All Hallows' Eve Read Online Free PDF Page A

short time she'd had her back turned.
    And she would have heard.
    Wouldn't she?
    The rain was still hitting the back of the barn with enough force that it almost sounded like hail.
    She walked around the downstairs section, circling the mannequins, the bales of hay, shining her flashlight into each gloomy corner.
    There was definitely no one down here.
    The doors rattled.
    But that was just the wind.
    She was fairly sure.

    She shone the light up into the loft again and weighed her options. It was almost impossible that anybody was up there, but she knew she couldn't remain in this barn without making sure. There was probably nobody outside, either, but that was more plausible than that there was somebody in here. If she left the barn, to get away from the person who probably wasn't in the loft, she might run into the person who might be outside. And, more likely, she could have a lightning-struck branch fall on her, or she could trip and twist her ankle from the slickness underfoot, or she could catch pneumonia. And she'd have to explain why she'd left the barn, and the others would know how badly spooked she'd been, and they'd laugh at her and say she was too young to work here after all.
    There is,
she assured herself,
nobody in the loft.
    She looked around for a weapon. Just in case. The pitchfork in chair-guy's chest, the ax that had severed Anne Boleyn's head, the knife held by the man murdering the wench—all those were plastic. There had to be a real pitchfork somewhere around the barn, but it was put away so nobody could hurt themselves with it.
    As she was likely to do—even if she could find it—if she tried climbing the ladder with it.
    Ashley wound the wire from the headset's battery pack around her hand, figuring she could climb with that and, potentially, use it to smack any intruder. She put her foot on the lowest rung of the ladder and realized the flashlight made climbing dangerous. It was too fat: She couldn't hold it
and
get a secure grip on the ladder. What good would she accomplish if she proved to herself she was alone but fell to her death doing so? She tried holding the end of the flashlight in her mouth, but—besides being gross—she was too likely to gag.

    So she set the flashlight down on the floor, pointing up into the loft so she could see.
    Ashley once more set foot onto the lowest rung. She took a steadying breath, then climbed all in a rush, hesitating only when the top of her head came even with the floor of the loft.
    She gave a quick peek.
    Nothing
waiting
for her, anyway.
    She scrambled the rest of the way up, then swung the battery pack, just in case anyone came lunging out of one of the corners. But the only thing it made contact with was her own wrist.
    See,
she chided herself.
    Then she
did
see it, a crouched figure in the right-hand corner. The light from the flashlight was too dim for her to make out any details. She swung the battery pack again, and it broke loose from the wire, hitting the floor down below with a dull thud. But the shadow didn't approach, or move. Or make a sound.

    That gave her the courage to take a step closer.
    It was the stupid suicidal dummy from last year, abandoned and shoved into this far corner in disgrace.
    Ashley realized how raggedly she had been breathing.
    It smelled of dusty heat up here, despite the coolness of the October night, the air thick and hard to breathe.
    But she stayed long enough to check behind the dummy, behind the hay bales—though nothing bigger than a medium-sized dog could have hidden behind them. Still. Just to be sure.
    She was embarrassed with herself for being as silly as a grade-school kid scaring herself with her own campfire story. The storm was still close, but moving away, though it had brought a cold front in with it. But the force of the rain was lessening, and most people would rather see the show even if it was cold and drizzling out. If Nikko was right about no other lightning in the area...
    But, no, she