Photo: © Ted Strutz
“Where exactly does your uncle live?”
I narrowed my eyes. Larry relished building tension. Perhaps mandatory in magicians, but guaranteed to annoy offstage!
“This better not be a trick!” I warned.
“It’s not,” he responded. “Scouts honor.”
“You’ve been kicked out of Scouts.”
We traipsed through deserted woods. No house anywhere. Not even a cabin. Just scraggly trees, weeds, and a spooky car wreck. Larry made for the latter.
I followed warily, smelling trickery.
“Here,” he reached under the hood, pressed something, unveiled stairs. “Ta-da! Uncle’s Red’s subterranean house!”