Towering by Alex Flinn Page B

kids. But what about that salad Danielle had eaten. Was it some kind of drug? Was there a drug ring in Slakkill?
    “A lot of people disappear around here.” I gestured toward the Missing Person sign on the bulletin board.
    Josh did too. “Bryce Rosen—druggie. Every town has them, I guess. And a few other kids have disappeared over the years.”
    “A few? How few?”
    “Runaways. I told you that. But he had this big conspiracy theory. Said it was a ring, that they’d gotten her addicted, that they’d killed her sure as if they’d pulled the trigger. He was in a mental hospital for a while, and sometimes, he relapses and starts babbling about how we need to find the people who did it . . . or stuff about ruined towers. So we try not to remind him about the woods.”
    I shook my head. I didn’t know anyone in my old town who’d disappeared, and until Tyler, no one who’d died young. There was all sorts of weird stuff around this town, the abandoned buildings and the creepy antiques. I said, “How about Danielle. Was she a druggie?”
    Josh frowned. “My dad said no. They didn’t know what happened to her, though people had theories.”
    “Like what?”
    Josh put his finger to his lips and nodded toward the old man. I looked over at him again. He was holding a doll now, one with curly, yellow hair, and he was sort of crying. I nodded. Josh handed me the bag with the hinges and a receipt, saying he’d put them on Mrs. Greenwood’s account.
    “So it was a loon, okay?” he said.
    I nodded again, but I knew I was going to the woods to look for myself.
    I drove Mrs. G’s car down the same threadlike, bumpy road as before. It was no less scary in daylight. Maybe it was scarier because, now, I could actually see how narrow it was with the trees attacking both sides of the car. And, anyway, it was almost as dark as night. Still, I was going forward. Going back seemed scarier.
    Finally, I reached the point where we’d gotten out of the car and started to walk. I opened the door, scraping a branch and almost slipping on a patch of leftover ice. Luckily, a lot of it had melted. I closed the door, making sure not to slam it. I trudged forward.
    The day was warmer than before, but still cold. The freezing wind howled across the trees, and it did sound like a woman crying, but it wasn’t the same sound I’d heard before.
    When I almost reached Josh’s cabin, I heard a noise like something breaking. I stopped, looked behind me. Nothing there. I took another step forward. Another crack. Was something following me? I stopped. No. Probably just a squirrel or even a fox. They had animals like that here. Still, I stood a moment. And then, I heard it, a voice singing. I ran toward it, unconcerned about noises or foxes or anything but finding out what it was.

Rachel
    Today, I woke knowing something would happen. Something would be different. It is winter. I have learned to tell winter by the cold outside my window and the snow. And, also, the lights from the distance, lights from a town I’ve never seen. People put them up in winter, and though they’re far away, I see them. I watch them twinkle and dream of the day when I will see them close up.
    Once, when I was younger, I asked Mama what they were. She said, “People put them up in December to celebrate the season.”
    “I wish I could go there. They must be so happy.” Celebrating sounded like an incredible thing. I had never celebrated anything, other than my birthday and Mama’s, and even those were dull. It wasn’t that my life was awful, merely that it was the same, day after day, year after year.
    Mama didn’t let me go, of course. It was too dangerous. But the next time she came, she brought me a package, all wrapped in red-and-green paper with pictures of bells on it. I was so excited. I loved presents. I ripped the paper, carefully, because I wanted to save it in the box under my bed where I kept all my special possessions.
    Inside was a box with a green