Free The House Next Door by P. J. Night Page B

or behind the curtains. Of course there was no one there. She was alone with her sister and her new friends. But the feeling wouldn’t go away—the sensation of eyes following her every move grew stronger.
    â€œYou know what? I really do think it’s time to leave,” she said as they approached the basement door. “We’re having a party. John and Michael, you could come with us. You probably noticed our house earlier today. It’s right next door. It’s the only other house on this road.”
    â€œWe can’t leave yet,” John said. “We need to make sure nothing is broken in the basement. Maybe something fell over.”
    â€œWhy?” Alyssa wondered. “This isn’t your house.”
    â€œYeah, but what if someone finds out we were here?” John replied. “We don’t want to be blamed for everything that’s been broken in this house.”
    He smiled at Alyssa and then looked down and shuffled his shoes.
    Alyssa sighed.
    She wasn’t entirely sure she agreed with his logic, but she returned his smile.
    â€œCome on,” Michael urged. “We’ll all go down and check it out together.”
    Alyssa opened her mouth to protest, but Amanda jumped in before she could utter a word. Now that Paul and Steve were gone, she saw a new opportunity for a midnight kiss.
    â€œJust one minute?” Amanda asked.
    She looked at her sister, pleading with her not to ruin anything.
    â€œOkay,” Alyssa agreed. “But let’s make it fast.”
    The four kids walked toward the basement door in pairs: John walked next to Alyssa while Michael walked closely beside Amanda. When they reached the door, John opened it and led the sisters down a narrow wooden stairway.
    The basement smelled dank and stale. The four kids swung their flashlights around, illuminating the dark room.
    Alyssa and Amanda looked around with wide eyes. If being in the upstairs rooms of this house wasn’t creepy enough, the basement took it to a whole other level.
    It was stuffed with relics. Amanda peered at the shelves and shelves of old toys that lined the walls—broken tincars with dented and scraped exteriors; clown figurines dressed in faded, torn silk costumes were missing limbs; and a large tarnished music box with a tiny dancer in a black tutu that remained open but had long-since been silenced.
    Blankets of dust covered an antique wooden wheelchair and steel chest. An ancient player piano had been shoved into a corner.
    But what really made Amanda’s skin crawl were the rows and rows of jars.
    She walked along the shelf, peering into each one. They were filled with all sorts of things—from nails and bolts to thread and needles. Someone had used them for storage.
    She stopped in front of one jar that appeared to be filled with . . . eyeballs. Lots and lots of tiny, round eyeballs.
    â€œDoll’s eyes,” John offered, walking up behind her. “We spotted them earlier.”
    Amanda simply looked at him and then continued examining the jars. When she approached one that was filled with a gooey, flesh-colored liquid, she stopped again, waiting for John to explain this one.
    â€œI don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe some sort of jam? Or canned food?”
    â€œAlyssa,” Amanda whispered. “Look at all of this stuff. It all must’ve belonged to the family that lived here—the ones that vanished. If they had moved away all those years ago, why would they have left this stuff here?”
    Alyssa picked up a large handmade teddy bear that was coming apart; its stuffing was peeking out at the seams. An eyeball hung off it’s face. The thread holding it seemed like it could break at any moment.
    â€œI don’t know,” she replied. “Somebody must have loved these things at one time. Now they just sit here collecting dust.”
    A small rustling sound jolted Amanda to attention, causing the hairs on