slowly lengthened into night. Under the covers Ava whispered, “I don’t ever want to go back to school. I hate it!” Something drove her to add, “You go, Tenton. You take my place.” Tenton’s red eyes glittered.
The next thing Ava knew, she was being tossed into the air like a rag doll. She hit the carpet yet felt nothing. In the half-light she saw a creature leap out of bed, a girl of sorts with shiny pale hair, her hair, wearing a pendant necklace, her necklace—but a girl who moved like a rat, scurrying stealthily on all fours. Ava screamed: no sound. She scrambled: no movement.
The girl-size rat crept over, red eyes deep with malice. Reflected in them Ava saw a little stuffed toy flung aside on the carpet, white limbs a-tangle, blue eyes wide with panic. Ava’s blue eyes.
The rat hissed and raced to the open window. A long naked tail snaked over the sill; claws clicked down the trellis. Then the sounds of movement faded.
In the morning Ava heard Father’s alarm, his shuf fling footsteps. “Ava!” he grunted. “Get up, or you’ll be late! Ava!”
Ava did what she could. Which was nothing.
ANGELA JOHNSON
Nanny
My nanny, Sara, tucks me in as the shadows wait for her to leave so they can creep out of the closet toward me. She smiles as she steps over the books and puzzle pieces I’ve left on the floor, then closes my door.
But tonight I decide to escape the shadows. I open the door and dash toward Sara’s room, only to find her at the end of the hall, whispering to them—the shadows— and telling them with a smile that I was waiting for their nightly visit to my room.
JON KLASSEN
The Legend of Alexandra & Rose
ARTHUR SLADE
What’s Coming
My father always used to say you’ll get what’s coming to you and I really didn’t like know what he meant until like this moment right now ’cause I can’t even move my arms and my chest it’s the pressure you see I’d decided to slip into old Widow Sturm’s house and I stole the heavy silver candlesticks and quiet as a rat I snuck back out the basement climbing over this container with old wood on top it’s for catching rain oh yeah it’s a cistern and the wood broke and I fell into this pit that just has thick slimy mud inside and I keep sinking and as it reaches my nostrils I start to bubble and I can’t help but wonder is it the candlesticks that keep pulling me down
M. T. ANDERSON
An Easy Gig
Galv thought the Kennedys’ baby was being very good. He didn’t hear a peep from the kid all night. As babysitting gigs go, it was incredibly easy. The baby was already down for the night when he arrived. So Galv watched TV and talked to Raoul on the phone and ate the lasagna the Kennedy parents had left in the oven for him.
He did not check the baby’s room to make sure the baby was still sleeping. He didn’t check the crib to make sure the baby was even still there.
He lay on the sofa with his head hanging off the armrest and his lasagna plate on his stomach, making up song lyrics with Raoul. They laughed hard.
And when the parents came home and said, “How was the baby?” Galv said, “Oh, he was good. Really good. I didn’t even hear a peep from him.”
But Galv didn’t know how the baby was. He hadn’t checked.
“No,” said Mr. Kennedy. “The baby was bad.”
“Very bad,” said Mrs. Kennedy. “The baby cried and cried.”
“No he didn’t,” said Galv, confused.
“Before you got here,” Mr. Kennedy explained. “The baby was so bad he had to be punished.”
“And when we punished him,” said Mrs. Kennedy, “we made a mistake.”
“And then,” said Mr. Kennedy, “we needed somewhere to hide the body. And someone to blame.”
Galv backed toward the door, terrified. He couldn’t speak.
“You can’t run from it,” said Mrs. Kennedy. “The police will never believe you. The crime is already yours.”
Mr. Kennedy smiled. “How did you like the lasagna?” he said.
YVONNE PRINZ
Mr. Black
Every morning at seven sharp, my next-door neighbor emerges from the front door of his house. He has no wife, no kids, and no dog. He disappears up the street on foot wearing a black suit, black shoes, and a black hat, and carrying a black briefcase. We call him Mr. Black. One day my curiosity gets the better of me and I peek into his living room window. Through a crack in the blinds I see that it is not a living room at all. It’s a waiting room. Five more Mr. Blacks sit in a row of plastic chairs, not moving, not blinking, not breathing. I hear a whirr, and a small camera mounted up in the far corner of the room swivels and focuses in on me. A red light blinks. I run.
M. E. KERR
The Foot Dragger
My father thought the reason my older brother was mean was that he was short. He’d grow out of it.
When he came in late at night, while my parents were asleep, I would hear him heading toward our bedrooms. He would drag one foot and take his time climbing the stairs.
Step . . . drag . . . step . . . drag. Heavy breathing. The door handle turned.
I decided two could play this game. As the handle turned, I’d jump out at him. I was ready for him. Step . . . drag. The heavy breathing. He was there.
“Gotcha, Paul!” I threw open the door and saw him.
This very tall man.
ADAM REX
Trick
DEAN LOREY
Hank
Hank was one of the most adorable puppies you’ve ever seen, which is why it was such a shock when, seven years after the day we brought him home from the pet store, he looked up at me with his big, beautiful Labrador eyes and said, “I’m going to kill you.”
“You . . . you can talk?” I whispered.
“Of course, dummy. I just haven’t talked to you until right now.”
I was alone in the house with him. It was a freedom I gained on my thirteenth birthday—a freedom I suddenly regretted.
“I haven’t decided exactly how I’m going to do it yet,” Hank continued, stepping closer on his padded feet. Drool dripped
