TITLE: Ghosts of Ivy House
Eighteen Years Ago
The man under the porch was bleeding. He was bleeding so much he
didn’t even notice Timothy at first. But Timothy could see him, the
shape of him, from the little slats of light filtering through the
cracks in the boards above.
Timothy was hiding. “Are you hiding too?” he asked the bleeding man.
The man jerked in surprise. He pulled his gun up but he didn’t shoot.
The gun was red. Not from the blood, just... red. Then he put it down
and breathed out. “Get out of here, kid,” he hissed.
Timothy squeezed tighter into his corner. “I’m going to be a doctor
when I grow up,” he said. “Maybe I can fix you.”
The man groaned. A shiver ran through his body.
“Are you cold? You need a blanket.” Timothy slid his back along the
wall of the house, toward the little hole behind the bush he had used
to get under the porch. The man didn’t say anything, so Timothy
There were lots of men running around the house with guns. One grabbed
Timothy and carried him to the living room and told him to stay. But
he left and nobody was watching, so Timothy went upstairs and got a
blanket from his room. Then he went into the kitchen and asked the
cook for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The cook made him a
sandwich, but his hands were shaking so it was messy.