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Suze says you've got to stay down there until the evil spirit is out of you, It won't be long She working on it.

I don't know why you couldn't have let things be. We were doing so tired,

Perhaps Suze is right and it not your fault. You can't help what's happened any more than I could help it.

I guess you know who I am now, so I might as well just write it.

Grandpa

This really is madness. I thought, pure madness. They want to keep us down here until his voodoo lady thinks it's all right for us to come up?

"Summer?"

Harley stirred, wiped his eyes and stood up.

"What's happening? Did they unlock the door? Are they letting us out?"

"No. It's worse," I said. "They shoved some food in here in a carton and your grandfather has written you a letter. At least he admits who he really is," I said.

Harley came up the stairs, looked into the carton and then took the letter and read it, smirking and shaking his head.

"Evil spirit is out of us?"

He lunged at the door, pushing against it with his shoulder and then pounding on it.

"Grandpa! Get this door open now! You hear me!" We waited and listened, but heard nothing.

"Do you think it's safe to drink this water?" I asked. "I'm very, very thirsty,"

Harley studied it and shook his head. "I don't know."

"Maybe I should wait a little longer," I said.

"There's something behind that wall. I think there was once a door there and it has been covered. It might be another way out of here."

He hurried back down the stairs and started pulling at the wood, prying what he could with the scissors and ripping some away with his bare hands. He worked frantically, madly, frightening me with his wild efforts.

"Take it easy. Harley." I said. "You'll hurt yourself."

He ignored me or didn't hear me. He was in a frenzy by now, kicking and pulling on the wood with the side of his foot, tearing off only a few inches at a time sometimes, but gnawing away at it like some underground creature. I stepped up beside him and put my hand on his shoulder, which finally brought him to a pause. The sweat was running down his temples and his face and neck were crimson, flushed. His right palm was bleeding.

"You have hurt yourself and you'll exhaust yourself quickly. Harley. You hardly slept and you haven't eaten or drunk anything either."

"I've got to let us out of here," he moaned, his eves glassy with tears of anger and frustration. "You've got to go home. We both have to go home." he said.

"We will. Harley. We will." I said softly.

He calmed some more and looked at the opening he had torn. "Can you see anything in there?" I asked.

"No. It's very dark. Obviously no windows on that side either. Still, there might be another door or a door that goes directly outside. Many of these old houses had doors on the basements and stairways up with a metal door over them. I'll work slower." he promised and went at it more methodically.

While he worked. I searched the small room for something else that might be of some use as a tool. Just under the stairs. I saw a thick piece of wood and pulled it out a yard-long two-by- four.

"Harley?"

He turned and smiled.

"Yeah, that's good. Good work," he said, and took it from me. He used it to pry away