0062134515 (F) by Alex Flinn

Author:Alex Flinn [Flinn, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-07-19T21:00:00+00:00

13

Two hours later, I’m in front of the abandoned house with Goose. I have no idea why, but Goose, at least, had been excited about it. “Really?” he said. “Someone lives in that house? She invited you? Cool. We always thought it was haunted. On Halloween, we dared people to touch it.”

I nodded. “So did we. Laurel and I did it last year.” I’ve explained as little about this as possible. It seems better to just let it unfold.

“So I get to go inside. Cool.”

I laugh. “You said that.”

But now that we’re here, he seems less sure. The driveway is almost impassable, with weeds and branches scraping the sides of the car. At least two windows are broken, and the paint that used to be white is dirty gray, where there even is paint.

“You’re sure someone’s not playing a joke on you?” Goose says as he negotiates the driveway.

Considering she came to me inside a mirror, no.

“I don’t think so.” A flock of crows lands in the yard, settling on the bushes and in the trees. I wonder if they’re friends of Violet’s.

Goose puts the car in park. “You think those crows are going to shit on my car?” When I shrug, he says, “Maybe wait here while I look around, in case something’s weird?”

“That’s okay. I’m glad you’re here, though.” I open my door and step out. A branch scratches my arm. One crow caws. Then, they all begin to until the yard is filled with their cries.

Goose swears under his breath, but follows me to the doorstep. The house doesn’t look any less abandoned up close. Leaf-covered cobwebs drape the door, as if it hasn’t been opened in years. Grass and flotsam collect in the porch corners, and the doormat is almost entirely worn away. I knock. My hand chips away a layer of dust and dead bugs.

“Why?” Goose says.

“Why what?”

“Why are you glad I’m here? You won’t let me be the big hero and go in ahead of you while you wait at a safe distance. What if someone comes after you with a knife?” He tries to stand in front of me.

“No one’s going to come after me with a knife. And, if they did, I wouldn’t sit in the car while you bleed to death on the steps anyway.” It sounds funny, except when you think about it. “What I really need is someone to be here with me, experience it with me, so I’ll know I’m not crazy.”

At that, the door opens with a creak.

“Ah, I see you’re both here,” Kendra says.

She’s holding the mirror.

Kendra steps aside so we can enter. My foot goes from dusty slate steps to . . .

. . . shiny black-and-white-checked marble floor.

The inside of Kendra’s house is nothing like the outside. Everything inside is brand-new, and it’s all black, white, or hot pink. It looks like a set for the musical Hairspray (which we’re supposed to be doing at school next year), with pink walls, a pink jukebox, pink Lava Lamps, and a soda fountain with black tables and hot pink chairs.

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