Trick or Treat by Cusick Richie Tankersley

Author:Cusick, Richie Tankersley [Cusick, Richie Tankersley]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2011-10-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

“Well, we made it.” Blake grinned triumphantly. “I think we beat him home.”

Martha sat stiffly against the door, her stomach so knotted that it hurt. Ahead of her the house lay in silent shadows — it was full twilight, and they’d forgotten to leave a light on.

“Hey,” Blake leaned over, peering anxiously into her face, “you’re not upset over what I said back there, are you? I should never have —”

“Don’t be silly. I’m not upset.”

“Don’t you be silly. You haven’t said two words all the way home.”

“I’m …” Martha thought quickly, “maybe I really am coming down with something.”

“You can’t.” Blake grinned again, tilting her chin up with his finger. “You have to go to the Halloween party.”

Martha stared at him, nothing registering. “Of course I’m not going to the Halloween party, I don’t have a date —” She broke off, flustered, as he laughed.

“You do now. So hurry on inside and play sick for Conor and I’ll see you later, okay?”

Martha’s head was spinning. Somehow she told him good-bye and let herself into the house.

She didn’t know why she hadn’t asked him to stay.

Now, watching miserably as the van disappeared from sight, she wished she’d thought of some excuse to ask him in, to have him stay with her, just until Conor got home….

Where is Conor anyway?

Martha pressed her hands to her temples, trying to squeeze away the doubts. Never found … never. She leaned back against the wall and slowly opened her eyes. Silence echoed around her — one gloomy staircase rose beside her, the upstairs swathed in shadows. She took a deep, shaky breath and pushed herself forward. Damn you, Conor….

The lights. If she could just get all the lights turned on, that would help. If she could just stop thinking about what Blake had said and get all the lights turned on, then she’d be okay, and Conor would get home, and everything would be nice and normal….

She found a switch, and the hallway stretched ahead of her like a dim tunnel. She saw the heavy draperies at the opposite end….

The slight stir of velvet….

The one fold, strangely out of line with the rest.

Her heart raced with terror. She wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt and backed away. There are no such things as ghosts … there are no such things as evil houses….

She hurried up to her room, purposely averting her eyes from the yawning doorways as she passed. She shut the door, strangely uncomforted by the sight of her unmade bed, her books and records and posters, her dirty clothes on the floor in front of the closet….

Martha’s eyes fastened on the closet door, and she gave an involuntary shiver. How many ordinary, everyday things had suddenly become frightening to her since moving into this awful house? She knew better than to believe all the talk about this house, and yet how could she explain away the scary things that had happened to her here? Hadn’t Conor said that a house

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