Cry Wolf by Angela Campbell

Author:Angela Campbell [Campbell, Angela]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Contemporary
ISBN: 9781426892516
Google: DL-7iMFLmcMC
Amazon: B00DJLQA6K
Barnesnoble: B00DJLQA6K
Goodreads: 12626782
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2011-10-31T04:00:00+00:00

It was definitely spooky.

The old farmhouse itself had faded into the landscape, partially hidden by twisted vines and clinging foliage, which had long since crept up the sides of the two-story building. She’d have to mention this one to her friend, Kenneth, who scouted for movie locations. The aged porch even let out a creaking groan when she took her first step on it. Sheesh.

She told herself to get a grip and took another step.

“Hello?” she called out, to be safe. It would be her luck to get cited for trespassing if, God forbid, some crazy redneck did happen to still live here.

She waited a few seconds. Her only reply was a loud chirp from an unseen bird.

“I’ll take that as, ‘No, Andrea, no one lives here. Come on in.’”

She had the strangest sensation she was being watched. Taking one last glance at the woods surrounding her, Andrea wiped her sweaty hands on the leg of her jeans and arranged the camera hanging from her neck into a more comfortable position.

Moving a dirty window screen aside, she pressed her face against the grimy glass. There was no sign of life, no sign of anything but dust and dirt and some graffiti spray painted on the inside walls of the room. The door was unlocked, so she didn’t have to think about jimmying the window open. Actually, the door almost fell off its hinges when she pushed it, but she managed to steady it and keep the bottom hinge from breaking.

“Sam Raimi, you would love this place,” she whispered. He was one of her favorite filmmakers. She called out again, “Hello? Anyone here?”

Nothing.

Her eyes skimmed the room, and she mentally noted the dirty, uncarpeted floor; the dusty framed photos hanging crookedly on the walls; the uncovered furniture now faded from time and exposure. She lifted her camera and took a few shots. There was some graffiti—odd drawings and such—staining the room with the reminder that trespassers had been here before her. Reed had mentioned the owner disappeared almost twenty-five years ago. The deeds she’d researched showed the house still belonged to the Martin family, most likely because they had never been able to sell the place, thanks to its haunted reputation. Still, it was sad that no one had respected the property left behind.

“So, what happened to you, Mr. Robert Martin?”

Andrea wandered from room to room trying to gather clues about his disappearance and to decide if she could relate it to her story on the werewolf. She hoped to find evidence of the cult activities the Werewolf Club had mentioned—it would be the seasoning on the whacked-out story she was writing.

She found it on the second floor.

She was snapping photos of the graffiti and red bloodlike splashes of paint tarnishing the walls of the upstairs hallway when she caught whiff of a foul stench emanating from a room to her right.

She struggled to catch her breath.

Not the same or as bad as the smell in the woods last night, but bad enough.

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