Something ropes around my throat, yoking me, and I catch air before landing on my back. I gurgle up a scream and he yanks me by the collar, dragging me into the kitchen. I flail and kick wildly.
“NO!” I scream, elbow connecting with the back of his leg. He stumbles, toppling like a tree, his giant fist ramming into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. My eyes are blinded by stars as I curl over.
“W-w-wait,” he stammers, rising to his feet, his eyes panicked, the ax still in his hand.
I look up into the face of my soon-to-be killer just as another set of steps run into the house.
“Marigold!” Yusef screams from somewhere as a shovel swings through the air and whacks the man across the head. He winces, drops the ax, and covers his one good ear. Yusef swings again and I scramble from beneath him. The man tackles Yusef to the ground with a grunt.
I’m up on my feet, grabbing Mom’s cast-iron skillet hanging from the ceiling, and swing at the man’s head, but it merely ricochets. I hit again and again until something cracks behind us and the hall closet door flies open.
“LEAVE MY BABY ALONE!”
The old woman bursts out the closet, screeching, her arms flailing. Stunned by the sight, I’m frozen in place until she leaps, sinking two sharp teeth into my shoulder.
“Ahh!” I scream, jerking left, then right, trying to shake her off. But she clings to my body like a monkey, convulsing and gnawing, nails digging into my neck. I pull at her hair and it comes out in handfuls.
“Helppp!” I cry, slapping her head, her hands, anything I can reach.
Yusef dodges the man, jumps up, swings the shovel and hits the old woman in the face. She falls hard on the floor with a clunk, leaving my shoulder slick with spit and blood.
“MA-MAAA!” the man screams.
Mama? I think, just as he charges at us, his face contorted in rage.
“Watch out!” Yusef yells, pushing me aside.
WHOOSH!
The ax cuts through the air, the blade singing. I duck and it slices into the counter with a crack.
WHOOSH!
I roll out of the way, the man swinging the ax left and right, aimlessly.
“Back off!” Yusef shouts, holding a chair up as a shield. “Run, Mari!”
The man shoves him one-handed and Yusef’s head whiplashes into the wall, his body going limp.
“NO!” I cry, running for him, but slip on a pool of blood from the man’s missing fingers and eat the floor.
WHOOSH!
The ax slices into the hardwood, inches from my head. Panting and sobbing, I quickly roll and army-crawl behind the sofa. He stalks over, the house shaking with each footstep. He throws the sofa aside like it was made of cardboard, holding the ax over me, ready to hack me into pieces.
This is it. I’m going to die.
I think of Sammy and Mom as I close my eyes, bracing for impact.
POP POP
Gunshots make us all whip around to the open front door.
Mr. Brown stands in the yard, smoke swirling from his gun, pointed in the air. He stares inside the house, bewildered by the sight.
“Ms. . . . Suga?” he gasps, his eyes wide.
The old woman coughs, flopping over like a rag doll.
By the counter, Yusef moans, and I spring for him.
“Shoot him! Shoot the man!” I scream, diving over Yusef. But when I look up, there’s no one there. The back door is open.
The man is gone.
Twenty-Four
MS. SUGA IS sitting on a chair placed in the middle of the family room, EMTs and police surrounding her. She stares transfixed at the floor, dead behind the eyes, drool dripping out the side of her mouth. The Hag is not as terrifying as my imagination made her to be. In the light, she’s nothing but a pitiful old lady. Being that she’s barely ninety pounds soaking wet, they don’t handcuff her. But they didn’t see the way she popped out of that closet.
“Definitely going to need stitches,” the EMT says to me. “And a tetanus shot.”
In the dining room, the EMT treats my shoulder bite while another gives Yusef a once-over, holding an ice pack to his head.
“Did you recognize him?” I overhear the officer ask Mr. Brown out on the porch.
“No,” Mr. Brown says. “But judging by his size . . . he has to be Jon Jon, the youngest boy.”
“The one they said was touching kids?”
“Um. Yeah,” he mumbles.
Yusef and I share a look.
“Did you see which way he went?” the officer continues.
“No. I was . . . damn. Is that really Ms. Suga in there?”
Pain flares as the EMT applies pressure to the bandages on my bite.
Police searched every room of the house. Every closet, under beds, and in the basement. No Piper. And the man, or Jon Jon, vanished right before our eyes. He wasn’t a ghost. Just like Ms. Suga’s not a ghost. They’re real, and they’ve been living with us this whole time.
“I just . . . can’t believe she’s still alive,” someone whispers in the kitchen.
“Me either. What, she gotta be eighty by now, right?”
Alec paces around the dining room, hands on his hips. “You can’t just make her tell us where Piper is?”
Mom folds her hands together, tears in her eyes.
“Sorry, sir, she’s still not talking. But we have several units canvassing the area. We’ll find your little girl.”
In the lobby of the twenty-four-hour animal hospital, Buddy somehow managed to hack up the two fingers he ripped off Jon Jon’s hand. Mom took one look at the fingers and bolted for the car. They raced back to the house, arriving just as Mr. Brown let off a warning shot.
“Alec!”
Mr. Sterling stands in the doorway, dressed in another sharp black suit, as if he sleeps in them.
“Mr. Sterling?” Alec says.
“I came as soon as I heard,” he says, his voice chipper. “Thank God you are all okay.”
“Piper is still missing,” Mom corrects him, an edge in her voice.
“Oh my. How horrible. But I’m sure she’s fine. Our police force is the best in the country. They’ll find her.” He glances over his shoulder. “You have quite the big crowd out there, waiting.”
Outside, dozens of neighbors stand behind the caution tape, gawking at the house. A hum of nervous voices travel inside. Our once-isolated block looks like an outdoor concert.
“And they can keep waiting,” Mom snaps. “We need to find Piper!”
“If you want, I can go talk to them,” he offers casually. “Tell them the situation and put their minds at ease. Maybe they can help with the search. They know this area better than we do.”
A stricken Alec only nods, tears in his eyes.
“That would be great, thank you,” Mom says, holding Alec.
Mr. Sterling tips his head into the kitchen. “Wow, imagine that. Some woman . . . living in the basement. All these years.”
Ms. Suga’s head pops up at the sound of Mr. Sterling’s voice. With a croaky scream, she’s up on her feet, charging, arms aimed for his neck.
And the throng of police surrounding her learn the hard way that she’s more agile than she appears.
The crowd falls silent as the EMTs wheel a strapped-down Ms. Suga out on a stretcher. They stare in pure astonishment at the physical embodiment of their urban legend being rolled away. Ms. Suga scowls at the crowd, but then she glances up at the house and the anger melts out of her eyes, the expression on her face morphing into deep sadness, chin trembling. This may be the farthest she’s been from her home in over thirty years.