Seven

Part II

Wryleigh stumbled down the steps and into the glaring sunlight, waving to the driver as the growling bus shut its squeaky doors and slowly rolled away. Putting a paw over his eyebrows, he scanned his surroundings. With his other, he fished into the pocket of his dark jeans and pulled out a sheet of paper. He stared at the rushed scribbles, trying to make out his own handwriting, and sighed again. Of course his phone had died. On today of all days, why not?

The only reason he'd gotten this far was a random piece of trash he'd found on the bus aisle. It had been painstakingly difficult to write while being thrown around in the rickety metal box, but somehow he'd managed before the last bit of life drained from his phone, taking away access to the babysitting information he so desperately needed. And now, he was just as lost.

Was he even in the right neighborhood? Wry glanced back to the address. Grimm Lane? Sort of a disturbing name for a street. But looking up at the rusty green sign standing next to the bus stop, none of the faded letters were what he was looking for. Aligning his paws with the direction of the sidewalk, Wryleigh trudged down the sun-warmed concrete, his pace quickening with every step. He worried that his being late would ruin any chance he had of babysitting these kids again.

It was just a side job for now, babysitting because he needed the extra cash and he thought it might give him some time to work on his online college course. His full-time job wasn't exactly the best paying, and with his mom long gone, blowing what was left of his father's life insurance, he was left alone to provide for their small family. But Wry was used to it by now. He'd been taking care of Wynter since his senior year. It was hard, though, juggling school and the responsibilities of being the only "parent" his sister had. It also meant he was no stranger to needing help.

Forget this. I'm just going to ask someone. Wryleigh chose a house on the street where he was standing, one of many identical box-shaped buildings lined up along the sides of the road, and approached the door. It was a small house, not nearly as small as his apartment, but still small. Even the door was a good foot shorter than he was. He stretched out a paw to press the doorbell, and a short, cheery, jingle played somewhere inside the house. Wryleigh waited patiently for someone to reach the door and soon heard the sound of shuffling feet. The door slowly swung inwards to reveal a short, elderly sheep with knotted gray fur. Round bifocals rested on her wrinkled muzzle as the sheep's eyes squinted forward, level with the height of Wryleigh's stomach. Her gaze slowly drifted upwards, and when she finally met his dark irises, she screamed.

The door shut with a thundering slam, a speed that was slightly surprising coming from an old ewe, and the scratchy voice from the other side shouted, "Go away or I'm calling the police!"

Wry stood dumbfounded for a moment, still staring at the door. But the words quickly registered in his mind, and he stumbled back down the steps and away from the porch. What was that all about? Wry shrugged to the air, more worried about what he would do now than the hopefully empty threats. He had to find the right house, but as his gaze hopelessly drifted once again, he caught sight of the grouchy old sheep's mailbox. And its number: 276.

He yanked the crumpled-up paper back out of his pocket. 280 Grimm Lane. Could I possibly be this close? He still wasn't sure if he was on the right street, but it was worth a try. Wryleigh trekked farther down the sidewalk, counting the houses until he reached what he hoped was his destination. The number on the front door was right, but who knew how many people in this town had the same three digits in their address? Wry cautiously stepped onto the paved driveway, following the thin path that forked away from the garage and to the entrance. The door was as small as the one he'd encountered before, and Wry prayed it didn't belong to another sheep, hesitantly reaching forward to press the doorbell.

Almost instantly, he heard voices on the other side. There were several, and they sounded young. A spark of relief and hope made its way through his stance, allowing him stand up just a little taller, and even wag his tail. He waited for them to answer, and finally, a shout came from the other side.

"Who is it?"

Definitely a kid. He cleared his throat and replied, "Hi, I'm Wryleigh. The uh... sitter." He hadn't meant to sound so forced and desperate. Wry just didn't want to sound stupid if he'd still managed to be in the wrong place. He looked back down at the note and read what he'd written. "I'm looking for Gia Gallaway's home and—wow... seven kids."

Wryleigh heard some scraping noises from the other side, and then the rise of more small voices as they began to argue. He laughed to himself, imagining seven kids all trying to pile on top of whatever object they'd shoved against the door. He noticed a small peep hole in the center, and realized they probably couldn't see him at all. The tall wolf crouched down, and held up a paw to wave.

But, to his dismay, the only thing Wryleigh heard in return was the sound of seven more screams.