Seriously creepy.
My gaze kept being drawn back to the girl in the center of the picture. She stood a little forward, as though she were the leader. She had waist-length blond hair lassoed with a purple headband. Her T-shirt was, uh, snug, if you know what I mean, tight across a rather curvy figure. Just as I was thinking that this particular hippie chick was kind of hot, a horrible realization hit me:
It was Bat Lady.
Ugh!
When my phone vibrated, I jumped again. I quickly pulled it into view and looked at the message. It was from Ema. The text was all in screaming caps: CAR COMING! GET OUT!
I put the photograph on the mantel and headed back toward the kitchen. I kept low, nearly commando-crawling on the dirty linoleum. When I reached the wall, I rose slowly and peeked out the window into the backyard. In the woods, the cloud of dirt settled.
I could see the car now.
It was pure black with tinted windows. A limousine or town car or something. It had stopped in front of Bat Lady’s garage. I waited, not sure what to do. Then the passenger door opened.
For a moment, nothing happened. I glanced left, then right, looking for Ema. There she was, trying to hide behind a tree. Ema pointed to my right. Huh? I gave her a whatgives ? shrug. She kept pointing, more insistent now. I looked in that direction.
The kitchen door was still open! I’d forgotten to close it.
I ducked low and stretched my leg toward it. Using my foot, I kicked the door closed, though it didn’t stick. It popped back open, creaking in the still air. I tried again, but the lock was broken. The door wouldn’t stay closed. I nudged it closed so that it was just ajar now.
I risked a glance back at the window. Ema glared at me and started working her cell phone. The message buzzed in: what part of CAR COMING! GET OUT! confused u?!? HURRY, DOPE!
I didn’t move. Not yet. First of all, I wasn’t sure which direction to go. I couldn’t go out the back—whoever was in the black car would spot me. I could run out the front, but that might draw their attention too. So for now, I stayed put. I kept my eye on the car. And I waited.
The front passenger door of the car opened a little more. I stayed low, keeping only my forehead and eyes above the window line. I saw one shoe hit the dirt, then another. Black shoes. Men’s. A moment later someone rose from the car. Yep, a man. His head was shaved clean. He wore a dark suit and aviator sunglasses and looked as if he were either coming from a funeral or an elite member of the Secret Service.
Who the heck was this?
The man kept his body ramrod straight while his head spun like a robot’s, scanning the area. He stopped on the tree where Ema was doing a pretty poor job of hiding. He took a step toward her. Ema squeezed her eyes shut, as though wishing herself away. The man with the shaved head took another step.
No doubt about it. He had seen her.
I debated what to do here—but not for very long. I had to act fast, had to distract him. I decided to hit the back door and draw his attention. I was about to do just that when Ema opened her eyes. She spun out from behind the tree, all in her black goth wear. The man stopped in his tracks.
“Yo,” Ema said. “Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?”
The man with the aviator sunglasses stared for a moment. Then he said, “You’re trespassing.”
His voice was flat, lifeless.
“Right, sorry about that,” she said. “See, I was going around the neighborhood, and I was about to knock on your front door when I heard your car, so I figured, what the heck, I’d make it easier on you and come around back.”
She tried to smile at him. He didn’t seem pleased. Ema kept talking.
“Now, our most popular cookie is still the Thin Mint, but we recently introduced a new flavor, the Dulce de Leche, though I think they’re too sweet, and if you’re watching your calories—I know, it doesn’t look like I do, am I right?—you can try our new Sugar-Free Chocolate Chip.”
The man just stared at her.
“Or we still sell the Samoas, the Peanut Butter Sandwiches, the Shortbreads and the Tagalongs. I don’t want to pressure sell, but all your neighbors have placed orders. The Asseltas next door? They bought thirty boxes, and with a little help I can land first place in my troop and win a hundred-dollar gift certificate to the American Girl doll store—”
“Go.”
“I’m sorry. Did you say—”
“Go.” There was no give in his voice. “Now.”
“Right, okay.” Ema raised her hands in mock surrender and quickly moved out of sight. I fell back for a second, relieved. I was also impressed as all get-out. Talk about quick thinking. Ema was safe. Now it was my turn. I took another glance out the window. The man with the shaved head stood by the garage door. He opened it, and whoever was driving pulled the car in. The man with the shaved head kept doing the head pivot, like a surveillance camera, and then suddenly he jerked to the left and zeroed right in on me.
I dropped back down to the floor, out of sight.
Had he spotted me? It seemed likely, the way he homed in on me like that, but with the sunglasses on, it was impossible to know. I crawled back to the other room, positioning myself on the floor so I could see the back door.
I had my cell phone in my hand. I quickly texted Ema: U OK?
Two seconds later Ema replied: yes. GET OUT!
She was right. Keeping low, I started across the kitchen floor. I passed the spiral staircase again. I thought about what might be up there and shuddered.
Who was that creepy dude with the shaved head and dark suit?
Maybe the explanation was simple, I thought. Maybe it was a relative of Bat Lady’s. All dressed in black like that—maybe it was her nephew or something. Maybe he was Bat Nephew.
I was almost at the front door now. So far, no one had come in. Perfect. I stood up and took one more glance at the sixties photograph, at the weird butterfly emblem on all their T-shirts. I looked at the other faces, tried to take a mental picture so I could review it later. My hand found the knob.
And that was when a light came on behind me.
I froze.
The light was dim, but in this darkness . . . I slowly spun my head.
There was light coming from the crack beneath the basement door. Someone was in the basement—someone who had just this moment turned on the light down there.
A dozen thoughts hit me all at once. The biggest was a one-word command: RUN! I had watched the horror movies, the ones where the mentally malnourished airhead goes into the house alone, sneaking around like, well, like me, and then ends up with an ax between the eyes. From the safety of my seat in the cineplex, I had scoffed at their idiocy and now, here I was, in Bat Lady’s lair, and someone else was here, in the basement.