The Secret Read Free

ordered. “Ask if the magistrate will see me. I will be along in a minute.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Jonathan replied meekly and walked quickly from the tavern. Outside he hesitated.
    Where could he find the magistrate? The street was empty. There was no one to ask.
    Then he spotted a large house on the other side of the common. It was the grandest house in the village, sided with clapboards weathered brown, and enclosed by an unpainted picket fence. It stood two stories tall, with glass windows and two chimneys.
    This
must
be the magistrate’s house, Jonathan told himself, making his way across the common, half-walking, half-running. It felt good to run after his long journey.
    Jonathan lifted the heavy brass door knocker and let it drop. No answer. How strange that such a fine house should have a broken parlor window, he thought.
    He cupped his hand around his eyes and peeredthrough the window beside the door. The parlor was dark.
    He turned the doorknob and uttered a soft cry of surprise when the door opened easily at his touch.
    â€œHello?” he called. His voice echoed through the house.
    Jonathan quietly stepped inside. “Hello?” he repeated in a trembling voice. “I am here to see the magistrate.”
    The house remained silent. Jonathan made his way into the parlor. The heavy thud of his boots on the floorboards was the only sound. “Hello?”
    No one was in the parlor, which led to a smaller room. Some kind of office, perhaps? “Hello? Is the magistrate at home?” Jonathan stepped into this second doorway.
    Squinting into the dim light, Jonathan saw an old man at a desk with his back to the door. Jonathan could make out long gray hair falling onto the collar of a brown coat.
    Jonathan knocked lightly on the frame of the open door and said, “Sir? May I come in? Sir?”
    The old man did not move.
    Jonathan took a deep breath and stepped into the room. He made his way up to the high-backed chair and gently tapped on the man’s shoulder. “Sir? Sir?”
    The man moved—and Jonathan started to scream.

Chapter 3

    J onathan’s scream echoed off the walls of the tiny room.
    The man toppled and slid to the floor.
    Panting loudly, struggling to keep from screaming again, Jonathan gazed wide-eyed at the hideous face.
    The man’s long gray hair rested on nothing but bone. The grinning skull stared up at Jonathan, its teeth yellow and rotting. As Jonathan gaped down, frozen in horror, a spider crawled out from the deep, empty eye socket.
    Jonathan shrieked out his horror. He wanted to run, but his feet seemed to be nailed to the floor. He couldn’t take his eyes from the white-haired, grinning skeleton.
    He screamed again.
    â€œJonathan! Jonathan! What is wrong?” Ezra shouted, bursting into the room. Ezra stopped andstared down at the corpse. “Come. We must go,” he said softly. Placing his hands on Jonathan’s shoulders, he guided the boy from the room.
    Outside, Ezra ordered, “Go back to the wagon and sit with your mother and sisters. I will be there soon. Just stay put and wait for me.”
    â€œYes, Papa,” said Jonathan, grateful to be out in the fresh air. He walked slowly back to the wagon, breathing deeply, trying to slow his racing heart.
    He didn’t want to scare his mother. But he knew she would ask him what he had seen. And there was no way to describe it without frightening her. No way to say it that wouldn’t be horrible to hear.
    No one lived in the town of Wickham, Jonathan realized as a wave of terror swept over him.
    Every single human had died.
    Wickham was dead, a town of rotting corpses.
    â€œWhat have you found?” his mother asked eagerly as Jonathan stepped up to the wagon. “Where is your father?”
    â€œPapa will be back soon,” said Jonathan. “He is exploring the village.”
    â€œDid you talk to the innkeeper?” Jane demanded. “Why was that carriage