House of Dark Shadows by Robert Liparulo

rooster and pulled something out. It was a fat roll of dollar bills. The outside one was a twenty.
    â€œMom!” he said in a hoarse whisper.
    She held up the roll. She said, “It was going to be a surprise, but this move has been so hard on you . . . It’s for your car.”
    â€œMy car ?”
    â€œIt’s not that much yet, and you have to chip in, but maybe by the time you’re sixteen . . .”
    â€œBut how . . . ?”
    â€œYou know we don’t have a lot of extra money. When you were born, your father and I decided I’d quit my job and be a full-time mom. That made things tight, but . . .” Her eyes scanned his face. “It was the right decision. Last year, when you started talking about a car, I realized we weren’t ready for something like that. The car, gas, insurance . . .” She shook her head. “I started putting a little aside every month. I cut more coupons, didn’t go to the hair salon so much.”
    â€œMom . . .” He didn’t know what else to say.
    â€œIt added up,” she said, looking at the wad. She seemed as amazed by its size as Xander was.
    â€œHow much is it?” A pang of guilt rippled through him for asking.
    â€œAlmost two thousand, but I hope we’ll have more by the time you turn sixteen in January.”
    â€œTwo grand ?” He leaned over the album and threw his arms around her neck. “Thank you.”
    â€œNow, Xander, you have to contribute. I only meant to—” “I will! I will! I’ll get a job as soon as I can!”
    â€œYour bedding is right there. David’s too.” She indicated a box on the bed.
    Unable to stifle his grin, he stood and picked it up. “Thank you,” he whispered again.

CHAPTER

twenty - one
    SATURDAY, 12:02 A.M.
    The bulbs in the bathroom emitted only a dim, yellowish glow. Better than nothing , Xander thought, standing in front of the toilet bowl in only his boxers. The electrician had kept the power off in some parts of the house—the basement, the library, the far hallway on the second floor. He’d explained that some wiring and fixtures needed replacing first.
    He flushed. The toilet shook and rattled like an excited dog at the end of a short leash. The water in the bowl disappeared in a loud whoosh . It filled again with a choking-gurgling sound that made Xander believe stepping into the woods to relieve himself would prove a better experience. At the sink, he turned on the faucet. Water did not immediately come out. Rather, the faucet sputtered and spat. A trickle of water followed, slowly building to a steady flow. He splashed it onto his face and looked at himself in the murky mirror. His hair was a mess, but he didn’t look as tired as he felt.
    He had tried to sleep, but found himself watching the shadows of branches and leaves play across his ceiling in the moonlight. Finally, he’d tossed his bedding aside and gotten up. His clock had read 11:57. He was glad his mother had put a night-light in the hall; he might have never found the bathroom without it.
    He dried his face on a hand towel, relishing its familiarity. Living out of a motel room wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it wasn’t home. Neither was their new house yet. Still, as their things from Pasadena started to settle into their new locations, Xander realized these things, as much as his family, would help change that.
    When Xander opened the bathroom door, David was there, clad only in pajama bottoms. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said.
    â€œIt’s a new place,” Xander said. “That’s—”
    Something fell over in the corridor. The boys spun toward the noise. Boxes were stacked at intervals all the way past the landing to their parents’ bedroom. Another night-light glowed at the far end, making the boxes black and their square edges sharply defined. Dad had made a point of telling his kids and the movers to place