46 - How to Kill a Monster (4 page)

Clark and I glanced at each other and shrugged.

“Are you ready to bake?” Grandma smiled. “Everything is ready.” She waved at
the counter, at the pie ingredients all lined up.

“Who wants to roll out the dough,” she asked, staring straight at me, “while
I slice the rhubarb?”

“I guess I will,” I replied.

Clark sighed. “Uh, maybe I’ll go into the living room and read my comic,” he
told Grandma, trying to escape. “Mom says I just get in the way when she cooks.”

“Nonsense!” Grandma replied. “You measure out the sugar. Lots and lots of
sugar.”

I rolled out the pie dough. It seemed like an awful lot of dough. But then—what did I know? I’m never around when Mom bakes. She says I get in the way too.

When the dough was rolled flat, Grandma took over. “Okay, children. You sit down at the table and have a nice glass of
milk. I’ll finish up.”

Clark and I weren’t thirsty. But we didn’t feel like arguing. We drank our
milk and watched Grandma finish making the pie.

No—not one pie.
Three
pies.

“Grandma, how come you’re making
three
pies?” I asked.

“I always like to have a little extra,” she explained. “Just in case company
drops in.”

Company? I thought. Company?

I stared at Grandma.

Is she totally losing it?

Who did she think was coming to visit? She lives in the middle of nowhere!

What is going on around here? I wondered.

Is Grandma really expecting visitors?

Why does she make so much extra food?

“Work builds thirst!” Grandpa announced, banging open the kitchen door. He
headed for the refrigerator. “See! I’m right!” Grandpa pointed to our empty milk
glasses. “Are you two ready to help with the shed now?”

“Eddie, the children didn’t come here to work!” Grandma scolded. “Why don’t
you two have some fun exploring the house? There are endless rooms. I’m sure
you’ll find some wonderful treasures.”

“Great idea!” Grandpa’s face lit up with a smile. But it faded quickly. “Just
one warning. You’ll find a locked room. At the end of the hall on the third
floor. Now pay attention, children. Stay away from that room.”

“Why? What’s in it?” Clark demanded.

Grandma and Grandpa exchanged worried glances. Grandma’s face turned bright
pink.

“It’s a supply room,” Grandpa replied. “We’ve stored away things in there.
Old things. Fragile things. Things that could easily break. So just stay away.”

Clark and I took off. We were glad to get away. Grandma Rose and Grandpa
Eddie were nice—but weird.

The kitchen, living room, and dining room took up most of the first floor.
And we’d seen them already.

There was a library on the first floor too. But the books in there were old
and dusty. They made me sneeze. Nothing very exciting in there. So Clark and I
headed upstairs. To the second floor.

We made our way past our bedrooms.

Past the little hall window.

We followed the twists and turns of the dim hallway—until we came to the
next room.

Grandma and Grandpa’s bedroom.

“I don’t think we should go in there,” I told Clark. “I don’t think Grandma
and Grandpa want us snooping through their things.”

“Come on!” he urged. “Don’t you want to check it out? For pancake crumbs.” He
laughed.

I shoved Clark hard.

“Hey!” he grumbled. His glasses slid down his nose. “It was just a joke.”

I left my stepbrother in the hall and opened the door to the next room. The
door was made of heavy, dark wood. It groaned when I pushed it.

I fumbled in the dark for the light switch. The room glowed a sickly yellow—from a single, dirty bulb, dangling from the
ceiling.

In the dreary light, I could make out cartons. A room full of cartons. Stacks
and stacks of them.

“Hey! Maybe there’s some cool stuff in these boxes,” Clark said, pushing past
me.

Clark began to pry one open. “Whatever is in here must be pretty big,” he
said, pointing to the carton’s bulging sides.

I peered over Clark’s shoulder. The room smelled so musty and sour. I held my
nose and squinted in the dim light. Waiting for Clark to reveal what was inside
the box.

Clark struggled with the cardboard flaps—and finally they sprang open.

“I don’t believe this!” he exclaimed.

“What?” I demanded, craning my neck. “What?”

“Newspapers. Old newspapers,” Clark reported.

We lifted the top layers of newspapers to reveal—more newspapers. Old,
yellowed newspapers.

We opened five more boxes.

Newspapers.

All the cartons were stuffed with newspapers. A room filled with cartons and
cartons of newspapers. Dating way back to before Dad was born. More than fifty
years of newspapers.

Why would anyone want to save all this stuff? I wondered.

“Whoa!” Clark leaned over a box across the room. “You’re not going to believe
what’s in this one!”

“What? What’s in it?”

“Magazines.” Clark grinned.

My brother was starting to get on my nerves. But I made my way across the
room. I liked magazines. Old ones and new ones.

I shoved my hand deep inside the magazine box and lifted out a stack.

I felt something tickle the palm of my hand. Under the magazines.

I peeked underneath.

And screamed.

Hundreds of cockroaches skittered through my fingers.

I flung the magazines to the floor.

I shook my hand hard, trying to shake the ugly brown bugs off. “Help me!” I
wailed. “Get them off me!”

I felt prickly legs scurrying up my arm.

I struggled to brush them off—but there were dozens of them!

Clark grabbed a magazine from the floor and tried to swat them off. But as he
whacked my arm,
more
roaches flew out from the pages.

Onto my T-shirt. My neck. My face!

“Ow! Nooo!” I shrieked. “Help me! Help me!”

I felt a cockroach skitter across my chin.

I brushed it off—and slapped one off my cheek.

Frantic, I grabbed Clark’s comic from his back pocket—and began batting at
the scurrying cockroaches. Brushing and batting. Brushing and batting.

“Gretchen! Stop!” I heard Clark scream. “Stop! They’re all off. Stop!”

Gasping for breath, I peered down.

He was right. They were gone.

But my body still itched. I wondered if I would itch forever.

I went out into the hall and sat on the floor. I had to wait for my heart to
stop pounding before I could speak. “That was so gross,” I finally moaned.
“Totally gross.”

“Tell me about it.” Clark sighed. “Did you have to use my comic?” He held it
up by a corner. Not sure if it was safe to stuff back in his pocket.

My skin still felt as if prickly roach legs were crawling all over it. I
shuddered—and brushed myself off one last time.

“Okay.” I stood up and peered down the dreary hallway. “Let’s see what’s in
the next room.”

“Really?” Clark asked. “You really want to?”

“Why not?” I told him. “I’m not afraid of little bugs. Are you?”

Clark hated bugs. I knew he did. Big ones
and
little ones. But he
wouldn’t admit it. So he led the way into the next room.

We pushed open the heavy door—and peered inside.

“Wow! Look at all this junk!” My stepbrother stood in the middle of the room.
Spinning round and round. Taking it all in.

A room filled with toys and games. Really old toys and games. Mountains of
them.

In one corner stood a rusty tricycle. The big front tire was missing.

“I bet this belonged to Dad,” I said. It was hard to imagine Dad as a little
kid, riding this trike.

I honked the horn. It still worked.

Clark pulled out a dusty chess set from a banged-up wooden box. He began
setting up the board while I hunted through the rest of the junk.

I found a teddy bear with its head badly twisted out of shape.

A box that held a single roller skate.

A stuffed toy monkey with one of its arms yanked off.

I rummaged through bags and bags of little toy soldiers, their uniforms faded, their faces rubbed off.

Then I spotted an antique toy chest. It had a golden carousel painted on it,
dulled with age.

I lifted the dusty lid. A porcelain doll rested face down inside the chest.

I lifted her gently. And turned her face toward me.

Fine cracks ran across her delicate cheeks. A small chip marred the tip of
her nose.

Then I stared into her eyes—and gasped.

She had no eyes.

No eyes at all.

Just two black holes cut out of the space below her small forehead. Two
gaping black holes.

“
These
are Grandma’s treasures?” I croaked. “It’s all junk!”

I dropped the doll into the chest.

And heard a squeak.

From the other side of the room. Next to the door.

I turned and saw a rocking horse, rocking back and forth.

“Clark, did you push that horse?” I demanded.

“No,” Clark replied, softly, watching the horse rock back and forth. Back and
forth. Squeaking.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “This room is starting to give me the
creeps.”

“Me, too,” Clark said. “Someone beheaded the queen in the chess set. Chewed her head right off.”

Clark leaped over some boxes and jumped into the hall.

I turned for one last look before I clicked off the light.
Totally creepy.

“Clark?”

Where did he go?

I glanced up and down the long hall.

No sign of him. But he was just there. Standing in the doorway.

“Clark? Where are you?”

I walked down the corridor, following its twists and turns.

A queasy feeling settled in my stomach. My heart began to race.

“Clark? This isn’t funny.”

No answer.

“Clark? Where
are
you?”

“BOOOOOO!”

I let out a long shrill scream.

Clark stepped out from behind me, bent over with laughter. “Gotcha!” he
cried. “Gotcha big-time!”

“That wasn’t funny, Clark,” I growled at him. “It was just dumb. I wasn’t
even scared.”

He rolled his eyes. “Why can’t you just admit it, Gretchen? Admit it—just
once. You were totally scared.”

“Not!”
I insisted. “You just surprised me. That’s all.” I stuffed my
hands in my jeans pockets so Clark wouldn’t see them shaking. “You’re a real
jerk,” I told him.

“Well, Grandma told us to have fun. And
that
was fun!” he teased. “So
where should we go now?”

“We
aren’t going anywhere,” I told him angrily. “I’m going to hide in my
room and read.”

“Hey! Great idea!” Clark exclaimed. “Let’s play hide-and-seek!”

“Play?
Did I hear you say
play
?” I asked sarcastically. “I thought
you said that only two-year-olds
play.”

“This is different,” Clark explained. “Hide-and-seek in this house is
definitely not for babies.”

“Clark, I am not—”

He didn’t let me finish. “NOT IT!” he cried. Then he took off, running down
the hall to hide.

“I don’t want to be It,” I grumbled. “I don’t want to play hide-and-seek.”

Okay, I told myself. Get this over with. Find Clark fast. Then you can go to
your room and read.

I started to count by fives.

“Five, ten, fifteen, twenty…” I called out, counting to one hundred. Then
I started down the dark hall. When I reached the end, the hall turned—revealing an old winding staircase that led up to the third floor.

I started to climb the dusty, wooden stairs. They wound round and round. I
looked up ahead, but I couldn’t see where the steps led.

I couldn’t even see my own feet. It was totally black in there.

The stairs creaked and groaned with every step I took. A thick layer of grime
coated the banister—but I held onto it anyway. And I groped my way up—up the dark, winding staircase.

Breathing hard, I climbed higher and higher. The dust in the air stuck in my
throat. It smelled sour and old.

I finally reached the top of the staircase and peered down the third-floor
hallway. It looked like the one below—with the same twists and turns.

The same dark green walls. The same dim shaft of light that entered from a
single window.

I slowly moved down the hall and opened the first door I reached.

It was a huge room. Almost as big as the living room. But totally empty.

The next room was just as large. Just as empty.

I moved carefully down the dark hall.

It was really hot up here. Beads of sweat dripped down the sides of my face.
I blotted them with the sleeve of my T-shirt.

The next room I entered was small. Well, not exactly small, but the smallest
I’d seen so far. Against one wall stood an old player piano.

If it wasn’t so gross up here, I’d come back to this room, I thought. I’d
come back and see if the old piano worked.

But right now all I wanted to do was find Clark in his hiding place. And
leave.

I walked a little farther.

Rounded a corner.

And choked on a scream—as I started to fall.

No floor!

No floor at all beneath my feet!

My hand shot out in the dark, fumbling for something to grab onto.

I grabbed something hard—an old banister.

And held on. Held on. Held on.

I gripped it tightly with both hands and swung myself back. Back up to the
solid hallway floor.

My heart pounding, I stared down into the gaping black hole where I had
fallen. A hole where an old staircase once stood. Now rotted away with age.

I let out a long sigh. “I’ll get you for this, Clark,” I cried out loud. “I
told you I didn’t want to play.”