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It was cool to the touch.The stairway was narrow and she went first. She held my hand, tugging me after her. At the end of the stairs there was a narr...w corridor with sharp bends. We went through a low doorway and I felt the lintel brush against my hair. It was an old building."Here we are. Let me just close this door," she said.I heard the sound of a heavy door being pushed closed, and an archaic sounding catch. The sound was dead, not echoing like before."The bed is just behind you," she. Thatrumor was wrong. It actually happened in eighth grade.Regardless of how it came to be, Erin Meadows held a grudge against allboys, but exercised it against them one at a time, like a sacrificiallamb. Erin would choose a boy (nobody knew her method, exactly) andmake him her little plaything until she got bored and moved on to thenext one. I remember the first such boy, around January of freshmanyear.I didn't know Devon Williams well, but growing up in the same smalltown you get a basic. More

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