02 - Stay Out of the Basement (4 page)

“The surgery didn’t go as well as expected,” her mother said, sounding very
tired. “The doctors say she may have to have more surgery. But they have to
build up her strength first.”

“I guess this means you won’t be coming home real soon,” Margaret said sadly.

Mrs. Brewer laughed. “Don’t tell me you actually miss me!”

“Well… yes,” Margaret admitted. She raised her eyes to the bedroom
window. Two sparrows had landed outside on the window ledge and were chattering
excitedly, distracting Margaret, making it hard to hear her mother over the
crackling line from Tucson.

“How’s your father doing?” Mrs. Brewer asked. “I spoke to him last night, but
he only grunted.”

“He doesn’t even grunt to us!” Margaret complained. She held her hand over
her ear to drown out the chattering birds. “He hardly says a word.”

“He’s working really hard,” Mrs. Brewer replied. In the background, Margaret
could hear some kind of loudspeaker announcement. Her mother was calling from a
pay phone at the hospital.

“He never comes out of the basement,” Margaret complained, a little more
bitterly than she had intended.

“Your father’s experiments are very important to him,” her mother said.

“More important than
we
are?” Margaret cried. She hated the whiny tone
in her voice. She wished she hadn’t started complaining about her dad over the
phone. Her mother had enough to worry about at the hospital. Margaret knew she
shouldn’t make her feel even worse.

“Your dad has a lot to prove,” Mrs. Brewer said. “To himself, and to others.
I think he’s working so hard because he wants to prove to Mr. Martinez and the
others at the university that they were wrong to fire him. He wants to show them
that they made a big mistake.”

“But we used to see him more
before
he was home all the time!”
Margaret complained.

She could hear her mother sigh impatiently. “Margaret, I’m trying to explain
to you. You’re old enough to understand.”

“I’m sorry,” Margaret said quickly. She decided to change the subject. “He’s
wearing a baseball cap all of a sudden.”

“Who? Casey?”

“No, Mom,” Margaret replied. “Dad. He’s wearing a Dodgers cap. He never takes
it off.”

“Really?” Mrs. Brewer sounded very surprised.

Margaret laughed. “We told him he looks really dorky in it, but he refuses to
take it off.”

Mrs. Brewer laughed, too. “Uh-oh. I’m being called,” she said. “Got to run. Take
care, dear. I’ll try to call back later.”

A click, and she was gone.

Margaret stared up at the ceiling, watching shadows from trees in the front
yard move back and forth. The sparrows had flown away, leaving silence behind.

Poor Mom, Margaret thought.

She’s so worried about her sister, and I had to go and complain about Dad.

Why did I do that?

She sat up, listening to the silence. Casey was over at a friend’s. Her dad
was no doubt working in the basement, the door carefully locked behind him.

Maybe I’ll give Diane a call, Margaret thought. She reached for the phone,
then realized she was hungry. Lunch first, she decided. Then Diane.

She brushed her dark hair quickly, shaking her head at the mirror over her
dressing table, then hurried downstairs.

To her surprise, her dad was in the kitchen. He was huddled over the sink,
his back to her.

She started to call out to him, but stopped. What was he doing?

Curious, she pressed against the wall, gazing at him through the doorway to
the kitchen.

Dr. Brewer appeared to be eating something. With one hand, he was holding a
bag on the counter beside the sink. As Margaret watched in surprise, he dipped his hand
into the bag, pulled out a big handful of something, and shoved it into his
mouth.

Margaret watched him chew hungrily, noisily, then pull out another handful
from the bag and eat it greedily.

What on earth is he eating? she wondered. He never eats with Casey and me. He
always says he isn’t hungry. But he sure is hungry now! He acts as if he’s
starving!

She watched from the doorway as Dr. Brewer continued to grab handful after
handful from the bag, gulping down his solitary meal. After a while, he crinkled
up the bag and tossed it into the trash can under the sink. Then he wiped his
hands off on the sides of his white lab coat.

Margaret quickly backed away from the door, tiptoed through the hall and
ducked into the living room. She held her breath as her father came into the
hall, clearing his throat loudly.

The basement door closed behind him. She heard him carefully lock it.

When she was sure that he had gone downstairs, Margaret walked eagerly into
the kitchen. She had to know what her father had been eating so greedily, so
hungrily.

She pulled open the sink cabinet, reached into the trash, and pulled out the crinkled-up bag.

Then she gasped aloud as her eyes ran over the label.

Her father, she saw, had been devouring
plant food
.

Margaret swallowed hard. Her mouth felt dry as cotton. She suddenly realized
she was squeezing the side of the counter so tightly, her hand ached.

Forcing herself to loosen her grip, she stared down at the half-empty plant
food bag, which she had dropped onto the floor.

She felt sick. She couldn’t get the disgusting picture out of her mind. How
could her dad eat
mud
?

He didn’t just eat it, she realized. He shoveled it into his mouth and gulped
it down.

As if he
liked
it.

As if he
needed
it.

Eating the plant food had to be part of his experiments, Margaret told
herself. But what
kind
of experiments? What was he trying to prove with
those strange plants he was growing?

The stuff inside the bag smelled sour, like fertilizer. Margaret took a deep
breath and held it. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Staring at the bag, she couldn’t help but imagine what the disgusting muck inside must
taste like.

Ohh.

She nearly gagged.

How could her own father shove this horrid stuff into his mouth?

Still holding her breath, she grabbed the nearly empty bag, wadded it up, and
tossed it back into the trash. She started to turn away from the counter when a
hand grabbed her shoulder.

Margaret uttered a silent cry and spun around. “Casey!”

“I’m home,” he said, grinning at her. “What’s for lunch?”

Later, after making him a peanut butter sandwich, she told Casey what she had
seen.

Casey laughed.

“It isn’t funny,” she said crossly. “Our own dad was eating dirt.”

Casey laughed again. For some reason, it struck him funny.

Margaret punched him hard on the shoulder, so hard that he dropped his
sandwich. “Sorry,” she said quickly, “but I don’t see what you’re laughing at.
It’s sick! There’s something wrong with Dad. Something really wrong.”

“Maybe he just had a craving for plant food,” Casey cracked, still not taking
her seriously. “You know. Like you get a craving for those honey-roasted peanuts.”

“That’s different,” Margaret snapped. “Eating dirt is disgusting. Why won’t
you admit it?”

But before Casey could reply, Margaret continued, letting all of her
unhappiness out at once. “Don’t you see? Dad has changed. A lot. Even since Mom
has been gone. He spends even more time in the basement—”

“That’s because Mom isn’t around,” Casey interrupted.

“And he’s so quiet all the time and so cold to us,” Margaret continued,
ignoring him. “He hardly says a word to us. He used to kid around all the time
and ask us about our homework. He never says a human word. He never calls me
Princess or Fatso the way he used to. He never—”

“You hate those names, Fatso,” Casey said, giggling with a mouthful of peanut
butter.

“I know,” Margaret said impatiently. “That’s just an example.”

“So what are you trying to say?” Casey asked. “That Dad is out of his tree?
That he’s gone totally bananas?”

“I—I don’t know,” Margaret answered in frustration. “Watching him gulp down
that disgusting plant food, I—I had this horrible thought that he’s turning
into
a plant!”

Casey jumped up, causing his chair to scrape back across the floor. He began staggering around the kitchen, zombielike,
his eyes closed, his arms stretched out stiffly in front of him. “I am The
Incredible Plant Man!” he declared, trying to make his voice sound bold and
deep.

“Not funny,” Margaret insisted, crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to
be amused.

“Plant Man versus Weed Woman!” Casey declared, staggering toward Margaret.

“Not funny,” she repeated.

He bumped into the counter, banging his knee. “Ow!”

“Serves you right,” Margaret said.

“Plant Man kills!” he cried, and rushed at her. He ran right into her, using
his head as a battering ram against her shoulder.

“Casey—will you stop it!” she screamed. “Give me a break!”

“Okay, okay.” He backed off. “If you’ll do me one favor.”

“What favor?” Margaret asked, rolling her eyes.

“Make me another sandwich.”

Monday afternoon after school, Margaret, Casey, and Diane were tossing a
Frisbee back and forth in Diane’s backyard. It was a warm, breezy day, the sky
dotted with small, puffy white clouds.

Diane tossed the disc high. It sailed over Casey’s head into the row of fragrant lemon trees that stretched from behind
the clapboard garage. Casey went running after it and tripped over an in-ground
sprinkler that poked up just an inch above the lawn.

Both girls laughed.

Casey, on the run, flung the Frisbee toward Margaret. She reached for it, but
the breeze sent it sailing from her hand.

“What’s it like to have a mad scientist for a dad?” Diane asked suddenly.

“What?” Margaret wasn’t sure she heard right.

“Don’t just stand there. Throw it!” Casey urged from beside the garage.

Margaret tossed the Frisbee high in the air in her brother’s general
direction. He liked to run and make diving catches.

“Just because he’s doing strange experiments doesn’t mean he’s a mad
scientist,” Margaret said sharply.

“Strange is right,” Diane said, her expression turning serious. “I had a
nightmare last night about those gross plants in your basement. They were crying
and reaching for me.”

“Sorry,” Margaret said sincerely. “I’ve had nightmares, too.”

“Look out!” Casey cried. He tossed a low one that Diane caught around her
ankles.

Mad scientist, Margaret thought. Mad scientist. Mad scientist.

The words kept repeating in her mind.

Mad scientists were only in the movies—right?

“My dad was talking about your dad the other night,” Diane said, flipping the
disc to Casey.

“You didn’t tell him about—going down in the basement? Did you?” Margaret
asked anxiously.

“No,” Diane replied, shaking her head.

“Hey, are these lemons ripe?” Casey asked, pointing at one of the low trees.

“Why don’t you suck one to find out?” Margaret snapped, annoyed that he kept
interrupting.

“Why don’t
you
?” he predictably shot back.

“My dad said that your dad was fired from PolyTech because his experiments
got out of control, and he wouldn’t stop them,” Diane confided. She ran along
the smooth, closely cropped grass, chasing down the Frisbee.

“What do you mean?” Margaret asked.

“The university told him he had to stop whatever it was he was doing, and he
refused. He said he couldn’t stop. At least that’s what my dad heard from a guy
who came into the salesroom.”

Margaret hadn’t heard this story. It made her feel bad, but she thought it
was probably true.

“Something really bad happened in your dad’s lab,” Diane continued. “Someone got really hurt or killed or something.”

“That’s not true,” Margaret insisted. “We would’ve heard if that happened.”

“Yeah. Probably,” Diane admitted. “But my dad said your dad was fired because
he refused to stop his experiments.”

“Well, that doesn’t make him a mad scientist,” Margaret said defensively. She
suddenly felt she had to stick up for her father. She wasn’t sure why.

“I’m just telling you what I heard,” Diane said, brusquely tossing back her
red hair. “You don’t have to bite my head off.”

They played for a few more minutes. Diane changed the subject and talked
about some kids they knew who were eleven but were going steady. Then they
talked about school for a while.

“Time to go,” Margaret called to Casey. He picked the Frisbee up from the
lawn and came running over. “Call you later,” Margaret told Diane, giving her a
little wave. Then she and Casey began to jog home, cutting through familiar
backyards.

“We need a lemon tree,” Casey said as they slowed to a walk. “They’re cool.”

“Oh, yeah,” Margaret replied sarcastically. “That’s just what we need at our
house. Another plant!”

As they stepped through the hedges into their backyard, they were both
surprised to see their dad. He was standing at the rose trellis examining
clusters of pink roses.

“Hey, Dad!” Casey called. “Catch!” He tossed the Frisbee to his father.

Dr. Brewer turned around a little too slowly. The Frisbee glanced off his
head, knocking the Dodgers cap off. His mouth opened wide in surprise. He raised
his hands to cover his head.

But it was too late.

Margaret and Casey both shrieked in surprise as they saw his head.

At first, Margaret thought her father’s hair had turned green.

But then she clearly saw that it wasn’t hair on his scalp.

His hair was gone. It had all fallen out.

In place of hair, Dr. Brewer had bright green leaves sprouting from his head.