The Crimson Key Read Free Page B

was being burned.
    “Let go of me !” I yelled, but she fought me into the shop. I had no strength to get her off of me; she was stronger than me. Once we were in the shop, the beads that hung in the doorway swayed irritably.
    “Do you know what you are?” She finally let go of me and I rubbed my sore arm. If I had any sense I would have run out of there right away , but I didn’t. I wanted to know what she meant. She ran around the small room that was decorated in Indian décor, frantically searching for something. Spying a Buddha in one corner and Christ on the cross in the other, I wondered where she was from. She wore a gold sari that hung to the floor and had turned brown from the dirt. She rifled through books and papers until she picked up a black book with strange markings. I waited with baited breath to see what she had brought forth.
    “Sit ,” she said.
    “I don’t think I should sit. I have no money to pay you and I don’t want my fortune read.” I suddenly remembered Mrs. Mayhew’s warnings of gypsies. Was she one?
    She laughed and grabbed my hands, pulling me into a chair.
    “I found you , not the other way around,” she said as she sat in a velvet chair across from me. “If you come in here, then you pay.” She slammed the book on to the table and turned the pages. “Aha, here it is. You’re a dead talker; I knew I saw that color aura before. I just couldn’t place it.” Puzzled, I looked at her. I had never heard that term before, dead talker. “You’re one of a kind. I only see maybe one or two of you every few years.”
    “What is a dead talker?” I asked with no clue what to expect. She sat back into her chair , pulling her long hair around her right shoulder.
    “A medium , someone who can see and talk to the dead. You know you have this ability, don’t you?” I nodded, but said nothing. I was still confused as to why I was in here. “I call them dead talkers, it’s fun to say.”
    “Who are you? Why do you want me?” I asked rudely.
    “I am Hala, and you are?” I had reservations on giving her my name. I mean, who knew what this chick wanted. Sure, maybe she had a lucky guess that I could talk to the dead, but I didn’t know her and didn’t owe her anything. Nevertheless, I went ahead and told her anyway, because that’s just me.
    “Brylee ,” I said. She lit up like a Christmas tree.
    “Brylee is your name? Ah , that is so beautiful. Tell me how long you have been talking to the dead?”
    “Not long , only recently. I moved here and the house I live in is full of ghosts.” I should have just given her my address along with it. Why couldn’t I just shut up? “It’s not like me to be so forthcoming,” I admitted.
    “I know. It’s the room , not you. You want to keep the secrets, but this room is making you tell me. Never mind all of that though, let’s talk about this house, shall we?” My head spun in confusion.
    “What … what about it?”
    “Where is it and who lives in it? Besides yourself, of course.” Leaning forward, she stared into my eyes. I felt like this was all a dream. The outside didn’t exist to me any longer. Only this small room and her. Spilling my guts, I told her everything.
    My voice grew quiet and disconnected. “My parents and I moved here from California. We had to leave our beautiful home for money reasons.” I paused in thought. “Now we live in Wilson, in a house everyone said was haunted. I didn’t believe it at first. I just thought the noises were my own imagination. Until I saw my first spirit. Now I see them all the time. They talk to me like I am among them. I thought the rumors going around about my house were false, but they’re not. They are true because I live in the Brown’s house. The notorious Brown family was the first inhabitants of my home.” It was as if I was in a trance. I took a heavy breath and went on. “I am the only one who can talk to them now. They need my help to free them from the