Towering - By Alex Flinn Page 0,6

until the bus pulled away. But, gradually, they calmed down. Can’t live in fear, right? Mom had calmed down too. But suddenly, she started acting like it just happened. “You know,” I said, “lots of people my age have cars and go to Glens Falls or even Albany and don’t have crazy mothers hanging over them all the time. Most people are going to college. It’s only me who has to be a homebound freak with a freak mother!”

Her hand shot up and struck my face, just like it was nothing. Not even a movie-esque “How dare you!” Just a slap. I stumbled back, and she reached to catch me. But then, she saw something out the window. She pushed past, letting me fall.

“A boy! You were going out to see a BOY?”

“What boy? What possible boy could be out in the boonies on a day like this?”

But, of course, it was true. She’d seen him.

“Why must you do this to me?”

Do this? Me? Me, who’d never had a boyfriend, never been on a date? Not that I hadn’t been asked, but I knew better than to try and go out with anyone. I knew she’d flip out like she was flipping out now. My mother is insane. I’ve always known that. And I also know that, if I’m going to get away from her and her insanity, I am going to have to sneak away, somehow in the dead of night. It’s just . . . I’m scared.

I looked up from the notebook. Sneak away in the dead of night. That was what she’d done. Would the diary explain why?

She was still yelling, and I was crying and saying, “No, no! What are you talking about?”

And then, her hands were around my arms, icy fingers like handcuffs, and she was pulling me away from the door, up the stairs and to my room. I tried to fight her, but she’s surprisingly strong. Finally, she shoved me through the door, slammed it, and I heard her key in the lock.

And here I am now.

I put down the notebook. Her mother had locked her in her bedroom? What kind of crazy person was I living with? But maybe, I thought, her mother had known of some danger, had wanted to protect her. I wanted to read more of the notebook, to find out. It ran on for pages and pages, but suddenly, I felt tired, so tired I couldn’t read or think or do anything else but stumble to the bed to sleep. I hid the notebook under my pillow for later reading.

The pillow was old, soft, and the sheets smelled like dust. I wondered if they’d been changed since Danielle had left.

Then, sleep drowned out all thought or reason or anything but darkness.

I woke some time later to the howling of winds and the driving sound of rain or maybe snow. Through it all, there was a tree branch, tapping, scraping on my window, persistent and annoying as my mother’s cat. I tried to pull the pillow over my head but ended up with a pinfeather against my cheek. The scraping grew louder. Then, there was a voice. A voice? Impossible. It was just the wind, howling. But it sounded like a voice, a shrieking banshee voice, and it screamed, “Let me in!” The scraping got louder. I remembered the closed, shuttered windows, but now, it sounded like the shutters were open, banging against the house.

Finally, I had to get up to stop it. I’d open the window, break the branch off, and get back to sleep. That was all. I willed myself to stand despite my weariness.

But when I went to the window, it was already open. Open or maybe broken. Yes, broken. A rush of freezing air assaulted my face, and as I stepped closer, intent on finding the branch, a hand grabbed my wrist.

It was an icy hand, too cold, almost, to be real, and I shivered at the touch of it. I tried to pull my own hand away, but her fingers held like a claw machine, and a sad voice said, “Let me in! Please let me in!”

“Who are you?” I said, though even as I did, I knew. My eyes found the window, and I knew.

“Dani,” she said.

Dani! Danielle! I stared at her. The face was something like the girl in the yearbook photo, if she’d been dug up from a grave. Her cheeks were white and ghostlike, with mottled blue patches. Her dark