"Fine," I squeezed out.

Donna came closer. Looking me in the eyes, she said, "Did he get you bad?"

I grimaced and shrugged.

"Right in the nads," offered Jimmy.

I gave him a look.

Instead of killing him, as intended, my look seemed to inspire him. "Donna's a certified lifeguard, you know. All that first-aid training. Want her to take a look?"

"Shut up!" I snapped at him.

"Stop it, Jimmy," she said.

"How'd you like to have her kiss-"

I punched his arm. He yelled, "Hey!" and grabbed it.

"Okay, okay," Donna said. "Everybody calm down. No more hitting. How are you doing, Matt?" she asked me.

"Okay, I guess."

"Nick?" she asked.

He was standing nearby, gently touching the top of his head. "I've got a b.u.mp."

"Well, that's too bad, but you asked for it."

"Did not."

Donna said, "You busted my d.a.m.n flashlight."

Jimmy and I laughed. So did Peggy Pan.

ET or Yoda blurted, "Language!"

"You shouldn't go around whumping people on the head," Nick explained. "You can cause 'em brain damage."

"Not you!" Jimmy said. "You haven't got one."

"That's enough," Donna said. "Come on, are we gonna check out this house or aren't we?" Without even waiting for a response, she stepped off the sidewalk and started trudging toward the creepy old place.

I went after her, hurting. Each step I took, it felt like a little hand was squeezing one of my b.a.l.l.s. But I didn't let it stop me and it seemed to pretty much go away by the time we reached the porch stairs.

Donna stopped and turned around. She still held the flashlight in one hand, though it wasn't working anymore. With her other hand, she put a finger to her lips.

In a few moments, everyone was standing in front of her, motionless and silent.

Donna took the forefinger away from her lips. She pointed it at each of us, counting heads the way a school bus driver does before bringing a bunch of kids back from a field trip. Done, she whispered, "Okay, six."

"Seven," I said.

She turned her head toward me. The moon was full, so I could see her face pretty well. She raised her eyebrows.

"You," I whispered.

"Ah. Okay. Right." In a somewhat louder voice, she said, "Okay, there're seven of us right now. Let's hope and pray there're still seven when we get back to the street."

Her words gave me the creeps.

One of the girls made a whiny sound.

"I wanna go back," said one of them. Maybe the same one who'd whined. I don't know whether it was Alice or Olive. It wasn't Peggy Pan, though.

Peggy Pan whispered, "Wussy."

Jimmy chuckled.

And I saw the look on Donna's face and realized she was trying to psych us out.

Not us, really. Them.

Nick had made her mad, and she wasn't exactly tickled by Alice or Olive, either, so she figured to make life a little more interesting for them.

"If anybody wants to go back and wait for us on the sidewalk," she said, "that's fine. It'd probably be a good idea. No telling what might happen when we go up and ring the doorbell."

One of the girls whined again.

"You're just trying to scare us," Nick said. In the full moon, I could see the sneer on his face. "Can't scare a Jedi," he said.

Donna continued, "I just think... everyone needs to know the score. I wasn't planning to mention it, but... I've heard about this house. I know what happened here. And I happen to know it isn't deserted."

"Yeah, sure," Nick said.

Lowering her voice, Donna said, "A crazy man lives here. A crazy man named... Boo. Boo Ripley."

I almost let out a laugh, but held it in.

"Boo who?" Jimmy asked.

I snorted and gave him my elbow.

"Ow!"

"Shhh!" Donna went. "Want Boo to hear us?" She looked at the others, frowning slightly. "When he was only eight years old, Boo chopped up his mom and dad with a hatchet... and ate 'em. Gobbled 'em up! Yum yum!"

"Did not," Nick said.

"I wanna go home!"

"Shut up," Nick snapped.

"But Boo was a little boy, back then. And his mom and dad were very large. Even though he gobbled them day and night, night and day, there was always more that needed to be eaten.

"Well, Boo's mom was a real cat lover. She had about a dozen cats living in the house all the time and stinking it up, so finally Boo started feeding his folks to the cats. Day and night, night and day, Boo and the cats ate and ate and ate. At last, they managed to polish off the last of Boo's mom and dad. And you know what?"

"What?" asked Peggy Pan. She sounded rather gleeful.

"I don't wanna hear!" blurted tutu girl.

"Knock it off, pipsqueak," Nick snapped at her.

"Boo and the cats," Donna said, "enjoyed eating the mom and dad so much that they lost all interest in any other kind of food. From that time forth, they would only eat people. Raw people. And you know what?"

"What?" asked Peggy Pan and I in unison.

"They still live right here in this house. Every night, they hide in the dark and watch out the windows, waiting for visitors."

"You're just making this up," Nick said.

"Sure I am."

"She isn't, man," said Jimmy.

"They're probably up in the house right this very minute watching us, licking their lips, just praying we'll climb the stairs and go across the porch and ring the doorbell. Because they're very hungry, and you know what?"

"What?" asked Peggy Pan, Jimmy, and I in unison.

In a low, trembling voice, Donna said, "The food they love most of all is..." Shouting, "Little girls like you!" She lunged toward Alice and Olive.

They shrieked and whirled around and ran for their lives. Yoda or ET waved her little arms overhead as she fled. The fairy dancer whipped her magic wand as if swatting at bats. One of them fell and crashed in the weeds and started to cry.

Nick yelled, "f.u.c.k!" and ran after them, his light saber jumping.

"Language!" Jimmy called after him.

Donna brushed her hands together. "Golly," she said. "What got into them?"

"Can't imagine," I said.

"What a bunch of wussies," said Peggy Pan.

"I can't stand that Nick," said Jimmy. "He is such a s.h.i.t."

"Language," Donna told him.

We laughed, all four of us.

Then Donna said, "Come on, gang," and trotted up the porch stairs. We hurried after her.

And I'll always remember trotting up those stairs and stepping onto the dark porch and walking up to the door. Even while it was happening, I knew I would never forget it. It was just one of those moments when you think, It doesn't get any better than this.

I was out there in the windy, wonderful October night with cute and s.p.u.n.ky little Peggy Pan, with my best buddy Jimmy, and with Donna. I was in love with Donna. I'd fallen in love with her the first time I ever met her and I'm in love with her to this day and I'll love her the rest of my life.

That night, she was sixteen and beautiful and brash and innocent and full of fun and vengeance. She'd trounced Nick and done quite a number on Alice and Olive, too. Now she was about to ring the doorbell of the creepiest house I'd ever seen.

I wanted to run away screaming myself. I wanted to yell with joy. I wanted to hug Donna and never let her go. And also I sort of felt like crying.

Crying because it was all so terrifying and glorious and beautiful- and because I knew it wouldn't last.

All the very best times are like that. They hurt because you know they'll be left behind.

But I guess that's partly what makes them special, too.

"Here goes," Donna whispered.

She raised her hand to knock on the door, but Jimmy grabbed her wrist. "That stuff about Boo and the cats," he whispered. "You made it up, didn't you?"

"What do you think?"

"Okay." He let go of her hand.

She knocked on the door.

Nothing.

I turned halfway around. Beyond the bushes and trees of the front yard, Nick and the two girls were watching us from the sidewalk.

Donna knocked again. Then she whispered, "I really don't think anyone lives here anymore."

"I hope not," I whispered.

Donna reached out and gave the screen door a pull. It swung toward us, hinges squawking.

"What're you doing?" Jimmy blurted.

"Nothing," said Donna. She tried the main door. "d.a.m.n," she muttered.

"What?" I asked.

"Locked."

Oh, I thought. That's too bad.

The wooden door had a small window at about face level. Donna leaned forward against the door, cupped her hands by the sides of her eyes, and peered in.

Peered and peered and didn't say a word.