Free Mothman's Curse by Christine Hayes Page A

to keep them from being sold. Just in case.

    Late in the afternoon, we were on a snack break—Aunt Barb’s homemade scones with honey—when someone knocked at the kitchen door. It was Marcus Crabtree, a regular customer at Fox’s auctions who was a year older than me and who walked like a gorilla. Fox didn’t open the door but motioned through the window for Marcus to meet us out at the Cave.
    Aunt Barb was on the phone again. We mouthed that we were going outside, and she waved us away. We grabbed our coats and jogged out to where Marcus waited, clutching a foot-tall statue of Elvis in one huge fist.

    â€œI want my money back, Fletcher. This thing isn’t haunted and you know it. It hasn’t moved once since I overpaid you for it two weeks ago.” His words reminded me that Fox was due to hold another “haunted” auction soon. Now that we were being haunted for real, it seemed pointless and childish.
    Fox took the statue and examined it from head to toe. “Hmmm. Now, we do have a strict no-return policy, but it’s bad business to have an unhappy customer. Would you consider trading it for another item?”
    â€œI just want my money.”
    â€œYou did exactly what I told you, right? Kept it in a darkened room, away from direct sunlight? The owner was a coal miner when he was still alive. Couldn’t stand bright light.”
    â€œHow am I supposed to see if it does anything if it’s in a dark room? I carried it around with me in my backpack.”
    â€œAh, now, there’s your second problem,” Fox said. “The owner was claustrophobic; he didn’t like small, confined spaces.”
    â€œHow can a miner be claustrophobic, moron?”
    â€œYour guess is as good as mine. But what you need is dark, open space for this piece. Under those conditions, the statue is guaranteed to move at least once, if not every night.”
    Marcus sneered. “It only moves at night? So what—I gotta stay up all night to see if it does anything?”
    â€œHow many ghosts come out in the middle of the day?” Fox said.
    â€œWell, none—”
    â€œOkay, then. Take the statue home, give it two more weeks under the conditions I specified, and you’re sure to see results.”
    â€œLook, Fletcher, I think you’re full of it. Now, maybe if you’d let me trade this for something from the Goodrich estate…”
    There it was.
    â€œMy family is auctioning the Goodrich estate, not me.” Fox’s smooth tone gained a brittle edge.
    â€œWhat was in that old house of theirs, anyway?” Marcus said. “I heard that old geezer was a hoarder, that the place was crawling with roaches.”
    I could tell Fox wanted to take on this idiot. On a normal day he would probably have used jokes and flattery to tame the guy’s nasty temperament, but today Fox’s green eyes were stormy, like he was itching for something to hit, and Marcus was the perfect target. But Marcus was also a foot taller than Fox and twice as wide.
    â€œI’m so sorry, Marcus, but I’ve just remembered something I have to do. Would you excuse us?” He tried to push past the bigger boy, but Marcus put out a pudgy hand to stop him.
    â€œNo. I came here to get my money back, or at the very least get some good dirt on the Goodrich place, and I’ve just decided I’m not leaving without both.”
    The mood in the tiny room shifted. It felt closer, darker, like storm clouds closing in. The air grew cold.
    I’d never seen Fox in a situation he couldn’t talk his way out of. But Marcus wasn’t backing down. I was glancing around for something I could use as a weapon if the need arose when:
    BANG!
    The door blew open with a sound like a gunshot. It closed again with the same violence. Over and over the door flew open and shut, open and shut.
    Our breath clouded the air around us. The table in the center of the room began to