به زیر زمین نزدیک نشو فصل هجدهم

Stay Out of the Basement, Chapter 18

“Look!” Margaret cried, her heart thudding. She suddenly felt dizzy. She gripped the side of the closet to steady herself.

“I—don’t believe this,” Casey said quietly, his voice trembling as he stared into the long, narrow supply closet.

They both gaped at the weird plants that filled the closet.

Were they plants?

Under the dim ceiling bulb, they bent and writhed, groaning, breathing, sighing. Branches shook, leaves shimmered and moved, tall plants leaned forward as if reaching out to Margaret and Casey.

“Look at that one!” Casey cried, taking a step back, stumbling into Margaret. “It has an arm!”

“Ohh.” Margaret followed Casey’s stare. Casey was right. The tall, leafy plant appeared to have a green, human arm descending from its stalk.

Margaret’s eyes darted around the closet. To her horror, she realized that several plants seemed to have human features—green arms, a yellow hand with three fingers poking from it, two stumpy legs where the stem should be.

She and her brother both cried out when they saw the plant with the face. Inside a cluster of broad leaves there appeared to grow a round, green tomato. But the tomato had a human-shaped nose and an open mouth, from which it repeatedly uttered the most mournful sighs and groans.

Another plant, a short plant with clusters of broad, oval leaves, had two green, nearly human faces partly hidden by the leaves, both wailing through open mouths.

“Let’s get out of here!” Casey cried, grabbing Margaret’s hand in fear and tugging her away from the closet. “This is—gross!”

The plants moaned and sighed. Green, fingerless hands reached out to Margaret and Casey. A yellow, sick-looking plant near the wall made choking sounds. A tall flowering plant staggered toward them, thin, tendril-like arms outstretched.

“Wait!” Margaret cried, pulling her hand out of Casey’s. She spotted something on the closet floor behind the moaning, shifting plants. “Casey—what’s that?” she asked, pointing.

She struggled to focus her eyes in the dim light of the closet. On the floor behind the plants, near the shelves on the back wall, were two human feet.

Margaret stepped cautiously into the closet. The feet, she saw, were attached to legs.

“Margaret—let’s go!” Casey pleaded.

“No. Look. There’s someone back there,” Margaret said, staring hard.

“Huh?”

“A person. Not a plant,” Margaret said. She took another step. A soft green arm brushed against her side.

“Margaret, what are you doing?” Casey asked, his voice high and frightened.

“I have to see who it is,” Margaret said.

She took a deep breath and held it. Then, ignoring the moans, the sighs, the green arms reaching out to her, the hideous green-tomato faces, she plunged through the plants to the back of the closet.

“Dad!” she cried.

Her father was lying on the floor, his hands and feet tied tightly with plant tendrils, his mouth gagged by a wide strip of elastic tape.

“Margaret—” Casey was beside her. He lowered his eyes to the floor. “Oh, no!”

Their father stared up at them, pleading with his eyes. “Mmmmm!” he cried, struggling to talk through the gag.

Margaret dived to the floor and started to untie him.

“No—stop!” Casey cried, and pulled her back by the shoulders.

“Casey, let go of me. What’s wrong with you?” Margaret cried angrily. “It’s Dad. He—”

“It can’t be Dad!” Casey said, still holding her by the shoulders. “Dad is at the airport—remember?”

Behind them, the plants seemed to be moaning in unison, a terrifying chorus. A tall plant fell over and rolled toward the open closet door.

“Mmmmmmm!” their father continued to plead, struggling at the tendrils that imprisoned him.

“I’ve got to untie him,” Margaret told her brother. “Let go of me.”

“No,” Casey insisted. “Margaret—look at his head.”

Margaret turned her eyes to her father’s head. He was bareheaded. No Dodgers cap. He had tufts of green leaves growing where his hair should be.

“We’ve already seen that,” Margaret snapped. “It’s a side effect, remember?” She reached down to pull at her father’s ropes.

“No—don’t!” Casey insisted.

“Okay, okay,” Margaret said. “I’ll just pull the tape off his mouth. I won’t untie him.”

She reached down and tugged at the elastic tape until she managed to get it off.

“Kids—I’m so glad to see you,” Dr. Brewer said. “Quick! Untie me.”

“How did you get in here?” Casey demanded, standing above him, hands on his hips, staring down at him suspiciously. “We saw you leave for the airport.”

“That wasn’t me,” Dr. Brewer said. “I’ve been locked in here for days.”

“Huh?” Casey cried.

“But we saw you—” Margaret started.

“It wasn’t me. It’s a plant,” Dr. Brewer said. “It’s a plant copy of me.”

“Dad—” Casey said.

“Please. There’s no time to explain,” their father said urgently, raising his leaf-covered head to look toward the closet doorway. “Just untie me. Quick!”

“The father we’ve been living with? He’s a plant?” Margaret cried, swallowing hard.

“Yes. Please—untie me!”

Margaret reached for the tendrils.

“No!” Casey insisted. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

“I’ll explain everything. I promise,” he pleaded. “Hurry. Our lives are at stake. Mr. Martinez is in here, too.”

Startled, Margaret turned her eyes to the far wall. Sure enough, Mr. Martinez also lay on the floor, bound and gagged.

“Let me out—please!” her father cried.

Behind them, plants moaned and cried.

Margaret couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m untying him,” she told Casey, and bent down to start grappling with the tendrils.

Her father sighed gratefully. Casey bent down and reluctantly began working at the tendrils, too.

Finally, they had loosened them enough so their father could slip out. He climbed to his feet slowly, stretching his arms, moving his legs, bending his knees. “Man, that feels good,” he said, giving Margaret and Casey a grim smile.

“Dad—should we untie Mr. Martinez?” Margaret asked.

But, without warning, Dr. Brewer pushed past the two kids and made his way out of the closet.

“Dad—whoa! Where are you going?” Margaret called.

“You said you’d explain everything!” Casey insisted. He and his sister ran through the moaning plants, following their father.

“I will. I will.” Breathing hard, Dr. Brewer strode quickly to the woodpile against the far wall.

Margaret and Casey both gasped as he picked up an axe.

He spun around to face them, holding the thick axe handle with both hands. His face frozen with determination, he started toward them.

“Dad—what are you doing ?” Margaret cried.