Free The Ghosts of Stone Hollow by Zilpha Keatley Snyder Page B

Stone Hollow. As they zigzagged up the face of the hill, she noticed that Caesar was not exploring smells and running in circles as he usually did. Instead he was running ahead of them, his head up and high and his ears pointed straight forward. Amy’s heart was thundering as they reached the top of the hill, and she knew it was not just from the strain of the climbing.
    Below them the narrow canyon that had been formed by the water of Stone Hollow Creek spread out into a small valley surrounded by steep hills. At the downward side of the valley, the creek disappeared into a deep and narrow ravine, so that the valley looked like an oblong bowl marred at one end by a narrow crack. Part of the valley floor had been cleared of trees, but near the center a few huge oaks remained, and it was there that the Italian family had built their little house.
    The shack stood in the deep shade of the old trees, its roof sagging crazily and its doors and windows gaping like the eyes and mouth of a frightened face. Amy had thought of that when she saw the house before—that it looked as if it were crying out in fear.
    “Look,” she whispered to Jason. “Even the house looks frightened.”
    But Jason didn’t answer. He was standing stiffly, staring down into the valley, with his head slightly turned as if he were listening to something from below. Beside him, Caesar was doing the same thing, his head cocked and his ears cupped forward. Amy moved closer and as she put her hand on Caesar’s back, she could feel that he was trembling.

chapter eight
    S ILENCE. ONE OF the first things that Amy noticed as they started down into the Hollow was the silence, a kind of quietness that made even the slightest sound echo and throb like the whistle of a train. Amy found herself listening avidly to a single faint bird call and then, as they neared the oak trees, to the occasional rasping whisper of an invisible breeze.
    Ahead of her, Jason walked light and quick, looking around eagerly; and not far away, Caesar trotted purposefully, stopping now and then to listen and sniff the air. Once or twice he whined softly deep in his throat.
    Hurrying, Amy caught up with Jason and grabbed his arm. “Look,” she whispered. “Look at Caesar. He looks as if he’s searching for something.”
    Jason nodded. “Or someone,” he said.
    They had reached the oak grove now, and just ahead of them, in the deep shade, was the old shack. Its roof and porch sagged, and its glassless windows stared out at them as blankly as the empty eyes of a skull.
    Amy hung back. “Let’s not go in,” she said, and then as Jason glanced at her without stopping, “Did you really go inside before? I mean, have you really been in there?”
    “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s not the house.”
    “What do you mean? What’s not the house?”
    “I mean that it doesn’t come from inside the house. You can feel it in there sometimes, but it comes from someplace else.”
    “What does?” Exasperation, mixed with fear, made her voice come out in a breathy squeak. “What are you talking about?”
    The squeak was embarrassing, but it did accomplish something, because Jason stopped and really looked at her for the first time since they started down into the Hollow. “I don’t know,” he said. “Not really. Whatever it is that makes it different here. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it.”
    “Right now?” Amy asked. “Can you feel it right now?”
    Jason stopped and seemed to be listening. His face tilted upward, and his strange wide eyes seemed to grow larger and flicker with points of dancing light, like the eyes of a playful cat. After a moment he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I can feel it. Can’t you?”
    Amy tried, standing as he had done with her face turned up. She felt as hard as she could—and after a moment a strange prickle tingled up her back and into the roots of her hair.
    “I’m not sure,” she said. “But I’m frightened. I’m sure about