به زیر زمین نزدیک نشو فصل ششم

Stay Out of the Basement, Chapter 06

Casey ran down the steps, leaning on the metal banister so that he could jump down two steps at a time. He landed hard on the cement basement floor and darted into the bright white light of the plant room.

Stopping at the entrance way, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the brighter-than-day light. He took a deep breath, inhaling the steamy air, and held it. It was so hot down here, so sticky. His back began to itch. The back of his neck tingled.

The jungle of plants stood as if at attention under the bright white lights.

He saw his T-shirt, lying crumpled on the floor a few feet from a tall, leafy tree. The tree seemed to lean toward the T-shirt, its long tendrils hanging down, loosely coiled on the soil around its trunk.

Casey took a timid step into the room.

Why am I so afraid? he wondered.

It’s just a room filled with strange plants.

Why do I have the feeling that they’re watching me? Waiting for me?

He scolded himself for being so afraid and took a few more steps toward the crumpled T-shirt on the floor.

Hey—wait.

The breathing.

There it was again.

Steady breathing. Not too loud. Not too soft, either.

Who could be breathing? What could be breathing?

Was the big tree breathing?

Casey stared at the shirt on the floor. So near. What was keeping him from grabbing it and running back upstairs? What was holding him back?

He took a step forward. Then another.

Was the breathing growing louder?

He jumped, startled by a sudden, low moan from the big supply closet against the wall.

It sounded so human, as if someone were in there, moaning in pain.

“Casey—where are you?”

Margaret’s voice sounded so far away, even though she was just at the head of the stairs.

“Okay so far,” he called back to her. But his voice came out in a whisper. She probably couldn’t hear him.

He took another step. Another.

The shirt was about three yards away.

A quick dash. A quick dive, and he’d have it.

Another low moan from the supply closet. A plant seemed to sigh. A tall fern suddenly dipped low, shifting its leaves.

“Casey?” He could hear his sister from upstairs, sounding very worried. “Casey—hurry!”

I’m trying, he thought. I’m trying to hurry.

What was holding him back?

Another low moan, this time from the other side of the room.

He took two more steps, then crouched low, his arms straight out in front of him.

The shirt was almost within reach.

He heard a groaning sound, then more breathing.

He raised his eyes to the tall tree. The long, ropy tendrils had tensed. Stiffened. Or had he imagined it?

No.

They had been drooping loosely. Now they were taut. Ready.

Ready to grab him?

“Casey—hurry!” Margaret called, sounding even farther away.

He didn’t answer. He was concentrating on the shirt. Just a few feet away. Just a few feet. Just a foot.

The plant groaned again.

“Casey? Casey?”

The leaves quivered all the way up the trunk.

Just a foot away. Almost in reach.

“Casey? Are you okay? Answer me!”

He grabbed the shirt.

Two snakelike tendrils swung out at him.

“Huh?” he cried out, paralyzed with fear. “What’s happening?”

The tendrils wrapped themselves around his waist.

“Let go!” he cried, holding the T-shirt tightly in one hand, grabbing at the tendrils with the other.

The tendrils hung on, and gently tightened around him.

Margaret? Casey tried calling, but no sound came out of his mouth. Margaret?

He jerked violently, then pulled straight ahead.

The tendrils held on.

They didn’t squeeze him. They weren’t trying to strangle him. Or pull him back.

But they didn’t let go.

They felt warm and wet against his bare skin. Like animal arms. Not like a plant.

Help! He again tried to shout. He pulled once more, leaning forward, using all his strength.

No good.

He ducked low, hit the floor, tried to roll away.

The tendrils hung on.

The plant uttered a loud sigh.

“Let go!” Casey cried, finally finding his voice.

And then suddenly Margaret was standing beside him. He hadn’t heard her come down the stairs. He hadn’t seen her enter the room.

“Casey!” she cried. “What’s—”

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide.

“It—won’t let go!” he told her.

“No!” she screamed. And grabbed one of the tendrils with both hands. And tugged with all her strength.

The tendril resisted for only a moment, then went slack.

Casey uttered a joyful cry and spun away from the remaining tendril. Margaret dropped the tendril and grabbed Casey’s hand and began running toward the stairs.

“Oh!”

They both stopped short at the bottom of the stairway.

Standing at the top was their father, glaring down at them, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides, his face rigid with anger.