Pigboy by Vicki Grant
Author:Vicki Grant
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Young Adult, JUV000000
ISBN: 9781551436432
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2006-09-01T04:00:00+00:00
chapter ten
I looked around the living room. There was no place to hide. No big couch. No big curtains. No closet. I didn’t know what to do.
Or at least my brain didn’t. It was in a complete panic.
My body, though, figured things out pretty fast. It saw the fireplace. Before I knew it, I’d ducked down and squeezed myself in. I had to curl up like a cinnamon roll to fit.
I just got my left foot tucked in when the guy came barreling into the room. He was wild—cursing and sputtering. He was headed right for the fireplace. The only thing blocking his view was a little wooden table. If he looked down, I was toast.
I scrunched my eyes closed. If I was going to die, I didn’t want his ugly face to be the last thing I saw. I braced myself.
Nothing happened. Or at least, nothing happened to me.
The guy kept cursing. He knocked everything off the mantelpiece. He kicked the little wooden table. I opened my eyes a crack. His knee couldn’t have been more than six inches from my face. The guy obviously didn’t know I was there.
Black, sooty dust was falling all over me. In my eyes. Up my nose. Down my shirt. Normally I’d be sneezing my face off. It dawned on me that I could start sneezing at any moment.
But I didn’t sneeze. My nose didn’t even twitch. I guess terror works even better than pills for stopping allergies. Frankly I’d rather take the pills any day.
I watched those big boots of his tromp around the room. He was looking for something—but not very well. You could tell he was not a patient guy. He gave up pretty quick.
“They ain’t here!” he said. I realized he wasn’t just swearing for the fun of it. He was talking to someone on his cell phone.
“Yeah, I told ya!” he was saying. “I found the kerosene...Yeah, and I found that too. That’s not the problem! The problem is I don’t have no more matches... Quit giving me a hard time! I needed a smoke, okay? Just tell me where the matches are!”
There was a pause. Then the guy slammed something against the wall. The whole house shook—me included. He banged back into the kitchen.
“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THAT BEFORE?!?”
Even over the pounding of my heart, I could hear every word he said.
“Yes, I’m in the kitchen now!...Whaddya mean ‘the pantry’? How am I supposed to know what a pantry is!...Just tell me where they are! Look, you worked here. Not me. I don’t know where he keeps his matches! You want me to burn the place down, I need the matches!...”
Burn the place down.
I heard the words. I understood the words. But it took a few really, really long seconds before I knew what they meant. He was going to light the log house—and everyone in it—on fire. That’s why he needed the matches. That’s why he was talking about kerosene. That was the tragic accident he was planning.
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