Light as a Feather Read online



  LIGHT AS A FEATHER

  By Dan Dillard

  Dedication

  To my friends from the neighborhood—the ones good enough to get into trouble with. Wear those psychological scars with pride, boys and girls.

  Acknowledgments (for now)

  To Lisa Morris and the Mastov Family (of Commerce, GA)—thanks for giving me the words I didn't have! Thanks to Trish Malone, John Patrick Kelly and especially my wife, Stephanie and my daughters Brenna and Schuyler for providing the artwork.

  Thanks to everyone who read this story’s many drafts and told me the truth, and also to those who read them and lied. 

  Thanks to brothers and sisters and best friends.

  And thanks finally goes to Walker’s Woods…the town where all of my nightmares live. It’s taken me a long time to find you and sleeping is much easier now that I know where you are.

  Light As A Feather

  Copyright © 2014 by Daniel P. Dillard

  ISBN: 978-1311067104

  License notes:

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, , without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  LIGHT AS A FEATHER

  *****

  “One must die, so others may live.

  Make your choice, my gift to give.

  Choose well, children, and never lie.

  For if you cross me, all shall die.”

  - the Dark

  *****

  Chapter 1

  My brother Danny and I rode the bus home that Friday to the soothing sounds of Diana Ross and Lionel Richie who taught us about endless love. The bus driver, Mr. Avery, always had the radio on and grumbled when the music was interrupted by commercials. We often caught him bopping his head side to side with the tunes—it didn't matter the style of music—and on occasion he would even sing along. It seemed funny then, for a gray-haired man with wire-framed reading glasses to like popular music. It's not so funny now that I’m going gray.

  Autumn crept up on us that year while we scrambled to hold on to summer. The chill in the air and the turning leaves came from nowhere and before we knew it, school was back in session and there was no hope of escaping either. Still, as the newness of classes and friends we hadn’t seen in three months faded and boredom came in stretching and yawning, it seemed as if the devil himself had perched upon my shoulder and whispered some mischief sweetly into my ear. The devil is like an old friend to me these days, but back then...we were just getting introduced.

  Much of that mischief was reserved for the weekends. For that much, my parents were thankful. It meant fewer broken bones, bee stings and sunburns. For the teenagers it meant fewer bent fenders, missed curfews and weeks spent on restriction. Monday through Friday was homework time, but two days of play were better than none, and we made the most of them.

  I tumbled from that bus and waited on my brother and sister before sprinting home full of Friday energy. Our backpacks hit the floor before the door was shut and my brother and I went hunting for some of that whispered mischief.

  There was a great feeling of winding down that autumn—a slowing of the clock. Halloween was coming up and that old demon was handing out free passes to be crazy just once more before it was time to behave for Santa. The town of Walker’s Woods buzzed with costume ideas and candy and new VHS horror movies for those lucky enough to own a VCR. For those who weren’t so lucky, well they usually had a friend who was. That was where they spent Friday or Saturday nights—sometimes both—staying up until dawn and basking in the glow of a nineteen inch television and the gory glory of a masked, knife-wielding stalker.

  Robin, Danny, and I—my name is Todd McNeill—went home that Friday with a need. It was the kind of need that burrowed underneath the skin of your temples and set your skull to throbbing. It made us hungry so we ate everything in the house. It made us fight with each other and the only known cure for that kind of need was adventure. If we had only been more patient, or if maybe we’d chosen Dad’s Club football that fall, maybe then life would've turned out some other way.

  What we did choose to do was get into trouble of one flavor or another, and that Friday topped all other flavors…and added sprinkles. It topped the time I knocked the parking brake loose and let the car roll down the driveway, across US 49 and into the ditch with me and my little brother still inside the car. It even topped the time I convinced Danny there was treasure in our attic and during our hunt for said treasure, I stepped on the sheetrock between the joists and fell onto the garage floor below.

  “Daddy's gonna kill you,” Danny said while I lay there moaning with stars in my eyes.

  My father didn't kill me. He beat me some shade of purple, but it didn't kill me. No, that Friday we were in need of a new adventure, something bigger, something different, something we couldn't concoct on our own. We needed an older kid. We needed a teenager. They always had the best ideas, the dangerous ideas, but they also knew how to avoid getting caught. I wish we had gotten caught.

  Daniel Patrick McNeill was my younger brother. I called him Danny back then. I still do when I talk about him. He’d preferred Dan after high school, but he will always be Danny to me. I was thirteen and he was ten that year. Robin was our baby sister and her seventh birthday was quickly approaching. Danny was shy and often got tongue tied, but that year he started to come out of his shell. Robin was never shy, and she spoke with a vocabulary and wit that were several years her senior. She was beside herself at the prospect of getting a new bicycle for her upcoming birthday—a pink one with a basket so she could carry her things as she sped around the neighborhood.

  “Training wheels are for babies,” she told people. “My birthday is next month. I’m getting a new bike. A pink one with a basket so I can carry stuff. Did I mention training wheels are for babies?”

  She told anyone who would listen in the same certain tone with which politicians lie to voters. Most folks would smile or give a chuckle, but the seasoned parents always nodded with a serious face and then grinned behind her precocious little back. Precocious was the best word to describe Robin. I wish it was still so.

  Her first passion was roller skates, so the two-wheeled-bicycle bug had bitten her a bit later than the rest of us. She had pale skin, blonde hair and the deepest blue eyes you ever saw. Danny and I were her opposite with dark hair and brown eyes. We often teased her about being adopted, but if anyone looked like an add-on to the McNeill family Christmas photo, it was me. Danny and Robin were thin as stalks of celery. I was heavy—not fat mind you—but my jeans were marked husky and I had a double chin from birth.

  Back to that Friday. Our buses arrived at the corner one after the other and I waited impatiently for my brother and sister to disembark. Danny and I raced Robin home and made sure she got in the door just like always. None of us had homework, so we had no reason to go in the house other than to drop our packs. Mom and Dad weren’t due home from work for a couple hours. Latch-key kids, they called us.

  The McNeill home was a two story craftsman built in the 1960's, small but adequate. It sat in the middle of a row of houses that faced US 49, an old two lane highway that got less traffic as time went on and was later bypassed altogether by the interstate. It was full of chuck-holes and tree branches hung just a little too far over the shoulder of the road. More squirrels gave their lives to that strip of asphalt than I care to mention.

  Our bus stop was at the corner of the US 49 and Jackson Street. Our edge of Walker's Woods was separated by a line of trees from a sprawling field that alternated its plantings and harvests between corn and soybeans. That field held many an adventure for us.

  My b
rother and I walked away from Jackson Street and toward the Chambers’ house which was down near Fetzer Street. Our friend Matt lived there, just two doors up the highway. He was also thirteen, a few months older than me, and he had an older brother named Sean. Sean loved to put ideas into our heads just so he could laugh at the mistakes we made. He was sixteen and precisely the troublemaker we were looking for.

  Danny sprinted to the driveway and then scuffed the soles of his black converse high-tops up the walk to their front porch before clacking the brass knocker on the Chambers’ front door. I chased after, but stopped in the middle of the driveway, staring off into space and trying to catch my ever elusive breath and sooth the stitch in my chubby side.

  The door opened and Sean stood there with braces on his teeth, a blond crew cut and a ten inch rat tail in the back. His t-shirt was ripped at the neck and the sleeves had been removed, possibly by force. At the time, the look was boss.

  “What?” said Sean.

  “Matt home?” Danny asked.

  “What if he is?”

  “If he is, we’d like to talk to him. If he’s not, never mind,” I said.

  “You bein’ a smart ass?” Sean asked, leaning down into Danny’s face.

  “You ever hear of a toothbrush?” Danny said to my utter delight.

  Matt grabbed the door from his brother and shoved him out of the way.

  “Mom! Sean’s bugging my friends!” he said.

  Sean punched Matt hard in the shoulder, but Matt smirked, knowing he’d won that round. His freckles stood out proud on his pale cheeks, and curls of reddish hair hung into his eyes.

  From the distance, we heard his mom say, “Sean!”

  Sean smacked Matt in the head—a move Danny and I were quite familiar with. A move that said, this isn't over buddy. It's not over by a long shot.

  Sean walked away, but scowled over his shoulder. He even bared his teeth. They looked quite menacing all covered in metal. Matt waved him off and turned to us. We each produced broad smiles.

  “What’s up guys?” he said.

  “We’re bored,” I answered.

  “No kidding. I hate school. It ruins everything. Come on, we can go up to my room,” Matt said.

  We rushed up the stairs to his bedroom for some privacy and some brainstorming. Matt’s room was coated with stuff for lack of a better term. Clothes, toys, and sports gear lay around as if vomited up by the bed and left for the cleaning lady. Danny and I opted for seats on the floor under an oversized Empire Strikes Back poster and Matt grabbed his desk chair. There was a bumper sticker on the back with an MTV logo on it. I picked up a comic book and began reading. It was a DC-Marvel crossover of Batman and The Incredible Hulk.

  “Todd, you'll never guess who I saw today,” Matt said.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Everybody I looked at,” he said with a snicker.

  He got me. He often got me. Danny took a minute to work the joke out in his head, then nodded and grinned once he understood.

  “You aren't dumb...but so gullible,” Matt said.

  I felt my face redden.

  “Yeah, you got me...now what are we gonna do?”

  “We could hike through the woods?” Danny offered.

  “Nah,” Matt said, and then suggested, “Ride bikes?”

  “Nope,” Danny and I responded. “Too cold.”

  Then Matt’s eyes lit up.

  “We could go see if Alex is home.”

  I laughed.

  “What?” Matt said.

  My face got hot, I knew I was blushing and I giggled some more.

  “What is it?” Matt asked again, stomping his foot.

  “Last time I spent the night there, I saw his sister’s boobs!”

  “Cool,” Matt said.

  “You did not,” said Danny.

  “I did! She was getting out of the shower and I was trying to take a leak. She didn’t know I was in there. I almost pissed on her.”

  “Did she see your…” Danny started.

  “Probably,” I interrupted, blushing even harder. “But who cares?”

  The room overflowed with laughter for just a moment before boredom swooped back in. Alex’s sister Victoria—or Vicky as we called her—was fifteen, almost sixteen, and the sight of her boobs was forever etched into my memory. Alexander and Victoria Rutledge. With names like that, I always felt their parents had destined them for greatness. It's funny the things you remember and the things you don't.

  Danny picked up another comic book and flipped a page or two before frowning.

  “I read this one already,” he said.

  My eyes widened and I pointed at the door. Sean stood there with a wicked look on his face. I don't know how long he'd been listening, but I wondered how many boobs he'd seen. Back then, I'd have bet he'd seen at least a hundred pair up close and personal. Now the thought makes me chuckle.

  “I know something you turds could do,” he said.

  We stared and waited for him to say something amazing. The quests he sent us on were perilous, but we loved every minute. Deep down I knew we’d get in trouble or have the crap scared out of us, or maybe even take a beating when we got home, but it was never boring.

  Sean walked into the bedroom and closed the door. Danny dropped the comic and pulled his knees up to his chest. I scooted closer to him and he gave me a nervous smile.

  Tough. Look tough and act tough or he'll chew you up and spit you out.

  Sean looked at each of us, counting, and frowned.

  “Ya know what?” he said. “We need one more person, or this won’t work.”

  “What? What won’t work?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” said Matt.

  Danny nodded with enthusiasm.

  “Nothing. Never mind,” Sean said.

  And that was his game: Make sure every fish in the room was biting before setting the hook. Normally it was the you guys are too little ploy. But not enough people? That was a new one.

  “We can find another person. What is it?” Matt asked.

  “Can’t be just anyone,” Sean said.

  “How bout Alex?” Matt asked.

  He pondered it for a minute, running his tongue over his lips. His braces kept them shredded to the point of bleeding, I noticed. Danny, Matt and I surrounded him as if orbiting his very gravity and waited for the decision.

  “Yeah, sure I guess. Just make sure whoever it is can be trusted. This is a secret.”

  “What secret?” I asked, annoyed.

  “You shits just find another kid and meet me in the basement. If you’re not back in thirty minutes, the deal’s off,” Sean said.

  “What deal? What are we doing?” I asked.

  “Thirty minutes,” Sean said and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.

  Our eyes shifted from one person to the next, then the corners of our mouths curled up like the ever-loving Grinch and we bolted from the bedroom to the stairs, hardly touching a single step on the way down. Bursting out the front door and into the brisk fall breeze, Matt’s tennis shoes skidded through the damp grass and he ran down the sidewalk to Alex’s house. Danny and I caught up as he was knocking on the door. Matt looked frantic as if our thirty minute time limit was already up, but in reality only two or three minutes had passed. He knocked again, a hollow sound on the metal-clad door. Danny pushed the doorbell and a muffled DING DONG was heard from within. I peered through the sidelight but saw no moving shadows and heard no footsteps.

  “What if he’s not home?” I said.

  “Yep. We need a backup plan,” said Danny.

  “I don’t know. Who else can we get?” Matt said.

  There was still no answer at the door. We knocked again, and again I peered into the sidelight, but still the house was quiet.

  “I don’t think anybody’s home,” I said.

  “Shit. I think you’re right,” Matt said.

  “Not s’posed to say shit,” Danny said.

  “You just said it,”
Matt said.

  Danny looked confused, then he laughed and said it again. “Shit!”

  I peeked through the glass once more.

  “Put your eyes back in their sockets, man. Vicky isn’t in there,” Matt said. “And even if she was, she probably wouldn't be naked.”

  “Shut up,” I told him.

  I felt embarrassed again and had it in my head to punch Matt square in the nose, but something caught my eye. Several houses down, in my own driveway, was a little girl on roller skates. I caught my breath and could almost see the light bulb appear above my head.

  “Robin could be the fifth person,” I said.

  My friends looked at me and then at her. Matt nodded. We all walked in Robin’s direction and I started rationalizing the decision in my head. Sean's pranks had been rough in the past, ending in bloody noses, ruined clothes, even a lost tooth that I placed on the manhole cover at the edge of town—that was protocol, but it’s a story for a different time. I didn't want Robin hurt, or even subjected to the disgusting things that might await us, but I also couldn't resist the grandest of temptations...not when utter boredom was the only alternative.

  “What do you think he’s going to do to us?” I asked them.

  “Who knows,” Matt answered. “But it’s better than what we were doin’.”

  “What were we doing?” asked Danny.

  “Exactly,” Matt said.

  Danny punched him in the shoulder, a fly attacking a Doberman. Matt punched back, almost knocking my little brother down. I gave Matt a look that said, take it easy. He backed off with a shrug.

  “He hit me first,” he said.

  “I'll hit you next,” I said.

  “Sorry Danny,” Matt said.

  Being husky had that advantage.

  “It's okay. Doesn't hurt that bad,” Danny said. He put on a tough face, but his eyes were moist.

  By that time we were within spitting distance of the little girl on her roller skates, and I heard her singing a made up song about Dingbat and the Creeps and a vampire dog and his friends, Nobody and Sparerib.

  “Robin!” Danny said.

  She tipped one foot up to apply a gentle brake and stopped right in front of us with a smile.

  “No,” she said.

  “Huh? I didn’t ask you anything yet,” Danny said.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m not gonna do it, whatever it is.”

  “We gotta meet Sean over in Matt’s basement for something secret, but we need five people and there’s only four of us. We need you, Robin. Come on!”

  “Whatever,” she said.

  “We really need you. He said it was only for the older kids, but we told him you were plenty old enough,” I lied, hoping to appeal to her desire to hang out with the bigs.

  “Suit yourself if you just wanna roller skate,” Danny said.

  “I said ‘no’,” Robin said and skated away.

  We shrugged, watching her go, and then headed back toward Matt’s house in defeat.

  “Shit,” I said.

  Danny punched me in the arm that time. “Don’t say that.”

  “Shut up. You’re a shit,” I said.

  “Am not.”

  He punched me again. I would’ve hit him back the second time because his bony knuckles actually hurt a little, but Robin came running and shoved her way in between us. She had kicked off the skates and was only wearing socks.

  “What are you doing? Where are your shoes? Mom’ll kill us both,” I said.

  “What’s the secret?” she asked.

  “Get some shoes!”

  “Tell me the secret!”

  I rolled my eyes at her.

  “I don’t know the secret yet. I just know that we’re running out of time. It’s been fifteen minutes already so go inside and get some shoes!”

  “No time for shoes,” she said. “Let’s see what he’s got that’s so cool.”

  She darted off down the sidewalk and we followed, the prospect of what awaited us in that basement too great to ignore. We had the fifth person. That was the deal and a deal is a deal. It was Sean’s turn to deliver.

  Matt opened the front door and led us down the hallway into the kitchen and to the door that led down to the basement. The kitchen smelled like chocolate chip cookies and a small radio on the flour-dusted counter conveyed Rick James’ message that that girl was indeed super freak-ay. He opened the door quietly as not to alert his mother, who was not only busy baking, but had the telephone propped between her ear and her shoulder. The curly cord flopped and stretched and relaxed and flopped. She smiled warmly and waved us on through.

  Wooden steps led to a smooth concrete floor below. It was dark except for a flickering light that emanated from a dozen or so candles. The door creaked and snicked closed and we took one step at a time, wary of anything that might happen. Sean was a master of gotchas, and we’d all fallen victim at least once.

  “So, you brought your little sister? Weak,” Sean said.

  “She’s trustworthy,” Danny said, flubbing the pronunciation.

  “She is, is she?” Sean said.

  Robin looked at him and smirked, “More than the rest of you jerks.”

  Sean smiled, surprised by the statement.

  “I like you,” he said to her.

  He motioned for us to join him at a ring of pillows he had laid out on the floor. He was surrounded by several lit white candles and off to one side, I saw the cardboard box from which he must have pulled them. It was hand-marked CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS in green magic marker. There were a half dozen or more such boxes stuffed into a row of metal shelves on the far side of the basement. The light from the candles flickered and danced in the mostly still air and cast dim shadows on the painted cinder block walls. The small rectangular windows that sat just below ground level had been covered with cardboard and duct tape to keep it dark and add to the ambiance. We liked to peek into the wells on the outside of those windows in the spring and catch frogs and salamanders.

  “Sit,” Sean said.

  We obliged. He carried one of the candles as he stared into our eyes. His own expression was sober, lit from underneath and prefacing the tale he was about to tell us. Sean excelled at theatrics, and the younger ones were obviously riveted. I guess I was too.

  “Ghosts,” Sean started in a Vincent Price whisper, “are all around us.”

  Robin and Danny huddled a little closer to the center of the pillow circle. Sean waited for them to settle before he continued.

  “They see everything. They know everything. We are here to summon them.”

  Matt straightened up, “Like a séance?”

  “Shh,” Sean said.

  “What's summon?” Danny asked.

  “It means we're going to call them, try and get them to come and talk to us,” I said.

  He seemed satisfied with that for a moment, then to Sean's disgust, Danny asked another question.

  “But, what are we summon—sum—why are we calling them?”

  “Shhh,” Sean said. Then he whispered, “They will answer our questions. They can tell us things. Important things.”

  “What’s a séance?” Danny asked.

  Sean groaned.

  “Shh,” I said. “Just pay attention.”

  “Thank you,” Sean said.

  “What kind of things can they tell us?” Robin asked in a whisper of her own.

  Sean groaned again and that time, I didn’t try to help. “Anything,” he said.

  “So how do we do it?” Matt asked his brother.

  Sean looked from one face to the next making sure he had all eyes on him.

  “You have to trust me. You have to trust me and then you have to keep this a secret until you die. And you have to believe,” he said.

  We nodded in agreement. A secret pact. It was the coolest thing I'd ever been privy to. It was like one of the late night ghost stories we used to watch on Channel 4 with your host, Sammy Terry. Sean stood up and picked up a second candle. He plac
ed them outside the circle he’d made with the pillows and then grabbed two more. Once he had placed them all, the candle’s formed a square around the area where we sat. After Sean sat back down, he established eye contact again.

  “In order for this to work, you have to believe,” he said. “You can’t question what I say and you can't giggle...and no one can leave until it’s over.”

  “Well, get on with it already,” I said.

  Robin, Danny and Matt shook their heads in agreement.

  “Have you ever played ‘Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board’?” Sean asked us.

  We looked at one another, checking for any sort of recognition and finding none, and then responded with negative head shakes.

  “One of us lies down while the other four sit around them in a circle. We pretend they are dead and make up a story about it. Then we chant, light as a feather-stiff as a board, light as a feather-stiff as a board. Once we’re all in the trance, we each put two fingers under the person in the middle and lift them into the air. If it works, they should float there, suspended by magic, held by the spirits. Then we can ask questions. The spirits will answer through the person as they levitate.”

  “Spirits?” Danny said.

  “Ghosts,” I told him.

  “Sounds like a bunch of crap to me,” Robin said.

  “If you don’t believe, it won’t work,” Sean said.

  “What's a trance?” Danny asked.

  “Like bein' hypnotized,” I said.

  He smiled, then chuckled. “That's silly.”

  “Like I said, if you don't believe, it won't work,” Sean repeated.

  For a change, he seemed sincere enough. Robin took a deep breath and sighed, “Fine, but I want to be in the middle. I want the ghosts to talk through me. And floating sounds like flying!”

  “Fine with me. You guys?” Sean asked.

  “She’d be the lightest one,” I said.

  “Easier to pick up,” Matt added.

  “That shouldn’t matter,” Sean said. “The spirits of the dead will lift her, not us.”

  “Okay, that’s a little creepy,” Robin said.

  Danny stayed silent, but nodded his head. Sean nodded back and then motioned for Robin to get in the center of the circle. She did so and gave me a wink. There was a pillow placed there to keep the dead more comfortable and she positioned her body so her head was resting on top of it.

  “The floor is cold,” she said.

  Sean ignored her.

  “I need you to lie down and cross your arms over your chest, ya know, like a dead person,” he said.

  “Dead people are gross. I went to this funeral once…” Matt started.

  Sean glared at him and Matt shut his mouth and kept still. Robin placed her arms on her chest and looked like the mummy we’d all seen on one of those late night fright flicks. Sean pointed to where each of the rest of us needed to be and we moved accordingly. He stayed by her head, Danny and Matt sat on opposite sides of her waist and I took my place at her feet. He held his hands out for us to grab and we did so without the immature jokes that normally accompanied hand holding. Once all hands were clasped around Robin and we were all settled, we closed our eyes.

  “She looks ill,” he said.

  I opened my eyes and looked at him.

  “Huh?” I said.

  Sean shook his head.

  “It works like this: I say she looks ill. Then he says she looks worse, then you say she’s dying, then he says she’s dead. It’s part of the game.”

  He pointed at each of us around the circle, giving us our lines.

  “Well, first you have to tell us how to play,” Robin said.

  “I just did. You fart stains know what you’re doing now?” Sean said.

  “Not really,” I said.

  Danny and Matt shook their heads.

  “Let's practice once,” Sean said, whispering. “She looks ill,”

  Danny looked around, then said, “She’s looking worse.”

  Sean nodded with a sinister grin and looked at me.

  “I think she’s dying,” I said.

  Matt, who was last, added, “I think she’s dead.”

  Sean took a deep breath and Danny and Matt each squeezed my hands. He looked up at us and then in a solemn voice, said, “Bow your heads.”

  We did so and waited with our eyes closed…at least I know mine were closed.

  “Here lies the body of Robin McNeill. She passed away at the age of seven,” Sean started.

  “I’m six,” she said.

  “Shh. Doesn’t matter,” he replied.

  “But I'm only six,” Robin insisted. “We can do this again next week if you like. I'll be seven then.”

  Sean stared at her for just a moment, as if trying to figure out if she was for real. “Fine. Here lies the body of Robin McNeill. She passed away at the age of six.” Then he looked up and said, “Now you guys repeat it.”

  We repeated, “Here lies the body of Robin McNeill. She passed away at the age of six.”

  Sean continued, “A car took her life on the old mill road…”

  “Wait! Why’s it got to be a car accident? Can’t I be an old woman or something?” Robin said.

  “God damn it!” Sean said. “Shut up or it won’t work.”

  Danny gasped at the profanity.

  “But why a car crash?” Robin said.

  “It has to be a violent death,” Sean said, flustered.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “It just does or it won’t work. Now be quiet!” he said.

  “Fine,” Robin said and settled back into her position.

  Once her eyes were closed, Sean started over.

  “Here lies the body of Robin McNeill. She passed away at the age of six.”

  We repeated every word.

  “A car took her life on the old mill road.”

  Matt, Danny and I repeated, “A car took her life on the old mill road.”

  Sean finished the chant according to the rules of the game, “And when she was found, she was light as a feather and stiff as a board.”

  As if by instinct, we repeated the key phrase.

  “Light as a feather, and stiff as a board.”

  The call and response continued for a few repetitions and the hair was just standing on the back of my neck when Matt’s mother opened the basement door and stepped down to the first step which let out a high-pitched squeak.

  “You kids hungry? I’ve got some snacks up here.”

  “Ooh, snacks!” Robin said.

  She sat up and started to leave.

  “No, wait. It’s supposed to work. We didn’t even finish yet!” Sean said. “You have to levitate.”

  She looked at him, then up at the steps. I think I heard her stomach growl before Robin shook her head. “This is too weird for me,” she said.

  “What’s levitate?” Danny asked, curious and concerned at the same time.

  “Float. It means to float in the air,” I said.

  Sean looked around for a minute.

  “Something isn’t right,” he said.

  “I’ll say,” Robin said.

  She was sitting up at that point, wearing a dull look on her face. Matt and Danny looked bored as well and I was ready to call it quits.

  “No, for real. We need a better place. This basement won’t work. There aren’t any ghosts here,” Sean said.

  “How do you know?” Matt said.

  “You ever seen one here?”

  “No.”

  “Then there aren’t any here,” Sean said.

  “Oh. Good. I feel much better now,” Matt said.

  “Me too,” Danny said.

  Matt snapped his fingers and asked, “What about the Russian House?”

  The crowd fell silent, all eyes on Matt. He looked back at us with a shrug and Sean held up one finger, waving it at each child before getting back to his red-headed brother.

  “Brilliant,” he said. “That place is haunted as
hell.”

  “Haunted?” Danny said.

  Sean nodded.

  “What’s the Russian House?” Robin asked.

  Matt jumped up from his pillow and ran to the steps.

  “Come on!” he shouted, and we followed, Sean in the rear.

  We trampled up the stairs, filing through the kitchen with slippery socked feet and thunderous stomps, each grabbing a handful of the cookies Mrs. Chambers had stacked on a tray.

  “Slow down,” she said as we rushed past.

  We turned the corner and clomped up the carpeted staircase to the second floor and into Matt’s room which was in the front of the house. He stopped at his window and pulled up the rolling shade which flipped at the top with a FLAP-FLAP-FLAP sound. Looking across the street, the trees that normally obscured the view had shed most of their leaves, and beyond, an old house could be seen. It was a ruined farmhouse and I’d seen it a million times. It was missing some boards and some shingles, and it was desperate for a paint job and some new windows. It had sat alone in neglect like a wart on that field for as long as I could remember.

  “That’s the Russian House,” Matt said.

  “Why is it called that?” Robin asked.

  Danny and I stared in amazement.

  “You guys don’t know this story? I can’t believe that,” Sean said.

  I knew the story. I wasn’t sure at the time if Danny or Robin had heard it, but it had been passed around in a week long Methodist day camp I’d been to the summer before. The mention of it made me cold and reminded me of a few sleepless nights I’d spent after going to that camp. Bible camp, my ass.

  “I know the story, but I didn’t know it was that house,” I said. “I figured it was out in the middle of nowhere…or that it didn’t really exist.”

  “It exists all right. Right here in our own neighborhood,” Matt said.

  “What's the story?” Robin said, growing impatient.

  We all stared for a full minute before Sean said, “I’ll tell you when we get there.”