| FANG-FREAKIN-TASTIC FEATURE AUTHOR | But he didn’t answer, so she shooed him back upstairs. The last time he appeared she simply said, “Go back to bed, Rog.” It was quiet while we ate dinner. Mom checked on Roger, then she and Dad went upstairs to watch TV. The volume was so loud I could hear it in my room, so I stayed downstairs to do my homework. Around seven-thirty, while trudging through my pre-calculus problems, I heard the first scream. I chalked it up to dumb kids in the neighborhood. It had snowed the night before and snowball fights weren’t uncommon this time of year. About twenty minutes later, I heard another scream. This time it was a louder, more terrified scream. It was coming from next door. But the Van Atters had no kids. “Fucking assholes,” I muttered. How could they bother Jim and Beverly? They were literally the nicest people in the neighborhood. I went to the patio door and flipped on the lights. Our backyard was awash in brightness, but I couldn’t see much beyond the swing set Dad had built for me when I was Roger’s age. I pressed myself up against the glass and squinted to try to see into the Van Atters backyard. It was pitch black. That was odd. Usually they left their lights on until they went to bed around eleven. As I watched, the screaming continued, but I was too paralyzed with fear to investigate. I pulled out my phone and began to dial 911, but I didn’t hit send. I didn’t want to be that girl. I held my breath with my thumb over the button, waiting for a sign that told me it was okay to panic. And that’s when I saw her. A little girl with two perfect, dark braids framing her face stood as still as a statue in front of the swing set. I exhaled a shaky breath and waited for her to do something. As I studied the girl, I noticed her fuchsia dress and pale face were flecked with what looked like paint. Her gaze was fixed on the 66 | UncagedBooks.com
Van Atters’ house but she still hadn’t moved. Her bare feet were covered in mud up to her ankles. She had to be freezing. I reached for the door to open it. Perhaps she had been the one screaming. And then I saw it. In her right hand she gripped a large kitchen knife. That wasn’t paint on her dress. I jumped back from the sliding glass door and bit my lip to keep from screaming. My phone clattered to the floor and landed under the dining room table. When I looked back up, the girl was staring at me and I recognized her. It was a girl from Roger’s class, Danica Woodson. Our parents were friends, and when they were younger, she and Roger had play dates together. But this wasn’t the Danica I knew. Her pale green eyes had gone as black as the sky above her. Her bowshaped mouth was now an angry slash of red. At first I wasn’t sure she recognized me. But as I made a plan to dive for my phone and make a break for it she broke into a sinister grin as she started walking toward me. I screamed and took off for my parents’ bedroom. At the top of the stairs, I nearly collided with Roger. I was running so fast, I hadn’t seen him. “Rog, what are you doing?” But Roger didn’t answer. He just stared. “Come on, boo, let’s get you back to bed.” I put an arm around him, expecting him to follow, but he wouldn’t budge. I knelt down so I was at his level, but he regarded me with a curious look. His head tilted to one side and he smiled at me. “It’s time,” he said softly. “Time for what?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Time for bed.” My Dad’s voice came from behind us. “You get back in bed, kiddo. You don’t want me to tell Santa to put you on the naughty list.” Without looking at Dad or saying anything, Roger