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They got their chance the next afternoon when their father emerged from the basement, red metal toolchest in hand. "I promised Mr. Henry next door I'd help him install a new sink in his bathroom," he explained, adjusting his Dodgers cap with his free hand.

Not very subtle, Casey, Margaret thought, rolling her eyes.

"When are you coming back?" Casey asked, glancing at Margaret.

"No problem," Casey said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Go get a paper clip. I'll show you what my friend Kevin taught me last week."

They watched him cut through the hedges in the backyard and head to Mr. Henry's back door. "It's now or never," Margaret said, glancing doubtfully at Casey. "Think we can do this?" She tried the door. Locked, as usual.

"It shouldn't take more than a couple of hours," Dr. Brewer said. He disappeared out the kitchen door.

Margaret obediently found a paper clip on her desk and brought it to him. Casey straightened the clip out, then poked it into the lock. In a few seconds, he hummed a triumphant fanfare and pulled the door open.

A few seconds later, they were in the basement.

"Okay. Let's not think about it. Let's just do it," Margaret said, summoning her courage and stepping onto the landing.

"Now you're an expert lock picker, huh? Your friend Kevin is a good guy to know," Margaret said, shaking her head.

Casey grinned and motioned for Margaret to go first.

Squinting against the sudden bright light, they stopped in the doorway to the plant room. The plants seemed taller, thicker, more plentiful than the first time they had ventured down here.

Long, sinewy tendrils drooped from thick yellow stalks. Broad green and yellow leaves bobbed and trembled, shimmering under the white light. Leaves slapped against each other, making a soft, wet sound. A fat tomato plopped to the ground.

Knowing a little of what to expect down here didn't make it any less frightening. They were hit immediately by a blast of steamy, hot air. The air, Margaret realized, was so wet, so thick, that droplets immediately clung to her skin.

Everything seemed to shimmer. The plants all seemed to quiver expectantly. They weren't standing still. They seemed to be reaching up, reaching out, quaking with energy as they grew.

They heard breathing sounds, loud sighing, a low moan coming from the direction of the supply closet against the wall.

"Help! It's got me! It's got me!"

A tendril suddenly swung out from a long stalk. Margaret pulled Casey back. "Look out. Don't get too close," she warned.

"I know," he said sharply, moving away from her. "Don't grab me like that. You scared me."

She heard breathing. Steady, quiet breathing.

The tendril slid harmlessly to the dirt.

"Sorry," she said, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. "It's just… well, you remember last time."

"I guess so," Margaret said softly. "They look prehistoric!"

"I'll be careful," he said.

Margaret shuddered.

"Wow!" Casey cried, impressed with this trembling, glistening jungle. "Are all these plants really brand-new?"

Long brown tendrils snaked along the dirt, wrapping themselves around other plants, around each other. A bushy fern had grown to the ceiling, curved, and started its way back down again.

These plants are definitely not normal, she thought. She took a step back, letting her eyes roam over the amazing jungle of slithering, sighing plants.

She was still staring at them when she heard Casey's terrified scream.