punishment. Quite a little mob scene of at least two dozen Marlwoodians gathered for Mandy’s version of a good time. Elvis and Marica wore sleek swing coats and leather jackets, cute knitted caps and charm bracelets. Another girl was wearing a white fur coat. I was staring at thousands and thousands of dollars in clothes.
“Oh my God, that house is so scary,” Ida said shrilly.
It was, even without any of Mandy’s help. Whole sections of the walls had fallen away, leaving gaping holes where fog swirled in and out.
“ Come in ,” echoed a low, evil voice. “ Come in and die, Alis and Sangeeta. ”
“Bwahaha,” Claire murmured.
We found a rock and a tree stump to sit on. The Amy Winehouse chick, Rose Hyde-Smith, bounded through the underbrush and plopped down on a log. Waving at us, she sat with her legs crossed, in her beehive and a short denim skirt and orange tights with big yellow polka dots on them. Her boots were chunky leather rectangles.
She looked me up and down, at the remnants of my jeans, my high-tops, and my sweatshirt—advertising just how much I didn’t belong there, like her. We looked like escapees from the circus, or a shelter.
“Hey, I’m Rose. From our lit class.”
“I know.” I grinned, but then tensed up again, wary of what was about to happen.
“Here they come,” Ida whispered.
I craned my neck and saw a bunch of white blobs emerging from a stand of pine trees about twenty feet away. As they approached, they grew more distinct: Lara and Kiyoko walked on either side of tonight’s two victims, Alis and Sangeeta.
Then a tall, headless woman dressed in a shredded white poof-skirt ball gown burst from the trees and bobbed after them. Julie, of course. Blood pumped from the stump, which Julie must have been wearing like a hat, and sluiced down the low-cut bodice onto the gown.
“Heeeee!” the woman shrieked.
Alis and Sangeeta whirled around, saw her, and screamed. Kiyoko and Lara boxed them in as Julie started herding them toward the front door. Sangeeta pushed against Alis, who started laughing. The house erupted into flashing lights and organ music, and just as abruptly stopped.
“Holy cow,” Ida murmured.
Lara handed the girls flashlights. The two flicked them off and on, testing them. They entered the condemned building. Julie ran after them into the house staggering a bit. Alis raised a hand as if she were waving to us onlookers, and a couple of girls cheered.
“And they were never seen or heard from again,” Claire intoned.
“Except in the bathroom,” Rose put in, “if you say, ‘Come to me, come to me, come to me, come to me, come to—”
“Stop,” Ida pleaded.
“Mmmm . . . ” Rose teased. Ida batted her arm and Rose shook her head and rolled her eyes.
The building came alive. The lamps flashed, creepy organ music cascaded out the holes in the walls, and crazed laughter echoed over the dark hills and pine trees. Someone shrieked. A second scream joined the first; then the screaming was a crescendo falling over itself like a waterfall.
“What’s going on in there?” Ida asked me, and I understood the genius that was Mandy. She’d shown me just enough to make me something of an insider. I could share information. But I didn’t have all of it, so I couldn’t give away all the surprises. Only Mandy’s chosen few—and her victims—would have the 411.
“I know not,” I assured her.
“Did you get to go in?” Claire asked me.
“Yeah, but I didn’t really see anything,” I said. They both eyed me dubiously. “It smelled like rotted books.”
“So there’re books?” Ida asked. “What kind of books?”
“Rotted books,” Rose said.
The music blared; the screams became real.
“It sounds like they’re dying ,” Ida said.
I got the feeling that someone was watching us, the watchers.
On a rise to my left, pine trees swayed and moved in the night wind. A figure stepped from their bobbing branches. His hair was dark and
“Oh my God, that house is so scary,” Ida said shrilly.
It was, even without any of Mandy’s help. Whole sections of the walls had fallen away, leaving gaping holes where fog swirled in and out.
“ Come in ,” echoed a low, evil voice. “ Come in and die, Alis and Sangeeta. ”
“Bwahaha,” Claire murmured.
We found a rock and a tree stump to sit on. The Amy Winehouse chick, Rose Hyde-Smith, bounded through the underbrush and plopped down on a log. Waving at us, she sat with her legs crossed, in her beehive and a short denim skirt and orange tights with big yellow polka dots on them. Her boots were chunky leather rectangles.
She looked me up and down, at the remnants of my jeans, my high-tops, and my sweatshirt—advertising just how much I didn’t belong there, like her. We looked like escapees from the circus, or a shelter.
“Hey, I’m Rose. From our lit class.”
“I know.” I grinned, but then tensed up again, wary of what was about to happen.
“Here they come,” Ida whispered.
I craned my neck and saw a bunch of white blobs emerging from a stand of pine trees about twenty feet away. As they approached, they grew more distinct: Lara and Kiyoko walked on either side of tonight’s two victims, Alis and Sangeeta.
Then a tall, headless woman dressed in a shredded white poof-skirt ball gown burst from the trees and bobbed after them. Julie, of course. Blood pumped from the stump, which Julie must have been wearing like a hat, and sluiced down the low-cut bodice onto the gown.
“Heeeee!” the woman shrieked.
Alis and Sangeeta whirled around, saw her, and screamed. Kiyoko and Lara boxed them in as Julie started herding them toward the front door. Sangeeta pushed against Alis, who started laughing. The house erupted into flashing lights and organ music, and just as abruptly stopped.
“Holy cow,” Ida murmured.
Lara handed the girls flashlights. The two flicked them off and on, testing them. They entered the condemned building. Julie ran after them into the house staggering a bit. Alis raised a hand as if she were waving to us onlookers, and a couple of girls cheered.
“And they were never seen or heard from again,” Claire intoned.
“Except in the bathroom,” Rose put in, “if you say, ‘Come to me, come to me, come to me, come to me, come to—”
“Stop,” Ida pleaded.
“Mmmm . . . ” Rose teased. Ida batted her arm and Rose shook her head and rolled her eyes.
The building came alive. The lamps flashed, creepy organ music cascaded out the holes in the walls, and crazed laughter echoed over the dark hills and pine trees. Someone shrieked. A second scream joined the first; then the screaming was a crescendo falling over itself like a waterfall.
“What’s going on in there?” Ida asked me, and I understood the genius that was Mandy. She’d shown me just enough to make me something of an insider. I could share information. But I didn’t have all of it, so I couldn’t give away all the surprises. Only Mandy’s chosen few—and her victims—would have the 411.
“I know not,” I assured her.
“Did you get to go in?” Claire asked me.
“Yeah, but I didn’t really see anything,” I said. They both eyed me dubiously. “It smelled like rotted books.”
“So there’re books?” Ida asked. “What kind of books?”
“Rotted books,” Rose said.
The music blared; the screams became real.
“It sounds like they’re dying ,” Ida said.
I got the feeling that someone was watching us, the watchers.
On a rise to my left, pine trees swayed and moved in the night wind. A figure stepped from their bobbing branches. His hair was dark and
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