I continued to search the basement. I uncovered china dishes and crystal goblets, not the kind of glasses I was used to drinking from. Then I found a box that was labeled ALEXANDER’S WATERCOLORS, filled with drawings of an estate just like the one I was standing in.
There were other paintings, too: Spider-Man, Batman, and Superman. And a version of the big three together: Frankenstein, the Werewolf, and Count Dracula.
I started to put them into my backpack, but I had promised Becky I wouldn’t take anything. So I took out my camera and took a photo instead.
I found a dusty rolled parchment with a faded family tree. There were long unpronounceable names of duchesses and barons going back centuries. And then at the bottom—Alexander. But no dates of births—or deaths!
Finally I uncovered three crates marked, SOIL. They had Romanian customs stamps on them.
As I made my way toward the stairs, I tripped over something covered with a white sheet. This was what I had come for—it had to be a coffin. The object was the right size for a coffin and sounded like wood when I tapped my knuckles on it. I was as afraid as I was excited. I closed my eyes and yanked the sheet off. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes wide. It was only a coffee table.
I replaced the dusty sheet and carefully walked up the creaky stairs. I twisted the glass door handle and pushed, but to no avail. I pushed again with all my might, and the door suddenly burst open. I went flying into the hallway.
Portraits of a silver-haired man and woman lined the hallway, along with some wild paintings that could have been van Goghs or Picassos. I’d have known for sure if I had ever paid attention in art. I felt like I was in a museum, except there were candles and not fluorescent lights.
I tiptoed into the living room. The furniture was art deco. Very stylish. Huge red velvet curtains hung over the windows—the windows I had once waved a red baseball cap through. I could hear the Smiths pulsing through the ceiling.
I looked at my glow-in-the-dark Swatch. It was already eight-thirty. Time to leave. But I paused at the bottom of the grand staircase. I couldn’t go upstairs. It would be ultra-risky. But I had to see everything. When would I ever get a chance like this again?
The first room I entered was a grand study, books upon books, the Sterlings’ very own library. But no librarian, thank goodness. “Just came to check out Crime and Punishment” would not go over very well with Creepy Man. I peeked quickly into the other rooms. I had never seen so many bathrooms on one floor. Not even a football stadium had so many. A small guest bedroom was surprisingly spartan with a single bed. The master bedroom had a canopy bed with black lace curtains dripping around the columns. There was a vanity, but no mirror! Little combs and brushes and nail polishes. Shades of black, gray, and brown. I was about to look into the closet when the music suddenly stopped. I heard footsteps overhead.
I slipped down the stairs fast. I didn’t look back and made sure not to lose my footing and stumble or fall like those girls do in Friday the 13th movies. Fiddling with the door locks, my fingers shook uncontrollably, like those foolish horror-flick girls. I was making way too much noise. As I tried to unlock the top bolt, I saw the bottom bolt turning from the other side.
I ran down the hallway, but hearing footsteps coming from that direction, I doubled back and headed into the living room. There wasn’t time to open the windows, so I threw myself behind the red velvet curtains.
“I’m back,” I heard Creepy Man call in his thick Romanian accent. “Wexley’s will be delivering tomorrow as usual. I’m going to retire now.”
No one responded.
“You can’t get them to shut up when they’re three, but when they’re seventeen they won’t even open their mouths,” I heard him mumbling to himself as he walked slowly past the grand staircase.
“Always leaving doors opened,” I heard Creepy say and shut what must have been the door to the basement.
I peeled myself out of the curtain, ran, and unbolted all the front door locks in record time. I was ready to make my escape when I felt something familiar—-a presence, again. I turned around and there he was standing in front of me. Gothic Guy. He stood motionless, like he was breathing in his uninvited guest.
When he extended his hand to me, to show I didn’t have to be afraid, I noticed the accessory—he was wearing the black spider ring that I’d given Creepy Man on Halloween!
I had waited for a moment like this all my life. To see, to meet, to befriend someone who was different from everyone else, and just like me. Suddenly the reality of the situation hit me.
I had been caught.
I ran across the Mansion lawn and pumped and pulled and flung myself to the top of the rusty gate. And as I threw my booted foot over the top, I looked back and could see a distant figure standing in the doorway, watching me. I hesitated, feeling drawn back to the Mansion. I stared at him for a moment before sliding down to the other side.