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Show Twisters . . . 36 he cried "I have to go home! ^They won't go to the basement, Mama never does." The beam of light bounced around the blackness of the bathroom as Arthur scrambled to his feet, but I grabbed and held onto him. "You can't go! It's here! Can't you feel it?" The siren quit again as I pulled him back down and threw my leg over him. The flashlight clattered to the floor and rolled away from us. We heard it next. The lull. The deadliest quiet ever, that makes you think you might explode. The heat in that room built until I couldn't get my breath. Then we began to hear noises. A chair, scraping across the kitchen floor upstairs. More sounds. "Your mom's back!" Arthur said, pushing at my leg. I knew it wasn't my mother moving the furniture. The noises got worse. Everything was moving around up there . . . big, heavy things, smashing into each other . . . A window popped. Crash! Another. Glass, shattering-everywhere-right next to us in the laundry room. I pulled the towel down over Ryan and held him tight. If he was still crying, I didn't know it because I was feeling the sucking again, only now it was like something was trying to lift my body right up off the floor. Arthur felt it, too, this time. "Mother of God!" he crossed himself, "we're going to die!" Ten seconds more and that howling, shrieking tornado was upon us. |