It felt like only a few weeks before we had been sitting on that floor, playing Pokemon. How did time move so quickly? Cooper had changed and I hadn't seen it happening. What I needed was security. Instead I was surrounded by more proof that my best friend had grown up without me.
Fortunately, I fell asleep quickly. Running around in terror tends to burn one out. I don't think I had any dreams, which, given the way my mind had been working, was a really good thing.
In the morning I woke to the sounds of muffled voices. My eyes snapped open. Where was I? It was daytime. Sunlight filled the room. Hanging tapestries. Right. Cooper's room. I glanced at the bedside clock. Nine a.m. Nothing scary had happened all night. Maybe it was over. Whatever "it" was.
I heard the voices again. It sounded like an argument. I got out of bed, exchanged Cooper's clothes for my own sweats, and went to investigate. When I opened the bedroom
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door, I recognized Sydney's voice. It seemed like she was scolding a little child, which is pretty much how she treated most everybody.
"Stop, just stop," she commanded. "I can't stand the whining. Just sit there and don't say anything."
That was the exact kind of thing she would say to Cooper. I felt certain I knew what had happened. Coop had taken off from the lake and come home. Yes! I ran down the stairs and charged into the kitchen to see ... it wasn't Cooper.
It was Mikey Russo. Oops. Russo shot me a surprised look. Freeze frame. It only took three seconds for Mikey's befuddled look to turn to one of anger.
"You gotta be kidding me," he snarled at Sydney. "The geek?"
"Oh, please," Sydney said dismissively. "He needed a place to crash."
"And he picked here?" Mikey said suspiciously. "With his little pal out of town?"
Part of me enjoyed the moment. Mikey Russo was jealous. Of course, the idea of Sydney and me hooking up was about as likely as cows dancing, but it was kind of fun to think that Mikey thought it was possible.
"You can't be serious," Sydney said, annoyed. "He's a kid."
"Hey!" I shouted indignantly. "You're only a year older than me."
Sydney gave me a sideways look. "I am a lifetime older than you, peewee."
I may have known there was no chance for the two of us to hook up, but it stung to know she thought so too. Unfortunately, Mikey didn't see it that way. I would have been flattered if it didn't mean I was in serious trouble.
Mikey lunged at me and grabbed my shirt. "What are
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you doing here, huh?" he growled. I could feel his hot breath on my face.
"She--she told you," I stammered. "I needed a place to sleep."
"What? Your bed's no good?" he growled sarcastically.
"Let him go, idiot," Sydney ordered casually. She wasn't as concerned as I was. Why should she be? She wasn't the one about to be beaten up by Frankenstein.
Mikey obeyed her. Sort of. He shoved me. Again. I went flying backward, hit my already sore rib on the counter, and crashed into the dish drainer. Three glasses fell out and shattered on the floor.
"Mikey!" Sydney shouted angrily. She didn't care about my getting hurt, but break a few glasses and watch out!
Mikey's response was to grab the back of my neck and drag me toward the door. I struggled but wasn't strong enough to break his grip. He must have had fifty pounds on me and he was enraged. I didn't stand a chance.
"Let him go!" Sydney screamed.
Mikey was beyond hearing. "You want to mess with me?" he snarled as he kicked the door open.
Things were happening too quickly. Why wasn't Sydney telling him that nothing happened between us? Or would happen. I was about to get pummeled by a jealous boyfriend without having had any of the fun to deserve it. Mikey pushed me across the deck and shoved me down the steps that led to the grass of the backyard. I stumbled down the stairs, trying to get my feet under me. No go. I hit the grass with my shoulder and rolled.
"Mikey, stop!" Sydney yelled.
I looked up to see him stalking toward me. He seemed huge, with angry eyes that were locked on me. There was no time for me to get to my feet. All I could do was defend myself as best as I could.
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Mikey was only a few feet away, when something got his attention. He looked up past me, his eyes focused on something. He stood there, frozen, as if not sure what to do. I took a quick glance over my shoulder to see . . . nothing. The backyard. That was it. I took the chance to get to my feet, figuring I had a better shot at defending myself upright when Mikey snapped out of it and charged again. He took two more steps and stopped again. His eyes widened.
Mikey looked scared.
"Hey, hey, no!" he mumbled as he backed away. "Sydney!"
Sydney was on the porch, looking as confused as I felt.
"What is your problem?" she called out, more confused than concerned.
Mikey took two more steps backward and fell down, flat on his back. He held his hands up as if trying to protect himself, but there was nothing coming after him.
"Stop! Help! Help me!" Mikey screamed in terror.
I looked to Sydney. She stared down at Mikey the same as me, not knowing what was happening or what to do about it.
"What's going on?" I called to him.
Mikey was beyond listening. He was crying and screaming and swiping at the air as if fending off phantom punches. As he scrambled to his feet, I saw his eyes. I don't think I'll ever forget the sight. He was out of his mind with fear.
"Get 'em away!" he screamed, then turned and ran toward the front of the house.
I gave Sydney a quick, confused look, then took off after him. The guy was running for his life. Or so it seemed. He rounded the Foleys' house and sprinted for his car, which was parked on the street. The whole way, he was crying and whimpering. When he got to the car, he grabbed the door handle while kicking back with his feet as if keeping something off him. It would have been funny, if it wasn't.
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He finally yanked the door open, dove inside, and slammed it shut.
Sydney and I stood together watching as Mikey gunned his engine and peeled out, his wheels squealing. He was gone in seconds, the sound of his car fading quickly.
We were left standing there, dumbfounded for a good twenty seconds.
It was Sydney who broke the silence first. "Then there's that," she declared, stunned.
"I don't get it," I said. "He just started going nuts."
Neither of us knew what else to say. We had just witnessed Mikey Russo having a complete meltdown for no reason.
"Should we call somebody?" I asked.
"Like who?"
"I don't know. His parents?"
"And say what? Hi, Mrs. Russo. Mikey just had a mental breakdown and he's driving around like a lunatic. Have a nice day."
Not that I cared an inch about Mikey Russo, but what I'd just seen had me pretty freaked. Whatever he just saw wasn't really there. It was in his mind. I knew the feeling. Did Mikey's mind just so happen to snap around the same time mine wasn't doing so well either? As disturbing as his panic attack was, it only added to my own worries about what I had been seeing.
"I'm calling your parents," I said.
"Don't bother," she said flatly. "I spoke with them this morning. Cooper isn't back yet."
"He's been gone two nights?" I declared. "That's not right."
Sydney seemed shaken, which wasn't like her. I wasn't sure if it was because of Cooper or Mikey.
"Now are they worried?" I asked.
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She nodded. "They called the police."
The news washed all thoughts of Mikey's strange behavior out of my head. I needed Cooper's help--only now it looked like he was having serious problems of his own.
"I'm going to the lake," I said, and started walking toward my bike.
"How? You have a car?" she asked.
"I don't even drive," I called back. "I'll take the bus."
"What bus?" she called.
&nbs
p; "I'll find one. Or a train." I picked up my bike, which had been sitting in front of their house all night, and wheeled it toward the road.
"Wait," Sydney called.
I stopped.
"I'll drive you." She didn't even wait for a response. She turned and headed for the house.
"You don't have to," I said.
"I know," she replied. "You'll owe me."
Gotta love Sydney.
"Go home and pack," she commanded. "I'll pick you up in half an hour." That was it. She disappeared into the house and slammed the door. She didn't even wait to hear if I wanted to go with her or not.
"Okay!" I called, but it was for my benefit only. Sydney was long gone.
Things were looking up, a little. I got what I wanted . . . a ride to the lake. At the very least I'd see Coop's parents. I liked those guys. They always treated me like one of the family. Still, I wasn't feeling much relief. Where was Cooper? It wasn't odd for him to take off, but not for that long. As I wheeled my bike toward the street, a thought came to me that made me shudder.
Was something strange happening to Cooper, too? I never would have thought that way if not for Mikey Russo's
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fit. Were we all going off the deep end? Was something in the water making us a little unbalanced? I put the thought out of my head and focused on practical matters. I had to pack for a few days.
That meant I had to go back to my house.
Alone.
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Chapter 10
I stood on the street, staring up at the most normal-looking house in the world. My house. I'd lived there my entire life. It was home. It was safe.
It was haunted.
The only other explanation was that I was demented. I couldn't say which I was rooting for. Less than twelve hours earlier I had been driven from my own home by the supernatural vision of a character that sprang from my imagination. Was he still in there? Was he hiding in a back closet or in some dark recess of my brain, waiting to attack when I least expected it? Or maybe when I fully expected it. I didn't want to go in, but there were some things I had to do before leaving. Looking around at the quiet street, I tried to convince myself that scary things didn't happen on suburban streets on warm, sunny days. That kind of stuff was saved for stormy midnights in desolate mansions. That's what I told myself, anyway.
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A blaring car horn made me jump. It probably saved me because if I hadn't moved, Sydney would have run me down. She pulled her silver convertible VW Beetle up to the house fast and skidded to a stop on the exact spot where I had been standing.
"Let's go," she ordered.
"I haven't gone in yet," I said sheepishly. I had been standing in front of the house for a long time.
The top was down, so I could see her look of disdain . . . even through her sunglasses. She opened her mouth, ready to tear me a new one, but chose not to. Instead she took a deep breath to control her more vicious impulses and said, "I'm leaving in ten minutes . . . with or without you."
"Would you come in with me?" I asked.
Her answer was to ignore me and focus instead on texting somebody. Enough said. I had to brave it alone and started the long walk to the house.
"What happened?" Sydney called out.
I looked back to her, not knowing what she meant.
"The rain gutter," she added. "Did the storm do that?"
I looked to the house to see the rain gutter that was torn from the porch roof and the smashed bedroom window above. Whatever had happened the night before may have been in my head, but that part was real. It had to have been if Sydney saw it too.
"Yeah" was all I could answer. I didn't have the energy to go into details.
Inside, I found more proof that what had happened the night before was real. The living room was a mess. Lamps were knocked over, along with a chair and a few small tables . . . exactly where I had thrown them. There was no Christmas tree, though. Or bloody gifts or broken ornaments or anything else that would prove I hadn't hallucinated that whole thing. Everything was normal, except for the destruction
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I had caused myself. Thinking that I had conjured the whole thing in my head was disturbing, but the thought of running into Gravedigger was flat-out terrifying. I had to focus on getting out of there as fast as possible.
As I moved through the house, I kept peeking around corners for fear that Gravedigger might be standing there. A couple of times I walked on a section of floor that creaked and nearly peed in my pants. The first thing I did was make sure that Winston would be okay while I was gone. Dad had gotten one of those dispensers that holds a week's worth of food and water, so I filled them both up. Winston watched me from the kitchen counter, bored. Cats don't stress. I then called Mr. Santoro to apologize for not going back to work the day before and to tell him I would be gone for a couple of days. Family emergency. It was only a small lie. Cooper was like family. Mr. Santoro told me not to worry. He said he would get Mark Dimond to come in for a few days to help out. Next I called Dad to tell him I was going to visit the Foleys at the lake. Hearing his voice made me want to break down and beg him to come home. It took all of my willpower not to tell him what was going on.
I went upstairs to my bedroom to get changed and pack. I jammed enough clothes into my backpack to last about a week. Mostly it was socks and underwear. I also packed my cell phone charger, though I wasn't sure I ever wanted to talk on that thing again. Not if I was going to be getting messages from the Twilight Zone. The last thing I did was grab some cash out of my dresser. I had to be prepared for emergencies ... or in case Sydney pitched a fit and chucked me out of the car in the middle of nowhere.
I didn't check my watch, but I must have gotten out of there under the ten-minute deadline because Sydney was still there waiting. Her car was running and I had no doubt she would have gunned out of there if I was a second late.
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As it was, she barely gave me time to get in and close the door before she hit the gas.
"Thanks for doing this, Sydney," I said. "I know I must sound like a lunatic, but--"
"Don't talk," she said.
It was a simple, straight-to-the-point command that I figured would be smart to obey. All that mattered was getting to the lake. I sat back and closed my eyes, hoping that I would fall asleep and wake up among friends.
I don't remember much about the movie we all went to see. It was the current action blockbuster that was supposed to be the "thrill ride of the summer" . . . but wasn't. It was totally forgettable. What happened that night in the theater, wasn't.
It was the night when Cooper nearly died.
A bunch of us from Stony Brook Junior High went together one Saturday night. It wasn't a group date or anything because none of us were paired up. Except for Coop, of course. He and Megan Whiteside were going out. Coop went out with most of the girls from our grade . . . and the grade ahead of us.
That afternoon Cooper complained about having stomach cramps. Mr. Foley didn't think anything of it since Coop and I had both eaten about a dozen tacos for lunch. He gave Coop some Alka-Seltzer, which took care of the problem. At least Coop said it did. There was no way he was going to give in to a little stomach pain when he could sit for two hours holding hands with Megan Whiteside.
Our group took up an entire row in the theater. Cooper and I were on opposite ends. He sat next to Megan, and I sat next to a guy named Mooch who kept whispering, "Whoa! Did you see that?" whenever there was an explosion . . . like I wasn't watching the exact same thing he was. The movie didn't hold my attention, and that's saying something for a guy
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who normally eats that stuff up. About halfway through I saw Cooper get up and walk to the lobby. If the movie had been better, I might not even have noticed. A few minutes later he came back and that was that.
Until he got up again to leave. I figured he had to go to the bathroom or get popcorn, but he came back the second time without any food. I focus
ed back on the movie and the evil industrialist bad guy who nobody in the movie suspected was a villain but was so obvious that it was laughable. When the bad guy's evil self was revealed, Mooch actually whispered, "Whoa! Didn't see that coming!" Great insight.
Cooper got up again to leave. That crossed the line into being strange. This time he didn't come back. Five minutes went by. Ten minutes. I couldn't take it anymore and slipped out to go see what the deal was. It was an old-fashioned movie theater on the Ave. I loved going there because it was like stepping back in time. There was only one screen, which was framed with heavy curtains. The lobby had a dark, threadbare carpet that gave off a sour smell that probably came from decades of spilled golden popcorn topping. When I stepped out of the dark into the lobby, Cooper wasn't there. Nobody was. I checked the concession area. No Cooper. I asked the sleepy kid taking tickets at the door if a guy had just walked out. Nobody had. The only other place Cooper could have gone was the bathroom.
That's where I found him. In the last stall, on the floor, doubled over in pain.
"Are you all right?" I asked. (Why is it that you always ask somebody if they're all right when they're obviously not all right?)
"Man, I'm dying," Coop answered through clenched teeth. "Those tacos were bad. My stomach feels like it's gonna explode."
Cooper looked horrible, though I can't imagine anybody
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looking good while they're writhing in pain on the floor of a dirty public bathroom. He was soaked with sweat. His eyes couldn't focus. His hair was wet and plastered to his head.
"I'll call your parents," I declared.
"No, don't," he said. "If I could just puke, I'd be okay."
"Coop! You're a mess!"
"What'll my parents do? Take me home and tuck me into bed? I'll still feel like crap and I don't want to miss the rest of the movie."