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Evan pulled a small twig off the ground and tapped it against the broad tree trunk. Aunt Kathryn was weird. That's what his dad had said. She was so weird, his father didn't want to leave Evan with her. But they had no choice. No choice. Maybe they'll change their minds and take me to Atlanta with them, Evan thought. Maybe they'll realize they can't do this to me. But now, two weeks later, he was standing in front of Aunt Kathryn's gray house, feeling very nervous, staring at the brown suitcase filled with his belongings, which stood beside his mother on the stoop. There's nothing to be scared of, he assured himself. It's only for two weeks. Maybe less. But then the words popped out before he'd even had a chance to think about them: "Mom -- what if Aunt Kathryn is mean?" "Huh?" The question caught his mother by surprise. "Mean? Why would she be mean, Evan?" And as she said this, facing Evan with her back to the house, the front door was pulled open, and Aunt Kathryn, a large woman with startling black hair, filled the doorway. Staring past his mother, Evan saw the knife in Kathryn's hand. And he saw that the blade of the knife was dripping with blood. Chapter 2 Trigger raised his head and began to bark, hopping backward on his hind legs with each bark. Startled, Evan's mother spun around, nearly stumbling off the small stoop. Evan gaped in silent horror at the knife. A smile formed on Kathryn's face, and she pushed open the screen door with her free hand. She wasn't anything like Evan had pictured. He had pictured a small, frail-looking, white-haired old lady. But Kathryn was a large woman, very robust, broad-shouldered, and tall. She wore a peach-colored housedress and had straight black hair, pulled back and tied behind her head in a long ponytail that flowed down the back of the dress. She wore no makeup, and her pale face seemed to disappear under the striking black hair, except for her eyes, which were large and round, and steely blue. "I was slicing beef," she said in a surprisingly deep voice, waving the blood-stained kitchen knife. She stared at Evan. "You like beef?"' "Uh... yeah," he managed to reply, his chest still fluttery from the shock of seeing her appear with the raised knife. Kathryn held open the screen door, but neither Evan nor his mother made any move to go inside. "He's big," Kathryn said to Mrs. Ross. "A big boy. Not like his father. I used to call his father Chicken. Because he was no bigger than a chicken." She laughed as if she had cracked a funny joke. Mrs. Ross, picking up Evan's suitcase, glanced uncomfortably back at him. "Yeah... he's big," she said. Actually, Evan was one of the shortest kids in his class. And no matter how much he ate, he remained "as skinny as a spaghetti noodle," as his dad liked to say. "You don't have to answer me," Kathryn said, stepping aside so that Mrs. Ross could get inside the house with the suitcase. "I can't hear you." Her voice was deep, as deep as a man's, and she spoke clearly, without the indistinct pronunciation that some deaf people have. Evan followed his mother into the front hallway, Trigger yapping at his heels. "Can't you get that dog quiet?" his mother snapped. "It doesn't matter. She can't hear it," Evan replied, gesturing toward his aunt, who was heading to the kitchen to put down the knife. Kathryn returned a few seconds later, her blue eyes locked on Evan, her lips pursed, as if she were studying him.

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