Read Online Possess by Gretchen McNeil - Free Book Online Page A

DRAGGED HER BACKPACK THROUGH the front door and dropped it on the spiral carpet, then sank to the floor herself and leaned back, clicking the door into place. She reached up and bolted it. The way her day was going, it was only a matter of time before someone else showed up at the house: Monsignor, Father Santos, Matt Quinn. Nope, she was locking them all out.
    Bridget closed her eyes and sucked in slow, deep breaths. The house was so quiet. A-freaking-men.
    Maybe being grounded wouldn’t be so bad. It gave her an excuse to spend her time at home doing whatever she wanted. Yeah, this could be awesome. Like a break from everything. No chiding about Matt Quinn, no training with Monsignor, no voices in the walls . . .
    The silence was broken by the patter of feet—paws, to be exact—trotting across the hardwood floor in the dining room.
    Bridget’s eyes flew open and swept the room. She thought for sure she’d see an animal of some sort disappearing down the hall. But there was nothing. Just a gentle swoosh swoosh from the swinging door that led into the kitchen, as if something small had just pushed its way through.
    Bridget scrambled to her feet and crept to the kitchen door. Had the neighbor’s cat gotten in somehow? Bridget cringed. She hated Mr. Moppet, the Shaughnessys’ longhaired Burmese. Or maybe it was a rat? Bridget wasn’t sure which was worse. She slowly pushed the door open and heard the sound of scurrying feet again, this time more of a clacking sound as the animal padded across the cushiony linoleum flooring. It had to be Mr. Moppet, who was always wandering into open garage doors in the neighborhood. But how had he gotten inside the house? And more importantly, how was Bridget going to get him out?
    Bridget peeked around the door, hoping not to scare the stupid cat, but there was nothing there. No cat, no rat. Nothing.
    What the hell?
    She tiptoed into the kitchen. “Mr. Moppet,” she said, trying to sound nonthreatening. “Here, kitty, kitty. Here, stupid kitty who hates my freaking guts.”
    Silence. She checked the pantry, but the door was firmly latched. She checked under the table, behind the recycling bins, even under the sink. No Mr. Moppet. No nothing.
    Had she imagined the footsteps? Possible, but then why had the door been swinging back and forth like something had gone through?
    A sickening thought hit her. She’d heard animal noises in the walls at Mrs. Long’s house, grunting pigs and stomping hooves. Could this be the same thing?
    See? She was right. Demonic activity was following her around.
    Okay. She could handle this. She was a trained exorcist, after all. Bridget stilled herself and took a deep breath, trying to sense the room, just as Monsignor had taught her. Twice before in the presence of a demon, she’d been able to feel it in the air—the heaviness, the oppression, and that strange dizzy sensation of the walls stretching and skewing. Not this time. Her kitchen felt exactly like her kitchen.
    There was one other test, one other way to know if there was an entity in her house. She reached a tentative hand toward the wall. If there was something there, she’d definitely hear it.
    BRRRRRRRRING!
    Bridget let out a muffled yelp as the telephone broke the silence. Out of breath, her heart racing, she picked up the receiver.
    “Hello?” she panted.
    “Bridget?” her mom asked.
    “Yeah.”
    “Are you okay? You sound like you just ran home from school.”
    “I’m fine,” she lied. “I was in the bathroom.”
    “Oh.” Her mom sounded less than convinced. “Well, I left you a note on the refrigerator. Do you see it?”
    Bridget scanned the fridge door and saw a list in her mom’s neat, schoolteacher print, held up by a San Francisco Giants magnet. “Yeah.”
    “It’s your list of chores for today. You’re grounded, not on vacation.”
    Perfect.
    “And the last one is most important. Put the roast in at four forty exactly. I’m taking Sammy to math club, so we’ll