20th Century Ghosts by Joe Hill

Author:Joe Hill [Hill, Joe]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3, pdf
Tags: Fantasy, General, Fiction
ISBN: 0061147982
Google: iMDcp03LGmUC
Amazon: B002WTC98S
Publisher: Hachette UK
Published: 2005-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

He scrambled up off the ground and hopped a step away from her, putting very little weight on the right foot, to keep it from sinking into the cold mush of the leaves. He wanted the shoe back before he ran. He looked at the sneaker—she was holding it outstretched towards him—and then at the knife. Her right hand, with the knife in it, hung limply at her side.

Once again she followed his gaze, looked down at the knife, looked back. She shook her head slowly from side to side in some kind of mute denial.

"I wouldn't," she said, and dropped the knife. She leaned towards him, holding out the shoe. "Here."

He edged a step closer to her, and took the shoe and tugged on it, only she wouldn't let go of it at first, and then she did, but only to grab his arm. Her fingernails sank into the soft underside of his wrist, digging painfully into the skin. It frightened him, how suddenly she grabbed him, how tightly she had hold of him.

"I didn't," she said. He tried to wrench his arm free. Her other hand was grabbing at the front of his open jacket, at his sweater, smearing blood on him. She said, "What are you going to say to people?"

In his panic, he wasn't sure he had heard her right and didn't care. He wanted her to let go. Her fingernails were biting painfully into his flesh, but worse than that, she was getting blood on him, all over his hand, his wrist, his sweater. It was sticky and unpleasantly warm and more than anything he didn't want her streaking it on his bare skin. He grabbed her left hand at the wrist, and tried to make her let him go, squeezed until he could feel the bones in her wrist separating from their joints. She was blubbering, crowding him. Her right hand closed on his shoulder, fingers boring into the socket, and he struck her arm aside, and shoved her, not hard, just to drive her back. Her eyes flew open and she made a horrid, choked little cry. Her right hand flew up and suddenly she was scratching his face, he felt her fingernails laying him open, felt the hot sting of blood in fresh cuts.

He grabbed the hand raking at his cheek, and bent her fingers straight back until they were almost touching the back of her hand. Then he punched her in the breastbone and heard the air gush out of her, and as she bent forward he hit her in the face, a driving downward blow that split his knuckles. She staggered drunkenly forward and grabbed his sweater and when she went down she pulled him down with her. She still had him by the wrist, her fingernails tearing at him. More than ever he needed to make her let go. He grabbed some of her hair and yanked her head straight backwards, twisted it back until she was baring her neck to him, until her head couldn't be forced any further back.

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