The Shadowed Manse Read Online Free PDF

hear him thundering through the woods and heading straight toward her.
    Out of control and sprinting full-tilt, Arthur didn’t have enough time to stop or change course. All he could manage was to slow down a little.
    “Look out!”
    That got her attention — but it was too late. She turned around and shrieked as Arthur crashed into her. Together they tumbled down the slope, banged over rocks and tree limbs, and skidded through leaves and debris. Finally, they slid to a stop in a shallow puddle of mud just short of the stream.
    Arthur sat up with a groan, and then fell back and rolled around as a sharp pain spiked through his chest. At first, he thought he’d cracked a rib, but no. A piece of the broken plate over his heart had been jammed back into his ribs, and now the wound was bleeding again.
    Morgan pulled herself up. Her clothes — even on a Sunday she was wearing the same monochrome school uniform — were mud-splattered, and one sleeve was torn and bloodstained. A trickle of blood seeped from a scratch on her cheek. Nearby lay a busted pair of headphones and her iPhone — the sunlight glittering off its face revealing a spidery web of cracks.
    Her fierce storm-blue eyes were wide with shock … until they glanced up and focused on him — sparked with recognition — then narrowed in anger.
    Oh crap.
    Tears streamed from her eyes as she leapt to her feet and slapped him. “YOU JERK!”
    She reared back — he scooted away — she pursued. She attacked again. He threw his hands up to block, and she slapped him on the arm.
    “Ow!”
    Her slap wasn’t that hard, but his arms were already bruised and cut up.
    She tensed up and was about to attack again.
    “Stop it, Morgan!”
    She made her hands into fists and held them at her side. She stared at him, fuming — a cobra ready to strike.
    He stood and took a step back. “Morgan, I’m really sorry.” He glanced at the ridge above — no sign of the shades … yet. “I didn’t mean to run into you.”
    “Could’ve fooled me,” Morgan snapped. She rifled through her muddy backpack, muttering something about magnesium roll-cages and foam padding.
    “Do you really think I wanted to charge off that bluff?” he said.
    She shrugged. “I dunno. You are a —”
    “Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm a moron. You hate me, blah blah … I’ve got it. We don't have time for this. We can’t stay here. We have to leave.” 
    She didn't budge. With a stunned expression, she stammered, “I — I don't hate you, Arthur. Why would you think that?”
    “You really have to ask that?”
    “Arthur, I sit beside you in every class.”
    “Yeah, what's up with that? Who sits beside someone they hate?”
    “No one, you idiot.”
    “Then why do you sit beside me?”
    “Because we're friends … duh.”
    “Since when?!”
    “Since you told me we had a lot in common, being freaks and all.”
    “Morgan, that was last year!”
    “I’m aware of that.”
    “You told me I was a moron and … and that's about it.”
    “I started sitting beside you in class after that. Don’t you remember? And across the table at lunch …”
    “You've never said a word to me at lunch.” She shrugged in response. “If you think that makes us friends, then … then you really need to work on your social skills.”
    “I do,” she said gravely. “Two hours, every Thursday afternoon. It’s the worst.”
    “Wait, what?! No, don't answer. We don't have time for you to explain it.”
    Morgan flipped open her laptop and sighed with relief. “Not a total loss. Guess I’ll let you live.” She returned it to the backpack. “Why are you in such a hurry? And why were you running like an idiot?”
    He glanced up — still no sign of the shades. Had they lost the trail? He doubted it. They had been right behind him. What was taking them so long?
    “Look, you’re not going to believe me …”
    “Yeah, I probably won’t,” Morgan responded.
    “But there are these … shadow men … demons, I