03 - Monster Blood (2 page)

“Mom—” he pleaded when his aunt finally let go and, smiling, made her way
to the kitchen. “Mom—please.”

“It’s just her sense of humor, Evan,” Mrs. Ross said uncertainly. “She means
well. Really. She’s going to bake you a pie.”

“But I don’t want pie!” Evan wailed. “I don’t like it here, Mom! She hurt me.
She squeezed my shoulder so hard—”

“Evan, I’m sure she didn’t mean to. She’s just trying to joke with you. She
wants you to like her. Give her a chance—okay?”

Evan started to protest, but thought better of it.

“I’m counting on you,” his mother continued, turning her eyes to the kitchen.
They could both see Kathryn at the counter, her broad back to them, hacking away
at something with the big kitchen knife.

“But she’s… weird!” Evan protested.

“Listen, Evan, I understand how you’re feeling,” his mother said. “But you
won’t have to spend all your time with her. There are a lot of kids in this
neighborhood. Take Trigger for a walk. I’ll bet you’ll make some friends your
age. She’s an old woman, Evan. She won’t want you hanging around all the time.”

“I guess,” Evan muttered.

His mother bent down suddenly and gave him a hug, pressing her cheek against
his. The hug, he knew, was supposed to cheer him up. But it only made him feel
worse.

“I’m counting on you,” his mother repeated in his ear.

Evan decided to try and be braver about this. “I’ll help you carry the
suitcase up to my room,” he said.

They carried it up the narrow staircase. His room was actually a study. The
walls were lined with bookshelves filled with old hardcover books. A large
mahogany desk stood in the center of the room. A narrow cot had been made up
under the single, curtained window.

The window faced out onto the backyard, a long green rectangle with the
gray-shingled garage to the left, a tall picket fence to the right. A small,
fenced-in area stretched across the back of the yard. It looked like some sort
of dog run.

The room smelled musty. The sharp aroma of mothballs invaded Evan’s nose.

Trigger sneezed. He rolled onto his back, his legs racing in the air.

Trigger can’t stand this place either, Evan thought. But he kept his thought
to himself, smiling bravely at his mother, who quickly unpacked his suitcase,
nervously checking her watch.

“I’m late. Don’t want to miss my plane,” she said. She gave him another hug,
longer this time. Then she took a ten-dollar bill from her pocket-book and
stuffed it into his shirt pocket. “Buy yourself a treat. Be good. I’ll hurry
back as fast as I can.”

“Okay. Bye,” he said, his chest feeling fluttery, his throat as dry as
cotton. The smell of her perfume momentarily drowned out the mothballs.

He didn’t want her to leave. He had such a bad feeling.

You’re just scared, he scolded himself.

“I’ll call you from Atlanta,” she shouted as she disappeared down the stairs
to say good-bye to Kathryn.

Her perfume disappeared.

The mothballs returned.

Trigger uttered a low, sad howl, as if he knew what was happening, as if he
knew they were being abandoned here in this strange house with the strange old
woman.

Evan picked Trigger up and nose-kissed his cold, black nose. Putting the dog
back down on the worn carpet, he made his way to the window.

He stood there for a long while, one hand holding the curtains aside, staring
down at the small, green yard, trying to calm the fluttering in his chest. After
a few minutes, he heard his mother’s car back down the gravel drive. Then he
heard it roll away.

When he could no longer hear it, he sighed and plopped down on the cot. “It’s
just you and me now, Trigger,” he said glumly.

Trigger was busily sniffing behind the door.

Evan stared up at the walls of old books.

What am I going to do here all day? he asked himself, propping his head in
his hands. No Nintendo. No computer. He hadn’t even seen a TV in his
great-aunt’s small living room. What am I going to do?

Sighing again, he picked himself up and walked along the bookshelves, his
eyes scanning the titles. There were lots of science books and textbooks, he
saw. Books on biology and astronomy, ancient Egypt, chemistry texts, and medical
books. Several shelves were filled with dusty, yellowed books. Maybe Kathryn’s
husband, Evan’s great-uncle, had been some sort of scientist.

Nothing here for me to read, he thought glumly.

He pulled open the closet door.

“Oh!”

He cried out as something leapt out at him.

“Help! Please—help!”

Everything went black.

“Help! I can’t see!” Evan screamed.

Evan staggered back in fear as the warm blackness crept over him.

It took him a few seconds to realize what it was. His heart still thudding in
his chest, he reached up and pulled the screeching black cat off his face.

The cat dropped silently to the ground and padded to the doorway. Evan turned
and saw Kathryn standing there, an amused grin on her face.

How long had she been standing there? he wondered.

“Sarabeth, how did you get in there?” she asked in a playfully scolding tone,
bending down to speak to the cat. “You must have given the boy a fright.”

The cat mewed and rubbed against Kathryn’s bare leg.

“Did Sarabeth scare you?” Kathryn asked Evan, still smiling. “That cat has a
strange sense of humor. She’s evil. Pure evil.” She chuckled as if she’d said
something funny.

“I’m okay,” Evan said uncertainly.

“Watch out for Sarabeth. She’s evil,” Kathryn repeated, bending down and
picking the cat up by the scruff of the neck, holding her up in the air in front
of her. “Evil, evil, evil.”

Seeing the cat suspended in the air, Trigger uttered an unhappy howl. His
stubby tail went into motion, and he leapt up at the cat, barking and yipping,
missed, and leapt again, snapping at Sarabeth’s tail.

“Down, Trigger! Get down!” Evan cried.

Struggling to get out of Kathryn’s arms, the cat swiped a clawed black paw at
her, screeching in anger and fear. Trigger barked and howled as Evan struggled
to pull the excited cocker spaniel away.

Evan grabbed hold of Trigger as the cat swung to the floor and disappeared
out the door. “Bad dog. Bad dog,” Evan whispered. But he didn’t really mean it.
He was glad Trigger had scared the cat away.

He looked up to see Kathryn still filling the doorway, staring down at him
sternly. “Bring the dog,” she said in a low voice, her eyes narrowed, her pale
lips pursed tightly.

“Huh?” Evan gripped Trigger in a tight hug.

“Bring the dog,” Kathryn repeated coldly. “We can’t have animals fighting in
this house.”

“But Aunt Kathryn—” Evan started to plead, then remembered she couldn’t
hear him.

“Sarabeth is a bad one,” Kathryn said, not softening her expression. “We can’t get her riled, can we?” She turned and
started down the stairs. “Bring the dog, Evan.”

Holding Trigger tightly by the shoulders with both hands, Evan hesitated.

“I have to take care of the dog,” Kathryn said sternly. “Come.”

Evan was suddenly filled with dread. What did she mean,
take care
of
the dog?

A picture flashed into his mind of Kathryn standing at the doorway with the
bloody kitchen knife in her hand.

“Bring the dog,” Kathryn insisted.

Evan gasped. What was she going to
do
to Trigger?

“I will take care of you, doggie,” Kathryn repeated, frowning at Trigger. The
dog whimpered in reply.

“Come, Evan. Follow me,” she said impatiently.

Seeing that he had no choice, Evan obediently carried Trigger down the stairs
and followed his aunt to the backyard. “I’m prepared,” she said, turning to make
sure he was following.

Despite her age—she was at least eighty—she walked with long, steady
strides. “I knew you were bringing a dog, so I made sure I was prepared.”

Trigger licked Evan’s hand as they walked across the yard to the long,
fenced-in area at the back. “It’s a special place for your dog,” Kathryn said,
reaching up to grab one end of the rope that stretched across the run. “Attach
this to the collar, Evan. Your dog will have fun here.” She frowned
disapprovingly at Trigger. “And there will be no problems with Sarabeth.”

Evan felt very relieved that this was all Kathryn wanted to do to Trigger.
But he didn’t want to leave Trigger tied up in this prison in the back of the
yard. Trigger was a house dog. He wouldn’t be happy by himself out here.

But Evan knew he had no way of arguing with his aunt. Kathryn is smart in a
way, he thought bitterly as he hooked Trigger’s collar to the rope. Since she
won’t learn sign language and won’t lip-read, it means she gets to do whatever
she wants, and
no
one can tell her no.

He bent down and gave Trigger’s warm head a pat and looked up at the old
woman. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest, her blue eyes glowing
brightly in the sunlight, a cold smile of triumph on her face.

“That’s a good boy,” she said, waiting for Evan to get up before starting
back to the house. “I knew when I looked at you. Come to the house, Evan. I have
cookies and milk. You’ll enjoy them.” Her words were kind, but her voice was
hard and cold.

Trigger sent up an unhappy howl as Evan followed Kathryn to the house. Evan
turned, intending to go back and comfort the dog. But Kathryn grabbed his hand
in an iron grip, and, staring straight ahead, led him to the kitchen door.

The kitchen was small and cluttered and very warm. Kathryn motioned for him to sit at a small table against the wall. The
table was covered with a plastic, checkered tablecloth. She frowned, her eyes
studying him, as she brought over his snack.

He downed the oatmeal raisin cookies and milk, listening to Trigger howl in
the backyard. Oatmeal raisin wasn’t his favorite, but he was surprised to find
that he was hungry. As he gobbled them down, Kathryn stood at the doorway,
staring intently at him, a stern expression on her face.

“I’m going to take Trigger for a walk,” he announced, wiping the milk
mustache off his upper lip with the paper napkin she had given him.

Kathryn shrugged and wrinkled up her face.

Oh. Right. She can’t hear me, Evan thought. Standing at the kitchen window,
he pointed to Trigger, then made a walking motion with two fingers. Kathryn
nodded.

Whew, he thought. This is going to be hard.

He waved good-bye and hurried to free Trigger from his backyard prison.

A few minutes later, Trigger was tugging at the leash, sniffing the flowers
along the curb as Evan made his way up the block. The other houses on the street
were about the same size as Kathryn’s, he saw. And they all had small, neatly
trimmed, square front yards.

He saw some little kids chasing each other around a birch tree. And he saw a
middle-aged man in bright orange bathing trunks washing his car with a garden hose in his driveway. But he didn’t see any kids his age.

Trigger barked at a squirrel and tugged the leash out of Evan’s hand. “Hey—come back!” Evan called. Trigger, disobedient as always, took off after the
squirrel.

The squirrel wisely climbed a tree. But Trigger, his eyesight not what it
once was, continued the chase.

Running at full speed, calling the dog’s name, Evan followed him around a
corner and halfway down the block before Trigger finally realized he had lost
the race.

Breathing hard, Evan grabbed the leash handle. “Gotcha,” he said. He gave the
leash a tug, trying to lead the panting dog back to Kathryn’s street.

Trigger, sniffing around a dark tree trunk, pulled the other way. Evan was
about to pick up the stubborn dog when he was startled by a hand grabbing his
shoulder.

“Hey—who are
you
?” a voice demanded.

Evan spun around to find a girl standing behind him, staring at him with dark
brown eyes. “Why’d you grab my shoulder like that?” he asked, his heart still
pounding.

“To scare you,” she said simply.

“Yeah. Well…” Evan shrugged. Trigger gave a hard tug at the leash and
nearly pulled him over.

The girl laughed.

She was pretty, he thought. She had short, wavy brown hair, almost black, and
flashing brown eyes, and a playful, teasing smile. She was wearing an oversized
yellow T-shirt over black spandex leggings, and bright yellow Nikes.

“So who
are
you?” she demanded again.

She wasn’t the shy type, he decided. “I’m me,” he said, letting Trigger lead
him around the tree.

“Did you move into the Winterhalter house?” she asked, following him.

He shook his head. “No. I’m just visiting.”

She frowned in disappointment.

“For a couple of weeks,” Evan added. “I’m staying with my aunt. Actually,
she’s my great-aunt.”

“What’s so great about her?” the girl cracked.

“Nothing,” Evan replied without laughing. “For sure.”

Trigger sniffed at a bug on a fat brown leaf.

“Is that your bike?” Evan asked, pointing to the red BMX bike lying on the
grass behind her.

“Yeah,” she replied.

“It’s cool,” he said. “I have one like it.”

“I like your dog,” she said, eyeing Trigger. “He looks real stupid. I like
stupid dogs.”

“Me, too. I guess.” Evan laughed.

“What’s his name? Does he have a stupid name?” She bent down and tried to pet
Trigger’s back, but he moved away.

“His name’s Trigger,” Evan said, and waited for her reaction.

“Yeah. That’s pretty stupid,” she said thoughtfully. “Especially for a cocker
spaniel.”

“Thanks,” Evan said uncertainly.

Trigger turned to sniff the girl’s hands, his tail wagging furiously, his
tongue hanging down to the ground.