clung to the house like fungus. Half of the roof tiles were missing, the grass was unkempt, and dark woods loomed ominously behind the backyard. A single light escaped from an upper window, forlorn and sinister in the chill night.
"Now that's a creepy-looking place," said Jimmy. "Who lives there?"
"Old man Berger," replied Rusty, a shiver going down his spine. "He's some German guy, lives by himself. One time Mickey Davis yelled at him to go back to Germany, and he came over to us, but we ran away. I've seen him once or twice after that, and he looked at me like he wanted to skin me alive."
"Yeah, his place is supposed to be haunted." Tommy shook his head,
unable to take his eyes off the mysterious house.
"Cool...A real haunted house, and here we are on Halloween.
Perfect." Jimmy fingered a tomato, and Rusty looked at him in alarm.
"I think we better go, it's getting late." Rusty looked over at Tommy, hoping for support.
"Wait, we have to hit this place before we leave." Jimmy turned to his companions. "You don't believe in ghosts, do you?" Tommy shook his head, but Rusty was silent.
"Oh, come on now, you guys call yourselves raiders? Now this ...is raiding."
"I don't know," answered Rusty. "It's scary."
"Well, we're not going inside for trick or treat," Jimmy mocked, gesturing with his hands in front of Rusty's face. "Jump on the porch, throw a cob or two, then run. If he's just an old man, then what's the big deal? Tommy?"
Jimmy looked at Tommy now, the boy showing some hesitation. After a few moments, he encouraged his friend. "It's all right, Rusty. Let's do it and we'll run home."
Already moving forward, Jimmy went into the street, the other two following reluctantly. They reached the sidewalk in front of Berger's house, and Jimmy started up the worn flight of steps leading to the rotting porch. Rusty came last, and he glanced up at the gloomy upper reach. He gasped in fear as a shadow appeared at a window, and then it was gone.
"Wait," he snapped, "I saw him look out."
His friends stopped, scanning the building with straining eyes. After a few seconds, Jimmy spoke in a hushed whisper. "I don't see anything; you're just scared. Come on."
He reached the porch, and the others approached with less confidence. Gesturing with his hand, Jimmy crept to the curtained front window, peering inside.
"Guys, you ain't gonna' believe this. Come here."
Heart pounding in fear, Rusty stared at Tommy's back as he stood with Jimmy. His legs felt leaden, his eyes darting left and right as he joined them.
Rusty gazed inside, a small curtain with tattered holes revealing glimpses of the interior. Black candles were placed in an odd pattern, circling the edges of a low table. The wicks sputtered wildly, caught in some unseen draft.
"Wow, that's weird." Jimmy let out a low whistle, his breath fogging the glass.
"Look! What's that?" Tommy pointed inside, his fingertip touching the window.
The boys followed his gaze to a diminutive form hunched over in one corner. It appeared to be a small man, apparently sleeping, the face hidden within the folds of an odd-looking robe.
"That can't be Berger, he's too small," said Tommy.
"Is that a dwarf?" Jimmy pressed his face against the cold glass. Rusty had an ominous feeling, and was ready to bolt away. Then, from somewhere in the street, a low voice pitched upwards, accompanied by a short bark. Instantly they slunk down, with Tommy crawling to the rim of the porch.
"Berger's coming -- he's walking his dog. And it looks mean."
A shuffling, bent figure approached the house, holding the chain to a large black animal, looking more wolf than dog.
"Oh no, if he catches us we're dead meat," Rusty's voice quivered.
There could be little doubt as to what intentions the group had on the man's porch this late, on Halloween.
"Quick, over the side, then around back."
Jimmy was already next to the stone ledge bordering the porch. He pulled himself over and disappeared. Tommy backed up to
"Now that's a creepy-looking place," said Jimmy. "Who lives there?"
"Old man Berger," replied Rusty, a shiver going down his spine. "He's some German guy, lives by himself. One time Mickey Davis yelled at him to go back to Germany, and he came over to us, but we ran away. I've seen him once or twice after that, and he looked at me like he wanted to skin me alive."
"Yeah, his place is supposed to be haunted." Tommy shook his head,
unable to take his eyes off the mysterious house.
"Cool...A real haunted house, and here we are on Halloween.
Perfect." Jimmy fingered a tomato, and Rusty looked at him in alarm.
"I think we better go, it's getting late." Rusty looked over at Tommy, hoping for support.
"Wait, we have to hit this place before we leave." Jimmy turned to his companions. "You don't believe in ghosts, do you?" Tommy shook his head, but Rusty was silent.
"Oh, come on now, you guys call yourselves raiders? Now this ...is raiding."
"I don't know," answered Rusty. "It's scary."
"Well, we're not going inside for trick or treat," Jimmy mocked, gesturing with his hands in front of Rusty's face. "Jump on the porch, throw a cob or two, then run. If he's just an old man, then what's the big deal? Tommy?"
Jimmy looked at Tommy now, the boy showing some hesitation. After a few moments, he encouraged his friend. "It's all right, Rusty. Let's do it and we'll run home."
Already moving forward, Jimmy went into the street, the other two following reluctantly. They reached the sidewalk in front of Berger's house, and Jimmy started up the worn flight of steps leading to the rotting porch. Rusty came last, and he glanced up at the gloomy upper reach. He gasped in fear as a shadow appeared at a window, and then it was gone.
"Wait," he snapped, "I saw him look out."
His friends stopped, scanning the building with straining eyes. After a few seconds, Jimmy spoke in a hushed whisper. "I don't see anything; you're just scared. Come on."
He reached the porch, and the others approached with less confidence. Gesturing with his hand, Jimmy crept to the curtained front window, peering inside.
"Guys, you ain't gonna' believe this. Come here."
Heart pounding in fear, Rusty stared at Tommy's back as he stood with Jimmy. His legs felt leaden, his eyes darting left and right as he joined them.
Rusty gazed inside, a small curtain with tattered holes revealing glimpses of the interior. Black candles were placed in an odd pattern, circling the edges of a low table. The wicks sputtered wildly, caught in some unseen draft.
"Wow, that's weird." Jimmy let out a low whistle, his breath fogging the glass.
"Look! What's that?" Tommy pointed inside, his fingertip touching the window.
The boys followed his gaze to a diminutive form hunched over in one corner. It appeared to be a small man, apparently sleeping, the face hidden within the folds of an odd-looking robe.
"That can't be Berger, he's too small," said Tommy.
"Is that a dwarf?" Jimmy pressed his face against the cold glass. Rusty had an ominous feeling, and was ready to bolt away. Then, from somewhere in the street, a low voice pitched upwards, accompanied by a short bark. Instantly they slunk down, with Tommy crawling to the rim of the porch.
"Berger's coming -- he's walking his dog. And it looks mean."
A shuffling, bent figure approached the house, holding the chain to a large black animal, looking more wolf than dog.
"Oh no, if he catches us we're dead meat," Rusty's voice quivered.
There could be little doubt as to what intentions the group had on the man's porch this late, on Halloween.
"Quick, over the side, then around back."
Jimmy was already next to the stone ledge bordering the porch. He pulled himself over and disappeared. Tommy backed up to
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