Spookygirl - Paranormal Investigator Read Online Free PDF

the class stood in four straight, timid lines.
    “Okay, but—”
    “You’ve already missed five minutes of orientation. In line!”
    Her tone made me panicky. “Which line?”
    “Pick one!”
    If I’d had a tail, I would’ve tucked it between my legs. I left my bag near the wall with the others and retreated meekly to the shortest line. My face felt hot; being singled out always makes me blush, something that’s mortifyingly obvious when you’re as pale as I am. The coach went back toher orientation speech, yammering about attendance and doctor’s notes and gym clothes. Since I had no intention of staying in her class, I tuned out until I heard her holler, “Addison!”
    Oh, what now?
    “Get up here. I’m using you as an example of inappropriate footwear.”
    The lead weight in the pit of my stomach turned into a total cannonball. I trudged up beside her, while everyone stared at me.
    She pointed to my feet, but she addressed the entire group. “I don’t want to see shoes like this in my class. Proper sneakers only.”
    I looked down at my poor, defenseless Chucks. “These are sneakers.”
    “No arch support, bad traction, poorly padded soles,” she rattled off. “Make sure you have acceptable athletic shoes when we start dressing out next week. And those of you with long hair like this,” she continued, still gesturing toward me, “make sure it’s pulled back. Addison, back in line.”
    Fuming, I obeyed her latest command, letting my hair fall in my face in defiance.
    Ten minutes later she called over Coach Perelli, and they both walked us to the locker rooms. There the group split into girls and boys. Perelli followed the boys into theirlocker room, while Frucile followed the girls into ours.
    Everything was okay for about three seconds. Then I felt it. I felt it and I wanted to run. Something supernatural was in the locker room with us, and it wasn’t anything I wanted to know better. It built up around me like a storm cloud, all anger and rage, and hot, clammy fear, and the longer I stood there, the stronger it grew. It came from everywhere at once in the too-warm room. I felt its clammy tendrils wrapping around me, pulling me deeper, closer, toward a darkened alcove to the right.
    It usually takes a lot to scare me, but five minutes in the girls’ locker room did the trick.
    The presence was so strong—why couldn’t anyone else feel it? My classmates stood around looking bored and fiddling with their lockers while Frucile continued her orientation lecture, barking louder and faster than ever.
    “School-approved locks only! Locks are five dollars, which you’ll get back at the end of the semester if you return the lock in working condition. My office is over there,” she said, pointing to a closed-off space to the left of the main changing area. “And the showers are right here.” She walked to the dark alcove and hit a wall switch. A row of fluorescent ceiling lights buzzed to life, revealing a series of tiled stalls sporting meager green-and-yellow shower curtains.
    There was something so wrong in that alcove. Youcould’ve covered me in mud and dog crap, and I still wouldn’t have showered in there. I guess Frucile kept talking; I couldn’t hear her over the blood drumming in my ears. As the thing and its endless, invisible dread swirled around me—trapping, constricting—the edges of my vision began to go white. The air around me went freezing cold, then swelteringly hot again. I couldn’t breathe.
    I needed to get out of there. I spun around and went back into the gym. If the coach called after me, I didn’t hear. I couldn’t. There was only the roar of my pulse and that thing’s silent yet deafening rage.
    Back in the gym, I bent over, resting my hands on my knees. I could finally fill my lungs again; I had never before appreciated the simple luxury of a deep breath. I had no idea what had just happened; all I knew was that I’d never encountered anything like that before, and