Read Online All Hallows' Eve by Vivian Vande Velde - Free Book Online
Authors: Vivian Vande Velde
Tags: Ages 12 & Up
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attacker jumped to his feet, letting the knife clatter to the stone floor. He didn't look as though he'd been expecting any of this. Perhaps the talking, moving dead people were a surprise to him, too. Looking as scared as she felt, he pulled the door open.
One of the other women—an old, old, grandmother—kicked the door shut before he could get out. "Nasty man," she called him.
"Nasty," echoed the third woman, who was wearing what appeared to be a wedding dress. "Freddy, Bobby—do something."
There were two other men with her, both wearing old-fashioned military uniforms, though one looked even more old-fashioned than the other. They floated away from the shelves toward the man who had lured her in here—apparently
not
because he was on friendly terms with them.
Her attacker tugged at the door, and though his hands passed right through the grandmother, who stood there looking fragile enough that it seemed a breeze would dissipate her, the door did not budge.
The man who looked like a banker said, "You, sir, are a disgrace. How dare you break into our home?"
When her attacker tried to beat the spirits away, his hands passed through them. But the spirits were able to hold on to him, and they dragged him away from the door.
So the ghosts
would
be able to kill her without any help from the living. Janelle very much hoped that it wouldn't hurt, that it wouldn't be—as her classmates had been joking—through having her life force sucked out via her face.
Instead, the grandmotherly one said to Janelle, "No damage done. Make wiser choices, young lady. But don't be afraid of us."
They
weren't
after her?
Janelle felt someone's solid hands support her as she got to her feet, and it was the older of the two military men. When she tried to grasp his hand to thank him, her fingers passed through him, though he smiled kindly.
Still, when she looked back from the doorway, the spirits were clustered around her attacker. Though all they did was crowd him, he was unable to catch his breath. He wheezed, he gasped, he fell to his knees.
"Go," the woman named Margaret urged her. "Run."
Janelle ran.
Out the door.
Across the gravestone-littered grass.
Down the hill.
Along the cemetery road until she caught up with Xavier and Courtney, who were straggling behind the rest of her classmates.
"Looks like it's going to rain," Xavier said mildly.
And she took a deep breath, and another, and another.
Then she said, without even checking the sky, "Probably."
She never did tell anybody what had almost happened.
And she most especially didn't tell what
had
happened.
Not even when she heard Mount Hope Cemetery mentioned on the news the next day. She learned that authorities—checking the cemetery after Halloween night to make sure no pranksters had caused any damage—had found a dead man in a crypt that had been broken into. Despite the large knife that was on the floor beside him, the man looked to have died by natural causes: He had simply stopped breathing. The police described him as a homeless man, and they speculated he had been using the crypt to sleep in, because they found his tattered tweed coat bundled up as though he'd been using it as a pillow.
Ms. Hurston, Janelle thought, would be appalled at the politically incorrect stereotyping.
The news report went on to say that there was no evidence the coffins had been disturbed.
"Fortunately," the report ended, "there was no damage done."
Best Friends
Nikki
This is a picture of me and my best friend, Aimee Ann. We've known each other since kindergarten, when our mothers ran into each other—almost literally!—in the school parking lot. Afterward, while they were waiting for us, they got to talking and realized we lived only one block apart, which meant each of them could drop us off and pick us up half the time if they car-pooled and took turns.
It was like Fate.
We were destined to be inseparable best friends.
Aimee Ann loves my mom just as much as I love
One of the other women—an old, old, grandmother—kicked the door shut before he could get out. "Nasty man," she called him.
"Nasty," echoed the third woman, who was wearing what appeared to be a wedding dress. "Freddy, Bobby—do something."
There were two other men with her, both wearing old-fashioned military uniforms, though one looked even more old-fashioned than the other. They floated away from the shelves toward the man who had lured her in here—apparently
not
because he was on friendly terms with them.
Her attacker tugged at the door, and though his hands passed right through the grandmother, who stood there looking fragile enough that it seemed a breeze would dissipate her, the door did not budge.
The man who looked like a banker said, "You, sir, are a disgrace. How dare you break into our home?"
When her attacker tried to beat the spirits away, his hands passed through them. But the spirits were able to hold on to him, and they dragged him away from the door.
So the ghosts
would
be able to kill her without any help from the living. Janelle very much hoped that it wouldn't hurt, that it wouldn't be—as her classmates had been joking—through having her life force sucked out via her face.
Instead, the grandmotherly one said to Janelle, "No damage done. Make wiser choices, young lady. But don't be afraid of us."
They
weren't
after her?
Janelle felt someone's solid hands support her as she got to her feet, and it was the older of the two military men. When she tried to grasp his hand to thank him, her fingers passed through him, though he smiled kindly.
Still, when she looked back from the doorway, the spirits were clustered around her attacker. Though all they did was crowd him, he was unable to catch his breath. He wheezed, he gasped, he fell to his knees.
"Go," the woman named Margaret urged her. "Run."
Janelle ran.
Out the door.
Across the gravestone-littered grass.
Down the hill.
Along the cemetery road until she caught up with Xavier and Courtney, who were straggling behind the rest of her classmates.
"Looks like it's going to rain," Xavier said mildly.
And she took a deep breath, and another, and another.
Then she said, without even checking the sky, "Probably."
She never did tell anybody what had almost happened.
And she most especially didn't tell what
had
happened.
Not even when she heard Mount Hope Cemetery mentioned on the news the next day. She learned that authorities—checking the cemetery after Halloween night to make sure no pranksters had caused any damage—had found a dead man in a crypt that had been broken into. Despite the large knife that was on the floor beside him, the man looked to have died by natural causes: He had simply stopped breathing. The police described him as a homeless man, and they speculated he had been using the crypt to sleep in, because they found his tattered tweed coat bundled up as though he'd been using it as a pillow.
Ms. Hurston, Janelle thought, would be appalled at the politically incorrect stereotyping.
The news report went on to say that there was no evidence the coffins had been disturbed.
"Fortunately," the report ended, "there was no damage done."
Best Friends
Nikki
This is a picture of me and my best friend, Aimee Ann. We've known each other since kindergarten, when our mothers ran into each other—almost literally!—in the school parking lot. Afterward, while they were waiting for us, they got to talking and realized we lived only one block apart, which meant each of them could drop us off and pick us up half the time if they car-pooled and took turns.
It was like Fate.
We were destined to be inseparable best friends.
Aimee Ann loves my mom just as much as I love
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