Uncle Jekyll was lying to me. I knew that.
He hadn’t fallen down the hill. And he knew very well what had happened in town.
But was he lying to protect me? Or to protect himself?
Finally, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I slept late. When I awoke and went to the window, the sun was already high over the winter-bare trees. The snow down the hill sparkled brightly. For a brief second, I glimpsed a deer trotting into a thick cluster of pines.
I stretched, smiling as the fresh morning air floated in through my open window. But my good mood vanished as soon as the frightening memory of the night before swept back into my mind.
I have to know the truth, I told myself.
I won’t be able to relax—until I learn the truth about Uncle Jekyll.
I pulled on a clean pair of black leggings and a bright yellow wool sweater and hurried down to breakfast.
But angry, shouting voices made me stop in the hall outside the kitchen.
“I don’t have to stay here!” I heard Marianna cry angrily. “I don’t have to live like this!”
“Sure, sure,” Uncle Jekyll replied sarcastically. “And where would you go?”
“Anywhere!” she shrieked. “Anywhere where I didn’t have to put up with you!”
“Keep your voice down,” Uncle Jekyll urged, sounding desperate. “The whole house doesn’t have to hear.”
“I don’t care! I really don’t care!” Marianna wailed. “I’m so tired of living with so many lies, so many secrets! I—I can’t do it anymore, Dad! You’re asking too much!”
Leaning against the wall, out of sight of the kitchen door, I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep from gasping.
What was Marianna saying? Did she know the truth about her father?
My heart pounded as I eavesdropped on their argument.
“I can’t have any friends,” Marianna was saying in a trembling, emotional voice. “I can’t invite anyone over. I have no life, Dad. No life at all. And it’s all your fault!”
“You have to be patient,” Uncle Jekyll replied heatedly. “You have to give me time, Marianna. You know it isn’t my fault.”
“I don’t care!” she shrieked. “I don’t care anymore!”
Uncle Jekyll started to say something else. But I coughed. I didn’t even realize I had done it.
Their argument ended instantly. The kitchen was silent now.
I took a deep breath. Put a blank expression on my face. And tried to act casual as I walked into the room.
Everyone said good morning.
Uncle Jekyll smiled. But Marianna gritted her teeth and glanced away.
Her bowl of cereal hadn’t been touched. Her dark curls fell damply over her face. Her hands were clenched into tight fists on the tabletop.
“Would you like some eggs?” Uncle Jekyll asked, the smile plastered on his face. “Sylvia can make them for you any way you like.”
“No. I’ll just have cereal.” I reached across the table for the box. “I’m not a big breakfast person.”
“Marianna and I were just having a little family discussion,” Uncle Jekyll said, grinning across the table at her.
Marianna scowled and didn’t raise her eyes.
“Oh, really?” I said. “I missed it.”
No one said much for the rest of breakfast. I couldn’t wait to take Marianna aside and find out what she knew. I’m not going to let her go until she tells me everything, I vowed.
After breakfast, Uncle Jekyll disappeared into his lab. He closed the door after him, and then I heard him lock it.
I tracked Marianna down in her room. She was leaning over a small glass cage. She held a cute brown-and-white hamster in her hand.
“Who is that?” I asked, trying to sound cheerful and bright.
“Ernie,” Marianna replied, not turning around. The hamster moved from hand to hand. “Ernie is my best friend in the whole world.”
“He’s cute,” I said. I stepped up beside her. “I like his pink nose.”
Marianna nodded but didn’t reply.
I took a deep breath. I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to hear her story.
“I lied this morning,” I confessed. “Before breakfast. I heard you and your dad.”
She wrapped Ernie in one hand. Her dark eyes flashed. “You did?”
I nodded. “You sounded pretty steamed.”
Marianna frowned. “We were just talking. You know.”
“No, you weren’t,” I blurted out. “I heard what you were saying. About lies and secrets.”
She didn’t reply. She narrowed her eyes at me thoughtfully. “No big deal,” she murmured.
“Come on, Marianna,” I pleaded. “Tell me the truth. I heard the screams from the town last night. From my bedroom window, I can see everything down there. I heard the sirens. I saw the people running.”
“I … I don’t know anything about that,” she murmured.
“Yes, you do!” I insisted. “I want to know the truth, Marianna. The truth about your dad. You have to tell me. You have to!”
Marianna staggered back. Her face contorted angrily. “Leave me alone!” she shrieked, breathing hard. “Don’t snoop around, Heidi. Don’t do it. Don’t try to learn about my father. You’ll regret it! I’m warning you!”
We both gasped as we looked down at her hand.
“Oh, noooo,” she moaned.
She had squeezed the hamster to death.
I have to get away from this house, I decided.
I’d left Marianna sobbing in her room. She refused to listen to my apologies. And slammed her bedroom door in my face as I backed out of the room.
I can’t believe she killed her hamster, I thought, shuddering. I can’t believe she squeezed it like that.
Now she hates me, I realized. She blames me. Blames me …
She didn’t like me before. But now she hates me.
Now she’ll never tell me what she knows about her dad.
Now she’ll never tell me what they were arguing about this morning. About the lies and secrets …
I felt so upset. My chest fluttered. My stomach felt hard as a rock.
“I have to go. … I have to go,” I chanted to myself as I returned to my room.
I pulled on my parka and looked for my gloves. I pulled out all my dresser drawers and got down on my hands and knees to search the floor of the closet. But I couldn’t find them anywhere.
“Forget the gloves,” I muttered. “So you’ll have cold hands. Get out, Heidi. Get out of the house.”
I hurried outside. I had to get away from Marianna and her father. And their creepy, dark mansion. And all of their secrets.
The cold, fresh air made my cheeks tingle. The bright sun, high in a clear blue sky, felt warm on my skin.
I tossed back the parka hood and shook out my long brown hair. The hard snow crunched under my boots as I made my way along the walk that led to the side of the house.
From here, I could see the narrow road twisting down the hill to town. Only a few patches of snow here and there.
I found an old girls’ bike in the garage. It probably belonged to Marianna.
I leaned heavily on the handlebars and tested the tires. They seemed full enough to carry me.
“Yes!” I cried happily. “Escape!”
A few seconds later, I was riding down the hill, pedaling hard, the tires bumping over the unpaved road, my hair flying behind me like a flag.
It felt so good. I wanted to sing and shout.
Above me, I saw Canada geese soaring high in a tight V formation. They honked noisily as they flew past.
Snow-covered pines became a green-and-white blur as I whirred downhill.
I stood up and pedaled, enjoying the exercise, the cool, sweet air, the feeling of freedom.
My good mood lasted until I reached the outskirts of the village.
Then I found myself back in the middle of a horror movie.
I slowed my bike as the first h
ouse came into view. I gazed at the metal shed behind the house. It lay on its side, one wall smashed in.
“Whoa,” I murmured. The log fence around the backyard had a big gap in it. It looked as if it had been ripped apart. Logs were strewn over the snow, broken and bent.
The downstairs windows of the next house were shattered. Shards of glass were scattered over the snow, reflecting the morning sun. A side door had been ripped off its hinges. It tilted against the wall of the house.
It looks as if a tornado swept through here, I thought.
I pedaled on. I saw a group of men and women standing outside the house on the corner. They huddled around a car in the driveway, talking quietly, shaking their heads.
As I rode nearer, I saw that the car windshield had been smashed. A million cracks stretched out in the glass like spiderwebs.
The driver’s door lay on the driveway beside the car, bent and battered. The steering wheel, wires dangling, poked out from beneath the car.
“What happened?” I called from the street.
The men and women turned to me. “Don’t you know?” a woman called.
“Are you new here?” a man asked. “Haven’t you heard?”
“Did you crawl out from under a rock?”
They seemed so angry, so unfriendly, I turned the corner and rode on.
“Be careful!” a man called after me. “Don’t ride that thing at night!”
The bike tires crunched over broken glass. Two more cars had their windshields shattered.
A black-and-white police car was parked beside a small brick house on the next block. Two grim-faced officers were helping an old man reattach his front door.
All of the windows in the house were covered with newspaper. Broken glass littered the front yard.
A few seconds later, I turned another corner and found myself on the main street of town. A small crowd had gathered around a red-and-white truck, parked in the middle of the street.
I pedaled closer, then jumped off my bike. I read the bold letters on the side of the truck: ACTION NEWS 8.
Walking my bike up to the crowd, I saw a man with a video camera on his shoulder. In the center of the crowd, a young red-haired woman held a microphone.
A TV news crew, I realized. What happened here last night?
I pushed through the circle of people. The reporter poked the microphone into a familiar face.
Aaron!
He was talking to the woman, his eyes on the microphone. He didn’t see me.
I moved close enough to hear what they were saying.
“And so the beast attacked again last night?” the reporter asked him.
Aaron gazed at the microphone. “Yes. It came running down the hill a little before eleven. And it started tearing things up.”
“Were you outside that late? Did you see it come down the hill?” the reporter asked, turning her head and glancing at the snow-covered hill rising over the village.
“Well … no,” Aaron replied. “I was home. My parents won’t let me go out. My curfew is nine o’clock—because of the beast.”
“Have you ever seen this creature?” the woman asked.
A truck rumbled by.
“Cut! Wait for the truck! It’s too noisy!” the guy with the camera instructed.
They waited for the truck to pass. Then the camera guy signaled for Aaron to talk again.
“What was the question?” he asked.
“Have you ever seen the creature?” the woman repeated. She pushed the microphone up to Aaron’s mouth.
“Yes.”
“Is it human?”
“Well …” Aaron thought hard. “Sort of. It’s about the size of a human. And it walks on two legs. Except it kind of staggers. But it’s very furry.”
“Furry?” the reporter asked.
Aaron nodded. “It has gray fur all over. On its arms. And its back. And it growls like a wolf or something.”
“So it’s an animal?” the woman asked.
Aaron rubbed his chin. “I’d say it’s half-human, half-animal. I’d say—”
“Go up on the hill,” a woman in the crowd shouted at the reporter. She stepped in front of Aaron and grabbed the microphone. “You want to get your news story? Don’t waste your time down here. Go up to the big house up there. Dr. Jekyll’s house. You want to see the monster? You’ll find him in there!”
“No, you won’t!” I cried. “I live in that house—and there’s no monster in there!”
I gasped and clapped my hand over my mouth.
Why did I say that?
Why did I suddenly try to defend Uncle Jekyll?
Why didn’t I keep my big mouth shut?
With cries of surprise, everyone turned to stare at me.
“Who is she?” someone asked.
“I’ve never seen her before,” a young man replied.
Aaron narrowed his eyes at me. “Heidi? What are you doing here?” he whispered.
The others stared at me coldly, suspiciously.
I’m in trouble now, I realized.
I’m in major trouble.
“She’s a Jekyll? Get her!” an angry voice growled.
I gasped and took a step back.
were they going to attack me?
No. No one moved. They circled me, staring at me so coldly—as if I were the beast!
“My uncle isn’t a monster!” I cried, my voice trembling. “And there’s no monster living in his house.”
Did I really believe that?
I didn’t know what to believe. But these people didn’t know the truth, either.
Why should they accuse Uncle Jekyll when they had no proof?
I took another step back and tripped over my bike. I’d forgotten I’d set it down on the pavement. My heel caught the front wheel, and I fell hard, landing in a sitting position on top of it.
The young woman reporter hurried over and reached out her free hand to help me up. Then she poked the microphone into my face. “Can you take us inside?” she asked eagerly.
I gaped at her. “Excuse me?”
“Can you take us inside your uncle’s house? Can you let us see for ourselves?” she demanded.
“Uh … well …” I hesitated.
“See? She’s lying!” a man shouted.
“She’s a Jekyll. She’s hiding the beast!” a woman cried.
“No … my uncle …” I stammered. “You have to get my uncle’s permission,” I told the reporter.
Then I turned to the crowd, my heart pounding, my throat so dry I could barely swallow. “I’m new here!” I cried. “I just moved here! I … I don’t know anything!”
No one moved. No one spoke.
They stared so hard at me, as if trying to see inside my head.
They hate me, I thought. They don’t even know me, and they hate me.
And then Aaron stepped forward, moving quickly.
His sudden movement startled me. I shrank back, thinking he planned to hurt me.
But he bent down and picked up my bike for me. “Heidi, you’d better go,” he whispered. “Everyone in town is really upset. And scared.”
“But, I—” I started.
“Last night was so terrifying,” Aaron whispered. “No one knows what to do.” He handed the bike to me. “Hurry. Go back to your uncle’s house. You’ll be safe there.”
Will I? I wondered.
I jumped on the bike and started pedaling away.
Will I be safe there?
I spent a dreary afternoon in the house. Uncle Jekyll never came out of his lab. I searched for Marianna but couldn’t find her.
A freezing rain pounded the windows. The house was cold and damp. I pulled a heavy wool sweater over two Tshirts, but I still felt chilled.
I explored the house for a while, pulling open doors, searching rooms cluttered with old books and magazines.
I poked my head into the room with the scratched walls. I imagined a wild, snarling creature locked in there. I pictured it roaring furiously as i
t scraped long, curling claws over the walls. Shredding the wallpaper … shredding it … shredding it.
With a shudder, I backed out of the frightening room and pulled the door shut. I reminded myself not to go back there.
I made myself a sandwich for lunch. Then spent most of the afternoon reading in my room.
A few hours before dinner, a man arrived from the county phone company. Sylvia showed him into my room. I watched happily as he installed a phone on my desk.
“Yessss!” I cried after he left, pumping my fist in the air. I couldn’t wait to try my new phone. I was desperate to call my friend Patsy back in Springfield.
“Well, Heidi? How is it?” she demanded after we said hi and how much we missed each other. “How is your new home?”
“Well …” I hesitated. I didn’t want to tell her how strange and frightening everything was. But I couldn’t hold it back. I had to tell someone.
“Patsy—it’s awful here!” I cried, checking to make sure my bedroom door was closed. “My uncle Jekyll—he’s totally weird. My cousin Marianna is so unfriendly. And there’s a creature—some kind of creature that keeps attacking the village. The people here—”
I stopped, breathing hard.
And listened.
What was that clicking sound I kept hearing?
And then I heard breathing.
Not Patsy’s breathing.
He’s listening in! I realized.
Uncle Jekyll! He’s listening on another phone! He’s spying on me!
“What’s that about a creature?” Patsy demanded. “You’re kidding—right?”
“Have-hold on a minute,” I stammered.
I tossed the phone onto my bed and ran out of the room. I flew down the stairs and into the front hall.
Where was Uncle Jekyll? Where?
I wanted to catch him in the act. I wanted to know for sure if he was spying on me.
I spotted him on an armchair in the den. Sitting next to the phone.
As I burst into the room, I saw him pick up a book and pretend to read it. “Heidi? Hi.” He pretended to be surprised to see me.
I stared at him, breathing hard, my mouth open.
I’m not safe here, I realized.
I’m trapped. I’m a prisoner here.
A strange smile spread over Uncle Jekyll’s face. “Are you enjoying your new phone?” he asked.