The Dark Secret of Weatherend Read Free Page A

Each one looked like a statue that the sculptor had given up on halfway through. From the rugged, chisel-marked stone slabs, hands and arms and bits of carved drapery protruded. Half-finished faces, blurred and indistinct and somehow sinister, stared out of the gloom. Oddly enough, the pedestal at the bottom of each statue was finished, squared off, and even polished. On each of the four bases letters stood out in relief. The statues had titles—W ind, Snow, Hail , and L ightning.
    Miss Eells folded her arms and stared for a full minute at the statues. Then she shook her head slowly and let out a long, low whistle. "Boy, oh, boy!" she said in an awestruck tone. "Would you look at these! If you didn't already think that J. K. Borkman was a major fruitcake, with citron chunks and almonds, this would convince you! This is incredible, Anthony, isn't it? What on earth do you think the old so-and-so had in mind?"
    "I dunno, Miss Eells." Anthony's voice was small and frightened. The feeling of nervousness that had crept up on him since he entered the garage was growing now. There was something about the four half-made statues that was incredibly ominous and forbidding.
    Anthony took a sudden step backward. Quickly his hand shot out, and he grabbed Miss Eells's arm. "C'mon," he said. "Let's get outa this place. It's givin' me the creeps!"
    Miss Eells stared curiously at the boy. If the statues were sending out evil vibrations, she certainly did not feel them. "Anthony, Anthony, calm down!" she exclaimed in an annoyed voice, and she shook off his clutching hand. "Good heavens, but you're nervous today. Does your mother let you drink coffee now?"
    Anthony felt foolish. Here he was, a bundle of nerves, and Miss Eells was as steady as a rock. Why wasn't she feeling what he was feeling?
    "I... I just wanna go," he said in a small, miserable voice. "I can't explain it, but I've just kinda... got the heebie-jeebies. You know what I mean?"
    Miss Eells smiled sympathetically. She had her own little fusses and worries, and she knew they didn't make sense to anyone but herself. On the other hand she was still feeling nosy and wanted to hang around just a few minutes more.
    "We'll go in a couple of seconds," she said, giving Anthony a reassuring pat on the arm. "I just want to have another wee little peek at these statues. They're really quite—ow! Oooh, ow, ow, ow!"
    Miss Eells had been moving forward as she talked. Suddenly she stumbled and slumped downward. Anthony saw instantly what had happened: a rotten board in the floor of the garage had given way. Miss Eells's right leg had sunk in all the way up to the thigh, and the ragged edge of the broken board had raked her flesh.
    In a flash Anthony was down on his knees alongside her. "Oh, my gosh, Miss Eells!" He gasped. "Are you all right? Are you all right?"
    Miss Eells bit her lip. Then she opened her mouth and let fly with a string of rather imaginative swear words. When she felt somewhat better, slowly and carefully she began to ease her injured leg up out of the hole.
    "Dratted board!" she muttered, and she reached down and broke off the piece of wood that had gouged her leg. She and Anthony looked through the hole she had just made. Even though the light in the garage was dim, they could see, down on the hard ground under the floor, a small metal box.
    "Huh!" snorted Miss Eells, and she reached down into the hole and came up with the box in her hands.
    "What is it?" asked Anthony eagerly. He was a coin collector, and he was hoping that it was a box full of Brasher doubloons or 1822 five-dollar gold pieces.
    "Here," she said, and she handed the box to Anthony. It felt disappointingly light. While Anthony was wondering whether he ought to open it or not, Miss Eells got to her feet and began brushing her skirt with her hands. She winced because of the pain in her leg, and there were long, angry red scrapes on her skin. Her nylon stocking had been ripped to shreds.
    "I think I'd better go