The next victim

We followed the screams to a den near the front of the house. The room was in water colors, all blues and greens. Two green leather couches faced a big widescreen TV on one wall.

In the far corner, a small round table had been knocked on its side. In its place stood a low wooden ladder. Brendan and I pushed through the screaming, crying kids to get a better look.

“Nooooooo!” I slapped my hands to the sides of my face. My stomach churned. I struggled to keep my lunch down.

“Eric! Not Eric!” I wailed.

But yes. Eric Finn was draped upside down over the ladder. His head was bright purple, down near the floor. His arms drooped limply at his sides. His shoes were jammed between the two top rungs.

“The note! There’s a note!” I cried.

Brendan stood frozen in horror. I grabbed the note off the bottom ladder rung and read it:

“Chutes and Ladders Isn’t Always a Baby Game.”

I let out a shuddering cry. The sheet of paper fell from my hand and fluttered to the floor beside the ladder. Backing away, I thought I saw Eric’s fingers twitch. “Is he still alive?” The words burst from my throat in a voice I didn’t recognize. Brendan lurched forward and grabbed Eric’s hand. He squeezed it. He shook his head. “Ice cold. But he hasn’t been dead that long—has he?”

The room erupted in frightened voices and soft sobs.

Eric dead, too.

And who would be next?

I turned my gaze to the blue-green wallpaper. I couldn’t bear to look at Eric hanging there upside down, his blond hair tumbling over his face. I couldn’t believe I’d never hear his voice again. Never hear him make another joke.

Again, I was desperate to escape. I backed out of the room. I still had my hands pressed to my cheeks. My stomach churned like a washing machine in spin cycle.

Brendan was gently lifting Eric’s body off the ladder. Huddled in small groups of two and three, everyone watched. No one moved to help him.

I backed to the door, my shoes scraping the soft carpet. I lowered my hands to my sides. I balled them into tight fists.

This can’t be happening.

I stepped into the hall, backed away from the door, away from the horror—and someone grabbed me from behind.

Strong hands gripped my shoulders and pulled me into the hall.

I started to scream. But a hand slid roughly over my mouth. The palm pressed hard over my lips, silencing me.

I ducked and squirmed and tried to twist away. And as I fought, I realized: It’s me. I’m the next victim.

27.

Дата добавления: 2015-07-20