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Authors: Richie Tankersley Cusick
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night?”
Conor hesitated. He averted his eyes, and Martha had the uneasy feeling that he was holding something back from her.
“It could have been an accident, right?” Martha insisted. “You could have just forgotten — left it on and gone to bed.”
He gave a vague nod. “Maybe I had my mind on other things,” he murmured.
“You always have your mind on other things. And you don’t really believe what you just said, and you know it,” Martha challenged him. “And next you’re gonna tell me the phone call was just a joke, and the wind blew that scarecrow up in the tree, and my closet is just drafty, and there’s absolutely nothing else in the house with us but bad memories — and —”
She shook her head in exasperation and hurried up to her room. For a long while she lay on her bed, her mind churning. What was happening? She was terrified being in this house — in this room — and maybe all those things really were coincidences, but Conor was holding something back, she could feel it — but what? And Dennis was dead, and she was in the room where he’d murdered Elizabeth in an insane rage….
Something cracked against the windowpane.
Martha jumped up and switched off her light, edging cautiously towards the window. She could hear the wind wailing, a long mournful sound, and for one split second clouds struggled apart, splashing the ground with pale, pale moonlight. The trees arced back and forth in a slow kind of frenzy. Straining her eyes, Martha saw something on the ground below her window and realized a branch must have fallen and knocked against the house. She closed her eyes in relief, a headache beginning to pound behind her temples. I should have eaten something … that was so stupid … I haven’t really eaten anything all day ….
The phone rang.
With a surge of relief Martha remembered that Blake was going to call, and she raced for the phone before Conor could answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Elizabeth,” the voice whispered.
And it wasn’t Blake who drew a long, raspy breath … and let it out again … breathing … breathing … while her heart beat like a frantic wing in her throat.
“Who — who is this?”
It wasn’t Blake who began to laugh and then suddenly went quiet — the awful, terrible silence going on and on forever….
“Hello?” Martha cried. “Who is this!”
“You’re dead, Elizabeth. Trick or treat.”
Chapter 7
“Who was that?”
Martha spun around, the receiver clenched in her hand, and Conor pried it free. “I … he called me Elizabeth … he said I was dead….”
“Dead, huh?” Conor considered this for a moment. “Nice touch. Wasn’t I supposed to answer the phone from now on?”
“I thought — I mean, it was supposed to be for me,” Martha stammered.
“Hmmm….” Conor raised an eyebrow, but didn’t pursue it. “Martha, don’t say anything back to him. Don’t even answer the phone, okay?”
“You didn’t hear that breathing — he said ‘Trick or treat’ — just like before —”
“Martha, it’s just a crank caller. Everyone in town knows that Elizabeth Bedford died here on Halloween — what did you expect him to say?”
“You still think this is funny, don’t you?” Martha raged at him. “It’s never entered your mind that something terrible might happen!” She ran to her room and slammed the door, bracing her body against it, trembling all over. That voice! That horrible voice!
“ First there were the phone calls … he killed her on Halloween ….”
“No,” Martha said sternly to herself, “it can’t be happening again. Conor’s right … someone’s just trying to scare me.”
“ You’re dead, Elizabeth .”
She pressed her fists against her eyes, as if she could obliterate the blinding terror behind them. She hated Conor — hated him! So casual, like nothing had happened. Just preachy and patronizing and bossy and —
She jumped as the phone rang again. She heard Conor answer,
Conor hesitated. He averted his eyes, and Martha had the uneasy feeling that he was holding something back from her.
“It could have been an accident, right?” Martha insisted. “You could have just forgotten — left it on and gone to bed.”
He gave a vague nod. “Maybe I had my mind on other things,” he murmured.
“You always have your mind on other things. And you don’t really believe what you just said, and you know it,” Martha challenged him. “And next you’re gonna tell me the phone call was just a joke, and the wind blew that scarecrow up in the tree, and my closet is just drafty, and there’s absolutely nothing else in the house with us but bad memories — and —”
She shook her head in exasperation and hurried up to her room. For a long while she lay on her bed, her mind churning. What was happening? She was terrified being in this house — in this room — and maybe all those things really were coincidences, but Conor was holding something back, she could feel it — but what? And Dennis was dead, and she was in the room where he’d murdered Elizabeth in an insane rage….
Something cracked against the windowpane.
Martha jumped up and switched off her light, edging cautiously towards the window. She could hear the wind wailing, a long mournful sound, and for one split second clouds struggled apart, splashing the ground with pale, pale moonlight. The trees arced back and forth in a slow kind of frenzy. Straining her eyes, Martha saw something on the ground below her window and realized a branch must have fallen and knocked against the house. She closed her eyes in relief, a headache beginning to pound behind her temples. I should have eaten something … that was so stupid … I haven’t really eaten anything all day ….
The phone rang.
With a surge of relief Martha remembered that Blake was going to call, and she raced for the phone before Conor could answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Elizabeth,” the voice whispered.
And it wasn’t Blake who drew a long, raspy breath … and let it out again … breathing … breathing … while her heart beat like a frantic wing in her throat.
“Who — who is this?”
It wasn’t Blake who began to laugh and then suddenly went quiet — the awful, terrible silence going on and on forever….
“Hello?” Martha cried. “Who is this!”
“You’re dead, Elizabeth. Trick or treat.”
Chapter 7
“Who was that?”
Martha spun around, the receiver clenched in her hand, and Conor pried it free. “I … he called me Elizabeth … he said I was dead….”
“Dead, huh?” Conor considered this for a moment. “Nice touch. Wasn’t I supposed to answer the phone from now on?”
“I thought — I mean, it was supposed to be for me,” Martha stammered.
“Hmmm….” Conor raised an eyebrow, but didn’t pursue it. “Martha, don’t say anything back to him. Don’t even answer the phone, okay?”
“You didn’t hear that breathing — he said ‘Trick or treat’ — just like before —”
“Martha, it’s just a crank caller. Everyone in town knows that Elizabeth Bedford died here on Halloween — what did you expect him to say?”
“You still think this is funny, don’t you?” Martha raged at him. “It’s never entered your mind that something terrible might happen!” She ran to her room and slammed the door, bracing her body against it, trembling all over. That voice! That horrible voice!
“ First there were the phone calls … he killed her on Halloween ….”
“No,” Martha said sternly to herself, “it can’t be happening again. Conor’s right … someone’s just trying to scare me.”
“ You’re dead, Elizabeth .”
She pressed her fists against her eyes, as if she could obliterate the blinding terror behind them. She hated Conor — hated him! So casual, like nothing had happened. Just preachy and patronizing and bossy and —
She jumped as the phone rang again. She heard Conor answer,
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