Body of Immorality Read Online Free PDF Page A

end…
    “At least,” Carrie said, sighing.
    The meaning slipped away into the lifeless dark. You really could go mad in death. He was there now.
    A long pause followed.
    Hey, Carrie?
    He sighed, getting ready for eternity.
    “Yeah?”
    His nose began to itch.
    ’ Wanna play music trivia?

    If Not for all the Screaming…

    Five brothers and sisters gathered in the living room. Hector was the oldest at sixteen, gangly, ridden with freckles, and pale as a corpse. Bright red hair and unctuous skin marked him as the unseemly troublemaker of the family; the perfect delinquent. The youngest was Dottie at five. Unlike her brothers and sisters, she’d acquired a mystery of blonde curls no one could explain. Michael was naïve and gullible at eight. His hair and eyes were a deep, root-beer brown. Redheaded Cathleen—the spitfire among them—was ten. She was fearless and feral in a beguiling way, the urchin of the family. Samantha, though younger than Hector, was the more mature and responsible one at fourteen. Similar to Michael, she’d inherited the darker features and same brown eyes as their mother. Her hair was thick and brown, curling to the middle of her back.
    Hector was too irresponsible to tend the kids alone. He’d abandoned them once, when he should’ve been babysitting, to hang out with friends. Whenever their parents went out, Samantha was the one left in charge. Hector, usurped from his throne, was still fuming about it.
    Tonight, it was a cocktail party at the Jones’. They wouldn’t be back until late.
    “Make sure Dot is fed and put to bed on time, Sam,” Mother had said. “Cathleen and Michael can stay up ’til midnight. That’s okay. And well…You know Hector. He won’t be changing the world anytime soon.”
    Samantha nodded, giggling, not wanting to disappoint her mother.
    Now, she tried rallying the troops to no avail. Despite the change in command, Hector was intent on running things his way.
    Maybe his friends are committing crimes without him tonight, Samantha thought.
    Wind screamed through the neighborhood. Gusts rattled the windows and doors of the house on Humboldt Street. Thunder rumbled, echoing in the distance.
    Already, Samantha knew the night would have its trials. Hector wore a mischievous smile. With his red hair and bright freckles, he looked like a demented jack-o-lantern. Poor Hector had never been attractive. She tried to remember if a girl had ever called for him. There was a sweet justice in that.
    “Somebody get some candles,” Hector said.
    They discussed what to do for the evening. Cathleen suggested telling ghost stories, and Hector readily accepted the idea. Michael objected with a whine, fear paling his face. Dottie was too young to grasp terror’s delicious concepts, as far as horror stories were concerned. She simply went along for the ride.
    Cathleen—the prodigy of mischief, despite the misleading blue ribbons in her hair—retrieved the candles. She set them up throughout the living room: one on the fireplace mantle, another on the end table by the sofa, the last in the middle of the coffee table.
    “I don’t think we should tell scary stories,” Samantha suggested. “We might scare Dot.”
    Dottie looked up in her defense. Hector made a mocking face as if to say, ‘Don’t even try it, goody-two-shoes. Momma’s little helper.’
    “C’mon!” he said. “It’ll be fun.”
    Famous last words, Samantha thought. If nothing else, it would be fun.
    Fun he promised. Tragedy he delivered.
    “I don’t want to tell scary stories,” Michael whined. A worried look crossed his face.
    “Quit being such a baby,” Hector told him. “I swear you act like a girl sometimes. Jesus!”
    Hector laughed. Michael turned bright red. Cathleen said something in defense to the women of the world, but no one listened.
    “I hate it when you say that,” Michael said, on the verge of tears. “Quit calling me names!”
    “Pee head,” Hector said, smirking.
    “Stop