they would
swing free again. I’ve always loved the sound of wind chimes.
The door from the porch into the house was locked, but a window on the same wall was open. It was a much bigger leap of faith
to climb through the window than it had been to unlatch the broken screen door, but something within me was determined to
get inside the house. I threw one leg over the windowsill, ducked my head, and hoisted myself through.
I was standing in a kitchen. The air smelled stale and a little sour, but unlike the outside of the house, the kitchen was
in pretty good shape and neat as a pin other than some dust and cobwebs. The wooden cupboards and shelves were painted a cheerful
avocado green, and the linoleum floor was scrubbed clean. A small table and two chairs were the only furniture there. On the
other side of the kitchen, I could see another room, and a narrow hallway beyond it. I crossed the kitchen and went through
the doorway.
Probably the dining room,
I thought. Like the kitchen, it was dusty but otherwise neat and in perfect condition. The hardwood floors were smooth and
creaked slightly under my feet. The sun shone in windowpane squares across the floral wallpaper. I was suddenly enveloped
by the smell of baking bread, as strong as if I had just walked into the local pastry shop. I turned and looked back toward
the empty kitchen, which looked bright and inviting in the late afternoon sun. Strange. The house looked so rundown and creepy
on the outside. But from inside, it was perfect.
The aroma of bread now powerfully scented the air, and though it was a comforting and familiar smell, my heart started beating
harder. I had never picked up a ghost smell before.
The hallway passed a stairway to the right and led to the front door. At the end of the hall were rooms to the left and the
right, and there was another little doorway under the stairs. It reminded me of the closet Harry Potter lived in at the Dursleys.
I opened the door and peered inside to find a little, neatly appointed bathroom.
I reached the end of the hall, and turned through the door on the left, into a sitting room. I barely had time to register
the fact that there was a fire burning in the fireplace when the sound of a piercing scream froze me in my tracks.
Chapter 3
I instinctively whirled around to look behind me, though the scream had come from inside the sitting room. When I turned back,
the ghost fire was gone and the fireplace dark.
I waited, cautiously, to see if anything else was going to happen. This medium business could leave a person’s nerves totally
shot. Sometimes I felt like I was in one of those suspense movies where the audience can always see who’s creeping up, but
the person in the movie is totally oblivious. At least in the movies the music gets all weird when something unexpected is
about to happen. I could use a soundtrack of my own. Standing in the silence waiting for a noise or a smell or a glimpse of
something was making me absolutely nuts.
Another scream rang through the air, but now that I was listening so closely, it sounded more like a playful scream. Like
somebody was being tickled or something. I relaxed slightly, until my eye caught movement from the corner of the room. A small
ball was rolling toward me. It stopped precisely at my feet. Maybe it was an invitation to play, but I had no intention of
accepting it. I took a picture of the room, and another one of the ball. Then I heard footsteps overhead. Was there no end
to the supernatural activity in this house?
Someone was up there. Not a little boy, but someone much heavier. A man, maybe. Alive? Or not? There was absolutely no way
for me to know. I went to the bottom of the stairs and tried the front door. It was locked. I heard a thud from upstairs,
and my heart began thumping in my chest. I couldn’t stand that I was so afraid, and that I couldn’t control those feelings.
What was the point, I wondered
swing free again. I’ve always loved the sound of wind chimes.
The door from the porch into the house was locked, but a window on the same wall was open. It was a much bigger leap of faith
to climb through the window than it had been to unlatch the broken screen door, but something within me was determined to
get inside the house. I threw one leg over the windowsill, ducked my head, and hoisted myself through.
I was standing in a kitchen. The air smelled stale and a little sour, but unlike the outside of the house, the kitchen was
in pretty good shape and neat as a pin other than some dust and cobwebs. The wooden cupboards and shelves were painted a cheerful
avocado green, and the linoleum floor was scrubbed clean. A small table and two chairs were the only furniture there. On the
other side of the kitchen, I could see another room, and a narrow hallway beyond it. I crossed the kitchen and went through
the doorway.
Probably the dining room,
I thought. Like the kitchen, it was dusty but otherwise neat and in perfect condition. The hardwood floors were smooth and
creaked slightly under my feet. The sun shone in windowpane squares across the floral wallpaper. I was suddenly enveloped
by the smell of baking bread, as strong as if I had just walked into the local pastry shop. I turned and looked back toward
the empty kitchen, which looked bright and inviting in the late afternoon sun. Strange. The house looked so rundown and creepy
on the outside. But from inside, it was perfect.
The aroma of bread now powerfully scented the air, and though it was a comforting and familiar smell, my heart started beating
harder. I had never picked up a ghost smell before.
The hallway passed a stairway to the right and led to the front door. At the end of the hall were rooms to the left and the
right, and there was another little doorway under the stairs. It reminded me of the closet Harry Potter lived in at the Dursleys.
I opened the door and peered inside to find a little, neatly appointed bathroom.
I reached the end of the hall, and turned through the door on the left, into a sitting room. I barely had time to register
the fact that there was a fire burning in the fireplace when the sound of a piercing scream froze me in my tracks.
Chapter 3
I instinctively whirled around to look behind me, though the scream had come from inside the sitting room. When I turned back,
the ghost fire was gone and the fireplace dark.
I waited, cautiously, to see if anything else was going to happen. This medium business could leave a person’s nerves totally
shot. Sometimes I felt like I was in one of those suspense movies where the audience can always see who’s creeping up, but
the person in the movie is totally oblivious. At least in the movies the music gets all weird when something unexpected is
about to happen. I could use a soundtrack of my own. Standing in the silence waiting for a noise or a smell or a glimpse of
something was making me absolutely nuts.
Another scream rang through the air, but now that I was listening so closely, it sounded more like a playful scream. Like
somebody was being tickled or something. I relaxed slightly, until my eye caught movement from the corner of the room. A small
ball was rolling toward me. It stopped precisely at my feet. Maybe it was an invitation to play, but I had no intention of
accepting it. I took a picture of the room, and another one of the ball. Then I heard footsteps overhead. Was there no end
to the supernatural activity in this house?
Someone was up there. Not a little boy, but someone much heavier. A man, maybe. Alive? Or not? There was absolutely no way
for me to know. I went to the bottom of the stairs and tried the front door. It was locked. I heard a thud from upstairs,
and my heart began thumping in my chest. I couldn’t stand that I was so afraid, and that I couldn’t control those feelings.
What was the point, I wondered
Similar Books
The Dark Glamour
Gabriella Pierce
Harmony In Flesh and Black
Nicholas Kilmer
Stolen Songbird: Malediction Trilogy Book One (The Malediction Trilogy)
Danielle L. Jensen
1 Blood Price
Tanya Huff
The Last Exhale
Julia Blues
My American Unhappiness
Dean Bakopoulos
The Dead Will Tell
Linda Castillo
The Union Jack
Imre Kertész
The Lost Language of Cranes
David Leavitt