The Dead House!

~Ch 17 Saving mom and dad from the dead~

"Nice try," Mr. Willingston said to Sam. The smile faded quickly from his face.
Close up, he didn't look so young and handsome. His skin, I could see, was dry and peeling and hung loosely beneath his eyes.
"Let's go, kids," he said, giving me a shove. He glanced up at the brightening sky. The sun was raising itself over the treetops. Sam hesitated.
"I said let's go," Mr. Willingston snapped impatiently. He loosened his grip on my shoulder and took a menacing step toward Sam.
Sam glanced down at the worthless flashlight. Then he pulled his arm back and heaved the flashlight at Mr. Willingstons' head.
The flashlight hit its target with a sickening crack. It hit Mr. Willingston in the center of his forehead, splitting a large hole in the skin.
Mr. Willingston uttered a low cry. His eyes widened in surprise. Dazed, he reached a hand up to the hole where a few inches of gray skull poked through.
"Run, Sam!" I cried.
But there was no need to tell him that. He was already zigzagging through the rows of graves, his head ducked low. I followed him, running as fast as I could.
Glancing back, I saw Mr. Willingston stagger after us, still holding his ripped forehead. He took several steps, then abruptly stopped, staring up at the sky.
It's too bright for him, I realized. He has to stay in the shade.
Sam had ducked down behind a tall marble monument, old and slightly tilted, cracked down the middle. I slid down beside him, gasping for breath.
Leaning on the cool marble, we both peered around the sides of the monument. Mr. Willingston, a scowl on his face, was heading back toward the amphitheater, keeping in the shadows of the trees.
"He—he's not chasing us," Sam whispered, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath and stifle his fear. "He's going back."
"The sun is too bright for him," I said, holding onto the side of the monument. "He must be going to get Mom and Dad."
"That stupid flashlight," Sam cried.
"Never mind that," I said, watching Mr. Willingston until he disappeared behind the big leaning tree. "What are we going to do now? I don't know—"
"Shhh. Look!" Sam poked me hard on the shoulder, and pointed. "Who's that?"
I followed his stare and saw several dark figures hurrying through the rows of tombstones. They seemed to have appeared from out of nowhere. Did they rise out of the graves?

Walking quickly, seeming to float over the green, sloping ground, they headed into the shadows. All were walking in silence, their eyes straight ahead. They didn't stop to greet one another. They strode purposefully toward the hidden amphitheater, as if they were being drawn there, as if they were puppets being pulled by hidden strings.
"Whoa. Look at them all!" Sam whispered, ducking his head back behind the marble monument.
The dark, moving forms made all the shadows ripple. It looked as if the trees, the gravestones, the entire cemetery had come to life, had started toward the hidden seats of the amphitheater.
"There goes Karen," I whispered, pointing. "And George. And all the rest of them."
The kids from our house were moving quickly in twos and threes, following the other shadows, as silent and businesslike as everyone else.
Everyone was here except Ray, I thought.
Because we killed Ray.
We killed someone who was already dead.
"Do you think Mom and Dad are really down in that weird theater?" Sam asked, interrupting my morbid thoughts, his eyes on the moving shadows.
"Come on," I said, taking Sam's hand and pulling him away from the monument.
"We've got to find out."
We watched the last of the dark figures float past the enormous leaning tree. The shadows stopped moving. The cemetery was still and silent. A solitary crow floated, high above in the clear blue, cloudless sky.
Slowly, Sam and I edged our way toward the amphitheater, ducking behind gravestones, keeping low to the ground.
It was a struggle to move. I felt as if I weighed five hundred pounds. The weight of my fear, I guess.
I was desperate to see if Mom and Dad were there.
But at the same time, I didn't want to see.
I didn't want to see them being held prisoner by Mr. Willingston and the others.
I didn't want to see them... killed.
The thought made me stop. I reached out an arm and halted Sam.
We were standing behind the leaning tree, hidden by its enormous clump of upraised roots. Beyond the tree, down in the theater below, I could hear the low murmur of voices.
"Are Mom and Dad there?" Sam whispered. He started to poke his head around the side of the bent tree trunk, but I cautiously pulled him back.
"Be careful," I whispered. "Don't let them see you. They're practically right beneath us."
"But I've got to know if Mom and Dad are really here," he whispered, his eyes frightened, pleading.
"Me, too," I agreed.
We both leaned over the massive trunk. The bark felt smooth under my hands as I gazed into the deep shadows cast by the tree.

And then I saw them.
Mom and Dad. They were tied up, back-to-back, standing in the center of the floor at the bottom of the amphitheater in front of everyone.
They looked so uncomfortable, so terrified. Their arms were tied tightly down at their sides. Dad's face was bright red. Mom's hair was all messed up, hanging wildly down over her forehead, her head bowed.
Squinting into the darkness cast by the tree, I saw Mr. Willingston standing beside them along with another, older man. And I saw that the rows of long benches built into the ground were filled with people. Not a single empty space.
Everyone in town must be here, I realized.
Everyone except Sam and me.
"They're going to kill Mom and Dad," Sam whispered, grabbing my arm, squeezing it in fear. "They're going to make Mom and Dad just like them."
"Then they'll come after us," I said, thinking out loud, staring through the shadows at my poor parents. Both of them had their heads bowed now as they stood before the silent crowd. Both of them were awaiting their fates.
"What are we going to do?" Sam whispered.
"Huh?" I was staring so hard at Mom and Dad, I guess I momentarily blanked out.
"What are we going to do?" Sam repeated urgently, still holding desperately to my arm. "We can't just stand here and—"
I suddenly knew what we were going to do.
It just came to me. I didn't even have to think hard.
"Maybe we can save them," I whispered, backing away from the tree. "Maybe we can do something."
Sam let go of my arm. He stared at me eagerly.
"We're going to push this tree over," I whispered with so much confidence that I surprised myself. "We're going to push the tree over so the sunlight will fill the amphitheater."
"Yes!" Sam cried immediately. "Look at this tree. It's practically down already. We can do it!"
I knew we could do it. I don't know where my confidence came from. But I knew we could do it.
And I knew we had to do it fast.
Peering over the top of the trunk again, struggling to see through the shadows, I could see that everyone in the theater had stood up. They were all starting to move forward, down toward Mom and Dad.
"Come on, Sam," I whispered. "We'll take a running jump, and push the tree over. Come on!"
Without another word, we both took several steps back.
We just had to give the trunk a good, hard push, and the tree would topple right over. The roots were already almost entirely up out of the ground, after all.
One hard push. That's all it would take. And the sunlight would pour into the theater. Beautiful, golden sunlight. Bright, bright sunlight.
The dead people would all crumble.
And Mom and Dad would be saved.
All four of us would be saved.
"Come on, Sam," I whispered. "Ready?"
He nodded, his face solemn, his eyes frightened. "Okay. Let's go!" I cried.
We both ran forward, digging our sneakers into the ground, moving as fast as we could, our arms outstretched and ready.
In a second, we hit the tree trunk and pushed with all of our strength, shoving it with our hands and then moving our shoulders into it, pushing... pushing... pushing...
It didn't budge.