Don't Scream (9780307823526) (7 page)

T
HAT
EVENING
,
DURING
dinner, I told my parents about the plans for volunteer work at the hospital's children's ward.

Mom put down the bowl of zucchini and studied me. “It's a really fine idea,” she said, “but how are you going to fit it into your schedule?”

“I'll work with the children on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” I told her.

“But you said that Mrs. Emery appointed you head of the volunteers. That's going to mean a lot of extra work.”

“Not too much. We'll all be in on the organization. We'll make a schedule and have a list of subs if someone can't make it. Everybody's eager to help.”

“You always complain that you have a hard time getting in your homework,” Dad reminded me.

“I know,” I admitted. “At first I thought I might have to quit my job, but I realize I don't have to. I've been thinking about the way I do
things. Some afternoons I catch the soaps, and I admit I spend a lot of time talking on the phone to Lori. I can cut out television and phone calls and have more time for study.”

“Well, hallelujah! We get the phone back!” Dad said, and chomped down on a large bite of meat loaf.

“What about grades?” Mom asked. The wrinkle that had been flickering across her forehead took root and deepened.

“My grades are okay,” I told her.

“They could be better,” she answered. “Look, Jessie, you're just a little over one and a half years away from graduation, and that means college—
if
your grades are good enough. You've been great about helping to add to your college fund with your part-time job at Bingo's, but I've even thought about your dropping the job just so you could spend more time on schoolwork.”

“Mom,” I said, “you worry too much. I can handle Bingo's, bring up my grades, and volunteer two afternoons at the children's ward. Honest, I can.”

“I wish you'd talked your idea over with us before you took it to Mrs. Emery,” Mom said.

“I wanted to,” I told her, “but Mark … what I mean is, some of the kids heard about it and told Mrs. Emery, and she was excited about the idea, and … well, it got started before I realized what was happening.”

“I told you, it's a fine idea,” Mom said slowly, “and I'm proud of you for coming up with such a
generous plan. But I'm not convinced you can handle such a busy schedule. I'm afraid that everything is going to suffer—your studies, your job, even your volunteer hours.”

“Mom!” I wailed.

“Why don't we give it more thought before we make any decisions,” Dad said. “Jess, please pass the gravy over here.”

I picked up the heavy pottery gravy boat and handed it to him. I licked a drop of gravy from my finger and said, “Let me tell you about a little boy named Ricky.”

By the time I had finished the story, Mom's wrinkle had vanished, but she said, “I guess you can give the volunteer work a try, but you'll have to prove yourself, Jessie. Your grades can't be just good. They have to be better.”

“I think that's fair enough,” Dad said. He and Mom looked at me.

“Okay,” I said. “I'll prove I can do it.”

You've got to
, I told myself.
You haven't got a choice.

True to my promise, I stayed off the phone, ignored the television, and went over and over the assignment in my government textbook, even giving myself a quiz. To my surprise, what I had read not only made sense, it was even kind of interesting.

By the time I went upstairs to bed I felt good about the volunteer program and the part I was going to play in it. Mrs. Emery had said she'd contact Mrs. Hopkins and get her approval for our program, but I didn't want to wait until it was set
up to see Ricky. I smiled to myself. I'd pay a visit to the hospital the very next day.

The shades on my windows were rolled up to the top, so before turning on the light I walked to the windows to pull them down. Concerned with nothing but a soft place to sleep, Pepper, who had followed me, leaped onto my bed, claimed his spot, and curled into an already-snoozing ball.

For some reason the streetlight at the corner was out. Only the half-moon's thin light spilled over the landscape outside my windows, softening the mounds of shrubbery and deepening the shadows that clung to the heavy branches of oak and elm. The Maliks' long, flat front lawn was skimmed with silver and decorated with small globs of yellow light that dropped through narrow cracks where the front-room drapes didn't quite meet. Untidy mounds on the curb in front of the Chamberlins' and Maliks' houses meant that their trash had been put out for the next morning's pickup.

Suddenly Mr. Chamberlin's front door opened, gushing a flash of brightness across his yard before it closed.

Peaches's nightly trip outside
, I thought. I was about to pull down the nearest window shade when the trunk of the large elm tree at the front of the Maliks' property wavered and thickened.

It can't be the tree that moved
, I told myself,
but I haven't seen anyone approach the tree.
Had someone been there, watching and hiding behind the stocky trunk?

In the pale half-light I thought I saw something
small streak across the lawn toward the tree and the trash next to it, then vanish into the deep shadows. The tree moved again, then was still.

I squinted, straining to see until my eyes hurt. Could that small shape have been Peaches? No. I didn't think so. Peaches was as antisocial as Mr. Chamberlin. The animal I'd seen must have been a squirrel.

My eyes began to water, but I kept them fixed on the tree. No more strange shapes, no more movement. I ran to Mom and Dad's room, at the front of the house, for a better look at the elm; but in the darkness the tree looked like nothing more than a twisted, bent skeleton with splayed fingers that waggled in the light breeze.

The street was empty. Had someone been there and gone? Or had my eyes been playing tricks on me?

I heard Mom and Dad checking doors and turning out lights, so I walked back to my room, pulled down my shades, and got ready for bed.

For a moment I sat on the edge of my bed, stroking Pepper, wondering if I'd seen something or not.

The sky had faded to a thin, pale gray, stamped with a transparent, fading moon, when our doorbell jangled sharply and fist-weight blows hammered against the door.

Mom and Dad, staggering from sleep, pulled on robes as they hurried down the stairs. I stopped only long enough to snatch up Pepper before I followed them, my heart thumping.

As Dad opened the door, Mr. Chamberlin, leaning forward on his wobbling cane, stumbled and nearly fell.

“Peaches!” he cried out. “Peaches … she's gone. Where's my cat?”

I thought about what I had seen in the darkness, and my heart skipped a couple of beats.

Mom put an arm around Mr. Chamberlin's shoulders and guided him to the nearest living-room chair. “Now, now,” she said in a soothing voice, “don't be upset. We'll help you find Peaches.”

Mr. Chamberlin's hands trembled as he pressed
them against the round knob on his cane. Thin wisps of white hair stuck out at angles from his face, which was tight with fear. “Peaches went out last night, as she always does. Sometimes she comes back right away. Sometimes she don't. I fell asleep. It's my fault. I should have waited for her. I usually do. But I went to sleep.”

“Peaches probably did, too,” Mom told him. “Right now she may be curled up in a ball, sound asleep in some cozy spot she found.”

“I agree,” Dad said heartily. “Mr. Chamberlin, when you're ready, I'll walk you home, and I bet that Peaches will be waiting at the door for you.”

I wondered how I could recount what I'd seen and still make sense. “Last night,” I said, “I thought I saw Peaches cut across your lawn and run toward the elm tree next door.”

They all looked at me, waiting, but what else could I add?

Mom finally broke the silence by asking, “And …?”

“That's it,” I said. “It might have been a squirrel, or it might have been Peaches. Mr. Chamberlin opened his front door, then closed it, and all I saw was a small shadow running toward the elm tree. Or maybe she was running toward the trash. Last night the Maliks put their trash near the curb, next to the tree.”

“Did you see Peaches leave?” Mom asked.

“No,” I said. “I watched for a while, but I didn't see her again.” I quickly added, “It might not even have been Peaches. It might have been a squirrel. With the streetlight out, it was awfully dark.”

Mr. Chamberlin squinted as if he were seeing me for the first time. “You were one of those kids tormenting Peaches yesterday. I recognize you.”

As Mom and Dad looked at me with surprise, I said, “We weren't tormenting Peaches, Mr. Chamberlin. I tried to explain to you at the time. One of the boys picked a sprig of oleander, and the branch snapped back. Peaches was probably under the bush, and the noise must have scared her, so she let out a squawk and ran up to your porch.”

“It's not the first time that's happened.” He snarled and leaned toward me, his face red with anger. “For all I know, you've made off with Peaches. Where is she? What have you done to her?”

Frightened, I took a step back, clutching Pepper tightly, but Dad placed a strong hand on my shoulder, steadying me.

“Mr. Chamberlin,” he said soothingly, “Jess and her friends wouldn't hurt your cat. Jess loves cats. See … she's holding Pepper, her own cat.”

“I didn't say it was
her.
It was that evil boy,” Mr. Chamberlin said.

“These kids are not evil.”

“That one is. I can tell. There's pure evil in his eyes.”

“Who are you talking about?” I asked.

“The one with the evil in his eyes.” Mr. Chamberlin nodded to himself and smirked. “I could recognize it.”

I backed up against Dad's strong bulk for
reasssurance. “We were on the sidewalk. We weren't close enough for you to see his eyes.”

“I know what I saw.”

Dad tightened his arm around me, while Mom said, “Mr. Chamberlin, you're tired and upset. I suggest that you go home now. Phil will go with you. As soon as Jessie and I get dressed, we'll look around the neighborhood for your cat.”

“Good idea,” Dad said. He took Mr. Chamberlin's arm, helped him from the chair, and guided him out the front door.

The moment the door closed behind them I grabbed Mom's shoulders. “Mom! He's crazy!”

Mom nodded. “Don't be disturbed by what he said, Jessie. He lives in a miserable world he created for himself, so just feel sorry for him and help him find his cat.”

“Okay,” I said, although I was still shaky from Mr. Chamberlin's accusations. “I'll look around the elm tree and see if I can find any sign that Peaches was there last night.” Trying to smile, I added, “Maybe she climbed the tree and can't get down.”

“Maybe,” Mom said.

I ran up the stairs, two at a time, and pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. No matter what I'd told Mom, or what I'd been trying to tell myself, I knew Peaches wasn't stuck in the tree. We'd have heard her yowls all over the neighborhood. And I'd become more and more convinced that the animal I'd seen last night
was
Peaches.

Why hadn't I told them that I'd seen the tree “move”? Why hadn't I admitted that I thought
someone had been behind the tree? Because it sounded stupid? Because I hadn't gone outside to find out then and there what was going on?

Mom took off toward the far end of the block, and I made straight for the tree. The sky was a faint, flat blue, already faded with heat. Against it the large elm, its heavy limbs drooping, stood out starkly.

I approached the tree, skirting the stack of boxes and plastic bags containing the Maliks' trash. As waves of the fishy odor of heat-spoiled tuna rose from the top bag, I fought to keep from gagging.

It took a moment for the idea to register. Tuna? Peaches? Had she been drawn by the scent of her favorite meal?

Gingerly I approached the trash bag, but it hadn't been torn open by a ravenous cat. The mound of black plastic remained securely tied shut.

I gasped as another thought—too monstrous to ignore—slid into my mind. “No,” I whispered frantically. “No, no, no!”

My curiosity and fear got the better of me; I untied the bag and looked inside.

The trash had been picked up before Mark and I set off for school, but the remains of the strong, rancid fish odor clung to the air. I didn't tell Mark about Mr. Chamberlin. I couldn't bring myself to recount what Mr. Chamberlin had said.

However, before our first class began, I told Lori everything that had happened—well, everything except about the tree “moving.” I still hadn't come to terms with that.

At first Lori was indignant at Mr. Chamberlin's accusations, but she softened when I said, “There was no sign of Peaches anywhere in the neighborhood.”

“Poor Mr. Chamberlin,” Lori murmured.

“Mom and I looked everywhere.”

Lori shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as she said, “I don't know how you had enough courage to look in that trash bag, Jess. What if Peaches had been inside, all stiff and dead?”

“I had to look,” I answered. “You don't know
how glad I was that Peaches wasn't there.” I slowly shook my head as I thought about it. “There's something weird about that trash bag, though. The can was filled to the top with tuna. Only a small amount was gone. Why would anyone throw away a whole can of tuna?”

“Maybe it got left out of the refrigerator. Maybe it smelled bad when the Maliks opened it. That's not such a mystery.”

“I guess you're right,” I admitted, but I still felt uncomfortable about it. The first bell rang. I pulled my textbook from my locker, slammed the door, and put Peaches's disappearance out of my mind.