“Hey, Sam! Marigold! Get back here.”
I grab Sammy’s wrist. “Whoops, can’t talk. Gotta run!”
On the corner outside the secret garden, the fall wind slips through our jackets. Sammy, deflated, kicks a nearby rock.
“She must have heard us talking about the cameras,” he groans. “Sneaking around like usual. What do we do now?”
For a moment, doubt slips in. All this time, could it really have just been Piper grabbing a cup of water late at night? But . . . how did she reach the glassware? And those footsteps . . . they were too heavy to be Piper’s. Unless she was purposely walking that hard. So many questions, and a video might be our best bet of answering them.
“Let’s take another crack at it,” I say. “Set the cameras up in different spots this time. We have to catch her doing something! Dad will be here in a few days so we have one more shot.”
Sammy, resolved, nods. “Okay. But what about Piper?”
“I’ll distract her while you set the cameras up again.”
“How are you going to do that?”
I chuckle. “Easy. I’ll just talk to her.”
From my room, I watch Sammy tiptoe down the stairs, giving me a thumbs-up. He needs at least ten minutes to set up all the cameras. I take a deep steady breath and walk across the hall. Piper is lying on the floor dressed in her pajamas, drawing on sheets of printer paper, her lava lamp turning the room blood red.
“We need to talk,” I say, closing the door behind me.
Piper frowns, dropping her crayon before sitting back on her heels. “About what?”
“You know what. This little game you’re playing. I’ve had enough of the bullshit.”
At first, Piper plays coy, as if she has no clue what I was referring to. Then her face darkens.
“I told you,” she hisses. “This is Ms. Suga’s house and she wants you gone.”
I cross my arms, inconspicuously checking the time. Two minutes.
“So what’s in it for you, being Ms. Suga’s guard puppy?”
She raises her chin. “She’s my friend!”
“No, you don’t have any friends because you keep talking to this fake one! She isn’t real.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. “I have friends. Ms. Suga is my friend. She cares about me! Not like you!”
“What? What makes you think I don’t care about you?”
“You’ve never been nice to me. You were always making fun of me behind my back. And you called me annoying.”
“What? When?”
“The day before you . . . you . . .” She pauses. “And then you went away to that hospital.”
Shit. I have a vague memory of that day. I remember that I was exceptionally high, didn’t even make it to track practice. Piper came in my room to show me . . . something, but I shoved her out.
“Is that what this is all about? Piper, I know we didn’t really know each other back then. I mean, you’d just moved in, but . . . I’ve changed.”
She jumps to her feet. “No you haven’t. You’re still mean to me! You’re still smoking that stuff that makes you sleepy. And Ms. Suga doesn’t like it. This isn’t your house. It’s her house and her rules and she said she doesn’t want you here. She said, when you guys are gone, she’s going to make an apple pie for me and Daddy just like Grandma used—”
She cut herself off, knowing she’s said too much, exposing her real mission: to replace her grandma. The only friend she really had. My heart softens and I can’t even be mad. She’s hurt. And she’s acting out on that hurt.
“Piper, I—”
I stop short, the drawing by her foot catching my eye. On the paper are stick figures of her and Alec standing outside the house, all the windows in hectic flames. Then in the corner, by what I guess is the street, I see another person. A woman with brown skin, strands of white hair . . . wearing a pink apron with a pie on the front. My mouth goes dry.
Piper snatches up the paper and shoves it behind her back.
Be cool, I tell myself, rubbing my temples. Though I was ready to run, screaming. Five minutes.
“Piper,” I say gently. “Listen to me. Ms. Suga . . . she’s not real.”
“That’s not true,” she whines.
Six minutes.
“It is true! And this isn’t her house anymore. This is our home now. She needs to let go. We need to help her let go, move on. And we can do that . . . together.”
Piper is flustered. “She is real. And she says you need to leave! You’re a junkie and you need to go!”
“She’s not real, you idiot! You’re just a pawn in some game she’s playing. Don’t you get it, she’s using you!”
The words left my mouth before I could stop them. And it took a fraction of a second for me to realize I fucked up.
Piper’s eyes narrow, her hands rolling into fists. “You’re going to be sorry that you said that.”
Zzzzzz POP!
The lights click off and we’re thrown into darkness, the fear instantaneous. I reel back, hitting her accordion closet door with a yelp. The door shakes, hangers clacking, and I jump away.
Did . . . did that damn door just push me?
I turn to Piper and she doesn’t move, her little face a shadow. A scream is stuck inside my throat, legs desperate to flee. But I can’t move. Don’t know what’s out there. Then I look at Piper and realize, I don’t know what’s in here either.
I yank open the door to the hall and hit a wall of stench so foul it makes my eyes water. It’s spoiled meat, sour vomit, and shit. The coldness makes the scent sharp, stinging my nostrils.
Something is here. Alert and aware. It’s like the house can hear our every word, knows what we’re thinking. . . .
Oh no!
I take off running, trying not to trip down the stairs.
“Sammy!” I shout, sprinting through the hall.
Sammy is in the family room, a flashlight pointed up to his face.
“You okay?”
He nods, holding Buddy steady, and gives me a thumbs-up. He’s safe . . . for now.
The basement door huffs, metal jiggling.
“Did you hear that?” I whimper. The house . . . it’s coming alive.
Wide-eyed, Sammy slowly drags the light across the empty room, into the corner.
Alec’s bright blue shirt hovers by the basement door, the light bringing out the natural red highlights in his hair.
“Who locked this?” Alec asks, yanking the handle again.
A heavy gasp escapes and I deflate against the sofa.
“Where did you come from?” Sammy asks, voice cracking.
“I was in the office fixing Mom’s printer.”
So he was just down here in the dark? That’s weird.
Mom trudges downstairs carrying a flashlight.
“Why aren’t you in bed?” she asks as she shines the light in the corner for Alec. He wiggles the knob, examining the lock.
I push Sammy behind me, backing into the windows, watching Alec attempt to open our only protection from the demon living below.
“Maybe . . . maybe we shouldn’t do that,” I offer, muscles clenching.
Alec pauses to glare at me. “Well, if I can’t get into the basement, I can’t access the circuit breaker and get the power back on.”