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of bare floor. He had his back to me. He wore a dark jacket, collar raised, over black pants. At first, I thought it was a mannequin or clothing dummy.
    But then he moved.
    Captured in the light, he turned slowly. A boy with long, black hair. He raised a bony hand and pointed at me with a slender finger.
    â€œOhhh,” I whispered. The flashlight started to slip from my hand. And as the light swerved, I saw another figure. A girl standing stiffly beside him. She wore a dark T-shirt over baggy jeans. Her blond hair spiked out around her face.
    A wave of panic made my legs tremble. I grasped the flashlight tightly. “Who—who are you?” I choked out.
    My hand shook. In the quivering light, I saw another boy, short and chubby with his hands raised to his cheeks. And another boy, pointing another bony finger at me.
    â€œ Peter … Peter … ” they chanted. The four of them. The four strange intruders in my basement.
    â€œWho are you? What are you doing down here?” I screamed.
    They moved forward. Huddled side by side, they took a step toward me. My light trembled over their faces. Their glowing, shimmering faces.
    â€œNo—!” I cried out as I saw why they shimmered so eerily.
    Their skin … their hands and arms … their faces … covered by a thick goo. A shimmering, clear slime. Like a clear, wet gelatin.
    Their hair glowed in the thick layer of slime. It stretched over their wide-open eyes. Over their entire heads. They were trapped inside it.
    And as they opened their mouths to whisper my brother’s name, the gelatin bubbled, then snapped back tight.
    â€œ Peter … Peter … ”
    Trapped inside their clear cocoons, they moved in unison, slowly like robots—like zombies —they took another step toward me.
    â€œThis isn’t happening,” I murmured out loud.
    Their eyes stared coldly at me through the thick, wet layer of jelly.
    I spun away. Started to run to the stairs.
    But another figure caught my eye. Another dark figure, standing behind the four terrifying kids. Hunched over as if in pain. Standing so still …
    My whole body shuddered in terror. The four shimmering kids took another slow step toward me. I raised the light to the boy hunched behind them. It washed over his pale face, his wide, staring eyes, his mouth open in a silent cry.
    And I screamed in horror.
    â€œPETER!”

 

    â€œ Peter … Peter … ”
    Chanting through the bubbling film that covered them, the four kids reached out for me. I saw their unblinking, lifeless eyes. Grasping hands.
    Grabbing for me. Mucus-covered hands, bony fingers grasping …
    â€œ Peter … Peter … ”
    Behind them, Peter stood still, as if frozen to the spot. His dark eyes glared from behind his glasses, so sad and frightening at the same time.
    I dropped the flashlight. It hit my bare foot, shooting pain up my leg. Then it clattered onto the hard floor, making the beam of light roll crazily over the wall.
    I spun away with another scream. Spun away, grabbed the flashlight, and started to run.
    Before I realized it, I was up the stairs. Their eerie chant rang in my ears: “ Peter … Peter … ”
    I pictured their grasping hands, their eyes so dead, so dead behind the covering of slime.
    Panting hard, I burst through the doorway. I slammed the door hard. Slammed it and pushed my shoulder against it.
    And listened. Listened to my wheezing breaths, my thudding heartbeat.
    And then I was running through the dimly lit living room. To the stairs. And racing up the stairs, my side aching, each breath feeling as if my lungs would burst.
    Into my room. Into bed. Into the silent, safe darkness.
    Safe?
    I sat up, still trembling, trembling so hard my teeth chattered.
    â€œIt was a dream,” I told myself, my voice shaking too. “Danielle, you’re safe in your own bed. You never went downstairs. It was a dream. It had to be a