inside the house. This is crazy, he thought. Totally crazy. He climbed to his feet. But if it is for real, I can stop it, he told himself. Whatever it is, whoever it is—I won’t let Abbie get hurt. “I know there’s evil in this house,” he whispered, wondering if the ghost could hear him. “But if anyone can beat it, I can.”
Brandt woke up early and hurried to the phone to warn Abbie. He held the receiver in his hand—and realized he didn’t know her number. Or her last name. Didn’t she tell me her last name? He struggled to remember. He put down the phone and hurried to the front door. Stepping out into a blustery gray morning that threatened rain, he made his way down the driveway. Which house is hers? he wondered, turning first to the left, then to the right. Or did Abbie say she lived across the street? The houses all looked dark. It was a little after eight o’clock, but no lights were on in any of them. I have to warn Abbie, Brandt told himself. She’ll probably think I’m crazy. But I have to warn her. As he turned and trudged back into the house, he vowed to tell her the next time he saw her. If I have to, I’ll search door to door, he decided. I won’t let Abbie get hurt. I won’t.
“That’s the weirdest thing I ever heard,” Meg said. Brandt had just told her about the diary. He had to tell someone. And Meg had proven to be a good listener.
She was sitting with her legs tucked under her on a low chair in her den. Brandt sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the couch. Brandt yawned for the hundredth time. He was exhausted from being awake the entire night. But he hadn’t wanted to cancel his date with Meg. Meg had rented a movie. She’d pressed the Pause button and stood up to get more popcorn, when she noticed how tired Brandt looked. “Are you okay?” she had asked him. That’s when he had told her about the footsteps in the attic—and about Cally Frasier’s diary. “Someone is playing a really mean joke on you,” Meg said. “What else could it be?” “But who would do it? And how are they doing it?” Brandt wondered aloud. “And why? It doesn’t make sense.” Meg stared at him, thinking hard. “I’ll bet it’s Jon,” she said finally. Brandt laughed. “You always want to blame Jon for everything.” Meg looked hurt. “I’m being serious.” She shoved a strand of auburn hair off her forehead. “You don’t know Jon. He’s jealous of you, Brandt. He—” “Jon may be very slick on the basketball court. But he isn’t slick enough to sneak up into my attic and write in Cally Frasier’s handwriting,” Brandt told her firmly. Meg settled back on the chair, frowning. The closet door suddenly moved with a squeak. Brandt gasped, staring at the door in terror. “It’s only Lulu,” Meg told him. A fluffy white cat slinked out of the closet and settled onto Meg’s lap. “Whoa. You’re awfully jumpy today.” Brandt let out a long, slow breath. I keep expecting shadowy ghosts to jump out at me wherever I go, he thought. I can’t ever let my guard down for a second. He decided not to tell Meg about the choking cloud of white smoke that burst from his closet. Or the shadowy ghost that chased him home. She’ll think I’m a total psycho! he told himself. And then, a troubling thought—Maybe I am. Meg set the cat down, crossed the room, and sat down on the floor next to Brandt. “Relax,” she said softly. “Let’s think about something else for a while.” She leaned forward and kissed him. Brandt wrapped his arms around her and kissed her too. Her lips were soft and warm. He wanted to be kissed. He needed to be kissed. He pressed his mouth against hers hungrily. “Hey!” Something jabbed his leg. Something sharp. Brandt cried out and pulled away from Meg. “What was that?” Meg reached behind him and pulled Lulu into her arms. “The stupid cat,” she told him. “Did she claw you? Sorry.” Brandt smiled tensely. “Oh.” He started to pull
Brandt woke up early and hurried to the phone to warn Abbie. He held the receiver in his hand—and realized he didn’t know her number. Or her last name. Didn’t she tell me her last name? He struggled to remember. He put down the phone and hurried to the front door. Stepping out into a blustery gray morning that threatened rain, he made his way down the driveway. Which house is hers? he wondered, turning first to the left, then to the right. Or did Abbie say she lived across the street? The houses all looked dark. It was a little after eight o’clock, but no lights were on in any of them. I have to warn Abbie, Brandt told himself. She’ll probably think I’m crazy. But I have to warn her. As he turned and trudged back into the house, he vowed to tell her the next time he saw her. If I have to, I’ll search door to door, he decided. I won’t let Abbie get hurt. I won’t.
“That’s the weirdest thing I ever heard,” Meg said. Brandt had just told her about the diary. He had to tell someone. And Meg had proven to be a good listener.
She was sitting with her legs tucked under her on a low chair in her den. Brandt sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the couch. Brandt yawned for the hundredth time. He was exhausted from being awake the entire night. But he hadn’t wanted to cancel his date with Meg. Meg had rented a movie. She’d pressed the Pause button and stood up to get more popcorn, when she noticed how tired Brandt looked. “Are you okay?” she had asked him. That’s when he had told her about the footsteps in the attic—and about Cally Frasier’s diary. “Someone is playing a really mean joke on you,” Meg said. “What else could it be?” “But who would do it? And how are they doing it?” Brandt wondered aloud. “And why? It doesn’t make sense.” Meg stared at him, thinking hard. “I’ll bet it’s Jon,” she said finally. Brandt laughed. “You always want to blame Jon for everything.” Meg looked hurt. “I’m being serious.” She shoved a strand of auburn hair off her forehead. “You don’t know Jon. He’s jealous of you, Brandt. He—” “Jon may be very slick on the basketball court. But he isn’t slick enough to sneak up into my attic and write in Cally Frasier’s handwriting,” Brandt told her firmly. Meg settled back on the chair, frowning. The closet door suddenly moved with a squeak. Brandt gasped, staring at the door in terror. “It’s only Lulu,” Meg told him. A fluffy white cat slinked out of the closet and settled onto Meg’s lap. “Whoa. You’re awfully jumpy today.” Brandt let out a long, slow breath. I keep expecting shadowy ghosts to jump out at me wherever I go, he thought. I can’t ever let my guard down for a second. He decided not to tell Meg about the choking cloud of white smoke that burst from his closet. Or the shadowy ghost that chased him home. She’ll think I’m a total psycho! he told himself. And then, a troubling thought—Maybe I am. Meg set the cat down, crossed the room, and sat down on the floor next to Brandt. “Relax,” she said softly. “Let’s think about something else for a while.” She leaned forward and kissed him. Brandt wrapped his arms around her and kissed her too. Her lips were soft and warm. He wanted to be kissed. He needed to be kissed. He pressed his mouth against hers hungrily. “Hey!” Something jabbed his leg. Something sharp. Brandt cried out and pulled away from Meg. “What was that?” Meg reached behind him and pulled Lulu into her arms. “The stupid cat,” she told him. “Did she claw you? Sorry.” Brandt smiled tensely. “Oh.” He started to pull
Similar Books
