Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
The walls in the hallway are yellow and dirty. People have written on them in marker. I hurry toward the stairs and stumble again, falling on my bottom and sliding down a few of the steps. They’re dirty and wet, and now so are my clothes. Tears prick my eyes because my mommy made me this dress, and I don’t want it to be ruined.
There’s a big door at the bottom of the steps. It’s red, but the paint is flaking, exposing brown underneath. It looks like dried and fresh blood. In the corner is a chipmunk, scratching at the door, trying to get through a small crack. We have chipmunks up at the cottage where we go in the summer. We feed them peanuts, and they’re so friendly, they climb right in our laps to get them. But my mommy always makes sure we don’t touch our faces, and we wash our hands after we feed them. I think this one is too scared to be friendly. He wants out, just like me.
“Hi, little guy.” My voice is barely a whisper. “I can open the door for you.”
I push on the bar, but it’s heavy, and my arms are shaking. The chipmunk huddles in the corner, and my tears come faster because now I’m afraid I won’t be able to get out, and I don’t want to go back up into the fun house where the hanging clowns are.
If I can just get the door open, I can get back to my mommy and daddy, and then I’ll be safe. The door finally clicks, but a thick chain keeps it from opening all the way. The chipmunk rushes outside, and I squeeze through the narrow gap. My dress gets caught, tearing at the bottom. Oh no. I don’t want my mommy to be upset with me.
It’s noisy out here, lights flash and people scream and laugh. I suck in a big lungful of air, which tastes like cigarette smoke. The door closes behind me with a loud click.
I feel frozen, stuck to the spot. I don’t know where I am or how to get back to everyone. My daddy always says if I get lost, I should stay where I am or find a person I trust to help me, like a police officer, but there’s no one back here except me. I don’t know which way I’m supposed to go to find my parents, and I worry River is still inside the fun house, looking for me.
I try to use some of the calming exercises Queenie taught me, but my mind is a jumbled mess, and I’m scared.
“Cali, is that you?” A big man appears out of the darkness.
I stumble back a step and trip over a rock, landing on my bottom. My glasses fall off and hit the ground. The man crouches down. His eyes are empty wells, hollow and dark. He smells wrong, like the stuff my mommy puts on my scrapes that burns.
“Are ya lost, little girl?” His words blur together. “You look just like my Cali.” He tosses an empty bottle away, and it lands in the grass with a thud.
He’s scarier than the hanging clowns. And my parents tell me never to talk to strangers. I feel around for my glasses, but I can’t find them.
He reaches out, and I scramble back, but there’s a garbage can behind me, and I hit my head so hard, it makes stars explode behind my eyes. I want to yell for my mommy, but my throat is all locked up.
“Are you alone? Where’s your family?” He crowds me. “You look just like her. You could be her.” His breath makes my eyes water. “I can take you home.”
My tummy feels upset.
“Come on now, you’re safe with me.” His smile is missing teeth, like mine.
I don’t want to go with him, but I’m scared out here in the dark.
He slides his hands under my arms and lifts me. My knees are shaky, and I don’t like how dry my mouth is.
“Don’t be scared. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He takes my hand. “You’re exactly like my Cali.” He pulls me along, and I stumble, looking back over my shoulder. I think I hear my name, but I don’t know if it’s real or not. Instead of moving toward the shouts and the rides, we’re moving away from them. I slip my hand in the pocket of Kodiak’s hoodie and pull a candy out, dropping it on the ground. Like Hansel and Gretel with the bread crumbs.
I try to dig my heels in, but he yanks my arm and moves faster. I trip over something and lose my footing. He drags me back to my feet. He’s not smiling anymore, and his empty-well eyes remind me of Kodiak’s dog, Brutus, when he finds a squirrel in the backyard he wants to chase.