Free Flying by Carrie Jones Page B

except the basement.
    The basement. You are never, ever supposed to go into the basement in scary movies. That and the attic are always off-limits … and the greenhouse, and outside, and, well … pretty much everywhere.
    Still, I pause outside the basement door, frozen. I am really, really scared of going down there with all the boxes and the Ping-Pong table and the treadmill. My legs wobble.
    I don’t get a chance to make the decision before steps pound across the front porch. I clutch the TV remote because it’s the closest weapon-like thing I can find.
    Lyle bursts into the living room. His hair is wild, sticking up everywhere. He holds my bag.
    â€œI thought you died,” he says.
    I unclench the remote. “What?”
    â€œI thought you died; you were taking so long.”
    He runs over the cushions.
    I hold out my hands to stop him.
    â€œLyle … what about that Windigo thing?”
    â€œI put the tire right on top of it.” Lyle cringes. “It can’t move.”
    â€œYou’re sure? One hundred percent sure?”
    â€œThe entire car is on top of it, Mana. It’s not going anywhere.”
    Mr. Penguinman falls from the fan in the living room. I snatch him up off the floor and clutch him to my chest. “Did you call the police?”
    â€œThey said they’ll be here as soon as they can. One cop is at a DUI stop and the other is at a domestic.”
    I groan. “Our town only has two cops? That is so ridiculous. That is beyond ridiculous.”
    He doesn’t answer, just takes the TV remote out of my hand and lifts an eyebrow at it. “Anything good on?”
    â€œI thought you were some evil exterminating thing.” I realize this is a bad explanation, even if it is the truth.
    â€œAnd you were going to bludgeon me to death with this? A remote?” His eyes actually twinkle despite the circumstances.
    â€œShut up.” I open the basement door. “I’ve searched everywhere upstairs. There’s no sign of her.”
    My voice breaks. I close my eyes and take my weight off my ankle.
    â€œWe should wait until the police come,” Lyle says, leaning next to me. He drapes an arm across my shoulders.
    â€œI am not waiting.” I open my eyes to look at his face. It’s so anxious and scared that it frightens me a little. “I’m going down to try to find her. I cannot leave her if she’s down there.”
    â€œDo you really think she is?”
    â€œNo.”
    I turn on the light and brace myself for something horrific. I don’t even know what. I take a couple steps down the wooden stairs. My mom made a pantry along the sides of the walls years ago. She stores the Campbell’s soup and extra sugar and things like that there.
    â€œEverything’s in the right place,” I whisper to Lyle, moving forward so his arm drops from my shoulders. I miss it.
    He touches a can of golden raisins. “Weird.”
    â€œI know.” Although maybe they didn’t have time to search down here yet, because we interrupted them. Who knows? Or maybe they’re not trying to find anything, just destroying … I don’t know. I don’t know anything.
    Lyle clutches my hand. “Maybe you should stay upstairs and guard.”
    â€œNo way.”
    â€œLyle…”
    â€œListen, I was out-of-control worried in the car. There is no way in hell that I’m going to just let you come down here by yourself.”
    He stares at me. He means it, and I’m glad. I nod and trek down the rest of the stairs, into the cold basement. The cement floor is well swept. The treadmill is right side up. The holiday decorations are still in the proper plastic bins.
    â€œMom?” I whisper.
    Lyle comes and puts his arm around my waist, holding me up.
    I try a little louder. “Mom?”
    No answer. Of course there’s no answer; there’s no one here.
    I slump against him. Tears wait