Then the camera was back on the reporter.
?s.p.a.cecraft or just s.p.a.ced out? You decide. Back to you, Jay.?
?That"s so bogus...,? I called to my aunt. ?I saw a report on TV once where kids confessed to creating them. They demonstrated to the reporter how in the middle of the night they used a stake, a rope, and wooden boards to press down the stalks and form a giant circle.?
My aunt came back into the living room dressed in an off-the-shoulder cotton top and pea green yoga pants. ?I believe we aren"t the only ones in the solar system. They could be aliens.
No one has disproved their existence.?
?Are you kidding? You really believe in aliens??
?Do you really believe in vampires??
She had a point. ?Yes, but they are real,? I blurted out without thinking. ?Uh...I mean, no one has disproved their existence.?
?I"m just saying,? Aunt Libby argued as she added some final touches to her hair, ?it could be the markings of an alien aircraft-or a signal for other aliens. Aren"t crop circles meant to be viewed from the air??
?The boy on the news swore he saw bats last night. Maybe it could be vampires signaling other vampires,? I suggested.
?Hmmm. I like your theory better. Aliens are kind of odd-looking and have green heads.
Vampires are s.e.xier. I"d prefer to see them invade our town.?
I gave my thought pause as the anchor turned the focus to weather. ?Our five-day forecast calls for rain and fog.?
Curiosity getting the best of me, I couldn"t shake the farm boy"s claim. After all, who better to go undetected in the night than vampires? They could easily see the circles as they fly in bat form over the horizon. There was no way to confirm my theory by sitting in my aunt"s apartment, and it wasn"t like me to not poke around for some clues.
?Do you mind if I check my e-mail?? I asked.
?Sure. The computer is already on.?
I searched the Internet on my aunt"s iMac for vampires and crop circles. I scrolled past various movie and book sites until I came to a small website that specialized in paranormal sightings in North America. All the entries detailed unearthly bright lights, alien abductions, and hoaxes. Just as I began to click out of one such site, I spotted something of interest. Instead of green-headed monsters, one blogger claimed that the night before he spotted a crop circle, he"d seen a swarm of hovering bats.
I thought I"d stumbled onto something big. The entry had to be posted by a Harvard scholar, a scientist, or a n.o.bel Peace Prize winner. Instead it was signed Bob from Utah.
Bob could have been a crackpot like any other, a bored kid in study hall posting erroneous entries on websites, or, like me, a vampire-obsessed mortal with an overactive imagination. But I took his single entry as a sign.
There was one way to investigate my theory further. I had an advantage that Bob in Utah didn"t-I was dating a vampire.
?Are you sure you don"t want to come with me?? my aunt asked as she picked up an African drum lying next to the fireplace.
?I"m beat-no pun intended,? I teased, shutting down the computer. ?Do you mind if I just crash??
Even if I wasn"t preoccupied about reuniting with Alexander, the thought of amateur drummers learning how to bang on instruments for two hours was enough to make me mental.
?There"s plenty of tofu patties in the fridge and soy pudding in the cabinet. I"ll call you on your cell at break to check in.?
?Thanks, Aunt Libby,? I said, giving my dad"s sister a hug. ?I really appreciate your letting me visit you again.?
?Are you kidding? I love having a roommate. Just bolt the door behind me and don"t buzz anyone in. And please, don"t get abducted by aliens. Your father would kill me.?
3.
The Manor House
Once again I found myself waiting at a bus stop. This time I hung outside Aunt Libby"s apartment in the drizzling rain antic.i.p.ating the arrival of the number seven. I paced back and forth for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for it to turn down my aunt"s street.
I had to admit I wasn"t overly excited to be boarding another bus, having just ridden one for several hours, but it beat borrowing Aunt Libby"s bike and cycling across town in the rain. It was imperative that I reach the manor house before sunset, otherwise Alexander might be out for the evening and my surprise reunion would be delayed.
Finally I saw a bus lumbering around the corner and almost cheered when I saw it displayed a yellow seven digitally. I shoved my money in the change receptacle and quickly grabbed the cold aluminum pole. Though the bus was half empty and many seats were vacant, I chose to stand for the duration of the ride. Having missed the Lennox Hill stop the last time, I refused to have anyone or anything blocking my view and further delay reaching Alexander. My heart beat faster with every stop and acceleration. I thought I"d caught a break since there weren"t that many pa.s.sengers on the bus, but twice as many were waiting to board the number seven at the next stop. After what felt like the span of summer break itself, I spotted Lennox Hill Road. I remembered that to notify the driver of my desire to disembark, I needed to pull on the white wire that ran above the windows. I repeatedly tugged on the cord like I was signaling an SOS.
?I heard you!? the driver shouted back.
The rain had ceased. I hurried up Lennox Hill Road, scurrying through puddles and jumping over slimy but cool earthworms.
Rain-soaked estates lined the street. The pristine gra.s.s lawns were drenched and several branches and leaves were scattered in the asphalt driveways.
Then, at the end of the cul-de-sac, plain as a stormy day, sat the monstrous manor house.
The gruesome estate appeared to be even more overgrown and unkempt than the last time I"d visited it.
Steam seeped into the air, creating a spooky fog around the palatial home. Moss and wild vines overtook the house like a giant spiderweb. Stone gargoyles sitting upon the jagged wrought-iron gates seemed to smile at me as I approached. Sticking in the half-dead, weed-filled lawn was a Happy Homes sign. I hurried past the broken birdbath and up the cracked rock path.
My heart pounded as I reached the familiar arched wooden front door.
The dragon-shaped knocker that had fallen into my hand upon my first visit had not been replaced. Perhaps it was still hidden in the untamed bushes where I"d tossed it.
I knocked on the door.
I waited. And waited.
Jameson didn"t respond. I pounded my hand against the door again. Still no response. Not even a torn curtain rustled.
I turned the rusty doork.n.o.b and pushed against the door, but it was bolted shut.
I raced through the soggy gra.s.s, past the servants" door to the back of the house. I darted up the few cracked cement stairs and eyed the back wooden arched door. There wasn"t a bell to ring or a knocker to knock. I pounded my hand on the door. When no one answered, I looked around for another door.
I was becoming concerned that it wasn"t Alexander and Jameson who had rented the place after all. There were no signs of my boyfriend or his butler"s presence. I peeked in a bas.e.m.e.nt window and it appeared to be in the same vacant state.
I spotted the tree I had once climbed to see into Alexander"s room. I might have been able to confirm once again that he was inside, but climbing the rain-soaked tree was not a viable option.
I peered around the backyard to see if I saw Jameson"s Mercedes. The cracked asphalt drive was vacant of cars. I saw a concrete bench and a wrought-iron arched trellis overrun with creeping vines. A circular rock bed where a pond must have once been was now filled with rainwater. I spotted a decaying one-car detached garage that appeared as though it might collapse with a gentle nudge. I headed straight for it. My heart raced as I darted toward the garage. I noticed a lock on the door. It was brand-new.
Though I was an expert at sneak-ins, I was lousy at picking locks. I"d need the help of Billy Boy"s nerd-mate gadget whiz, Henry, but he was obviously miles away. The dilapidated garage was st.u.r.dier than it looked. With all my strength, I couldn"t move any of the paint- chipped wooden boards.
I examined the outside of the garage. There wasn"t a window on any side. I did notice a skinny crack between two boards about hip height from the ground on one side. Light from the setting sun illuminated the skinny s.p.a.ce. With my best vision, I could barely make out a white sheet covering what must have been an old bike or lawn mower. And next to it, something sparkling in the light. On further inspection I noticed a Mercedes hood ornament.
I raced back to the manor house. I placed a discarded box underneath the kitchen window and stepped on it. I teetered on tiptoe, doing my best to see inside. The window was dusty, so it was almost impossible to see indoors. I tapped the gla.s.s pane relentlessly and peered through a hole the size of a quarter.
Suddenly a bulging eyeball gazed back at me.
Startled, I screamed and fell off the box, back onto my bottom in the wet gra.s.s.
I heard the sound of locks being unlocked and the door being opened.
I froze. What if I"d been wrong when I"d spotted a Mercedes ornament that I was so certain had belonged to Jameson? I was so excited to see it, I hadn"t even considered my discovery. The stored car could have been any make or model, or white for all I knew. At any moment I would be caught trespa.s.sing, thrown in Hipsterville"s juvie jail, or forced to return to Dullsville.
I bit my black lip and held my breath.
Then, at the screen door, Jameson appeared.
Alexander"s butler struggled to see me through the glare of the mesh door.
?Jameson, it"s me, Raven.?
?Miss Raven?? he asked, confused. He opened the door. ?It can"t be you. What are you doing here? In the backyard??
I jumped to my feet, dusted off my miniskirt, and raced up the uneven steps toward the Creepy Man. Jameson wrinkled his pale forehead.
?Miss Raven, I"m surprised to see you here. But pleasantly, I might add,? he said with a skinny-toothed smile.
?I"m visiting my aunt Libby here in town,? I said, relieved to see the bony butler. ?I wanted to tell Alexander, but there wasn"t a way to let him know. I seriously think it"s time you and Alexander got cell phones.?
?Please come in. It will be dark soon.?
The smell of sweet potatoes filled the high ceilings of the rustic kitchen. Jameson was preparing dinner, or, in Alexander"s case, breakfast.
?Will you be staying?? he asked in his thick Romanian accent.
?I"d love to, if it"s not a problem.?
?There is always room for you at our dinner table.?
My heart melted at Jameson"s kindness. I was dying to press the bony man for information on what they"d been doing in Hipsterville and why they had rented the manor house, but that would have to wait because there was something of more importance resting somewhere in the estate.
?Can I see Alexander?? I asked anxiously.
Jameson, wearing oversized brown oven mitts, opened the door of the old-fashioned oven and pulled out a tray of aluminum-foil-covered sweet potatoes. Behind him, the dirt-stained window stared at me like a hotel oil painting-poking through intermittent clouds was the setting sun.
?You know Alexander prefers to sleep during the day,? he reminded me.
?Of course...I just thought...?
?Well, it is quite a surprise you have arrived,? he said, politely entertaining me. ?I"m sure Alexander will be very pleased you are here.?
?I hope so! How long do you and Alexander plan to stay here?? I asked.
Jameson paused, then appeared distracted. ?Did I set the table?? he wondered.
?I am sorry to drop in on you like this,? I apologized. ?Can I help you set it??
?That won"t be necessary, Miss Raven. Why don"t you sit and relax in the study.
Alexander will come down soon.?
?May I take a quick peek around??
?Of course, but stay on the first floor. I didn"t have time to clean the other rooms today,?
he said.
If the first floor"s appearance was Jameson"s idea of cleaning, I could only imagine what the second floor was like. Dust b.a.l.l.s clung to every corner, and cobwebs hung from the antique crystal chandeliers. The estate was far too grand for one creepy man to vacuum. The manor house was at least ten degrees colder than the Mansion and far emptier. The floorboards were uneven and watermarked. I wandered in the hallway; the walls were empty of portraits and the wallpaper was faded and patched with stains. All rooms and walls were bare, including what must have been a parlor and library. The only exception was the dining room, where a long rectangular stone table sat in the middle of the room, antique black velvet chairs at each end.
Jameson had warned me to remain on the first floor as if he were Glinda the good witch telling Dorothy to stay on the yellow brick road. From the foot of the grand staircase, I could only see a royal blue curtained window at the end of the first flight. I wondered what lay past the two flights out of view above me. Figuring I only had a moment before Jameson began setting the table, I crept up the once regal staircase. Like Dorothy, I betrayed the path.
Chills danced down my spine as I snuck through the narrow and lonely hallway. I opened door after door, revealing empty bedrooms and closets, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous and vacant s.p.a.ce. Where the Mansion"s rooms were filled with furniture, books, and antique mementos, the manor house"s rooms were stripped of any memories. The only room that showed any sign of life was at the far end of the corridor. Its contents: a single bed and a cedar dresser. I presumed it was Jameson"s living quarters.
When I softly shut the Creepy Man"s bedroom door, I noticed something dangling in the hallway ceiling above me. A short, wiry piece of white rope hung from a square door overhead.
It was out of arm"s reach, but with a good jump I might have been able to grab it. I knew I should go back downstairs, but that went against my true nature.
The first time I jumped, I didn"t even reach the cord. The second time, my fingers touched it. Finally, on the third try, I caught the cord between my fingers. With all my might, I quickly pulled the rope and snapped it securely in the palm of my hand. The door slowly creaked down toward me and a staircase folded out like a fire escape in a New York City alleyway.
Surprisingly the wooden steps seemed to be in relatively good condition. Perhaps the former tenants didn"t see the need for a darkened attic hideaway.
I quietly ascended the stairs, curious to examine what lay at the top. A glow from the second floor shone like a small spotlight, illuminating a portion of the attic. A musty smell filled the gymnasium-sized room. The attic, like the rooms below, appeared bare. Alexander"s easel, art supplies, and mattress were nowhere to be found. A single ray of sunlight peeked through a circular window in the far end of the sloping attic walls. I tiptoed over and noticed an unpainted plain old oak armoire beneath the window. I tried to open its doors, only to discover they were locked. Perhaps the skeleton key was hiding in the attic somewhere with real skeletons. I glanced around, trying to adjust my vision in the darkness. It was then I saw something shrouded in the shadows-a black room divider. I crept over to the corner of the attic and peered behind the six- foot-tall wooden screen.
I could barely make out a night table and a pewter candlestick with a half-melted white candle. Behind it stood an easel with a covered painting, art supplies scattered beneath. Then I noticed something familiar on the nightstand staring back at me. It was the picture Alexander had painted of me and kept on his nightstand at the Mansion. There next to the tiny table was a single black coffin.
I was standing alongside my sleeping vampire boyfriend. I pressed my ear to the cold coffin lid. I could barely hear what I thought to be breathing. My heart raced with his every breath.
I knew the sun was setting because the cast of light from the attic window was slowly shrinking. It only took a few minutes for it to dwindle to the size of the nightstand. Finally it was as thin as a pencil, then it was gone.