“Boo!”
I scream as a dark figure pops up from behind the bush to my left, which causes Billy to let out a loud, sharp bark. The monster laughs as he steps into the light.
“Mike!” I cry, barreling forward, ready to throttle him.
Mike’s laughing so hard that he’s tearing up. “You should have seen your face!”
“Sic ’em, Billy!”
But Billy brightens at the sight of Mike, his tail wagging as he knocks our neighbor to the ground and licks his cheek. The sight of the two of them wrestling around on the grass causes me to smile in spite of my annoyance.
“OK, OK,” I say, coaxing Billy back over to me. “Let’s go, bud.”
Mike scrambles to his feet, pulling his hat back over his eyes. “Wait, weren’t you just going to walk Billy?”
“Not anymore,” I mutter, trotting down the stairs to take back Billy’s leash.
“Aww, don’t be like that,” Mike says. “I’m sorry. Come on, I’ll walk with you.” He holds tight to Billy’s leash without waiting for an answer and grabs my forgotten juice box with his other hand.
“Hey, that’s mine.”
Mike smiles as he takes a long sip from the straw. “My mom told me I need more vitamin C in my life.”
“She probably meant an orange or a grapefruit, not a juice box.”
Mike shrugs and hands it back to me. But of course, it’s empty. He laughs. “Relax, Parker. I’ll buy you another juice box.”
“Let’s just walk.”
“Fine with me.” He takes a beat and then asks, “So what’s your latest theory about Mr. Brown?”
I take a thoughtful breath, suddenly remembering a movie Dad and I had watched together. The main character had plastic-looking skin, just like our neighbors, and he was immortal. “Vampire?” I suggest. “Vampires never age, right? Just like the Oldies.”
“You know that’s impossible, Parker. Besides, the Oldies are always out during the day.”
I shrug. “Day vampires.”
“What the heck is a day vampire?”
“Simple: a vampire who can come out in the sun.”
Mike laughs. “That’s not even a thing.”
“Yeah it is. Google it.”
“No, I’m telling you, Parker: it’s something medical, like a procedure or something that’s keeping them together.”
“Day vampires. You’ll see.”
We’ve made it to the end of the short street, past the colorful array of old houses belonging to Ms. Bea, Mr. and Mrs. Brown, Ms. Attwood, Dr. and Mrs. Smith, and Mr. Marshall. We stroll all the way to the edge of the cul-de-sac, and before I think to redirect us, we end up at the pond. Both of us stop short at the curb, Billy tugging us backward, away from the dark water.
“It looks kind of creepy tonight, doesn’t it?” I breathe.
“It always looks creepy.”
We usually don’t walk this way at night. Goodie Pond is kind of infamous around here, ever since Mary Hove drowned, way back in the sixties. Rumor has it that her ghost still haunts the waters. It’s probably just some stupid urban legend, but our feet still stop short, afraid to go any closer. Billy lets out a low growl just as I see a ripple skate across the surface.
“Do you see that?” I ask, pointing to the water. A mist forms where the ripple ended, rising up in that one spot, almost like a smoke signal. I take a step closer as Mike laughs.
“It’s just a frog, Parker,” he says, his know-it-all voice cutting through the darkness. “There’s like a million in this pond.” And then in a flash, his expression morphs into something more sinister, and he holds his hands out in front of him like claws. “Or maybe it’s a ghost,” he teases.
I push him away and scowl. “Don’t be so annoying.”
“Can’t help it. My mom says I have a gift.”
I turn back toward the water. For a moment I just watch it, holding my breath, as if daring the mist to rise again.
“Do you really think Mary Hove died in there?” I ask.
“No. It’s all fake.”
“If it’s so fake, then why don’t you go touch the surface?”
Mike stiffens. “I’ve touched it plenty of times.”
“So do it again.”
“You go touch it.”
“Uh-uh, not me. I admit I’m scared! You’re the one who doesn’t believe in ghosts.”
“I’m not afraid of anything.” At this, Mike pounds on his chest with his fists.
We both laugh.
“I knew you wouldn’t do it,” I tell him. “Not as tough as you think, huh?”
“Oh come on, Parker. You’re always trying to prove me wrong.”
“Because you make it so easy!”
He makes a face. “We’ll see about that when I prove you wrong about the Oldies.”
The mention of their name makes me shiver. “Let’s just go,” I say, taking Billy’s leash. “My legs feel like they’re going to fall off.”
We drag ourselves back the way we came. At the edge of the cul-de-sac, Mike pretends to dribble an imaginary basketball and toss it into an invisible hoop, but he trips over his own two feet and nearly stumbles to the ground.
“Wow,” I tell him. “Guess you should stick with track.”
To my surprise, Mike actually laughs at my joke. We’ve hit that point in the day when you feel so tired that every little thing becomes silly. We continue walking and giggling, drunk on our own exhaustion and the humidity.
But all of a sudden, Billy stops, cementing his feet to the ground. He lets out another deep growl.
“What’s wrong, bud?”
Something about the street looks different. At first, I can’t put my finger on what, but then it hits me: all of the Oldies’ houses have their front-room lights on. One light per house, and one face per room.
“Are they watching us?”
I nod. “Yup.”
Sure enough, each neighbor’s gaze follows us through their windows, their eyes hollow like skeletons’, their mouths twisted and open like they’re screaming. I force myself to wave even though my arm feels heavy. Mike follows my lead and waves, too, even though he looks just as stiff as I feel. Not one neighbor waves back.
“Do you think they see us?” I whisper.
“I don’t know. Maybe not.”
We wave again, this time in more exaggerated motions, but the neighbors don’t return the gesture. They continue to stare at us with their gaping mouths. Billy starts to bark—and Billy never barks. I shiver as Mike and I exchange looks. We quicken our pace, not looking back until we reach my front steps.
“Go in,” Mike tells me. “I’ll wait.”
“I’m fine,” I hiss back. “Just make sure you lock your door. Go!”
With this I run inside, slamming the door behind me and Billy. With shaking hands I turn the lock, not once but twice, just to be sure.
“Honey, is that you?” Mom calls to me from the couch. “Did I fall asleep again?”
I take a beat and then answer, “Yeah, it’s me.”
Billy seems to stand guard at the door, quiet now, but alert. Cautiously I peer out the window, checking to make sure that Mike has made it across the driveway to his own house. With relief I see that the street is empty, and the lights from the Oldies’ houses have once again been shut off. Peeling myself away from the glass, I finally remember to breathe.