Shallow Grave Read Online Free PDF Page B

mess? We haven’t finished cleaning up.”
    I’m relieved she’s not going to fight me. “I’ll come back with a crew on Sunday and get it done. You’re off the hook.”
    Disappointment shadows her face. Because she can’t talk to the ghost? Or because she likes spending time with me?
    I’ll probably never know. What does it matter anyway? A guy like me and a girl like Shannon—it wouldn’t fly.
    Look at these stupid thoughts. I’d never even be thinking them if we weren’t in such a crazy situation. But adrenaline does crazy things to your brain.
    Like making you think that the girl with the purple hair is actually kind of cool.
    â€œHurry up,” I say gruffly.
    Shannon’s buttoning her coat. “Okay, okay,” she says. “I gotta pee first, though, before we leave.” Then her eyes get that little excited shimmer again. “And then on the way home, I’ll tell you who I think we were talking to!”
    I grunt and point to one of the kerosene lanterns. “Take that with you. And don’t go far,” I say, as she stoops to pick up a lantern.
    â€œâ€™Kay, Dad.” She grins. She wraps her scarf around her neck and tucks the ends into her coat. “Be right back. Don’t lock me out.”
    â€œIt’s tempting.”
    â€œPff.” She unhooks the door and pushes it open. A gust of wind snatches it from her hand and throws it wide, slamming it against the wall. My heart splurts into my throat and sticks there, pounding.
    â€œJesus Christ!” she yells. “What’s with the wind?” She steps down, leaving the door open behind her. I prop it open with the brick—firmly this time, no way I’m closing myself in with some dead thing—and turn back inside.
    I blow out two of the three remaining lanterns. As I cross the floor to blow out the third, my foot slips on the Ouija board. Better put that away.
    I stoop to pick up the lid from where it sits on top of the board. It’s still warm when my fingers touch it. Creepy.
    The lid’s still on GOODBYE.
    I grab it. “Yeah, goodbye. Nice talking to you.”
    The lid skids across the board.
    NO.
    I give off a little squeak and pull my hand back.
    Except it won’t come. It’s stuck.
    My hand is damn well stuck on the cap.
    I mean, really?
    That’s almost the worst part. Except it’s not.
    The worst part might even be when the lid starts moving over the letters, from one to the next to the next to the next while I watch, powerless to take my hand away. You’d think that was the worst. Except it’s not.
    The absolute worst part is when the boathouse door swings shut. Quietly. Just a little creak.
    And when I look up.
    And see the little hook dropping into the eye.
    All by itself.

Chapter Ten
    I stare at the door. The door that closed all by itself.
    Moved the brick.
    Closed.
    And locked itself.
    My head spins. I feel like I might puke.
    Under my fingers, the lid moves. I try to pull away, but it won’t let me. I go to stand, but it’s like my legs have been cast in concrete. I’m stuck in this squat. My fingers are stuck to the lid.
    I feel a sudden flash of heat, and my back breaks out in a sweat. Fear.
    I try to push the lid off with my other hand. No dice. Those fingers become trapped too. Gorilla glue.
    Now that both of my hands are on, the lid moves faster. With more purpose. My heart thrums as I watch—I can’t tear my eyes away. I’ve heard that Ouija boards make a lot of spelling mistakes.
    This one’s not making any mistakes at all.
    It’s spelling out the same letters. Same order.
    One name.
    Over. And over. And over.
    I nearly jump out of my shorts when something bangs on the door. Shannon.
    â€œElliot!” she yells. “Open up!”
    Bangbangbang.
    I try to stand, but the concrete’s still holding me down. “Hang on!” I yell. I pull, but my hands are stuck.