Mom finished putting Beth to bed at 8:30. After that, she and Peter read in the den. Read, because there was no TV.

“He doesn’t have a TV?!”

“Don’t make a fuss, Peter. Once I find a job maybe I can talk him into letting me buy one.”

Peter grumbled as he looked around the room for something to read.

All he could find was a wicker basket full of National Geographics. But not anything recent – in fact, not a single one had pictures. They were all from the 1940’s and just full of writing.

Peter groaned and went upstairs to get some comic books of his own. After he returned, they both read quietly until Grandfather lumbered in.

“Time for bed,” he announced as he pointed at Peter.

Peter glanced at the huge wooden clock on the fireplace mantel: 9:45. He was supposed to meet Dill at 10 o’clock.

“But – ”

“Time for bed!” Grandfather repeated angrily.

“Dad…” Mom sighed. “Peter’s used to going to bed a little later than this – ”

“I’ll not be questioned in my own house, Melissa,” Grandfather warned.

Mom stared at Grandfather. He stared back.

“Go get ready for bed, Peter,” she said in a dull, flat voice.

“But Mom – ”

“Peter, just do it.”

Jeez.

Peter trudged up the stairs. He could hear angry muttering and whispering back in the den, but he couldn’t make any of it out.

There was a bathroom next to his bedroom. As he brushed his teeth he mentally tallied all the reasons he hated moving here from California.

Boring…stupid…all my friends are gone…a psycho for a grandfather…who hates the one kid who lives anywhere near me…NO TV…gotta go to bed like a three year-old…can’t even walk out in the flippin’ back yard…can’t even go to the ocean…

He pulled off his clothes and climbed into bed under the musty sheets. It smelled like old people.

Peter fluffed his pillow and coughed. He was glad the lights were off; he didn’t want to see the dust that was probably in the air.

Gross.

The one good thing was that he had a perfect view out the window. Lying there in the dark room, he watched the sliver of a moon far over the trees and wished he could be in California right now, under a California sky.

Where it’s two weeks away till school, he added angrily to his list.

And now Dill is going to hate me, he thought. He’ll think I stood him up for sure. The one friend I could’ve made is going to totally –

“Yo, dude,” somebody whispered outside his window.

Peter bolted upright, his heart thudding in his chest.

“Dill?” he whispered back.

There was a familiar buzzcut silhouette perched right outside the window. It waved.

Peter jumped out of bed and climbed up on the cushioned ledge. Sure enough, there was Dill, seated precariously on the windowsill outside.

Peter searched around for a second, found and unlatched a lock on the left side of the glass panes, and pulled. The window swung open towards him like a door.

“How’d you get up here?” Peter asked, amazed.

“The tree, man. I can climb like a monkey. Hoo hoo, haw haw!” Dill scratched his underarms and poked out his lips like a chimpanzee.

“Sorry I can’t come. They made me go to bed,” Peter said morosely.

“I figured when I saw the lights go on in this room and then go out. Lucky thing you’re by the tree, I didn’t wanna have to go far on this roof. Well, come on, get dressed and let’s go.”

Peter looked at him, dumbfounded. “Go?”

“Yeah, let’s boogie.”

“I can’t leave! I’m supposed to be in bed!”

Dill groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re a teacher’s pet.”

“No…”

“You’re probably a straight A student, aren’t you? You probably go to dance class, don’t you?” Dill stuck out his arms and flicked his fingers across an imaginary keyboard. “‘Hi, my name is Peter,’” he said in a high, nasally muppet voice. “I play the piano and I practice every day!’”

“I do not!” Peter almost shouted, then looked around uneasily in case someone had heard.

“Then get dressed and let’s go. Unless you’re a weenie,” Dill said. “A wussy, wussy weenie.”

“No…” Peter said defensively. “I’m just…I’m kind of scared of heights.”

“Don’t look down.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“Dude, I’ll go first. All you gotta do is go about three feet on the roof and then bam, you’re at the tree, and it’s easy from there. Just do what I do. Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall. Come on!”

Peter looked back at his closed bedroom door. If Mom or Grandfather came in, he was busted for sure.

Dill must’ve known what he was thinking. “Lock the door, dude, and let’s rock and roll.”

“I could get in a LOT of trouble for this.”

Dill shrugged. “It wouldn’t be worth it, otherwise.”

Peter took a big breath.

Peas, beets, and sauerkraut…bedtime at 9:45…and not being able to go anywhere or do anything.

Forget that.

Peter pulled on his pants, shirt and shoes, and locked the bedroom door.

Dill grinned and gave him a thumbs up. “You da man.”

<< Chapter 5 |  Chapter 7 >>

PETER AND THE VAMPIRES (Volume One) consists of four stories and is available for the Kindle, the Nook, and on Smashwords.com.

You can download a free Kindle App for your computer, Mac, iPhone, iPad, smartphone, and more by clicking here.

All material is copyrighted 2007-2011 Darren Pillsbury. All rights reserved.

5

They spent an hour dragging in all their suitcases and boxes from the Honda up to the third floor. Grandfather untied Peter’s bike from the roof of the car and stowed it away in an old, wooden garage back behind the house. Peter looked around inside at the ancient Ford truck, the dust-covered tools on the walls, and the stacks of bug-eaten newspapers lying everywhere until Grandfather chased him out.

After that, the old man disappeared down a hallway on the first floor and Mom went to fix something to eat.

Dinner was not in the giant room Peter had seen by the main hall but at a cozy little table in the kitchen, which ran along the back of the house. Unfortunately, the food wasn’t very good: canned peas, canned sauerkraut, canned beets. Beth was having fun, though, smashing everything flat like pancakes and then licking it off her palms. Grandfather was nowhere to be seen.

Mom watched him scrape at his plate. “I’ll get better food tomorrow, Pete, when I go into town. It’s all I could find in the pantry.”

“Why isn’t he here to eat this stuff?” Peter grumbled.

Mom sighed. “That’s just Grandfather. He’s probably in his study, reading away.”

“Mom, this place is weird.”

She smiled sadly. “Yeah, I know. I’d forgotten a lot.”

“What’s in all the locked rooms?”

Shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? You lived here all your life and you don’t know?”

“One thing you’ll find out, Peter, is that when your grandfather tells you not to do something, it’s best if you don’t even think about doing it.” She turned to Beth and forced a spoon into her fingers. “Honey, don’t eat with your hands.”

“What about the garden?”

Mom’s eyes got big. She acted scared but broke into a smile as she talked. “Ohhhh, don’t go in the garden! Whatever you do, don’t go in the garden.”

She stared off into the distance. “I think I was…five or six, maybe, and I went and picked some tomatoes for my mom? Put ‘em in my dress and held it out like this.”

Even though she was wearing jeans, Mom pantomimed holding out a dress by the corners to form a basket of sorts.

“When I brought the tomatoes in, my dad – Grandfather – he got so mad, he spanked me till I couldn’t sit down for hours. I cried and I cried…”

Mom snapped out of the daydream. Her face grew slightly angry, and she stabbed at her beets with a fork. “And I never went in that garden again.”

“Why aren’t we supposed to go in the garden?”

“I don’t know, Peter. Your grandfather said it doesn’t belong to us. He said not to go past the rose bushes, because none of it belongs to us, and they might think we’re trespassing.”

“Well, who does it belong to?”

Mom’s face clouded over a bit. “I’m not sure, but I think there’s a bunch of hobos who eat the food.”

“Hobos?”

Mom caught herself and smiled. “Homeless people, honey. I’m sorry, hobo isn’t the accepted word these days. But ‘hobo’ was what we called them back then…they used to ride the trains all around the country and live on the really poor side of life. I think Grandfather kept the garden for them, I’m not sure.”

“Did you see the hobos?”

Mom cocked her head, as though trying to remember. “Only once…it was night, and I saw somebody…or something in the garden. I didn’t go find out what it was because I was scared. But there’s no need to worry, I lived here eighteen years until I left for college and nobody ever bothered us. Hobos are harmless, kid. Just don’t go in the garden, and don’t make any problems with Grandfather, okay?”

Peter nodded. “Okay, Mom,” and he meant it.

Whatever it took to avoid Grandfather’s anger, that’s what Peter was going to do.

<< Chapter 4 |  Chapter 6 >>

PETER AND THE VAMPIRES (Volume One) consists of four stories and is available for the Kindle, the Nook, and on Smashwords.com.

You can download a free Kindle App for your computer, Mac, iPhone, iPad, smartphone, and more by clicking here.

All material is copyrighted 2007-2011 Darren Pillsbury. All rights reserved.