Free The Dead Ones (Death Herself Book 3) by Amy Cross

results. He keeps alternating, alive one time and dead the next. I tell myself that this is impossible, but for several minutes I repeat the experiment over and over, and every time it's the same.
    Once he's alive again, I stare down at him, watching as he struggles with his broken wing.
    “What's going on with you?” I mutter, leaning closer to get a better look at him. “How are you -”
    Suddenly I hear a loud bump from somewhere else in the house, and I realize instantly that it came from Malcolm's room.
    I wait.
    Silence.
    “Okay buddy,” I whisper, looking back down at Rudolph. “Hang tight and we'll figure this out. I just have to go check on something first.”
    After setting the lid back on the shoebox, I head to the door. All my life, I've been absolutely certain that ghosts aren't real, and I'm damn well not going to let that certainty start fading now. I want to just stay here in the front room and ignore any weird sounds I might hear, but at the same time I know that I have to confront my fears. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to head along the corridor until I get to the door, and then I stop as I realize I can hear footsteps coming from inside my brother's old room, as if someone is pacing about in there. I take another deep breath, trying to calm my racing pulse, but I know there's only one thing I can do to deal with my fears.
    Stepping forward, I enter the room.
    The footsteps stop on a dime.
    I wait.
    Nothing.
    “Malcolm?” I whisper, even though I feel incredibly dumb for asking such a stupid question. Taking another step forward, I look around the room, but nothing seems to have changed since I was in here a few minutes ago. I guess -
    Suddenly the door slams shut behind me. I turn, and in a flash of panic I half expect to see Malcolm waiting for me. Taking a step back, I almost trip against the bed's metal frame, but I manage to stay on my feet even as I bump against the wall. My heart is pounding so fast now, I feel as if it might burst out of my chest, but I don't dare go to the door and get out of here, not yet. Besides, I keep telling myself that the only thing to fear is my own irrationality, so I force myself to stay so that I can see that there's no ghost. I mean, there can't be ghost, it's impossible.
    At the same time, broken-winged birds shouldn't be able to flip between life and death, either. Clearly something strange is happening in this house right now.
    “Malcolm?” I whisper again, hoping to force the issue. “I know you're not here. If you're here, then let me see you.”
    I wait.
    “Please,” I add under my breath, “just let it stop.”
    A moment later, I hear a loud banging sound from the other end of the house, as if another door has been slammed shut. I stay rooted to the spot, listening to footsteps hurrying along the corridor, but after a moment they stop just outside the room.
    I wait.
    “Malcolm?” I call out. “Is that you?”
    There's a pause, and then the door swings open as my mother bursts into the room.
    “What the hell are you doing in here?” she shouts.
    “Nothing,” I murmur, hurrying across the room and trying to slip past her. I immediately smell booze on her breath, and I'm not quick enough to avoid her grabbing my collar. Swinging me around, she slams me into the side of the door and then pushes me to the ground.
    “Who told you to go in there?” she screams.
    “I just -”
    “Who told you?”
    “No-one, but -”
    Reaching down, she grabs my arm and starts pulling me along the corridor. I try to twist free, but she soon has me through to the front room and then she drags me to the front door.
    “Don't you dare go into your brother's room!” she yells, pulling the door open and then shoving me outside with all the fury and strength of a beer-fueled tirade. “Who told you to go in there? No-one, that's who! Until you can learn to obey orders and respect other people's property, you'll stay outside like the common animal that you