“Hey, Cassy! You’re just in time!” I frown. In time for what? He obviously picks up my confusion and explains.
“In time for the meeting about Head’s plan! I thought maybe you’d forgotten. But you’re here now so come on!” He’s a little too happy to see me, I think.
“Come on where?” I ask.
“My little place. You’re very, ahem, interactive aren’t you?” He has a mischievous, devilish look blazing in his eyes.
Interactive? He isn’t inviting me too his, no, his bedroom? I’m way too young! We were only just decided, and now he wants to do that kind of stuff? He’ll probably explain everything about Head then launch himself on me! Oh no, no, no, no. He is not going there!
“Evel I am not going up to your bedroom!” I splutter indignantly. Confusion rolls across his face, then his the lines by his eyes grow deeper, and his mouth stretches into a laughing smile.
“No, Cassy, Jesus! It’s my basement.” I breathe out a sigh of relief slowly, then pick myself up off the porch step. My slipper slap the grass of his garden as I step over the small line of wilting flowers, some flattened by yesterday’s un-graceful fall.
What harm could he do? Unless he has a bed down in the basement, it’s fine! Besides, I really want to know Head’s plan. Head is so mysterious and cryptic, that Head could do anything at all.
Evel gets up too, and I see he is dressed entirely in black, which I didn’t notice before. He smiles warmly then opens up the door. His hall way is like mine, cream walls and fluffy carpet, but there are some steps leading down instead of up.
“Come on,” he urges and we both sneak down the steps. They creak, like the ones in horror films, and my heart pounds. What if this was like that? What if he was some sort of crazy, obsessive axe murderer that was leading down to his evil lair ready to slice me into red-stained shreds?
Yet, I keep going.
Evel twists round and gives me this sort of crazy smile. Should I be scared? No. This is Evel, the boy you trust, the boy with red hair, just like you. You’re not crazy. You’re not an obsessive axe-murderer. You wouldn’t lead someone down to your evil lair and slice them into red-stained shreds.
There’s a worn, battered door blocking off the basement room and the end of the stairs. It looks ancient, the white paint is peeling and small flakes litter the floor. Cracks snake along the surface, exposing the rotting brown wood beneath.
“It looks a state, but that’s because moving all the furniture from up here to the basement was a nightmare. Everything smashed against the door, so it is now all chipped and stuff.” I simply nod and wait as he holds the door handle. You can see the black rust flake onto his hand.
He twists the door handle, then pushes down. Slowly, with a slight creak, the door opens and I’m met with a sea of black.