Free Thunderland by Brandon Massey Page B

the den. He shone the flashlight within. He saw a clothesline from which dangled a few shirts and blouses. A washer and dryer. A large sink. Containers of Tide and Clorox standing on a small table. A plastic laundry basket. But no Stranger. He closed the door.
    He already had the feeling that he had a long shift ahead of him. He swept the flashlight beam across the dark corners of the den. Nothing.
    He climbed the stairs to the first floor, emerging in the kitchen. The refrigerator hummed. Raindrops drummed against the skylight. Flashlight in hand, he searched the area, pausing at the back door to see if there were any signs offorced entry. He found nothing suspicious.
    He sighed. He had a very long shift ahead of him.
    He checked the rest of the ground floor. The breakfast nook. The dining room. The living room. The bathroom. The coat closet. The front door. Nothing.
    He went upstairs. He trod quietly, not wanting to awake Brains’s parents or sister, none of whom had any idea what was going on, and all ofwhom thought the three boysjust wanted to hang out overnight, play video games, and eat pizza. He checked Brains’s bedroom. Couldn’t check his sister’s room, so scratch that one. Couldn’t enter his parents’ room, either, so forget that one, too. The bathroom. The guest room. The hallway closet.
    Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
    Although he should’ve been glad the Stranger had not visited them, he gritted his teeth in frustration. He should be sleeping, not searching for someone who would probably not appear. He could imagine the Stranger laughing at their wasted efforts.
    He clicked off the flashlight and took the stairs to the first floor. As he left the last step, the telephone rang.
    He jumped at the sound.
    He read his watch. Fifteen minutes past four. Who would call at this hour?
    The phone rang again.
    Worried that the ringing would wake everyone, he rushed into the living room. A telephone sat on the end table. A bright red light on the phone pulsed in unison with each ring.
    He snatched up the handset.
    “Hello?” he said.
    Dead silence.
    “Hello?” he said again, ready to hang up if the caller did not speak immediately.
    Silence.
    Then a deep, smooth voice: “I know what you need.”
    “What?” he said, convinced he had heard wrong.
    “I know what you need ... Jason.”
    His fingers tightened around the handset.
    “Who is this?” Jason said.
    A ripple of low laughter.
    “Hey, who are you?”
    “I know exactly what you need, Jason.”
    Jason was struck by something in the voice. Something ... familiar. But he couldn’t place what had ignited a spark in his memory.
    “What are you talking about?” Jason said. “How do you know what I need?”
    “Because I know you.”
    “But I don’t know you, “Jason said. “Who are you?”
    “Remember. “
    At the mention of that word, Jason’s heart began to jackhammer.
    “Yes, it’s me,” the voice said, the caller’s true identity still eluding Jason’s mental grasp. “The Stranger.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    Jason’s heart boomed so loudly, he was certain the noise would wake everyone in the house. The Stranger had called him. But where was he calling from?
    Brains’s family had Caller IDconnected to their telephone. The small plastic display sat on the table, along with the lamp and the phone. Holding the handset to his ear with one hand, he clicked on the table lamp. He lifted the indicator device to the light.
    The digital display read, “UNAVAILABLE.”
    Jason bit his lip.
    As though aware of what Jason had tried to do, the Stranger chuckled.
    “You cannot trace the call, Jason. Not to where I am calling you from.”
    “Where are you calling from?”
    “Fantasyland,” the Stranger said. He laughed.
    Fantasyland? Jason was not sure whether he was being honest or not. He was inclined to doubt him. Calling from Fantasyland? The idea was ridiculous.
    “I’m coming for you, Jason. Soon. We have some unfinished business to