Death's Door by Byars Betsy

Author:Byars, Betsy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 2010-02-26T05:00:00+00:00

13

LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS

“Death’s Door,” she repeated.

It made her remember that old phrase “at death’s door.” People used to use it when someone was about to die.

Herculeah’s hair began to frizzle. She was suddenly cold.

She glanced at her window. She thought about rolling it up, but there was still a chance she might yell for help. Also, she knew the chill was not from the outside air.

“That’s an awful name for a shop.”

He glanced around in surprise. “Customers like it. They chose it. I had a contest. It was between Murder for Sale, Little Shop of Horrors, or Death’s Door.”

“The customers didn’t have much to choose from, did they?”

“Everybody who bought a book got to cast a vote. Two books—two votes. Death’s Door won by a landslide.”

There was a silence.

Uncle Neiman cleared his throat. “Will you at least let me drive you past?” he asked in a pleading way.

There didn’t seem to be any harm in that, Herculeah thought. And besides, it would get them off this deserted street and around people.

“I’m not saying I’ll help,” she said cautiously.

“I know. I know.”

“I’m just saying I’m willing to drive past.”

“Thank you. That’s all I ask.”

He peered over his shoulder. “Now?”

“Yes, let’s get this over with,” she said. It wasn’t as much fun to be in control as she had thought. Besides, now that she wasn’t as afraid anymore, she was beginning to feel hungry. “I want to get home. My mother’s bound to be worried. By now my father’s in on it too. He’s probably got the whole police force looking for me.”

Uncle Neiman glanced nervously over his shoulder at the thought of the whole police force after him.

“And when I do get home—if I ever do—I won’t be able to study because you made me drop all my books. They’re at school! Maybe I could just run back in the school and get them.”

Uncle Neiman didn’t bother to answer. He shifted clumsily over into the driver’s seat. Apparently he wasn’t used to women’s raincoats. When he was settled at last, he reached into his raincoat pocket. He pulled out a key and fumbled trying to find the ignition.

“Is this your car?” Herculeah asked suspiciously.

Uncle Neiman didn’t answer. He accidentally hit the wrong control and water sprayed onto the windshield.

“Because you sure aren’t familiar with it. Maybe I ought to drive. At least I know the difference between the windshield wiper and the ignition.”

Uncle Neiman didn’t answer. There was more fumbling at the controls.

She leaned back in her seat and glanced up at the ceiling. “And you say you’re not a criminal.” She listed his offenses, counting them off on her fingers. “Kidnapping ! Car theft!” She wished she had enough offenses for the other three fingers. “What do you think a criminal is?”

Herculeah could see his face reflected in the rear-view mirrors. Beneath the brim of his sister’s rain hat, his unshaven face was grim.

“A murderer,” he said.

This time the car started.

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