The Society of S Read Online Free PDF

Kathleen said, and the others urged me on. I ripped through the paper to find barrettes for my hair, scented soap, a votive candle inside a blue glass flower, a CD (the Cankers, of course), and a disposable camera.
    “For you to take pictures of your house, to show us,” Michael said.
    “But you can come and see it for yourself,” I said.
    He shook his head. “Mom said no.”
    Mrs. McG was in the kitchen, so I couldn’t find out why she’d said that. I told myself I’d ask her later.
    “Thank you all so much,” I said.
    When they lit the birthday candles and sang to me, I nearly cried — but not for reasons you might think. Standing behind the heat of the small pink candles, watching them, I was struck by how united they were, how they all, down to the mongrel dog, belonged together. For the first time in my life I did feel lonely.

    After dinner, the McGarritt family congregated in the living room to watch TV. They squabbled about what to watch, then compromised: first, a documentary for everyone; then the adults would take the younger McGarritts to bed and leave the three of us to watch what we liked.
    An odd experience, watching television for the first time at the age of thirteen. The enormous screen flickered with colors and forms; it seemed alive. The sound didn’t seem to come from the screen, but from the walls around us. When a lion fought with a hyena, I had to close my eyes; the images were too vivid, too real.
    The sound that broke the spell of the TV was Michael’s voice. He sat behind me (Kathleen and I were on floor cushions), and he had the habit of interjecting comments, as if the animals themselves were speaking. A soulful-looking lion on a hill gazed down on grazing antelope said, “Can I have fries with that?”
    We all laughed, Even when I didn’t get the joke, I laughed. But Michael’s father found it annoying and made him stop.
    When the documentary ended, Mr. and Mrs. McG gathered up the young ones and left the room. I sat up.
    “Where’re you going?” Michael said. “The fun is about to begin.” He took the control mechanism and made the TV change images. Next thing I knew, we were watching my first vampire movie.

    Maybe it was the closeness of the room, or the dominance of the enormous screen, or the large slice of cake I’d had after a large dinner. Or maybe it was the movie itself: the pale creatures with fangs who slept in coffins, rising at night to drink human blood. Whatever the cause, about ten minutes into the movie a wave of nausea came over me.
    I ran to the bathroom and had shut the door when the second wave hit. Clutching the sides of the toilet, I shut my eyes as I retched. I didn’t open them until my stomach was empty, and the spasms subsided.
    The tap water was cold, and I splashed some onto my face. In the mirror over the sink I saw a wavering image of my face, white, beaded with perspiration, my eyes dark and large. I opened my mouth and splashed water over my teeth and tongue to take away the sourness, and when I looked again, the face in the mirror wasn’t mine.
    Have you ever seen, in your reflection, someone else’s face? It boldly stared back at me: beady animal eyes, a snout for a nose, a mouth like a wolf ’s, canine teeth long and pointed. I heard a voice (my voice) pleading, “No, no.”
    Then, just as suddenly, it was gone. My own frightened eyes gazed at me; my dark hair lay damp around my face. But when I opened my mouth, my teeth had changed; they seemed larger, the canine teeth more pointed.
    “Ari?” Kathleen’s voice came from outside.
    I flushed the toilet, washed my hands, pushed back my hair. “I’m okay,” I said.

    Too much party — that was Kathleen’s diagnosis. “You don’t want to go home, do you?”
    “Of course not.” But I didn’t want to talk all night, either. “I need some sleep,” I said.
    What I really wanted was time to think. But once Kathleen turned out the lights, I fell asleep almost at once, and