02 - Stay Out of the Basement (8 page)

They had lunch at Diane’s house—tomato soup and avocado salad—then
wandered back to Margaret’s house, trying to figure out how to spend the rest of
a beautiful afternoon.

Dr. Brewer was just backing the station wagon down the drive as Margaret and
Diane rode up on their bikes. He rolled down the window, a broad smile on his
face. “Good news!” he shouted. “Your mom is on her way home. I’m going to the
airport to get her!”

“Oh, that’s great!” Margaret exclaimed, so happy she could almost cry.
Margaret and Diane waved and pedaled up the driveway.

I’m so happy, Margaret thought. It’ll be so good to have her back. Someone I
can talk to. Someone who can explain… about Dad.

They looked through some old copies of
Sassy
and
People
in
Margaret’s room, listening to some tapes that Margaret had recently bought. At a
little past three, Diane suddenly remembered that she had a make-up piano lesson
that she was late for. She rushed out of the house in a panic, jumped on her
bike, yelled, “Say hi to your mom for me!” and disappeared down the drive.

Margaret stood behind the house looking out at the rolling hills, wondering
what to do next to make the time pass before her mother got home. The strong,
swirling breeze felt cool against her face. She decided to get a book and go sit
down with it under the shady sassafras tree in the middle of the yard.

She turned and pulled open the kitchen door, and Casey came running up.
“Where are our kites?” he asked, out of breath.

“Kites? I don’t know. Why?” Margaret asked. “Hey—” She grabbed his shoulder
to get his attention. “Mom’s coming home. She should be here in an hour or so.”

“Great!” he cried. “Just enough time to fly some kites. It’s so windy. Come
on. Want to fly ’em with me?”

“Sure,” Margaret said. It would help pass the time. She thought hard, trying to remember where they put the kites. “Are
they in the garage?”

“No,” Casey told her. “I know. They’re in the basement. On those shelves. The
string, too.” He pushed past her into the house. “I’ll jimmy the lock and go
down and get them.”

“Hey, Casey—be careful down there,” she called after him. He disappeared
into the hallway. Margaret had second thoughts. She didn’t want Casey down
there by himself in the plant room. “Wait up,” she called. “I’ll come with you.”

They made their way down the stairs quickly, into the hot, steamy air, into
the bright lights.

The plants seemed to bend toward them, to reach out to them as they walked
by. Margaret tried to ignore them. Walking right behind Casey, she kept her eyes
on the tall metal shelves straight ahead.

The shelves were deep and filled with old, unwanted toys, games, and sports
equipment, a plastic tent, some old sleeping bags. Casey got there first and
started rummaging around on the lower shelves. “I know they’re here somewhere,”
he said.

“Yeah. I remember storing them here,” Margaret said, running her eyes over
the top shelves.

Casey, down on his knees, started pulling boxes off the bottom shelf. Suddenly, he stopped. “Whoa—Margaret.”

“Huh?” She took a step back. “What is it?”

“Look at this,” Casey said softly. He pulled something out from behind the
shelves, then stood up with it bundled in his hands.

Margaret saw that he was holding a pair of black shoes. And a pair of blue
trousers.

Blue suit trousers?

His face suddenly pale, his features drawn, Casey let the shoes drop to the
floor. He unfurled the trousers and held them up in front of him.

“Hey—look in the back pocket,” Margaret said, pointing.

Casey reached into the back pocket and pulled out a black leather wallet.

“I don’t believe this,” Margaret said.

Casey’s hands trembled as he opened the wallet and searched inside. He pulled
out a green American Express card and read the name on it.

“It belongs to Mr. Martinez,” he said, swallowing hard. He raised his eyes to
Margaret’s. “This is Mr. Martinez’s stuff.”

“Dad lied,” Casey said, staring in horror at the wallet in his hands. “Mr.
Martinez might leave without his jacket. But he wouldn’t leave without his pants
and shoes.”

“But—what
happened
to him?” Margaret asked, feeling sick.

Casey slammed the wallet shut. He shook his head sadly, but didn’t reply.

In the center of the room, a plant seemed to groan, the sound startling the
two kids.

“Dad lied,” Casey repeated, staring down at the pants and shoes on the floor.
“Dad lied to us.”

“What are we going to
do
?” Margaret cried, panic and desperation in her
voice. “We’ve got to tell someone what’s happening here. But who?”

The plant groaned again. Tendrils snaked along the dirt. Leaves clapped
against each other softly, wetly.

And then the banging began again in the supply closet next to the shelves.

Margaret stared at Casey. “That thumping. What is it?”

They both listened to the insistent banging sounds. A low moan issued from
the closet, followed by a higher-pitched one, both mournful, both very
human-sounding.

“I think someone’s
in
there!” Margaret exclaimed.

“Maybe it’s Mr. Martinez,” Casey suggested, still gripping the wallet tightly
in his hand.

Thud thud thud.

“Do you think we should open the closet?” Casey asked timidly.

A plant groaned as if answering.

“Yes. I think we should,” Margaret replied, suddenly cold all over. “If it’s
Mr. Martinez in there, we’ve got to let him out.”

Casey set the wallet down on the shelf. Then they moved quickly to the supply
closet.

Across from them, the plants seemed to shift and move as the two kids did.
They heard breathing sounds, another groan, scurrying noises. Leaves bristled on
their stalks. Tendrils drooped and slid.

“Hey—look!” Casey cried.

“I see,” Margaret said. The closet door wasn’t just locked. A two-by-four had
been nailed over it.

Thud thud. Thud thud thud.

“There’s someone in there—I
know
it!” Margaret cried.

“I’ll get the hammer,” Casey said. Keeping close to the wall and as far away
from the plants as he could, he edged his way toward the worktable.

A few seconds later, he returned with a claw hammer.

Thud thud.

Working together, they pried the two-by-four off the door. It clattered
noisily to the floor.

The banging from inside the supply closet grew louder, more insistent.

“Now what do we do about the lock?” Margaret asked, staring at it.

Casey scratched his head. They both had perspiration dripping down their
faces. The steamy, hot air made it hard to catch their breaths.

“I don’t know how to unlock it,” Casey said, stumped.

“What if we tried to pry the door off the way we pulled off the two-by-four?”
Margaret asked.

Thud thud thud.

Casey shrugged. “I don’t know. Let’s try.”

Working the claw of the hammer into the narrow crack, they tried prying the
door on the side of the lock. When it wouldn’t budge, they moved to the hinged
side of the door and tried there.

“It’s not moving,” Casey said, mopping his forehead with his arm.

“Keep trying,” Margaret said. “Here. Let’s both push it.”

Digging the claw in just above the lower hinge, they both pushed the handle
of the hammer with all their strength.

“It—it moved a little,” Margaret said, breathing hard.

They kept at it. The wet wood began to crack. They both pushed against the
hammer, wedging the claw into the crack.

Finally, with a loud ripping sound, they managed to pull the door off.

“Huh?” Casey dropped the hammer.

They both squinted into the dark closet.

And screamed in horror when they saw what was inside.

“Look!” Margaret cried, her heart thudding. She suddenly felt dizzy. She
gripped the side of the closet to steady herself.

“I—don’t believe this,” Casey said quietly, his voice trembling as he
stared into the long, narrow supply closet.

They both gaped at the weird plants that filled the closet.

Were they plants?

Under the dim ceiling bulb, they bent and writhed, groaning, breathing,
sighing. Branches shook, leaves shimmered and moved, tall plants leaned forward
as if reaching out to Margaret and Casey.

“Look at that one!” Casey cried, taking a step back, stumbling into Margaret.
“It has an arm!”

“Ohh.” Margaret followed Casey’s stare. Casey was right. The tall, leafy
plant appeared to have a green, human arm descending from its stalk.

Margaret’s eyes darted around the closet. To her horror, she realized that
several plants seemed to have human features—green arms, a yellow hand with
three fingers poking from it, two stumpy legs where the stem should be.

She and her brother both cried out when they saw the plant with the face.
Inside a cluster of broad leaves there appeared to grow a round, green tomato.
But the tomato had a human-shaped nose and an open mouth, from which it
repeatedly uttered the most mournful sighs and groans.

Another plant, a short plant with clusters of broad, oval leaves, had two
green, nearly human faces partly hidden by the leaves, both wailing through open
mouths.

“Let’s get out of here!” Casey cried, grabbing Margaret’s hand in fear and
tugging her away from the closet. “This is—gross!”

The plants moaned and sighed. Green, fingerless hands reached out to
Margaret and Casey. A yellow, sick-looking plant near the wall made choking
sounds. A tall flowering plant staggered toward them, thin, tendril-like arms
outstretched.

“Wait!” Margaret cried, pulling her hand out of Casey’s. She spotted
something on the closet floor behind the moaning, shifting plants. “Casey—what’s that?” she asked, pointing.

She struggled to focus her eyes in the dim light of the closet. On the floor
behind the plants, near the shelves on the back wall, were two human feet.

Margaret stepped cautiously into the closet. The feet, she saw, were attached
to legs.

“Margaret—let’s go!” Casey pleaded.

“No. Look. There’s someone back there,” Margaret said, staring hard.

“Huh?”

“A person. Not a plant,” Margaret said. She took another step. A soft green
arm brushed against her side.

“Margaret, what are you doing?” Casey asked, his voice high and frightened.

“I have to see who it is,” Margaret said.

She took a deep breath and held it. Then, ignoring the moans, the sighs, the
green arms reaching out to her, the hideous green-tomato faces, she plunged
through the plants to the back of the closet.

“Dad!” she cried.

Her father was lying on the floor, his hands and feet tied tightly with plant
tendrils, his mouth gagged by a wide strip of elastic tape.

“Margaret—” Casey was beside her. He lowered his eyes to the floor. “Oh,
no!”

Their father stared up at them, pleading with his eyes. “Mmmmm!” he cried, struggling to talk through the gag.

Margaret dived to the floor and started to untie him.

“No—stop!” Casey cried, and pulled her back by the shoulders.

“Casey, let go of me. What’s wrong with you?” Margaret cried angrily. “It’s
Dad. He—”

“It can’t be Dad!” Casey said, still holding her by the shoulders. “Dad is at
the airport—remember?”

Behind them, the plants seemed to be moaning in unison, a terrifying chorus.
A tall plant fell over and rolled toward the open closet door.

“Mmmmmmm!” their father continued to plead, struggling at the tendrils that
imprisoned him.

“I’ve got to untie him,” Margaret told her brother. “Let go of me.”

“No,” Casey insisted. “Margaret—look at his head.”

Margaret turned her eyes to her father’s head. He was bareheaded. No Dodgers
cap. He had tufts of green leaves growing where his hair should be.

“We’ve already seen that,” Margaret snapped. “It’s a side effect, remember?”
She reached down to pull at her father’s ropes.

“No—don’t!” Casey insisted.

“Okay, okay,” Margaret said. “I’ll just pull the tape off his mouth. I won’t
untie him.”

She reached down and tugged at the elastic tape until she managed to get it
off.

“Kids—I’m so glad to see you,” Dr. Brewer said. “Quick! Untie me.”

“How did you get in here?” Casey demanded, standing above him, hands on his
hips, staring down at him suspiciously. “We saw you leave for the airport.”

“That wasn’t me,” Dr. Brewer said. “I’ve been locked in here for days.”

“Huh?” Casey cried.

“But we saw you—” Margaret started.

“It wasn’t me. It’s a plant,” Dr. Brewer said. “It’s a plant copy of me.”

“Dad—” Casey said.

“Please. There’s no time to explain,” their father said urgently, raising his
leaf-covered head to look toward the closet doorway. “Just untie me. Quick!”

“The father we’ve been living with? He’s a plant?” Margaret cried, swallowing
hard.

“Yes. Please—untie me!”

Margaret reached for the tendrils.

“No!” Casey insisted. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

“I’ll explain everything. I promise,” he pleaded. “Hurry. Our lives are at stake. Mr. Martinez is in here, too.”

Startled, Margaret turned her eyes to the far wall. Sure enough, Mr. Martinez
also lay on the floor, bound and gagged.

“Let me out—please!” her father cried.

Behind them, plants moaned and cried.

Margaret couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m untying him,” she told Casey, and
bent down to start grappling with the tendrils.

Her father sighed gratefully. Casey bent down and reluctantly began working
at the tendrils, too.

Finally, they had loosened them enough so their father could slip out. He
climbed to his feet slowly, stretching his arms, moving his legs, bending his
knees. “Man, that feels good,” he said, giving Margaret and Casey a grim smile.