Free Mothman's Curse by Christine Hayes Page B

rattle and tremble.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Marcus said. He advanced again on Fox, statue raised threateningly. “You think your little tricks will help—”
    The window shattered inward. Glass flew everywhere. We threw ourselves flat on the ground, covering our heads. Fox and I tried to take refuge under the table, but it shook so much we couldn’t get near it. Something ripped the statue out of Marcus’s hand. It flew across the room and crashed into one wall, then the opposite wall. The head shattered. Now jagged and deadly, it hovered in the air above Marcus, as if someone stood poised to take a swing at him.
    Marcus ran. Out the door, through the trees, and out of sight.
    We stood and edged toward the door, watchful for any new threats, but the statue fell harmlessly to the floor. The table stilled. The door snicked shut.
    Fox and I stared at the statue, then at each other. I reached over and brushed bits of glass from his hair.
    â€œI’m guessing that was Goodrich,” I said, my voice not quite steady. “Did he just … save us?”
    He scratched his head. “Looks like.”
    â€œHow can this be happening?” I squeezed my eyes shut as I counted to ten in my head. “If that was Goodrich, he obviously doesn’t need the cameras to get through to us. What does he want?”
    Fox sat down at the table, drumming his fingers on the scarred surface. “In the storeroom, he kept saying ‘save them.’ It was written on that paper from the safe, too. Maybe he’s hung up on the fact that he and his wife couldn’t stop the landslide. Maybe he still thinks it’s 1975. I mean, he died an old man, but in the Polaroids, he looks like he did back then. I wonder…” He jumped up and headed for the door.
    â€œWhere are you going?”
    â€œI’ll be right back. I just want to try something.”
    â€œWait, don’t—” I started, but he was already off and running toward the house. “Leave me here alone,” I finished, wrinkling my nose at the glass scattered across the floor.
    I was scraping the glass into the corner with my shoe when Fox returned with a Polaroid camera hanging around his neck.
    â€œYou’re kidding,” I said. “You’re the one who said you wanted to be done with this, remember? Where did you get that?”
    â€œCoat closet. There was a whole box of old cameras in there, just like Dad said. I’m surprised Mason hasn’t gotten to them yet.”
    â€œWhat’s it for?”
    â€œSo far we’ve only seen Goodrich through items that he owned—his TVs, his cameras. I wanted to see what happened if we used our own camera.”
    Why not? I thought, slumping down in the nearest chair to watch.
    Fox checked for film, and when he didn’t find any, he pointed the camera at the wall and pressed the button.
    A photo slid out and fell to the floor.
    â€œHow is he doing that?” I yelled, nudging the picture with my toe. The same familiar image of Goodrich appeared soon after.
    At least his lips weren’t moving.
    â€œGuess he’s got a thing for cameras,” Fox said. “Old ones, anyway.”
    A burst of laughter escaped me before I knew it was coming.
    Fox looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “What?”
    â€œI was just thinking about the look on Marcus’s face.”
    Fox snickered. “Think he’ll be back?”
    â€œNope.”
    A breath of wind gusted through the broken window, stealing away the lighter mood.
    â€œSo … what now?” I said. “This has to stop. Goodrich could have killed Marcus with that statue.”
    â€œSeems like he could hurt any of us if he really wanted to, but he hasn’t.”
    â€œNot yet. What about all this glass? We’re lucky we didn’t get cut. And what about Mason? He was so scared, Fox.”
    â€œI know.” Fox jammed his hands into his pockets.