Read Online The Turning by Francine Prose - Free Book Online Page A

when he was a boy.
    I began reading about what volcanoes are and why they become active and about the most famous volcano eruptions in history. It was so engrossing that hours must have gone by without my being aware of how much time was passing. I’d just begun reading a chapter on how Pompeii was completely buried by the lava from Mount Vesuvius when I heard a voice in the hall. I jumped.
    Hank called, “I guess we’ll be getting on our way now. Tell Linda we’ll see her next week.”
    “Bye. Thanks! See you,” I told Hank. I walked to the window to watch the gardeners go, all of them laughing and kidding around. I listened to the sound of Hank’s motorboat starting up, then fading away over the water. For a moment I felt lonely and nervous … and then the anxiousness passed.
    I looked at my watch. It was almost five. Linda and the kids would be home soon. I hoped Flora was feeling better.
    I returned to my volcano book, and soon I was reading about how the citizens of Pompeii were wiped out. I looked at pictures of the ruined buildings, and then at gruesome photos of the casts of bodies created by lava that had hardened around whole families, who had died in agony, trying to escape. Suddenly, I had this feeling.... I don’t know how to describe it except to say that I sensed the presence of a presence. The only thing I can compare it to is one night when a bat flew into my dad’s house. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood straight up, and I knew that the bat was there long before I saw it swooping around our living room, and I yelled, and Dad got a broom and chased it out the front door.
    Crazy goose bumps rose on my skin as I turned and looked toward the windows.
    A man was standing on the other side of the glass doors, looking in. I could tell that he was looking for someone. Someone in particular, and he wasn’t looking for me. I can’t explain why I was so sure, especially because the light was behind him, so that at first all I saw was his silhouette.
    I figured that Hank or one of his men had come back to get something they’d left behind. But the man at the window wasn’t Hank or one of the other gardeners. The angle of the sun shifted, and I was able to see him more clearly.
    The strange thing was that I was sure I’d seen him before. He had longish hair and was tall and barrel-chested, wearing a black old-fashioned suit, which made me think of the guy with the scratched-out face in the hidden photo. But that wasn’t where I recognized him from, and anyway, the man in the photo had no face. I’d seen him somewhere else … but where?
    The sweetest sound I ever heard was the rattle of Linda’s truck coming up the driveway.
    When I looked back, the man outside the window had vanished.
    I know it’s not the manliest thing to admit, but my legs were shaking as I got up from the floor. But even with my knees knocking, I felt weirdly brave. I was the man of the house now.
    I ran to the French doors and threw them open. There was no one around, no one walking across the lawns that went on for so long that the guy would have had to be airlifted out of there to disappear so fast. He wasn’t anywhere. Of course he wasn’t. There was no one else on the island. The gardeners had gone home. And I’d imagined I’d seen someone. Or maybe it was a trick of the sun, the shadow of a tree. Or, okay, I’ll say it—maybe the house is haunted.
    I’m joking about the haunted part. I hope you know that, Sophie.
    I left the library, slamming the door. Even if I was seeing things, I had the strange idea that if I kept the library shut off from the rest of the house, I could keep the hallucination, or whatever it was, contained in that one room. Obviously, I realize that ghosts can walk through walls. But I took a deep breath and reminded myself: I don’t believe in ghosts.
    I can’t tell you how much I wish I’d get a letter from you.
    Love,
    Jack
    DEAR JACK,
    I’m glad you’re having a fairly