Party Games (3 page)

“Well … a little bit, maybe. You know Mac. When he gets angry … sometimes he loses it.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “Well, I can't tell him
for
you. I think—”

I didn't let her finish. I grabbed Amy's arm and let out a sharp cry. “Look!” I pointed.

Amy squinted into the darkness. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“My house. The front door. Amy, something's very wrong. The front door—it's wide open.”

 

3.

MYSTERY OF THE OPEN DOOR

 

“Relax, Rach. Maybe the wind—”

“No!” I cut her off. “You know my dad is a nut about locking the doors at night. He even makes sure the windows are locked.”

I realized I was still gripping her arm. I let go and went running to the house. My shoes slid on the wet grass as I hurtled up the front yard.

I stopped on the front step and peered into the hall. Total darkness. As my eyes adjusted, I could see dim light washing in from the kitchen in the back. Dad always left a kitchen light on for me because I usually came in around the back.

I grabbed the railing and stared inside. My rapid breaths made puffs of steam rise in front of my face. Did someone break into our house?

I heard Amy step up behind me. “Rachel? You see anything?”

I shook my head. I stepped into the house. It was warm inside and smelled of the roast chicken my mother made for dinner. “Mom? Dad?” My voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

They weren't up. They've been going to bed earlier ever since Mom got Lyme disease.

My shoes scraped on the hardwood floor. I took a step, then another. I stopped and Amy bumped into me from behind.

“Oh. Sorry. Rachel, I don't hear anything. I think maybe…”

I clicked on a living room lamp. I guess I expected the room to be torn apart. I expected a prowler. Why else would the door be left wide open?

But everything seemed in its place. I saw two small ice-cream dishes on the side table next to the couch. My parents are ice-cream freaks. They are constantly trying new flavors. They talk about ice cream as if it's some kind of exotic gourmet treat.

My mom's glasses were on a couch cushion, next to a couple of magazines. “Everything seems okay,” I whispered.

A sudden hum made me jump. It took me a few seconds to realize it was just the fridge starting up in the kitchen.

I tiptoed down the hall. Stopped outside the bathroom. Was the intruder lurking in there? I flashed on the light. The room was empty. No one in the kitchen, either.

The back of my neck tingled. A chill made my shoulders tighten.

Something is wrong. I feel it. Something has happened here.

“Amy, wait in the living room,” I whispered. “I'm going to wake up my parents.”

She nodded. “I think it was the wind, Rach. Really. Your parents are okay.”

Her words didn't calm me down. I stepped into the back hall. Our house is ranch-style, all one floor. Their room was next to mine at the end of the hall. I was breathing hard as I reached their door. A ceiling light at the end of the hall sent pale yellow light over me.

Were they awake? I pressed my ear against the door and listened. Silence.

“Hey, Mom? Dad?” I said softly. I knocked with the knuckles on two fingers.

Silence.

Something horrible has happened to my parents.

“Mom? Dad?” I called, louder this time. I knocked harder, then didn't wait. I grabbed the knob, pushed the door open, and burst inside.

The room was dark. Gray light filtered in from the twin windows against the far wall. I heard a stirring. A groan.

“Rachel? Is that you?” Mom's voice, hoarse with sleep.

A bed table lamp flashed on. Dad lay on his side. He turned and sat up blinking. Mom squinted at me, covers up to her chin.

“Rachel? What's wrong?” Dad asked.

“I … uh…” I hesitated for a moment. I felt a rush of relief seeing they were okay. “The front door…” I stammered finally. “It was open.”

Dad scratched his balding head. He turned and started to climb out of bed. He's big. He looks like a bear with his furry chest. He sleeps only in pajama bottoms. “I know,” he said. “I left it unlocked for you. In case you wanted to come in the front.”

“You … you don't understand,” I said. “It was wide open. The door was wide open.”

“What?” Dad jumped to his feet. He squinted at me. “No way. I closed it carefully. I remember. I started to lock it. Then I changed my mind.”

“Did you hear anything?” I asked. “Did you hear anyone come in or anything?”

“We went to bed early,” Mom said. “I wasn't feeling very well, and—”

“I didn't hear anything,” Dad said. “But, of course, I'm a heavy sleeper. Mom and I had a little wine with dinner and—”

“Rachel? Is everything okay?” Amy called from the front.

Dad blinked. “You didn't tell us anyone was here.”

“It's just Amy,” I said. I stepped into the hallway and called to her. “It's okay, Amy.”

Dad shook his head. “There's no way that door could just fly open. Let me put my robe on, and I'll go check it.”

I walked out into the hall and crossed to my room. I clicked on the ceiling light. The room looked just as I left it.

Was someone hiding in the closet? I hesitated for a few seconds, then slid the door open. My eyes glanced over the pile of dirty clothes I'd tossed on the closet floor. No. No one in there.

I returned to Amy in the living room. “False alarm,” I said. “There's no intruder.”

“It's way windy,” she said. “I'll bet the wind did blow the door open.”

Dad came bustling past me, tying the belt on his striped flannel robe. He nodded hello to Amy and stomped past her.

I followed him to the front door. He opened it and closed it several times. Then he scratched his stubbly face. “The latch is working okay. I don't get it.”

“Well, at least no one broke in,” Amy said.

Dad clicked the lock a few times. “Seems fine.”

“I'd better go. It's late,” Amy said.

I nodded. “Okay. Are you planning to continue your lecture about Brendan Fear tomorrow at school?”

“It wasn't a lecture, Rachel. I'm just trying to save you from a terrible weekend.”

“Amy, you're not jealous, are you?” I said. “I don't know why I was invited, and you weren't.”

She sighed. “Rachel, trust me. I'm not jealous. I'm just being smart. Even if the stories about the Fears are just folklore … folklore is based on something real … something that really happened.”

Dad was still fiddling with the front door lock. His robe had come open, revealing a wide view of his hairy chest. Amy slipped past him onto the front stoop. “'Night. Catch you tomorrow.” She turned and trotted down the front lawn.

Dad closed the door behind her. He clicked the lock. “Works fine.” He scratched his stubbly chin again. “A mystery, I guess.” He turned to me. “How was the restaurant?”

“Busy,” I said. “I'm totally wrecked. And I smell like French fry grease. Goodnight. I need a very long shower and shampoo.”

But when I got into my room, I dropped onto the edge of my bed, yawning. My legs ached from standing for so many hours. My back hurt, too. I decided if I took a shower now it might wake me up. And I wanted to go straight to sleep.

I tossed my clothes on the floor and pulled on a long nightshirt. Then I clicked off the ceiling light and moved through the darkness to my bed.

I couldn't stop yawning. I'd never felt so weary and exhausted. I pulled the covers back and slid into bed. The sheets felt cozy and warm. I slid lower in the bed.

My right foot bumped something under the covers. My toes rubbed against something lumpy and hard. Prickly fur tickled the bottom of my foot.

At first I thought it was just a wrinkle in the sheet or blanket. But my foot pressed against it. It felt hard. Furry and hard.

My breath caught in my throat. I pulled myself up. Flashed on the bed table lamp. Slid my feet out. Some dark fur was stuck to my toes.

“Huh?” I jumped out of bed and jerked the covers down.

And opened my mouth in a scream of horror as I stared at the dead, decaying rat in my bed.

 

4.

IS MAC A PSYCHO?

 

I knew it was Mac. It had to be Mac.

What a childish and obnoxious way to pay me back for dumping him. He crept into our house through the front door and slipped the rat in my bed. What a psycho. What a sociopath.

Mac transferred to Shadyside High last year. I knew he had a bad reputation. I heard he'd been suspended from his old school for fighting. I'd seen his violent temper.

But I also thought he was a good guy at heart. He was kind at times and very soft-spoken, even shy. He had a tender side he didn't let many people see. Yes, he was very possessive, even though we'd only been seeing each other for a few weeks. And he resented the time I spent with Amy and my other friends.

But I kind of thought that meant he cared.

Stupid me.

Amy warned me about him right from the start. She said I was just looking for the opposite to my old boyfriend. She didn't like Mac's bursts of anger, the way he started to curse and carry on at the tiniest frustration. The way he always tried to act tougher than everyone else.

Now Mac was obviously out to prove Amy right.

Okay. Okay. He was angry that I stopped answering his calls or his texts. That I ignored him when he tried to stop me at school. That I changed my Facebook page and told everyone that he and I were over.

Angry enough to sneak into my house and tuck a dead rat in my bed.

Sick. Totally sick.

My room became a blur. I focused on the darkness outside my window. Stared hard and tried to slow my rapid heartbeats.

Mom and Dad must have heard my scream. They came bursting into my room. Mom's hair was wild about her head. It looked like a tossed-up ocean wave. They both came in blinking and muttering. But their eyes went wide when they saw the dead creature stretched out on its side on my sheets.

“Ohhh.” Mom covered her mouth and made a gagging sound.

Dad stepped up to the bed and stared down as if he'd never seen a rat before. “How … how did this get here?” He turned to me. “Do you think the open door…?” His voice trailed off. He knew that was crazy.

“I don't know,” I said. I didn't want to accuse Mac. I didn't want to get into the whole thing.

My parents are good, understanding people. But ever since I was little, I've always preferred to keep things to myself and deal with them on my own. Even when I was a little kid, I didn't want to share what I'd done in school that day. I guess I'm weird that way. And, of course, I always had Beth to confide in. I always felt more comfortable telling things to my sister.

Mom turned so she wouldn't have to look at the rat. She's the squeamish one in our family. “Probably came from your closet,” she said. “I've been telling you it's a rat's nest.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” I snapped.

She shook her head. “No. I'm serious. That mountain of dirty clothes…”

“I'll call the exterminator in the morning,” Dad said.

“I have to get out of here,” Mom said. Her whole body shuddered. She hugged the front of her nightgown. “The smell … it's making me sick. Rachel, do you want to come to the kitchen and have some tea or something?”

“No,” I said. I sighed. “I just want to get to sleep. I'm so tired, I want to cry.”

“I'll get some gloves and carry the rat out to the garbage,” Dad said. “Then we can change the sheets.” He shook his head. “I still don't understand.…”

“Me neither,” I said softly.

But I thought,
Mac, you can frighten me. But you can't ruin my life. I'm going to Brendan Fear's birthday party. It's going to be the greatest all-night party ever. Brendan invited me, and I'm going. You're history, Mac. I'm just glad I found out what a psycho you are. Really. I'm glad.

 

5.

THE GAME

 

On Friday morning, I came to school early, hoping to catch Mac before homeroom. But he didn't show. He wasn't at school all day. And he didn't answer his phone or reply to my texts.

I just wanted to tell him what a jerk he was. I wanted to tell him he was lucky I didn't call the police or tell my parents.

I didn't want to make a deal out of it. I just wanted to let him know how sick he was. I'd been afraid to face him, to tell him it was over between us. But now he'd made it totally easy.

Mac wasn't around, so I put him out of my mind. I thought about Brendan and the party instead.
What should I wear? Why did Brendan invite me? Could he maybe have a thing about me? Who else is going?

Maybe I thought about Brendan
too
much. Amy poked me during Creative Writing class after lunch and said, “Get that dreamy look off your face. You could be arrested for looking that happy.”

*   *   *

I wasn't into basketball. But Amy and I had planned all week to meet in the gym to watch the Shadyside Tigers play the St. Ignatius Sharks.

She said we should go because it was our last basketball homecoming game. And even though we weren't really basketball fans, it was a kind of milestone, maybe something we'd remember years later.

Amy is so weird. It's like she's always living her life in the future. She thinks a lot about what we'll remember twenty years from now.

So, a little after seven thirty, I pushed open the double doors and stepped into the gym. Despite the roar of voices and the steady thump of basketballs on the floor as the teams did their warm-ups, the shouts and laughs ringing off the tile walls, and the shrill
blaat
of a trumpet player goofing around in the band across the floor, I suddenly found myself thinking about Mac.… Mac and that disgusting dead rat.