Welcome to the Dark House Read Online Free PDF Page A

back of the hearse, picturing my parents’ caskets—the
     cherry wood, the engraved crosses, the satin interior lining.
    “Welcome to the Dark House!” a voice bellows, pulling me back to earth.
    I turn to find a boy standing behind me. He’s probably my age, dressed in layers of
     gray and black. His wavy dark hair is held back with a bandanna, and there are silver
     hoops pierced through his eyebrow, nostril, and lip.
    “Are you one of the winners?” I ask him.
    “That depends…was Justin Blake born in Knoxville, Tennessee?”
    “Maybe?”
    “Errrh,” the boy lets out a game-show buzzer sound, denoting my wrong answer. “The correct
     response would’ve been yes. And if you were truly a Justin Blake fan you’d have known
     where he was born, as well as which schools he attended, and where he now lives. I’m
     Garth, by the way.” He extends his hand for a shake. His fingers are loaded with more
     sterling silver jewelry than I’ve ever seen in one place.
    “I’m Ivy.” I shake his hand, fully aware that my palms are cold and clammy. “I guess
     you could say that I’m a fairly new fan of Blake’s.”
    Garth closes the rear door of the hearse before moving around to the driver’s side
     window. “I can take things from here,” he tells the driver.
    As if I couldn’t feel more uneasy.
    Still, bags in hand, I follow him inside, relieved that it’s not creepy like the exterior.
     A wide open space is furnished with an L-shaped sofa, velvety chairs, and eclectic
     antiques—an artful blending of color, texture, and style. There’s a workstation by
     the far wall. Beyond it is a set of stairs, and rooms to the right and left. A large
     granite island separates the living room space from a state-of-the art kitchen so
     similar to the Spicy Italian Chef’s that I almost have to pinch myself. “Is that a
     real Pompeii oven?” I ask, pointing at it.
    Garth sniffs in my direction, evidentally too distracted by my smell—the scent of
     my essential oils maybe—to answer.
    “Has anyone else arrived yet?” I ask, my anxiety mounting by the moment.
    “Two chicks I’ve yet to see—one went for a walk, so says Midge, resident watchdog;
     the other won’t open her door…at least not for me.” He grins, as if the idea of that
     makes him proud. He leans forward to sniff the side of my face. “Is that A-positive
     I smell on you?”
    “A-positive?” I ask, wondering if that’s the name of a new perfume.
    “Your blood,” he attempts to explain. “It’s type A, right?”
    I don’t know how to respond—or if he’s even being serious.
    “I’ll bet you clot really well, don’t you?” He winks. “No coagulation problems for
     you.”
    “Welcome!” a woman says, coming down the stairs. She’s wearing a maid’s uniform—a
     black dress with a frilly bib apron over it—and there are little-girl ribbons in her
     hair. “You must be Ivy,” she says with a smile. “I was just turning down your bed.
     I know it’s a little early, but I figured you all might be tired. I see that you’ve
     met Garth.”
    Garth appears distracted again. He moves away, down the hall, into another room, slamming
     the door behind him. The noise makes my insides jump.
    “Everything okay?” the woman asks me. Her shimmery white hair matches her pearly teeth
     and the shadow on her lids. She reminds me of Southern Sally Cooks from the Food Channel.
    I manage to nod, trying to get a grip.
    “I’m Midge.” She smiles wider, exposing a shiny gold tooth. “You need anything, you
     just call on me. So what do you say…Are you ready to check out your room?”
    We go upstairs and down a long hallway. The floorboards creak beneath my step. “Here
     we are,” she says, opening the door to room number two.
    It’s larger than I expected, with two full beds. A giant, life-size cardboard cutout
     of Julia Child is positioned at the foot of one of them. “Wow,” I say, startled by
     the sight of Julia holding a