Page 37 of The Witching Hours

“Well.” He didn’t look too disturbed. As usual, when boys are around other boys, all they care about is what other boys think. “It’s more cupcakes for the rest of us.”

“Not if I just turn around and go with them.”

“You gonna do that?” he challenged.

“I’m gonna stay long enough for you to blow out a candle and eat a cupcake, but only if you put out that fire.”

Here’s the thing. The boys I grew up with could be bad and sometimes they could be mean, but they weren’t the sortthat would steal cupcakes. So, Billy Ben took a leadership role like they’re always teaching in Boy Scouts and started kicking dirt on the fire.

When I took count to see how many of us had stayed, the only kids left were the three boys, Margaret and me. Good old Margaret. You had to give her credit. She was about the closest thing to a free thinker that we had at my school. There weren’t many independent sorts back then. Most people stuck pretty close to the rule book as they understood it.

Conformity was prized. Diversity was discouraged.

I don’t know why I stayed. I wish I hadn’t, but I was a kid, ruled by impulse and thinking that what happened from one minute to the next was largely random chance. Nothing to do with choice and consequence.

The fire was put out so I couldn’t see a single ember. I wasn’t dumb enough to think gloating was a good idea, but having the power to get others to do my bidding felt like an outsized victory.Getting my way.I vowed to remember there’s power in cupcakes.

So, I took the cupcake right on top, stuck three candles in it, and had Margaret hold it while I lit them up. I took two matches, but the air was still so it wasn’t that hard.

Margaret followed me over to where R.W. was standing. I put the cupcake in front of his face, which lit him up like a ghoul, and started singing the “Happy Birthday” song. I didn’t mind leading the singing ‘cause I had a good voice, and everybody knew it. There was lots of proof including the fact that I’d been the singing angel in the Christmas play. If the boys tried to make fun of me, I’d know they were full of beans.

Margaret joined in the singing. The boys made some noises that sounded subhuman, then R.W. grinned and blew out the candles. I pulled them out and handed him the cupcake with three holes in the icing.

“There,” I said to him. “Go on. This one’s yours.” He started on it like he’d never had a treat before. I don’t know why I thought it, but it came to me that maybe he’d never had a birthday party before. “Y’all can get one out of my bike basket,” I said to the others. To R.W., I said, “I think Margaret and I are gonna take off now.”

He didn’t say anything, but when I started for my bike, Ronny said, “Hold on. I’ve got a surprise planned. Y’all need to stay ‘cause we have to have five people.”

“It’s a game that needs five people?” I asked Ronny.

“Well. Sorta,” he said. “Everybody get your flashlights and come on.”

I looked at Margaret for some sign. Did she want to stay or go? After a minute’s hesitation, she turned on her flashlight, set the kickstand on her bike, which wasn’t as easy as it sounds on the uneven ground, and gave me a shrug that meant, “Let’s go.”

I’d secretly hoped she’d give me an excuse to head home, but she jumped the other way. I leaned my bike against a peach tree and followed Margaret.

“Where’re we going?” I asked Ronny.

“You’ll see,” he said.

Up until then I’d thought I liked surprises, but I was beginning to reevaluate. When we turned in the direction of the dilapidated house, I balked. “Ronny. What’re you doing? You’re not thinking about going inside that old place, are you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “What we’re gonna do… It’s better if there’s a floor.”

“A floor?” I asked catching up to him and walking side by side. “You could barely call it that. Looking through the windows you can see all kinds of wholes and stuff. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Don’t be a baby,” he said. “It’s Halloween. We’re just gonna have a little spook fun.”

Spook fun?Nothing about the sound of spook fun sounded like fun to me.

When we got to the wooden steps that had once formed an entrance to the front door, I briefly wondered about the people who had called the place home. How many times had they walked up to the decrepit porch? And what had happened to them?

Ronny cautioned us. “Step on the edges. Frame’s stronger there.”

He opened the door to a series of hardware groans and creaks that could rival the scariest horror movie ever. The other kids laughed nervously. I didn’t.

“Come on,” Ronny said. “This is gonna be fun.”

“What?” I demanded. “Whatis gonna be fun?”

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