Free 09 The Clue at Black Creek Farm by Carolyn Keene Page B

behind the coop, followed by more panicked clucking. I quickly grabbed the lantern, turned it on, and started to run down the hill, then paused. Should I wake up Bess and George?
    Whatever was going on in the chicken coop, it clearly wasn’t someone poisoning the crops. I’ll go check it out quickly. It could just be an animal—or a family member feeding them. The chickens sounded upset, but my dealings with chickens so far had convinced me they weren’t the brightest of animals. I wasn’t ready to sound the alarm over a few angry chickens.
    I shoved my phone into my pocket and scurried down the hill, trying not to make a sound. I darted into the storage barn, which was completely dark except for the glow from my lantern.
    â€œHello?” I asked. “Anyone out here? Sam? Abby?”
    I crept through the barn, heading toward the back door to check on the chicken coop. Halfway across, I stumbled and tripped. As I tumbled to the ground, the lantern slipped from my grip, rolling across the barn and extinguishing as it crashed into the wall. I was left in near-total darkness, with only a few bars of dim light filtering through the barn’s slats.
    I could make out loud sounds coming from the coop now: banging and scraping. The chickens were going crazy.
    I slowly got to my feet, peering around for the lantern, but it was too difficult to make out in the near blackness. Instead I tiptoed toward what I hoped was the barn’s back door, toward the sound of the clucking chickens. I felt the edge of the barn wall and made my way to the door.
    I peered around the corner of the door and gasped.
    The screen door to the coop opened with a creak, and a dark figure wearing a bulky black hoodie stood silhouetted in the dim light. A black hoodie like Bob’s, Irealized. I stared at the figure, squinting to see though the gloom, but the murky darkness made it impossible to identify the person. The chickens screamed as he or she emerged, and I could see that the person was holding two chickens by the neck. A cloud of feathers puffed out of the coop after them. The figure walked a few steps and then stopped short. He or she turned slowly, and my blood chilled.
    The figure was looking right at me. The early morning light lit him or her from behind, making it impossible to identify the person.
    The figure passed one of the chickens to the other hand and pulled something from his or her waistband.
    I felt my breath catch as the item caught the orange light from the sky.
    It was a long, curved blade.
    The figure turned the chickens clutched in his or her hand slowly, and in the dim light I could see they were stained with blood.
    I choked out a gasp. Even though I knew any case could turn deadly, I hadn’t really expected to find someone dangerous on the farm that night. Whoever was sabotaging the farm was just spraying bacteria on a bunch of vegetables. Potentially deadly bacteria, sure. But it wasn’t a violent act in itself.
    I had to get away! I closed my fingers around the phone in my pocket, but I was too late. The figure dropped the chickens—the dead chickens, I thought with sickening dread—and ran toward me. I yanked my hand from my pocket and ran.
    I lunged away, nearly tripping over my feet in my haste to escape. He has a knife! And he’s coming after me!
    I headed back toward the hill and the tent but quickly thought better of it. Bess and George were probably safe where they were. If this person even knew they were there, it would be a while before he or she could get to them. Instead I ran for the house.
    The figure was just a few yards behind me, gaining fast. I willed my feet to go faster, my lungs to hold out. Just get me to the house. . . . It was maybe fifty yards away, over a plowed field of eggplant. There was no time to veer around the crops. I ran right through them. I wasjust a few feet from the narrow backyard when my foot got tangled in a vine and I felt myself