“Wh-where is it?” Peter stammered. His eyes bulged and his mouth hung open.
We were both panting too hard to speak. I could feel the blood pulsing at my temples. I dropped to my knees to get over my dizziness.
“It’s … gone,” Peter choked out. “But … where are Mom and Dad?”
I shook my head. I looked away from him. I didn’t want this to be real.
I had the idea that if I looked away, then turned back, our house would be where it always stood.
But no.
Tall grass swayed in the gusting winds all the way up the sloping front. Nothing but tall grass.
“We — we’re on the wrong block,” I said, still struggling to catch my breath. “That’s all. The wrong block.”
I climbed to my feet and gazed around. “Come on. This is crazy, Peter. We just got mixed up. Check the street sign. Our house must be on the next block.”
“No,” Peter replied in a whisper. “Monica, look.”
He pointed to the tree at the top of the lot. The fat maple tree with the low limbs that he and I like to climb.
I let out a long, unhappy sigh. “Yes. That’s our tree,” I murmured. “You’re right.”
The tree stood at the end of the stone walk that led to the driveway. But now there was no walk. No driveway.
No house.
My whole body shook. My teeth were chattering. I hugged myself tightly but it didn’t help stop the shakes.
I need my parka, I thought.
What a crazy idea. How could I get my parka if my house was gone?
“This can’t be happening,” Peter said. His voice cracked. “How can a whole house disappear?”
“Dr. Screem,” I murmured. “He said he knew who we were. He said he didn’t want us to help that crazy woman Bella.”
Peter squinted at me. “Do you really think Screem did this? To show us how tough he can be?”
I shrugged. It didn’t make any sense to me. I just didn’t want to believe it.
“Was Bella telling the truth?” Peter asked. “That whole story about collecting the five masks every year to keep them out of Screem’s hands?”
I didn’t answer Peter. I was thinking hard. I stared at the neighbors’ house, and it gave me an idea.
I pointed to the Kleins’ house. “It’s still there. Like always,” I said.
There were lights on in the front window and in two upstairs windows. Yellow light washed over their front stoop.
“The Kleins must know what happened to Mom and Dad,” I said.
Peter took off, running up the middle of their lawn. I raced after him.
Maybe the Kleins saw something. Maybe they could tell us something that would help us.
They had always been nice neighbors. They were the ones who marked the baseball diamond in the field down the block.
Mrs. Klein was the girls’ basketball coach at my school. Mr. Klein traveled a lot. He always brought new kinds of candy bars home for Peter.
They were younger than our parents. Their daughter, Phoebe, was only in preschool.
My hand was shaking so hard, it took three tries to ring their doorbell. Peter leaned over the stoop and peered into their front window. “I can’t see them,” he said.
I rang the bell again. I was very eager to talk to them.
Finally, I heard footsteps inside and murmured voices.
The door swung open, and more yellow light spread over the stoop. I blinked a few times — and stared at the old couple standing in the doorway.
He was bald and red faced, and his thick square eyeglasses made his dark eyes bulge like frog eyes.
She had short white hair and a round chubby face. She wore a long flowered dress and leaned on a brown cane.
They both eyed us up and down. “Yes? Can we help you?” the woman said finally.
“Wh-where are the Kleins?” I blurted out.
They glanced at each other. He blinked his big froggy eyes. “The Kleins?”
“This is their house,” Peter said.
They both shook their heads. “No. You must have the wrong place. We don’t know the Kleins.”
“But that’s impossible!” My voice came out more shrill than I’d planned. But I couldn’t keep my panic down. “You have to know the Kleins. They’ve lived here for years.”
“Must be some kind of Halloween prank,” the woman muttered to her husband.
He started to shut the door. “Sorry. You have the wrong house,” he said. “Are you sure you’re on the right street?”
“Y-yes,” I stammered. My heart pounded so hard, I could barely breathe. “We’re on the right street. That was our house next door.” I pointed to where our house had stood.
“You know the house next door?” Peter asked. “That was our house. But all of a sudden —”
The old man’s face turned cold. “Sorry, kids. I don’t really get the joke,” he said.
Leaning on her cane, his wife stepped up to the door. “There’s never been a house next door,” she said. “It’s always been an empty lot.”