The Ghost of Ben Hargrove by Heather Brewer

Author:Heather Brewer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

When Stephen is forced to move to the small Michigan town where his father grew up, he is sure he’s going to have the most boring summer of his life. That is, until he meets twins Devon and Cara. But as the summer presses on, and harmless nights hanging out in the cemetery take a darker turn, Stephen starts to suspect that Devon is less a friend in his new group than a leader. And he might be leading them all to a very sinister end. . . .

Prologue

My fingers were going numb, my bound wrists worn raw by the ropes, but I twisted again, hard this time. I pulled until my skin must have split, because I felt my palms grow wet, then sticky, with what I was pretty sure was my blood. The knots were tight, but I had to get loose. Those things were coming for me, I just knew it.

I looked up at Devon, who was perched on top of the tallest tombstone in the graveyard. His dark eyes focused intensely on the night sky; his bleach-blond hair almost glowed in the moonlight. He had once—no, not once, many times, pounding it into our heads like we were privates in the same army—spoken of loyalty. But sitting there with my wrists tied to the cold headstone behind me, it hit me that he hadn’t been speaking of our loyalty to one another or any of that band-of-brothers bullshit. He’d been speaking of our loyalty, my loyalty, to him. And now he was standing there on the gravestone, waiting for those creatures, those monsters, to come and devour me whole, not even man enough to look me in the eye.

The horrible pinpricks of numbness crawled up my fingers to my palms, then my wrists. Only my adrenaline kept them from going any farther. The air suddenly chilled. My breath came out in quick, gray puffs. And then I heard it.

Vwumph-vwumph-vwumph.

I tugged my wrists harder, struggling, hoping that the blood seeping from my broken skin might make the ropes slick enough to slip through. The rest of the gang moved past me, and none of them, not a single one of my so-called friends, dared even to glance at me as they headed for safety. Devon hopped down from his place on the stone, and after a long, hungry glance upward, he dropped his dark eyes to me. “You’re in luck, Stephen. They’re famished, so this should go pretty fast for you.”

I bit down on my tongue, consumed with rage. A million curses ran through my mind, but I could barely speak through my fury—fury with him for all that he’d done, but mostly fury with myself for having followed his lead. I spat at him. “Go to hell!”

I pulled until I thought my shoulders might come out of their sockets, not caring that I was bleeding freely now, praying to anyone and anything that the knots would give way at last. But it was no use. The ropes refused to budge.

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