Read The Dark Stairs R/I for Free Online Page B

hoe, a trowel.
    In all these tools, she thought, there has to be a pickax or a hatchet. If she could get her hands on something sharp, she could hack at the door until it gave. The wood was half rotten.
    She felt garden hoses, the old lawn mower—nothing she could use. By now she had made her way to the door.
    She put her hands against the wood and rested for a moment. No sounds came from the yard. She wondered if the Moloch was gone, or if he was still outside, waiting at the gate.
    If she could get the door open, she knew she could get away. The Moloch was huge, but she was fast. If she could break out of the basement, she could streak across the yard and vault over the fence. She wouldn’t have to bother with the gate.
    She took a deep breath. She rested one shoulder against the door and pushed slightly, testing the strength of the wood.
    There was some give in it. The nails might not hold. He had only put in one or two.
    Herculeah pulled back and rammed her shoulder into the door. Pain shot up to her neck. She drew back and pushed again, again.
    It took four tries, and then, with a screeching sound, the door burst open. Herculeah staggered out into the cool night air. She stood for a moment, bent forward, gasping for breath.
    She looked up, ready to run, but the Moloch was nowhere in sight. She didn’t take any chances. She decided to run anyway.
    Herculeah streaked across the yard, the weeds whipping around her ankles. She got to the fence, grasped the metal rail, and vaulted cleanly over it.
    She ran down the alley and out onto the sidewalk. She looked around wildly, but the Moloch was not in sight.
    There were just ordinary people, doing ordinary things, driving cars, looking in shop windows, coming out of the frozen yogurt shop, eating cones.
    Herculeah stopped her desperate run and paused to catch her breath. After a moment she began to jog for home.
    As she turned the corner onto her street, she saw Meat and his mother coming toward her. They were walking fast.
    Meat’s mother had a frying pan in one hand—her weapon of choice. Meat held a baseball bat that had never swatted a ball.
    Herculeah called, “I’m all right.” She ran to join them.
    â€œWhat happened?” Meat asked, walking forward to meet her.
    â€œHe nailed the door shut. I was inside that basement with the door nailed shut. Then, then you knocked over the garbage can.”
    â€œI didn’t see him when he went in,” Meat admitted truthfully. “He nailed you in there?”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œHow did you get out?”
    â€œI just put my shoulder to the door and pushed.”
    â€œYou broke out?”
    Herculeah nodded. “The door was rotten. You saw how easy it was for me to get in.”
    â€œThen what?”
    â€œThen I started for home, and here I am.”
    â€œThe Moloch wasn’t there when you got out?”
    She shook her head.
    Meat’s mother said, “I do not like having to come out with my frying pan after you kids. I want you kids to behave yourselves.”
    â€œBut thank you for doing it,” Herculeah said.
    Meat’s mother turned and walked away. Over her shoulder she said, “Albert, you come home now. Herculeah’s gotten you in enough trouble for one night.”
    â€œI’m coming.”
    â€œWhat we’ve got to do next time—” Herculeah began when his mother was in the house and out of earshot, but Meat interrupted.
    â€œNext time? Next time? Are you crazy? Have you gone absolutely mad?”
    â€œNo, I am not mad.”
    â€œWell, you look like it.”
    She put her hands to her hair and tried to smooth it into place. She probably did look wild. But then she had every reason to. She looked coolly at Meat.
    Meat looked back. He was weak with fright and tension. This had been the most terrifying night of his life. It had been far, far worse than that terrible Halloween two years ago.
    He kept looking into