Trick or Treat (3 page)

“Martha! Isn’t it a glorious day!” Sally looked up from a counterful of dirty pots and pans and smiled out at the threatening rain clouds. “Did you sleep well?”

So Conor hadn’t said anything about last night. Martha felt strangely relieved. “I was really tired. Where’s Conor?”

“I think he’s filling the wood box out back.” As Sally waved her spoon, a yellow sauce glopped all over the floor. Martha sidestepped it and tried not to shudder. “Breakfast is nearly done — will you tell him?”

“Sure.” Martha secretly wondered how Conor had managed to grow so tall and healthy on his mother’s cooking, and the thought almost made her laugh.

A damp wind blew across the back stoop, and Martha stood there, shivering. Trees crowded close on all sides, and the tiny yard was choked with weeds and dead leaves. For the first time, she was keenly aware of just how isolated they really were.

There was a subtle movement at the edge of the clearing, and Conor stepped out from the woods, his arms stacked with logs. Martha waited while he came up onto the porch and dropped them into a box by the door. He brushed his hands together and smiled off towards the tangled treeline.

“It’s nice back in there. You can hear the forest just living around you.”

Martha followed his eyes, seeing nothing but bare brown ugliness. “I don’t hear anything. It’s so … empty.”

“Ummm. You’re just not listening.” He stepped off the porch and flexed his arms. After a minute Martha stepped down beside him.

“You didn’t tell them about last night.”

“Did you want me to?”

Martha studied his face, the deep blue of his eyes. “Dad probably would have laughed. He thinks I imagine things.”

“Yes, I got that feeling.”

“But I don’t. Imagine things, I mean.”

The hint of a smile came to life behind his eyes. “I know.”

“Well … Sally said we’re ready to eat.”

Conor rolled his eyes and put one hand protectively to his stomach. “It’s the country air. It always makes her adventurous.” And then, at Martha’s surprised look: “Don’t worry. This phase, too, will pass.” He went into the kitchen, leaving Martha to stare after him.

The moving van arrived shortly after three. For the rest of the afternoon Martha was too busy carrying and unpacking boxes to worry about anything else. Although the house began to take on some semblance of normalcy, Martha couldn’t seem to make her own room any more appealing, even with all her old familiar things. Frustrated with her wasted efforts, she finally gave up and found Conor lounging against one of the columns on the front porch.

“What’s the verdict?” he asked without looking up. “Think you’ll stay a while?”

“Do I have a choice?”

His eyes lifted, touched her face. She thought she saw a twinkle there, but she couldn’t be sure.

“If I had a choice, I’d —” She broke off as Dad stuck his head out the door and tossed his keys at them.

“Would you mind going for picture hooks? We’re having a crisis in here.”

Conor nodded and started towards the station wagon.

“Why don’t you take Martha along?” Dad added. “Show her the town.”

“If she wants.”

Martha didn’t relish the idea of being with Conor, but at least it was a way to get out of the house. She just managed to scramble in as the car started down the drive.

Now Martha could see the route they’d come last night — dirt road, dense woods, the endless sweep of spent fields beneath a leaden sky. She wondered how Sally had even found this place at all.

“Have you been to town a lot?” She glanced at Conor’s profile, the frayed collar of his blue flannel shirt.

“Twice maybe. Don’t get your hopes up — it’s not Chicago.”

“What about the people?”

“What about them?”

“Well, are they friendly?”

His shoulders moved lazily. “I don’t know. Nobody talked to me.”

She couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not. For the rest of the ride she kept her attention on the bleak landscape and made breath patterns on the window. They drove for nearly twenty minutes before Conor finally turned onto another road, this one taking them past neat frame houses and well-tended yards and quiet sidewalks Uttered with colorful leaves. From nearly every house, jack-o’-lanterns grinned back at them, and windows were papered with skeletons, witches, and ghosts.

“Where is everyone?” The deserted streets were growing long with shadows, and Martha frowned.

Conor kept his eyes on the road. “Sensible people are fixing their dinners now — preferably something edible. Not looking for picture hooks.”

“And where are we going to find these picture hooks?”

Conor swerved neatly into a parking lot and switched off the ignition. “Hardware store.”

While Conor hunted along dusty counters, Martha wandered up and down the aisles, wondering if the rest of the town was as outdated as this shop. Other than a man at the register and a girl on a ladder at the back of the store, she and Conor seemed to be the only people around. She spied an old mirror propped on a shelf, and leaned close to inspect its dingy glass. And then she saw the smeared reflection above her shoulder, and she froze.

She hadn’t heard anyone walk up, but the boy was right behind her, his body rigid, his dark eyes wide, an expression of pure shock locking his handsome features in place. Alarmed, Martha spun to face him, but as his gaze bored into her, he seemed to mentally shake himself, and he stepped back. Now, Martha realized, all he looked was incredibly embarrassed.

“Sorry —” he stammered. “From the back … I mean … I thought you were someone else. Hey, I’m really sorry. Are you finding what you need?”

“I …” He was still staring, and Martha felt her cheeks beginning to burn. The boy’s smile widened, warm and genuine.

“Picture hooks, Martha. They’re called picture hooks, remember?” Conor hissed. He appeared out of nowhere, sighed, and shook his head at her. Martha turned even redder.

“Hooks? Sure, back in that corner — hey, Wynn!” the boy yelled, and the girl on the ladder climbed down. “Find some picture hooks, will you?”

Martha glanced back to see the girl studying her, but the boy repeated his request, more urgently this time, and the girl hurried into a back room. The boy’s eyes settled back on Martha and stayed there, politely curious.

“I haven’t seen you around, have I?”

Conor made a noise in his throat and walked away. Martha wanted to die.

“No … I mean, you couldn’t have … I mean, I haven’t been here.”
Straighten up, Martha!
“What I mean is, I just got here.”
Brilliant. What a profound statement
.

“To town?” His smile was so wonderful that Martha couldn’t help smiling back. “You mean you just moved here?”

“Yes,” Martha brightened. “Yesterday. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” He laughed, and his eyes flicked down her body to her feet and back again. “I’m Blake Chambers.”

“Martha Stevenson.” She stuck her hand out awkwardly, and his fingers closed around it. “Nice to meet you. In fact, you’re the first person I’ve met here.”

“Great, then I’ll be the official welcome committee. So where do you live, anyway? I don’t remember any houses being for sale around town.”

“Well, we’re not really in town.” Martha brushed self-consciously at a stray wisp of hair. “It’s a big old house — sort of out in the country. I don’t really know my way around yet, but….” Her voice trailed off as his smile faded then seemed to recover itself. For one crazy instant she could almost have sworn he looked frightened.

“Not the old Bedford place?”

Martha shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t know it had a name.”

But his smile was back again, warm and irresistible. “Sure. Everyone knows the old Bedford house. I’d say your work’s cut out for you.” He glanced back at Conor, who was sorting through a shoebox the girl held for him. “Your boyfriend?”

“Who, Conor?” Martha spun around, flustered. “No — he’s … he’s —”

“I know,” Blake teased. “You’re just good friends.”

Friends, thought Martha ironically, we’re not even that. But aloud she said, “Our parents just got married. To each other, I mean.”
God, Martha, could you sound any stupider?

“Wow. New family. New town. That’s really tough.”

“Oh … well … it’s okay.” Martha gave a shy smile. “Do you work here?”

“Not if I can help it.” His laugh was easy. “My uncle owns the place — Wynn back there, she’s my cousin. I’m just helping out today.”

Martha nodded and tried to think of something to say, but Blake saved her.

“Look, I’ve gotta get out of here — I’m late already. Nice meeting you — I’ll probably see you at school, huh?”

“I hope so.” Martha bit her lip.
Nothing like begging
. She watched him say good-bye to the man at the register as he shot out the door. A moment later a car squealed out of the parking lot.
I’ll bet it’s a date he’s late for … with a beautiful girl
….

“He’s not your type,” Conor said.

Martha jumped, her face flaming. He looked down at her and slowly shook his head. “Too late. You’re entranced.”

“Mind your own business.” Martha shouldered past him to the car and refused to say another word all the way home. Not that it mattered, she thought ruefully — Conor didn’t say a word to her, either, and seemed to enjoy the quiet.

But at least Blake was something new to think about — something to keep her mind off her miserable predicament. As soon as she could, Martha excused herself from another disastrous dinner and went outside. The rain that had threatened all day now hung in a thick mist, blurring the outlines of the trees, muffling the world in gray. She walked slowly around the house, shivering in the dampness. Through a veiled sky the moon struggled up through tangled trees, its feeble light tossed by the wind. “
The old Bedford place
….”

Frowning, she remembered that stricken look on Blake’s face … how he’d mistaken her for someone else…. Throwing a look back over her shoulder, Martha tensed at a clammy blast of cold wind. The trees rustled, limbs flailing like scrawny arms. She came to an abrupt halt at the back corner of the house and looked off into the woods.

And then she felt her skin crawl.

Something back there was moving.

With a gasp, she stared hard at the tree line, her mind confused. There was nothing therebut darkness — tight, packed darkness — and yet somehow —
somehow
— she knew something was back there — unseen — unheard — just watching….

“
There’s supposed to be an old cemetery somewhere on the property
….”

As Martha stared wide-eyed at the throbbing darkness, such an awful terror seized her that she thought she might be sick.

And then she heard the sound.

The crying.

So softly at first, that she thought it was the wind whining around the eaves of the old house … sighing through the dead, dead trees — only it was so sad … so pathetic … that suddenly Martha’s head was full of it, the heartbreaking crying that came from nowhere and wouldn’t stop —

“Who’s there?” she called. “Is someone there?” And the mist was so thick that she couldn’t see the house anymore, or the sky, and the wind was whipping around her, echoing through the trees — louder … and louder … not like crying now … like breathing….

It
was
breathing.

Martha went rigid, her heart threatening to explode. It was
everywhere
now —
everywhere
— behind her and around her and there just in front of her where something watched, where something waited in the dark —

“Oh, God,” Martha whispered. “Oh —”

And she stood there, too terrified to move, and the trees shuddered as something shifted deep within their shadows —

And slipped away.

She felt it the second it happened.

As the mist curled silently around her, Martha felt the sudden yawning emptiness where something had just been, there before her in the night.

And finally, she was able to run.

Chapter 3

“You’re not taking this very well.” Conor rested his elbow on the open window and relaxed his other hand on the steering wheel.

“How should I take it? Jump for joy?” Martha banged her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “I can’t believe it. Two days here and the magazine needs him on assignment.”

“He’s very excited about it.”

“Of course he is. Sally’s going with him, and they’ll have a fine vacation.”

“Honeymoon,” Conor corrected. “We’re the ones who get the vacation.”

“From what?” Martha grumbled.

“Mom’s cooking.”

Martha glanced at him, almost wanting to laugh, but too upset to give him the satisfaction. Instead she slumped even lower in her seat, her mind in a dark, ugly whirl. She hadn’t told anyone about what had happened to her last night. By the time she’d raced back to the house, the phone call had come, and Dad had been too ecstatic to listen to anything, and she’d shut herself in her room to cry. How could Dad and Sally even
think
about taking a honeymoon now — even if Dad
was
on assignment in Hawaii? How could they even
think
of leaving her alone in that creepy old house with Conor and some horrible thing running loose in the woods!
I’ll never forgive them, I’ll
—