Don't Forget Me! (2 page)

“That's because Peter comes from Mars,” I said.

Addie stopped at the stairway and gazed around at the peeling wallpaper, the cracked plaster, the long, uncarpeted halls. “How old is this house anyway?”

“At least a hundred years old,” I said. “It's a mess, isn't it?”

Addie nodded. “Kind of.”

“My parents call it a fixer-upper,” I said. The old floorboards squeaked under my feet. “You'd never know my parents worked on it for weeks before we moved in.”

“I guess it'll be really nice someday,” Addie said, brushing a clump of dust from her orange pants. “Right now it really does look like a creepy old house from a horror movie.”

“Tell me about it,” I sighed. “Actually, the best thing about this house is that it's enormous. There are so many rooms, I'll be able to get away from Peter and my parents. I'll have my own space.” Our old house on the other side of town was really tiny.

“Let me see your room,” Addie said. She started up the stairs.

“Don't lean too hard on the banister,” I warned. “It's kind of creaky.”

I started after her, but stopped. “Oh, wait. Someone left the basement door open. I don't want the cat to go down there.”

Addie was halfway up the stairs. “What's in the basement?”

“Who knows? I haven't gone down yet. It's too dark and it smells like someone died down there.”

I trotted down the hall and stopped at the open basement door. It creaked as I started to close it.

I froze when I heard another sound. A moan?

Who could be down there?

I held my breath and listened. I heard a soft scraping sound. Like shoes against concrete. Footsteps?

Grabbing the doorframe, I leaned forward and peered down the stairs. Dark. So dark I couldn't see where the stairs ended.

I heard another muffled moan. So soft. As if from far away. More shoes scraping across the concrete floor.

“Hey—is anyone there?” I tried the light switch. I clicked it once, twice, three times. Nothing happened.

“Peter? Is that you?” I called. My voice sounded hollow in the heavy darkness of the stairwell. “Peter?”

“What? Are you calling me, Danielle?” Peter shouted from the kitchen. “Mom and I are unpacking!”

Okay. So it wasn't Peter.

I leaned farther into the darkness. “Dad? Are you home?” I called. My voice cracked. “Dad? Is that you down there?”

I listened hard. Silence now.

And then I heard a sigh. Long and low.

More scraping. A soft
thud
.

And then a whisper … so soft and distant …

A whisper …

“Peter … we're waiting … Peter …”

 

“Who's there?” I called softly. “Who is it?”

Silence now.

“Did someone call my brother's name?”

Silence.

“I'm coming down there!” I threatened.

Silence.

I listened hard for another few seconds. Then I slammed the basement door shut. I pressed my back against it and struggled to catch my breath.

There's no one in the basement
, I told myself.
You didn't hear that.

All old houses make noises—all kinds of creaks and groans and sighs.

And whispers.

Everyone knows that.

I told myself I was just freaked out about moving, about moving into this huge, creepy house. I told myself that I was just hearing things.

But I had to find out for sure. So I took a deep breath, pushed away from the door, turned, and started to pull it open once again.

“Hey!” I cried out when the door wouldn't budge. “Hey!”

I twisted the heavy brass doorknob and tugged. Then I twisted it the other way. I took another deep breath and tugged with both hands, groaning loudly as I pulled.

Stuck. The door was completely stuck now.

“Danielle.” Mom's voice startled me. I jumped. She staggered past, struggling under the weight of a big moving carton. “Did Addie leave already?”

“Uh … no,” I replied. I opened my mouth to tell Mom about the whisper in the basement but decided against it. She would just tell me to take ten deep breaths and calm down. “Addie is still upstairs,” I said. “I haven't started the house tour.”

I hurried to join her.

I found Addie at the end of the hall outside my parents' room. She had her arms crossed in front of her and was staring hard at a framed photograph on the wall.

“Do you believe that's the first thing my parents hung up in the new house?” I said, a little breathless from running up the stairs.

Addie squinted harder. “What
is
it?”

“It's Peter's old teddy bear,” I replied.

“But …
why
?” Addie asked.

“You know. They think everything Peter does is adorable.” I rubbed a finger down the glass over the photograph. “Peter started wearing glasses when he was really tiny. He had some kind of eye muscle defect, and so he had to wear these tiny glasses. Everyone called him the Little Professor. Adorable, right?”

“Adorable,” Addie echoed.

“Well, one day Peter toddles into my parents' room. He's put the glasses on the teddy bear. He holds up the bear, and he says, “Look! Now Teddy can see how cute I am!'”

Addie laughed.

“Okay. It's kind of amusing,” I said. “But my parents went berserk, gushing about how wonderful Peter was. And they started crying their eyes out.”

“Wow,” Addie murmured.

“Do you believe it? They thought it was the cutest thing they ever saw. And then my dad took this picture of the teddy bear with the little glasses on so they'd never forget the moment.”

Addie gazed at the photo for a few more seconds, then turned to me with a smile on her face. “I think it's a sweet story, Danielle.”

I stuck my finger down my throat and made loud gagging sounds.

“I think you're jealous,” she said.

I exploded. “Who, me? Jealous of that creep? Could you possibly say anything stupider?”

She raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I didn't mean it. Show me your room.”

I felt bad. I didn't want to fight with my best friend. Besides, Addie never fights with anyone. She will always back down and apologize rather than get into any kind of argument.

I showed her my room. I didn't realize how drab it was until I brought Addie into it. The walls were gray and the carpet was a darker gray.

Outside, the sun had disappeared behind heavy clouds, making the room even darker. The only color anywhere was Addie's bright clothes.

“I … I'm going to brighten it up a bit,” I said. “You know. Put up a lot of posters and stuff.”

I could see Addie struggling to think of something cheerful to say. “It's a nice room for holding seances,” she said finally.

I laughed. “You're not still into that weird ‘talking-to-the-spirits' stuff, are you?”

Before she could answer, I heard voices outside. Boys' voices.

I ran to the window and peered down to the front yard. The glass was so dust-smeared, I could barely see. But I recognized two guys from our class, Zack Wheeling and Mojo Dyson, jogging up the front walk.

“Hey! I don't believe it!” Addie exclaimed, right behind me. She moved instantly to the dresser mirror and began fixing her ponytail, checking herself out.

The truth was, she and I had major crushes on
both
those guys. “What are they
doing
here?” Addie asked. “Did you invite them or something?”

“No way,” I said, leaning into the mirror, rubbing a dust smudge off my cheek and pushing my hair back into place.

By the time Addie and I came downstairs, Peter had already opened the door and was welcoming the two boys. “Is that your real name? Mojo?”

From halfway down the stairs, I could see Mojo turn red. That's just his thing. If you talk to him, he blushes. Some kids are like that. I guess they have really sensitive skin or something.

“No. It's not my real name,” he told Peter.

“What's your real name?” Peter demanded.

Mojo turned a darker red. “Not saying.”

Peter wouldn't quit. He never does. “Why not? Is it something really dumb? Like Archibald?”

Mojo and Zack laughed. “How'd he guess your real name, Archibald?” Zack said.

“Hi, Archibald!” Addie called.

The guys looked up and saw us for the first time.

“Hey,” Zack said, giving us a quick, two-fingered salute. He always gave that salute. “What's up?”

“What are you guys doing here?” I asked. It didn't come out quite the way I meant it.

“We brought you a housewarming gift,” Mojo said.

“But we ate it on the way over,” Zack added, grinning. “Actually, it was two Snickers bars.”

“We were kind of hungry,” Mojo said.

“Nice,” I sighed, rolling my eyes. “Well, this is it.” I motioned with one hand. “Our new palace. It's—” Something caught my eye down the hall, and I gasped.

The basement door—it had been jammed shut. Stuck.

Now it stood wide open again.

I turned to Peter. “How did you get the basement door open?”

He frowned. “I didn't. I never touched it.”

I stared at the door. “Weird.”

“Are you guys going to the game next Friday night?” Addie asked. “Maybe we could hang out or something after?”

Before they could answer, Peter interrupted. “I got a new computer for my birthday. It's all hooked up. Are you into
Tomb Raider
? I have the new one. It's been totally upgraded. And guess what else I got? Next year's
NFL Football
.”

Zach let out a little cry. “You've got the new
Tomb Raider
? Is it cool?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. It's awesome. The graphics are unbelievable.”

Mojo slipped an arm around Peter's shoulders. “You're my MAN! Where is it? Let's check it out.”

The three boys pushed past Addie and me to get up the stairs to Peter's room. A few seconds later, the door slammed behind them.

Addie and I stood frozen in the front hallway, as if in shock. “What just happened?” Addie asked finally. “Was it something we said?”

“Peter strikes again,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I'm serious. Is there any way I can become an only child?”

Two days later, I would feel
very
guilty for saying that.

Two days later, my nightmare started with a knock on the front door.

 

Sunday morning my parents were getting ready to leave on one of their short business trips. As usual, Mom packed the entire suitcase while Dad decided which neckties to bring.

I was leaning against the doorway to my parents' room, watching Mom pack. Yellow morning sunlight filtered through the window blinds, making stripes on the unmade bed.

Peter kept jumping up and down on the mattress, making their suitcase bounce. “Why can't I come?” he demanded. “Why don't you ever take me with you?”

Mom frowned at him. “There
is
a little thing called school tomorrow,” she said softly.

“I can make up the work,” Peter insisted. “Why can't I come? Why do I always have to stay home with Danielle? She'll only invite all her friends over and have a party, and tell me to get lost!”

“Whoa, Peter—” I shouted. “That is so untrue!”

Dad narrowed his eyes at me. “Are you having a party tonight?”

“Of course not,” I told him, glaring at Peter. Then I added sarcastically, “I'm going to spend all my time taking good care of my sweet little brother.”

“I can take care of myself,” Peter grunted.

Dad tilted his head, the way he always does when he's thinking hard about something. “Danielle, are you sure you don't want Aunt Kate to come stay over?”

“No way!” I cried. “We don't need her. Really, Dad. I've taken care of Peter before, haven't I?”