Shallow Grave Read Free Page B

I bend over and pick up the tarp I dropped when she screamed.
    â€œBut…” Shannon says. She tears her eyes away from the door and looks at me. “You propped it open, Elliot.”
    She looks back at the door. “With a cinderblock.”

Chapter Five
    It wasn’t a cinderblock though. Not really. Just a big brick. Big enough to have stood up to the wind, I thought, but apparently not.
    I guess one strong gust was all it took to just…tip it over.
    It’s freezing outside anyway, and there’s not much daylight left, so I close the door all the way. There’s a little hook-and-eye clasp on the inside. I drop the hook into the eye.
    â€œThere. No more banging,” I say. “We are locked in.”
    I’m feeling a bit looser after that scare. And after our conversation. I might be stuck in a boathouse with a dorky punk chick, but it’s actually more fun than…well, than cleaning my room and doing homework.
    â€œI’m not so sure that’s such a good thing,” Shannon says. She throws me a sidelong glance.
    â€œWhat, being locked in?” I ask. “Why? You afraid of the boogeyman?”
    â€œThere’s no such thing,” she says.
    I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, my stomach growls. Loudly.
    Shannon laughs.
    â€œSo maybe there’s no boogeyman,” I say. “There is, however, such a thing as hunger.”
    I pull out my phone and glance at it. 4:09. “You hungry?”
    â€œI could eat,” she says. “I have pita and hummus from my lunch. Enough for two.”
    â€œPita and hummus,” I scoff. “How about Texas donuts?”
    Shannon’s mouth drops open. “You have Texas donuts?”
    I nod. “Fresh from the fundraiser,” I say. “People who ordered but never picked up.” I realize how nerdy that must make me sound, especially to her. Fundraisers. Her kind don’t exactly go in for that.
    More like welfare.
    As soon as I think it, the thought makes me ashamed. Until today, I’d never met anyone whose home life was like Shannon’s.
    If you can even call it a home life.
    In fact, until today, I’d never really even talked to someone like Shannon. So who the hell am I to judge?
    â€œTexas donuts,” Shannon is saying in a dreamy voice. “Act of god? Or pure karma?”
    She’s so bizarre.
    I pull a cardboard sleeve from my bag and flip it open to reveal two gigantic donuts. They’re squashed, and the cheap chocolate icing is sliding off the top, but we dig in like two starving animals.
    Shannon looks around as she chews. “There’s something weird in here.”
    â€œLike what? Did you find a hair?”
    â€œNo,” she laughs.
    She laughs a lot, but somehow the sound catches me by surprise every time.
    â€œNot in the donut,” she says. “In the boathouse.”
    â€œThink so?” I ask. I take another bite and look around. “Like?”
    â€œI don’t know. Something.”
    â€œWell, there’s the rats,” I say.
    â€œNo, no, more like…something else. A presence.”
    â€œMaybe it’s a ghost,” I say. “O-o-o-o.”
    Shannon raises one perfect, dark eyebrow and fixes me with a stare. “Maybe it is.”
    My turn to laugh. “Oh, come on. Do you actually believe in stuff like that?”
    She shrugs. “Who’s to say spirits don’t exist?”
    I roll my eyes. “Oh my god. So do you believe in UFO s too?” Come to think of it, she seems like the type to believe in anything.
    She gives a little half smile. “Maybe.” She looks around the boathouse. I can see her forming an idea. When she turns back to me, her eyes are shining.
    This can’t be good.
    â€œI have an idea,” she says.
    Aaaaand there it is.
    I speak slowly, imagining my words as a fine mist of wisdom heavy enough to weigh down her impulsivity. “Your ideas have been known