"We've seen this at least half a dozen times," I said.
"And it still scares you, right?"
"No," I lied, "it bores me to death. What else do you have?"
"Friday the Thirteenth and Nightmare on Elm Street." Parker grinned. "What were you hoping for, Bambin?"
After the living dead had killed off just about everybody, Parker called the pizza place and ordered a large tomato and cheese with mushrooms, green peppers, meatballs, onions, and anchovies on top. Since the delivery man came to Parker's house pretty regularly, he got it to us in less than fifteen minutes.
"Those dead guys in the movie," Parker said after we'd devoured most of the pizza. "Didn't they remind you of the man we found in the creek?"
The man's face flashed before me, and I had to force myself to swallow my pizza. "Hey, Parker," I said, "not while we're eating."
He shoved the Sentinel at me. "Did you see this?" He pointed at an article about the murder. "They identified him. His name's Albert Dawson, and he's got a record as long as your arm. See? Drugs, assault, armed robbery, all kinds of parole violations."
I scanned the article, written, of course, by our old friend Julius Fisk. "The cops are still saying it's drug related and it doesn't have anything to do with Woodcroft. They think he just ended up here," I said.
Parker shook his head. "Well, we're going to prove the cops are wrong." Tossing his empty soda can into the trash, Parker grabbed his denim jacket. "It's time to go," he said.
Opening the kitchen door, he stood there a minute, staring at the trees behind his house. The sky was a pure deep black, and the stars shone so brightly and in such numbers, you would have thought you were in a planetarium.
"Couldn't we just go trick or treating instead?" I asked.
But Parker was already halfway down his back steps, whistling for Otis. The way that dog acted, he must've known Parker wanted to lock him in the house. Instead of coming, he plunged off into the shadows, barking like a lunatic. Even when Parker banged his food dish up and down on the porch railing, Otis wouldn't come.
"Darn that dog," Parker said and threw Otis's dish into the backyard.
Then the two of us ran off in the opposite direction from Otis, hoping to lose him. The last thing we wanted was to have him follow us out to the Olde Mill and start barking like last time.
Even though it was still early, most of the trick or treaters had come and gone, and the streets had an empty, late-night feeling. A breeze rattled the limbs of the trees and sent the last of the leaves scurrying down the sidewalk behind us. The sound they made had a spooky edge to it, and I found myself looking over my shoulder from time to time, just to make sure it was only leaves following us.
When somebody shouted Parker's name, I jumped like a startled rabbit before I realized it was Jennifer. With Melissa and Linda flanking her like halfbacks, she ran down Blake Street toward us. The three of them were dressed as hoboes, and their bags bulging with Halloween goodies flapped against their legs. Tiffany and Charity were scurrying along behind them, almost tripping over their long skirts and big bags.
"How much candy did you get?" Melissa asked breathlessly.
"They don't have any," Linda said. Her sharp little eyes never missed a thing. "They've probably been soaping car windows."
Ignoring her friends, Jennifer smiled at Parker and offered him her bag. "Want some?"
Parker stuck in his hand and pulled out a Hershey bar. "Thanks," he said.
"Don't give Matthew any," Melissa said. "He might throw up."
I glared at her, but, before I could think of anything to say, Jennifer thrust her bag at me.
"Have some, Matt," she said.
As I searched with my fingers for something as good as Parker's Hershey bar, Jennifer invited us to go trick or treating with her and the others. Obviously displeased, Melissa and Linda started whispering to each other, while Charity and Tiffany urged Jennifer to take them to Appleton Street immediately.
"Miss Goldberg always has good stuff," Tiffany shrilled.
"And Mrs. O'Malley gives bubble gum," Charity yelled before turning to me. "But not to boys," she said. "Just to pretty little girls like me and Tiffany."
I busied myself unwrapping a Baby Ruth bar and tried to ignore Charity. Maybe if we hung around long enough, Jennifer would offer us some more candy or Parker would agree to go trick or treating with her.
"Thanks for the invitation," I heard Parker tell Jennifer, "but we've got something else to do."
I opened my mouth to protest, but Parker was already walking toward Windsor Road, so I smiled at Jennifer and shrugged, hoping she'd realize it wasn't my idea to go running off. As I hurried after Parker, I heard Charity yell, "If you soap any cars, I'm telling Daddy!"
11
WHEN WE GOT THERE, the Olde Mill was dark, and the parking lot was empty. Behind it, the woods were an inky mass of J shadows beneath the starry sky. The last crickets of the year were chirping softly, and from somewhere far away I heard a dog bark. Otherwise it was very quiet.
Parker ran noiselessly across the gravel and disappeared around the corner of the shop. Reluctantly I followed him about as silently as an elephant on the rampage. Parker would have made a good Indian, I thought. But not me. I was the kind who would have been left at camp to guard the women.
We tried the doors first, but they were locked, of course. Then Parker found a small window.
"Boost me up," he said.
"What if somebody comes along?" I glanced behind me at the empty parking lot. On the street, a car cruised past, but its headlights didn't reach us.
Parker grabbed the windowsill and tried unsuccessfully to pull himself up without my help. "Come on, Armentrout," he said. "Don't chicken out now."
"There might be a burglar alarm." I tried to see if there was any tape on the window or one of those little sensors.
"In a town like Woodcroft?" Parker asked. "Most people don't even lock their back doors."
Out of arguments but still scared, I gave him a boost, and he managed to shove the window open and then wiggle inside.
"Go to the back door," he told me. "I'll let you in."
While I waited for him to open the door, I heard another car coming. I crouched down, my heart thumping, but the car went on past.
"What are you doing?" Parker stood in the doorway looking down at me.
"Nothing," I muttered and edged around him into the silent shop.
It was really dark inside. Evans had the place jammed with big bureaus and trunks, china closets, huge wardrobes, umbrella stands with grotesque faces carved on them, tables, and glass-fronted cabinets full of dolls and toys.
In the narrow beam from Parker's pocket flashlight, all these things crowded around us, casting weird shadows. Our reflections jumped out at us from tilted mirrors, scaring me more than once, and the sagging floor creaked under our feet. It was like being in a fun house; you never knew what you'd see next-a lion from a carousel, a cigar-store Indian, or a life-size cutout of Elvis.
"What are we looking for?" I whispered.
Parker didn't answer. He was trying to open the door to the back room where Evans and Pam repaired things.
"Damn," he muttered, jiggling the knob, "it's locked."
Putting my shoulder against the door like they do in movies, I shoved hard, but nothing happened except I got a pain in my arm.
Parker pushed me aside. "I can get it with my library card," he said.
I watched him stick the plastic card in the crack between the door and the frame and jiggle it around. In a couple of seconds, he had the door open.
"Where did you learn to do that?" I asked him.
"I'm always losing my house key and locking myself out," Parker said. "This gets me in every time."
He shone his light around the room and zeroed in on Pam's worktable. The box of dolls she'd taken out of the kitchen was lying there, and he opened it. Carefully he lifted out a doll and examined her. In his flashlight's beam, the doll st
ared at him, her eyes wide open. Although Pam had carefully repainted her face and repaired her clothing, she hadn't given her a new wig. In fact, all the dolls in the box were still bald.
"Quit breathing on me, Armentrout," Parker said as he put the doll back into the box. "You smell like anchovies."
I stepped back, embarrassed. "No worse than you do," I muttered, but Parker was too busy opening another box of dolls to pay any attention to me.
These dolls were finished. Wearing wigs, clothes, and shoes, they lay as still as sleeping children. When Parker picked one up, her eyes didn't open.
"That's weird," he said, tilting the doll back and forth. "She's all fixed, except her eyes."
Putting her down, he tried another doll, but her eyes wouldn't open either. In fact, not one of the six dolls would wake up no matter how hard we rocked them back and forth.
Parker looked at me. "This is really strange." He grabbed one of the bald dolls and looked into the hole on top of her head. Then he tilted her back and forth. "Her eyes work," he said. "Why would the others be all packed up, ready to go, if they're broken?"
I shook my head. "We better get out of here, Parker," I said. The darkness was getting to me, and the shop made lots of funny sounds, creakings and squeakings like mice or maybe rats burrowing through all the old junk.
"I'm going to take one with me." Parker lifted a doll out of the box and stared at its sleeping face. It seemed to be dreaming something unpleasant, and I would have preferred to leave it where it was.
"They'll notice it's gone, Parker," I whispered. The flashlight was making strange shadows on the wall and ceiling. If we'd been characters in a movie, spooky music would be playing, and everybody in the audience would say, "Get out of there, boys, before it's too late."
"Anyway," I added, trying hard to make a joke, "aren't you kind of old to play with dolls?" Unfortunately, my voice refused to cooperate and every word cracked as it left my mouth.
Parker frowned at me. "You're scared, aren't you?"
I shook my head. "I just think we ought to leave everything the way we found it."
Parker put the lid on the box and started for the door, still carrying the doll. But before he reached it, we heard a car enter the parking lot.
"What do we do now?" I stared at Parker, too scared to move or even think.
Parker looked around the workroom. "Shut the door and make sure it's locked," he whispered. "Then hide. And for God's sake, be quiet."
As I closed the door, I heard another car pull into the parking lot, and then low voices approaching the shop–Pam, Evans, and somebody else.
Trying not to bump into anything in the dark, I wedged myself behind a large wardrobe standing cat-ercornered in the darkest part of the room. I didn't know where Parker was, but, as I heard a key turn in the door, I hoped he was well hidden.
When the light went on, I shut my eyes; like an ostrich, I was trying to believe that if I couldn't see them, they couldn't see me.
"Where are the dolls?" the stranger asked.
Opening my eyes slowly, I peeked around the edge of the wardrobe, grateful for the shadows all around me. A couple of feet away, I saw Pam and Evans. Another man stood even closer, but his back was turned toward me. He was short and stocky, but he looked strong and his sports jacket was tight across the shoulders.
"One box is finished." Evans shoved the dolls toward him. "And the other is almost done."
"How long before it's ready?" the stranger asked.
"In just a few minutes." Pam sounded so nervous I wondered if she were scared of him. "All I have to do is fill the dolls' heads and glue their wigs on."
The floor creaked as she walked toward the wardrobe and unlocked it. On the other side of the thin board separating us, I heard her rummage around. Then she shut the doors again, locked them, and walked back to the table. While I watched, too scared to breathe, she began packing a doll's head with little bags of white powder.
All of a sudden the stranger looked up from the box he'd been examining. "There's only five dolls in here," he said.
"What are you talking about?" Pam asked. "I put six in before we left for dinner." Her voice shook a little, and she clutched the doll she was working on against her chest. Never had I seen a person look so frightened.
"Do you want to count them yourself?" The stranger leaned toward her and shoved the box across the table.
"There are only five." I could hear shock in Pam's voice as she turned to Evans.
"You wouldn't cheat me, would you, George?" The stranger asked. "We've been friends for a long time," he went on, "but I can't afford another partner like Dawson." The sound of his voice made me wish I could shrivel up into a little dustball and roll off into a corner.
"Are you kidding, Flynn?" Evans choked out a laugh. "I'd never try anything like that. Didn't I dump Dawson for you?"
"You made a great job of it too," the man named Flynn said sarcastically. "Almost getting caught by two kids."
There was a brief silence. Suddenly Evans snapped his fingers. "Parker!" He spoke so loudly I thought he'd found his hiding place, but then he went on, "I bet Parker's got the doll. He's been snooping around here all week."
I could practically feel his eyes X-raying through the furniture, searching for Parker and me.
"You don't expect me to believe that." Flynn leaned back against the wardrobe and it tilted, almost squashing me.
While he spoke, I heard Evans moving around the room, hunting for us. Why hadn't Parker listened when I told him not to take the doll?
"Don't blame this on my son," Pam said. "Leave him out of it, George! He's got nothing to do with it!"
I held my breath as Evans checked a pile of crates near me. If Flynn hadn't been leaning on the wardrobe, squashing me against the wall, Evans would probably have seen me. As it was, he was so close I could have touched him.
Then, just when I thought my ribs would crack, Flynn stepped away, and the wardrobe swayed forward, freeing me to breathe again.
"You're saying Pam's son broke in here and took one of the dolls?" Flynn's voice was full of scorn as Evans returned to the worktable without seeing me. "Don't kid me. You just wanted a little more than your share. A new house, a new car, a fancy cruise, something you couldn't quite afford."
"I'll get the doll," Evans said. "Just give me some time."
"You better," Flynn said. "You know as well as I do what it's worth. I can't afford to lose five thousand because I trusted a greedy fool."
"Come on, Pam," Evans said. "Let's get Parker."
"Pam stays here with me," Flynn said. "You go find the kid by yourself."
"Parker doesn't know anything about the cocaine," Pam said to Flynn as the door slammed behind Evans. "He's only twelve years old. He couldn't possibly be any danger to you."
Except for the sound of Pam crying, the shop was silent for a long time. Then I heard the MG, and in a few seconds, Evans was back.
"Nobody was home except that damn dog," he said. "He almost tore my leg off."
"Do you have any idea where the boy might be?" Flynn asked.
"He's got a fort out near Bluestone Quarry," Evans said. "He could be there, or he could be at his friend Matthew's house."
"I'll drive," Flynn said to Evans. "You make sure Pam behaves herself."
Gripping Pam's arm, Evans followed Flynn. The last thing I heard her say was, "Promise you won't hurt Parker." Then the shop door slammed shut, and we were alone in the darkness.
12
AS SOON AS I thought it was safe, I stumbled out from behind the wardrobe. My legs were so stiff and cramped I could hardly walk, and the room was pitch black. I bumped right into Parker before I realized who it was.
"Where were you?" I whispered. "I was sure they'd find us."
"I was lying down behind that pile of boxes." Parker pointed to a dark corner. "Evans was about a foot away from me. I thought I was a goner for sure."
"Me too." I took a deep breath and started toward the do
or. "We better get out of here."
Before we left the shop, we looked outside. In the autumn moonlight the parking lot was empty except for Evans's MG.
"Let's go," Parker said. Sticking to the shadows, we ran to the woods and raced through the underbrush, dodging tree trunks and stumbling over roots, barely noticing which direction we were going.
"Well," I said when we paused for breath. "What do we do now?"
"The police," Parker said. "We have to get the doll to the police."
I stared at him, not believing my eyes. In all the rush, I hadn't noticed he still had the doll. "Why didn't you leave it there?" I yelled at him. "Maybe they'd find it on the floor, think it fell out of the box or something, and forget about us."
Parker shook his head. "Flynn's not going to forget us or Pam either. You heard what he said this doll is worth."
"But Parker," I said, "if the cops get Evans and Flynn, they'll get Pam too."
"She'd be better off in jail than with either one of those crooks," he said. "God, Armentrout, what made her get involved in something like this? How could she be so stupid?"
I couldn't answer Parker, but I knew he was right about Pam. From what I'd seen of Flynn, I was sure she'd be safer with the police. A cold gust of wind knifed right through my jacket, and I shivered. "Let's get moving," I said. "If they've gone to my house, they'll be back this way any minute."
We ran on through the woods toward Blake Street, thinking we'd take the shortcut behind Jennifer's house, but just as we reached the edge of the woods, we heard Otis barking somewhere behind us.
"Quick!" Parker jumped Swenson's hedge, and I stumbled after him. We raced through their yard and the next three, dodging lawn furniture, bicycles, and woodpiles. Then we were scrambling over Jennifer's fence with Otis close behind, still barking happily as if he thought we were playing a wonderful game of hide-and-seek.
When we hit the ground, Jennifer's dog, a little poodle named King Tut, raced down the back porch steps, yapping and growling. Swerving away from his sharp teeth, I headed for the driveway but stopped when I saw a van, lights out, gliding silently down the street toward us.