Free The Haunting of Heck House by Lesley Livingston Page B

riding doll-sized rocking horses—all of them draped in lace handkerchiefs, as if they were dressed as ghosts for Halloween.
    In Daphne’s room, the walls were covered with picture frames. Which was, the girls supposed, fairly normal. Except for the fact that every single one of them was turned around to face the wall.
    â€œHuh. Weird …”
    Cheryl reached out and turned the nearest frame around. It housed a black-and-white photographicportrait of a family—mom and dad and three kids: a boy and two girls who looked to range in age from about seven to ten.
    â€œHecklestone family ancestors?” Cheryl said.
    â€œGuess so,” Tweed agreed. “I gotta say, I’m not surprised Daphne has the pictures turned around if they all look like this. Who wants to go to bed every night with that bunch of sourpusses glaring at you?”
    She had a point. The expressions on the faces of the portrait subjects were uniformly unsmiling. Mom and Pop looked resigned, stern and a bit bored. But the three kids stared into the camera with the kind of intensity the girls could almost feel. Their eyes seemed to glitter darkly. Cheryl shivered and turned the photo back to face the wall.
    â€œOld pictures really creep me out,” she said. “Except, y’know, old pictures of the ‘moving’ variety.”
    Tweed nodded in total agreement.
    A sudden whispering, hissing noise sounded like it was coming from the hall. The girls turned back to see that another door was now open directly across the way. They exchanged a shrug and crossed the hall to find a large dressing room. The room was dark, but they could see, from the illumination cast by the glowing wall sconces out in the hall and the last blue gleam of dusk filtering through tall windows, that it was stocked with expensive-looking clothing—for both boys and girls—hanging from rows of hangers or tucked neatly into cubbyholes and dressers.
    â€œBoy, the Hecklestone kids have got a pretty sweet set-up here, don’tcha think?” Cheryl said.
    She looked over to see Tweed inspecting the black lace trim on a particularly gothic-looking gown and Cheryl could tell that she was moments away from drooling or trying it on.
    â€œOh, yeah.” Tweed sighed longingly.
    â€œWell, I guess once Mr. H gets the family settled in Wiggins, they’ll probably get homeschooled or shipped overseas to some kinda schmancy boarding school …”
    Cheryl wandered a few steps farther into the dressing room.
    Over along one wall stood three identical full-length mirrors, ornately framed and tall enough to double as doors. In the twilight gloom, she could see that, marring the polished surface of each looking glass—at varying heights and of varying, but all rather smallish, sizes— there was a handprint.
    â€œGuess it’s the maid’s day off,” she said dryly, and reached out with the hem of her shirt to wipe away one of the prints.
    Only … it seemed as if the handprint was on the inside of the mirror. She scrubbed at it, but it remained indelible. Cheryl pushed her glasses up her nose and peered closely at the smudge …
    WHAM!!
    â€œWhat the—?!” Cheryl jumped back, startled, as a hand, fitting the size of the print, suddenly slammed up against the mirror! Or so it seemed … Cheryl blinked and rubbed at her eyes and looked again. There was nothing there. She ran to the other mirror and thought she could see a figure, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, pressed up against the other side of the glass. “Who the—?!” In the third mirror, she thought she saw the flash of shiny black shoes running past. “Where the—?!”
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Tweed called from over by the rack of sumptuous dresses.
    â€œHit the lights!” Cheryl called and heard Tweed instantly scramble around, looking for a wall switch or pull chain. When she found it, there was a loud CLICK and the