Creepers by Joanne Dahme Read Free Book Online

that I let them know where I was going, just in case one of them came home before I returned. Of course, all I said was that Margaret invited me over and that she lived off a little dirt road that hooked into the woods just about a quarter mile south of our house. I
was surprised that they lived that close to me. Why had they not told me this before?
    The afternoon heat slowed our pace as we walked along the grass swale on our side of the road. Today, under the pounding sun, the stalks of corn looked weary, not threatening as they did yesterday. Instead, it was the heat that pricked at our skin instead of slapping wind or stinging rain. After only a few minutes, our shirts were darkened with sweat.
    â€œYou’ll be surprised at how much cooler it is at our house, Courtney. The woods keep our house in the shade all the time,” Mr. Geyer said cheerfully.
    I glanced at a white Ford as it slowed cautiously to pass us. An old couple stared at us with big eyes as they crawled by.
    â€œHow long have you lived there?” I directed the question to Margaret.
    â€œUmmm, about a year, I think, right, Dad? We’re just renting.” She bent to pull a tall blade of grass from the ground.
    â€œOh,” I replied.“I guess I thought you always lived here, maybe because of your cemetery tours,” I added lamely.
    â€œWell, that’s understandable.” Mr. Geyer nodded pleasantly. “I’m a historian of sorts, and my job requires me to travel quite a bit. It’s hard on Margaret, I fear,” he amended gently.

    Margaret tossed her head at the suggestion, her two braids whipping at her right shoulder. “It’s not hard at all, Dad. I like our work.”
    â€œBut it must be hard going to lots of different schools, though, isn’t it? I’m always a wreck when I have to meet a whole new set of people, even though I look forward to new adventures,” I said sympathetically. I searched Margaret’s face for the slightest sign of vulnerability. Her serene features did not crack as her big green eyes locked onto my face.
    â€œYou met us just fine, Courtney. You never seemed a bit nervous,” said Margaret as she surprised me by slipping her arm around my shoulder.
    â€œHere’s the road.” Mr. Geyer pointed to what looked to me like a hiking path that turned into the woods. He sounded relieved.
    â€œMe first!” Margaret yelled. She waved for me to follow her as she suddenly sprinted up the path. I did just that, running along the serpentine trail as it zigged and zagged among massive pine trees. In less than a minute, we stood in a clearing in front of an old stone house.The yard was composed of tree stumps and ragged grass.
    â€œThis is like Little House on the Prairie .” I sputtered. We both were breathing hard and I smiled at Margaret to let her know that I was kidding. If you ignored the row of
open cat food cans that were lined along the front wall of the house—tuna, chicken, meat, and cheese, each with various proportions still remaining—all the house needed was some smoke curling out of the little chimney.
    Wild Cats in the Woods ? Margaret just laughed. “Come on in. Dad will catch up in a minute.” She pulled a key from her back pocket and pushed open the door. I caught a lingering smell of burned logs from the fireplace.
    The house was a bit dark. I guessed the sunlight had a tough time penetrating the woods’ thick canopy in the summer. Margaret turned on a table lamp by the couch. The first floor, from what I could see, included the living room with the fireplace, a small dining room with a table covered with papers, and a kitchen with just the appliances in the back.The powder room, as my mom would say, was next to the kitchen.
    All the walls were paneled with cedar, and the living room was separated from the loft by thick rafters, where I guessed their bedrooms must be. The coffee table, armchairs, and couch—all