The Summoning

Twenty-three

WHEN Rae GOT BACK, she spread her empty hands wide and said, "Okay, guess where I hid it."

She even turned around for me, but I could 'see no bulge big enough to hide a flashlight. With a grin, she reached down the front of her shirt into the middle of her bra, and pulled out a flashlight with flourish.

I laughed.

"Cleavage is great," she said. "Like an extra pocket."

She smacked the flashlight into my hand. 1 shone it into the crawl space. The dirt floor extended through the darkness as far as the beam pierced. I waved the flashlight. The beam bounced off something to my left. A metal box.

"There's a box," I said. "But I can't reach it from here."

I climbed the remaining two steps and crawled in. The space stunk of dirt and stale air, as if no one had been there in years.

The ceiling was really low, so I had to waddle hunched over. I maneuvered to the box. It was dull gray metal with the kind of lid that lifted off, like a gift box.

"Is it locked?" Rae whispered. She had climbed the ladder and was peering in.

I passed the light around the perimeter of the lid. No sign of a lock.

"Well, open it," she said.

Kneeling, I gripped the flashlight between my knees. My fingertips slid under the lid's rim.

"Come on, come on," Rae said.

I ignored her. This room was what the ghost had wanted me to see. I was sure of it. And this box was the only thing I could see in this barren, dark space.

I'd seen boxes like this in movies, and what lay inside was never good. Body parts were usually involved.

But I had to know. The lid started coming off, then stopped. I jiggled it. One side came up, but the other caught. I slid my fingertips around the edge, trying to find what it was catching on. It was a piece of paper.

I tugged, and the paper ripped, leaving me with a corner. There was handwriting on it, but only fragments of words. I found the part of the paper still stuck in the box and pulled, prying the lid with my other hand. One sharp tug, and the paper came free . . . and so did the lid, flying off and landing in my lap. Before I could think about ! whether I wanted to look, I was looking, staring straight down into the box.

"Papers?" Rae said.

"It looks like . . . files."

I reached into a folder marked 2002 and pulled out a sheaf of papers. I read the first.

"Property taxes." I flipped through the other pages. "It's just records of stuff they needed to keep. They put them into a fireproof box and stored it here. The door's probably only locked so we don't snoop."

"Or this isn't what the ghost was telling you about. That means there must be something else down here."

We spent ten minutes crawling around, and finding nothing more than a dead mole that stunk so bad I nearly puked.

"Let's go," I said, crouched on my heels with my arms crossed. "There's nothing here, and it's freezing."

Rae shone the flashlight in my face. I swatted it out of the way.

"No need to get snippy," Rae said. "I was just going to say it's not cold."

I took her hand and wrapped it around my arm. "I'm cold. Those are goose bumps, all right? Feel them?"

"I didn't say you weren't —"

"I'm going. Stay if you want."

I started crawling away. When Rae grabbed my foot, I yanked hard, almost toppling her over.

"What's with you?" she said.

I rubbed my arms. Tension strummed my nerves. My jaw ached, and I realized I was clenching my teeth.

"I just —I was okay before but now . . . I just want to get out."

Rae crawled up beside me. "You're sweating, too. Sweat and goose bumps. And your eyes are all glittery, like you have a fever."

"Maybe I do. Can we just —?"

"There's something here, isn't there?"

"No, I —" I stopped and looked around. "Maybe. I don't know. It's just— I need to go."

"Okay." She handed me the flashlight. "Lead the way."

The moment my fingers closed around the flashlight, the light started to dim. Within seconds, it was giving off only a faint yellowish glow.

"Tell me that's the batteries going," Rae whispered.

I quickly handed it back to her. The light surged, but only for a second. Then it went out, plunging us into darkness. Rae let out an oath. A swish. Light flared. Rae's face glowed behind the match flame.

"Knew these things would come in handy someday," she said. "Now . . ."

She stopped, her gaze going to the flame. She stared at it like a child mesmerized by a campfire.

"Rae!" I said.

"Oh, uh, sorry." A sharp shake of her head. We were almost at the door when I heard the distant sound of the basement door opening.

"The match!" I whispered.

"Right."

She extinguished it. Not by waving it or blowing it, but by cupping the flame in her hand. Then she tossed the dead match and the matchbook over her shoulder.

"Girls?" Mrs. Talbot called from the top of the stairs. "Is your homework done?"

Homework. Simon and Derek. I checked my watch. 7:58.

I scrambled out of the crawl space.