I hate chickens.

They are filthy creatures, and they smell like… like… chickens.

“Crystal, it’s your turn to feed the chickens,” Mom says. My least favorite words.

I carry the seed bucket out to the backyard, and they come scurrying over, clucking and squawking and flapping their greasy wings. I hate the way they brush up against my legs as they peck the seeds off the ground. Their feathers are so rough and scratchy.

My brother, Cole, and I are always trying to convince my parents to get rid of the chickens. “Just because we live on a farm doesn’t mean we have to have chickens,” I always say.

“Right! We’re not farmers!” Cole agrees. “So why do we have to have those smelly chickens?”

“It’s always been our dream,” Mom always replies. Blah blah blah.

Cole and I have heard the dream story a thousand times.

We’ve heard how Mom and Dad grew up in the Bronx in New York City. How they hated the noise and the dirt and the concrete. How they dreamed of leaving the city for good and living on a farm near a small country town.

So, when Cole was two and I was four, we moved to Goshen Falls. Lucky us! The whole town is three blocks long. We have a cute little farm with a cute little farmhouse. And even though Mom and Dad are computer programmers—not farmers—we have a backyard full of chickens.

Cluck. Cluck. That’s their dream.

My dream is that Cole gets punished for mouthing off the way he always does. And his punishment is that he has to feed the chickens for the rest of his life.

Everyone has to have a dream—right?

“OWW!” A chicken pecked my ankle. That hurt! Their beaks are so sharp.

I tossed a final handful of seed on the ground and hopped backward, away from the gross, clucking creatures. Their little black eyes glinted in the sunlight as they strutted over the grass. Pecking each other. Bumping each other out of the way as they dipped their scrawny heads for the food.

I dropped the bucket in the back of the little barn we also use as a garage. Then I washed my hands under the cold water spigot at the side of the barn.

I heard a low roar. A shadow rolled over the barn. I gazed up to see a small plane dipping under the puffy afternoon clouds.

I took a deep breath. The tangy aroma of potatoes floated in the air.

That’s what the farmers grow around here. Mostly potatoes and corn.

I dried my hands on the legs of my jeans and hurried off in search of my brother. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon. Most of my friends from school were away on a 4-H club trip.

Mom asked me to keep an eye on Cole. He’s ten, two years younger than me. But sometimes he acts like a four-year-old. It seems like he’s always finding new ways to get into trouble.

I wandered through town. No sign of him. I asked Mrs. Wagner at the bakery if she’d seen him. Cole likes to stop in there and beg her for free doughnuts.

Mrs. Wagner said she saw Cole and his friend Anthony heading out of town in the direction of Pullman’s Pond.

Uh-oh, I thought. What are they planning to do at the pond? I started to the door.

“I just love your hair, Crystal,” Mrs. Wagner called. “It’s such a beautiful deep shade of red. You should be a model. Really. You’re so tall and thin.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Wagner!” I called as the door closed behind me. I wasn’t thinking about my hair or being a model. I was thinking about Cole and Anthony and the pond.

I trotted the rest of the way through town. Waved to Mr. Porter standing in the window of the Pic ’n’ Pay. Then I turned off the street and followed the dirt path that led to Pullman’s Pond.

I didn’t have to go far to find Cole and Anthony. They were hiding behind the long hedge at the edge of Vanessa’s property.

I gazed beyond the hedge to the falling-down old farmhouse where Vanessa lives.

Who is Vanessa? I guess you might say she is the most interesting person in Goshen Falls. And the most weird.

Actually, Vanessa is like someone from a horror movie. She is kind of pretty, with long, straight black hair and a pale, white face. She dresses all in black. She wears black lipstick and black fingernail polish.

Vanessa is a mystery woman. No one knows if she’s young or old.

She keeps to herself. I’ve hardly ever seen her in town. She lives in her old farmhouse right outside of town with her black cat.

Naturally, everyone says she is some kind of sorceress.

I’ve heard all kinds of stories about Vanessa. Frightening stories. Most of the kids in Goshen Falls are scared of her. But that doesn’t stop them from playing tricks on her.

Kids are always daring each other to sneak up to Vanessa’s house. It’s kind of a game everyone plays. Sneak up to her house, tap on the window, make her cat screech. Then run away before Vanessa sees you.

“Hey—Cole!” I called in a loud whisper. I ducked my head as I ran along the hedge. If Vanessa was home, I didn’t want her to see me.

“Hey, Cole—what’s up?”

As I came nearer, I saw that Cole and Anthony weren’t alone. Two other kids huddled behind the hedge. Franny Jowett and Jeremy Garth.

Cole raised a finger to his lips. “Ssshhhh. Vanessa is in there.”

“What are you doing?” I demanded. I saw that Franny and Jeremy held plastic water pitchers in their hands. “Is that lemonade or something?”

They shook their heads solemnly.

“Some kids dared them to fill Vanessa’s mailbox with water,” Cole explained.

“Huh?” I gasped. I stared at Franny and Jeremy. “You’re not going to do it—are you?”

“They have to,” Cole answered for them. “A dare is a dare.”

“But that’s so mean!” I protested.

My brother snickered. “The mailbox is right next to the front door. No way they won’t get caught.”

Franny and Jeremy are blond and pale. Now they looked even paler than usual. Jeremy made a soft, choking sound. Franny gripped her pitcher tightly and peered over the hedge at the black metal mailbox on its tilted pole.

“You accepted the dare. Are you going to wimp out?” Cole demanded.

Franny and Jeremy glanced at each other nervously. They didn’t reply.

“Don’t do it,” Anthony suddenly chimed in.

We all turned to Anthony. He’s short and chubby and has a round face and very short black hair. He wears red-framed glasses that are always slipping down his little pug nose.

“Don’t do it,” Anthony repeated.

“Why n-not?” Franny stammered.

“Didn’t you hear what happened when Vanessa caught Tommy Pottridge?” Anthony asked in a hushed whisper. “Didn’t you hear what she did to him?”

“No!” Franny and Jeremy declared together.

I felt a tremble of fear run down my back. “What did Vanessa do to Tommy?” I demanded.