doorknob….
Casey awoke with a start. That was when she heard it.
Tap-tap-tap.
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
Casey pulled the sheets up to her chin. She could tell from the blackness outside her window that it was very late. Even the crickets had quit chirping. No one should have been knocking at that hour.
Tap-tap-tap.
She huddled there, barely breathing. Why didn’t her parents get up?
Wake up!
she thought fiercely, hoping the silent cry would penetrate through their dreams.
Wake up!
But they didn’t stir. At last, Casey forced herself from beneath the covers. She flew down the hall, her feet barely touching the floor.
“Dad?” she said, shaking his arm. “Dad, wake up.”
Her father peeled his eyes open. “What’s wrong?” “I heard someone knocking,” Casey whispered.
He sat up and looked at her. “Who would be knocking this late?”
“What is it?” Casey’s mother was awake now, too.
“Casey thought she heard someone knocking.”
Her mother listened. “I don’t hear anything.”
“I heard it. Please just go look,” Casey pleaded.
“All right, Casey. Calm down.” Her father got out of bed and shuffled out of the room. Casey waited at the top of the stairs as he checked the front and back doors, and all the windows.
“There’s no one there. Everything is locked,” he said when he came back.
“I heard something,” Casey insisted.
“Casey, I promise you everything is fine,” her father said. “Now, why don’t you go back to bed? It’s very late.”
“But —”
“Casey,
please.
We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
Casey went back to her own room. She got into bed and pulled the covers over her head. She was shaking.
Her father was wrong. Everything was
not
fine. They could lock all the doors and bolt all the windows and it still wouldn’t help. Because she was sure that the knocking had come from inside the house.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Casey awoke the next morning feeling tired and cranky. In the bright morning light, her fears from the night before seemed like a dream.
The cut on her hand was throbbing. In the bathroom, Casey checked it. It was swollen and crusted with dark blood, but it didn’t look infected. She rinsed it and changed the bandages, then went down to the kitchen.
As she was eating a bowl of cereal, her mother bustled through the kitchen, carrying a bucket full of paintbrushes.
“We’re painting the dining room today,” she told Casey brightly. “Want to help? It’ll be fun!”
Casey looked at her mother’s paint-splattered T-shirt. The collar was already ringed with sweat.
There’s no doubt about it,
she thought.
Mom’s Fun-o-meter has gone completely haywire.
“No thanks,” she said.
“How’s your hand?” her mother asked.
Casey shrugged. “I’ll live.”
“Put a little salve on it so it doesn’t get infected,” her mother instructed. She frowned a little and added, “Why don’t you get out of the house today? It would probably do you some good.” Picking up her brushes, she left the room.
Casey finished her breakfast and rinsed her bowl in the sink. It was still early, but she could already feel sweat trickling down her back. She could tell it was going to be another scorching day.
Casey stepped onto the porch, wondering what she should do. She considered going down to the gas station to call Jillian, but the thought of riding her bike through the heat was unbearable.
Anyway, Jillian’s probably busy,
Casey told herself. She thought longingly of Manhattan, with itscool museums and air-conditioned movie theaters.
Lucky Jillian.
On the porch swing, Casey spotted Millie’s diary, where she’d left it the night before. She sat down and picked it up. Rocking herself gently on the swing, she opened to a random page.
June 10
Dearest friend,
I had another bad dream last night. I dreamed there was a fire. The smoke was so thick I couldn’t breathe. I wanted so much to run away. But all I could do was stand there and yell, “Get up!
Casey awoke with a start. That was when she heard it.
Tap-tap-tap.
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
Casey pulled the sheets up to her chin. She could tell from the blackness outside her window that it was very late. Even the crickets had quit chirping. No one should have been knocking at that hour.
Tap-tap-tap.
She huddled there, barely breathing. Why didn’t her parents get up?
Wake up!
she thought fiercely, hoping the silent cry would penetrate through their dreams.
Wake up!
But they didn’t stir. At last, Casey forced herself from beneath the covers. She flew down the hall, her feet barely touching the floor.
“Dad?” she said, shaking his arm. “Dad, wake up.”
Her father peeled his eyes open. “What’s wrong?” “I heard someone knocking,” Casey whispered.
He sat up and looked at her. “Who would be knocking this late?”
“What is it?” Casey’s mother was awake now, too.
“Casey thought she heard someone knocking.”
Her mother listened. “I don’t hear anything.”
“I heard it. Please just go look,” Casey pleaded.
“All right, Casey. Calm down.” Her father got out of bed and shuffled out of the room. Casey waited at the top of the stairs as he checked the front and back doors, and all the windows.
“There’s no one there. Everything is locked,” he said when he came back.
“I heard something,” Casey insisted.
“Casey, I promise you everything is fine,” her father said. “Now, why don’t you go back to bed? It’s very late.”
“But —”
“Casey,
please.
We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
Casey went back to her own room. She got into bed and pulled the covers over her head. She was shaking.
Her father was wrong. Everything was
not
fine. They could lock all the doors and bolt all the windows and it still wouldn’t help. Because she was sure that the knocking had come from inside the house.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Casey awoke the next morning feeling tired and cranky. In the bright morning light, her fears from the night before seemed like a dream.
The cut on her hand was throbbing. In the bathroom, Casey checked it. It was swollen and crusted with dark blood, but it didn’t look infected. She rinsed it and changed the bandages, then went down to the kitchen.
As she was eating a bowl of cereal, her mother bustled through the kitchen, carrying a bucket full of paintbrushes.
“We’re painting the dining room today,” she told Casey brightly. “Want to help? It’ll be fun!”
Casey looked at her mother’s paint-splattered T-shirt. The collar was already ringed with sweat.
There’s no doubt about it,
she thought.
Mom’s Fun-o-meter has gone completely haywire.
“No thanks,” she said.
“How’s your hand?” her mother asked.
Casey shrugged. “I’ll live.”
“Put a little salve on it so it doesn’t get infected,” her mother instructed. She frowned a little and added, “Why don’t you get out of the house today? It would probably do you some good.” Picking up her brushes, she left the room.
Casey finished her breakfast and rinsed her bowl in the sink. It was still early, but she could already feel sweat trickling down her back. She could tell it was going to be another scorching day.
Casey stepped onto the porch, wondering what she should do. She considered going down to the gas station to call Jillian, but the thought of riding her bike through the heat was unbearable.
Anyway, Jillian’s probably busy,
Casey told herself. She thought longingly of Manhattan, with itscool museums and air-conditioned movie theaters.
Lucky Jillian.
On the porch swing, Casey spotted Millie’s diary, where she’d left it the night before. She sat down and picked it up. Rocking herself gently on the swing, she opened to a random page.
June 10
Dearest friend,
I had another bad dream last night. I dreamed there was a fire. The smoke was so thick I couldn’t breathe. I wanted so much to run away. But all I could do was stand there and yell, “Get up!
Similar Books
