Once Upon a Halloween Read Online Free PDF Page B

breakfast, the scrambled eggs suddenly get all bloody."
        Mandy shook her head. "They said that?"
        "Yes they did."
        "Cross your heart and hope to die?"
        "No hoping to die," Jeff threw in quickly.
        "Anyway, they told me all sorts of neat stuff. Like how a burglar broke in once and almost got hanged by Mr. Witherspoon."
        "By his ghost?" Mandy asked.
        "Yeah!"
        "Oh, sure," said Phyllis.
        "So anyway I asked them if they'd come to school and talk to Mrs. Carter's class about it."
        "They must've gone over big." Mandy said.
        "Well, Laura wanted to do it. She makes paintings of ghosts and graves and stuff. She was gonna bring them in this week, only Mrs. Carter said no."
        "What a stool," Mandy said, frowning.
        Jeff tried not to smile. "Be nice."
        "Well, she is. You know? I know there's no such thing as ghosts, but they're neat."
        "Mrs. Carter was probably just afraid of getting into trouble," Jeff explained. "Teachers can't do much of anything these days without someone causing a stink."
         "She's the one who stinks," Bret said.
        "A cowardly stool," Mandy added.
        Phyllis laughed.
        "Heck," Mandy said, "I'd like to see those paintings."
        "Me, too," Phyllis said.
        "You oughta hear her ghost stories," Bret added.
        In a suddenly chipper voice, Phyllis said, "Why don't we go back? Maybe she'll open the door this time."
        Jeff shook his head. "I don't think so. We were just there. If they wanted company, they would've opened the door then. I don't think we should bother them again. Let's just keep going."
        "But she might let us look at her paintings," Mandy said.
        "Maybe we'll get to see the ghosts," said Bret.
        Though they both sounded hopeful, Jeff shook his head. "Sorry. Maybe some other time."
        "Oh, sure," Phyllis said. "Some overtime. That's a good one."
        

CHAPTER EIGHT
        
        "Come out, come out, wherever you are." It was a woman's teasing, sing-song voice.
        But not Laura's voice.
        Not Shannon's.
        It sounded very much like the voice of the woman who had picked up the phone a few minutes ago. And it sounded as if she might already be at the top of the stairs.
        Was it the blonde with the sword or the brunette with the hatchet?
        Though only one had just spoken, Hunter supposed that both might've come looking for him. Maybe the guy, too. Why not all three? No reason for any of them to stay downstairs, not if they'd killed Laura and Shannon.
         And now they'll kill me.
         If they can find me.
        In search of a hiding place, Hunter had hurried past Shannon's bedroom, followed the hallway to the end of the stairwell railing, then cut across and entered a room that was utterly dark. Halting just inside, he 'd flicked on a light.
        Not a bedroom. A studio?
        Paintings everywhere. A couple on easels, many hanging on walls, others leaning against scattered furniture, and dozens propped against walls.
        Graves, ghosts, dead people...
        Leaning against a far comer of the room was a framed painting about four feet high. A happy-looking kid sitting on top of a tombstone, eating an ice cream cone.
        After a glance at it, Hunter had switched off the light and made his way toward it in the darkness. He'd walked slowly, feeling his way, careful not to bump into easels or trip on artwork or furniture.
        Finding the painting, he'd tilted it forward, stepped into the triangle of space behind it, then squatted down and eased it back into place.
        "Where arrrrre you?" the woman called.
         Go away!
        She won't go away, Hunter knew. She'll find me and kill me.
        "Come out, come out."
        She sounded closer, now. Somewhere in the hallway, not far from the bedroom door.
        Is she by herself?