The Secret of Crickley Hall Read Online Free PDF Page B

anxiously. 'He's looking very sorry for himself.'
    'Let him sulk for a while,' said Gabe. 'I'll get him in a minute. He's gotta get used to this place.'
    Percy carefully put his cup back onto the saucer. He said gravely: 'Pets don't shine to Crickley Hall.'
    Eve returned her gaze to the mongrel, feeling sorry for Chester sitting out there all alone, evidently confused by their long journey away from the home he had always known. Even from the kitchen window she could see that Chester was shivering.
    She tapped on the glass to get his attention while the two men behind her continued talking. But the dog wouldn't look her way. He seemed rapt on something quite close to him.
    The swing. The swing was swaying gently, but more so than before, when they had first arrived: back and forth it went, almost as if someone—a child—were sitting on it. But of course it was empty.
    Must be the wind, Eve thought. But then, although it was raining, the leaves and the tree branches were perfectly still, as were the shrubbery and the longer tufts of grass. There was no wind.
     

 
     

    5: LOREN CALEIGH
     
    Wearing a yellow Fat Face long-sleeved T-shirt and beige fatigues more suited to summer than autumn, Loren pulled up her younger sister's baby-blue bedsheet and plumped up the Shrek and Princess Fiona pillow. She reached for the colourful Shrek, Fiona and Donkey duvet at her feet and dragged it up onto the narrow bed, which was twin to her own bed a few feet away. Dad and 'Uncle' Vern had brought them from their real home and put them together a week ago (she and Cally had slept in the spare room until the move). Her long brown hair hung over her face as she tucked the duvet's end and sides under the mattress and when she stood upright there was a frown marring her features.
    Loren was at that sensitive, awkward stage of being neither a teenager nor a child, a time when hormones were kicking in and sudden outbreaks of tears were not uncommon. Her thin arms and legs were beginning to develop beyond cuteness. Although she didn't feel it, she was just a normal pre-teenager.
    She didn't like Crickley Hall, she didn't like it at all. Away from her friends, having to start a new school on Monday where she would stand out like a freak, a city girl among country bumpkins. It wasn't fair. It was too harsh.
    Then she remembered the main reason for the temporary move. It wasn't just because of Dad's job—he often spent weeks away from home on various engineering assignments. No, this time it was because they had to get Mummy away from their proper house. Loren's eyes glistened as she thought of Cameron; what a lovely little brother he was. Now he was gone and Mummy still hadn't got over it. It hadn't been her fault. Mummy was tired and couldn't help falling asleep on the park bench. Cam had just wandered off and someone bad had taken him. Loren tried to imagine who could be that bad, what wicked person would snatch a small boy away and keep him all this time. Why didn't they bring him back, or let him go so that the police or someone kind could find him and bring him home to his family? Who could be that dreadful?
    She brushed at her damp eyes with the back of one hand. Dad said they had to be strong for Mummy's sake and she, Loren, had done her best. She rarely cried over Cam any more even though she missed him terribly; she almost had right then because she was in a strange place and was already feeling homesick.
    She leaned forward to straighten the duvet and as she did so she caught something moving out of the corner of her eye. Something small had walked past the doorway—no, had run past the bedroom door. She hadn't heard footsteps, but she had definitely seen a blur go past.
    It must be Cally. It seemed to be her size even if it was rushed.
    'Cally?' Loren called out. 'Is that you out there?'
    No reply.
    She walked to the open door and looked along the balustraded landing that ran round two sides of the big hall.
    Nothing. No one