dug grave to ruin the mood.

“Well, here we are,” Mike said as we approached Luke’s chosen house. “Should we try knocking?”

I took two more steps forward before I realized that Mike and I were alone. Luke was still standing at the curb, staring at the mailbox. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

He shook his head, and I followed his eyes to the side of the mailbox. The number seven was plastered on the otherwise unadorned piece of tin. I knew what Luke was thinking, but the agony of the cold was settling into my bones and every muscle in my body was beginning to ache.

“Ah … yeah … no. Third house. That was the deal. I don’t care if it’s number seven or number three hundred and thirty-three. If we don’t find a phone or some gas, then we won’t see any of it,” I said, my mind still clinging to the futile hope that we would make at least the last set of the concert.

“See any of what?” Luke asked.

“Nothing,” I said. There was virtually zero chance we’d make it to the concert, but I wanted to at least make use of the hotel room. “Let’s hope somebody’s home.”

Mike rang the doorbell. When nobody answered, he put his ear to the door, listening for footsteps. Stepping back, he rapped his knuckles against the wood again and waited. “I don’t hear anything,” he said. “So much for your lucky number three.”

Luke grumbled something about the number seven and shoved Mike out of the way. He reached for the doorknob and twisted it gently. I held my breath, expecting to hear the catch of a lock at any moment, but it never came. One click later, the door swung open, a hazy light falling across us from inside.

“Look, they were expecting us,” Mike joked, waving me in. “They left the door unlocked and everything.”

“Are you insane?” I hissed, not moving. “We can’t just walk in. That’s breaking and entering for real.”

“No one’s home, Dee. And if they are, once we tell them we’re looking for a phone and some gas, they aren’t gonna call the cops,” Luke said. “Think about it. If we were running around their house with sacks full of their stuff, maybe. But not three kids looking for some help.”

I studied Luke’s expression, watching his eyes for any sign of doubt, but I saw none. I’d heard the intensity in his voice and knew full well that he wouldn’t have suggested this if he hadn’t thought it through a billion times. He was that type of person—the kind who formulated a backup plan for his backup plan.

Look at me, Dee,” Mike said as he waved his arms around wildly, dozens of crystallized pellets sticking to the sleeves of his shirt. “It’s freezing out here. Besides, Luke’s right. We’ll use the phone, wait for the tow truck to come pick us up, then be on our way. They won’t even know we were here.”

“This is crazy,” I said, exhaling loudly. Taking chances wasn’t something I was good at, and the thought of wandering into this house felt about as wrong as anything had in a while. “Fine, but only because we’re out of choices. And if I hear anything, anything, then we’re leaving. There’s something screwy about this place.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, silently cursing myself for getting us into this mess. On an ordinary Friday night I’d be at home, waiting for Luke to come watch a movie and trying to ignore the smell of Mrs. Hooper’s not-yet-
perfected veggie lasagna. Right about now, even that smell was appealing.