“Wow! Look at all this junk!” My stepbrother stood in the middle of the room. Spinning round and round. Taking it all in.

A room filled with toys and games. Really old toys and games. Mountains of them.

In one corner stood a rusty tricycle. The big front tire was missing.

“I bet this belonged to Dad,” I said. It was hard to imagine Dad as a little kid, riding this trike.

I honked the horn. It still worked.

Clark pulled out a dusty chess set from a banged-up wooden box. He began setting up the board while I hunted through the rest of the junk.

I found a teddy bear with its head badly twisted out of shape.

A box that held a single roller skate.

A stuffed toy monkey with one of its arms yanked off.

I rummaged through bags and bags of little toy soldiers, their uniforms faded, their faces rubbed off.

Then I spotted an antique toy chest. It had a golden carousel painted on it, dulled with age.

I lifted the dusty lid. A porcelain doll rested face down inside the chest.

I lifted her gently. And turned her face toward me.

Fine cracks ran across her delicate cheeks. A small chip marred the tip of her nose.

Then I stared into her eyes—and gasped.

She had no eyes.

No eyes at all.

Just two black holes cut out of the space below her small forehead. Two gaping black holes.

“These are Grandma’s treasures?” I croaked. “It’s all junk!”

I dropped the doll into the chest.

And heard a squeak.

From the other side of the room. Next to the door.

I turned and saw a rocking horse, rocking back and forth.

“Clark, did you push that horse?” I demanded.

“No,” Clark replied, softly, watching the horse rock back and forth. Back and forth. Squeaking.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “This room is starting to give me the creeps.”

“Me, too,” Clark said. “Someone beheaded the queen in the chess set. Chewed her head right off.”

Clark leaped over some boxes and jumped into the hall.

I turned for one last look before I clicked off the light. Totally creepy.

“Clark?”

Where did he go?

I glanced up and down the long hall.

No sign of him. But he was just there. Standing in the doorway.

“Clark? Where are you?”

I walked down the corridor, following its twists and turns.

A queasy feeling settled in my stomach. My heart began to race.

“Clark? This isn’t funny.”

No answer.

“Clark? Where are you?”

“BOOOOOO!”

I let out a long shrill scream.

Clark stepped out from behind me, bent over with laughter. “Gotcha!” he cried. “Gotcha big-time!”

“That wasn’t funny, Clark,” I growled at him. “It was just dumb. I wasn’t even scared.”

He rolled his eyes. “Why can’t you just admit it, Gretchen? Admit it—just once. You were totally scared.”

“Not!” I insisted. “You just surprised me. That’s all.” I stuffed my hands in my jeans pockets so Clark wouldn’t see them shaking. “You’re a real jerk,” I told him.

“Well, Grandma told us to have fun. And that was fun!” he teased. “So where should we go now?”

“We aren’t going anywhere,” I told him angrily. “I’m going to hide in my room and read.”

“Hey! Great idea!” Clark exclaimed. “Let’s play hide-and-seek!”

“Play? Did I hear you say play?” I asked sarcastically. “I thought you said that only two-year-olds play.”