Free A Shiver At Twilight by Erin Quinn Page A

her.”
     
    Sissy’s hand settled over Carly’s heart and the scream that had banked within her throat tore free and burst from her mouth. It was long and harsh, burning as it came out. The front door burst open and footsteps raced at her. But she couldn’t look away from the place where Sissy had stood. She couldn’t stop shaking. She couldn’t stop feeling that freezing invasion as Sissy passed her hand right through Carly’s chest.
     
    “Carly,” JD said, grabbing her shoulders and turning her to face him. “Christ, I was out getting wood. I heard you scream. What happened? Are you okay?”
     
    He was freezing, wet from the snow outside but she pressed herself to him anyway. A low, tortured sound came from deep in her throat.
     
    “Carly, honey, what happened?”
     
    He pulled her closer still. His hands moved over her back, pressing her into him as if he meant to absorb her completely. She wanted that. She wanted to be a part of him.
     
    “There’s an attic,” she whispered.
     
    Somewhere in the house a clock struck midnight in long, agonized tones.
     
    With each echoing bong, the house began to creak and moan. The sounds came in waves, building with each measure, insidious, pulsating. Carly had been lulled by the silence, the lovemaking, and the connection with JD as she’d lain in his arms. She’d almost managed to convince herself what had happened earlier wasn’t real.
     
    Now she stared at the walls anxiously, watching them vibrate to some mysterious and sinister tempo. The ancient chandelier that hung in what must have been the dining room began to sway back and forth and the panes at the front door rattled. The floor overhead shuddered and dust rained down. The house felt caught in a quake.
     
    A howling groan that sounded more human than possible rose up in crescendo and then the shaking stopped and the wind stilled. It left them with an eerie sense of waiting. Waiting, for something they didn't want to come.
     
    Faintly at first, and then louder with each reiteration, the sound of thumping traveled down the stairs. It came in a desolate rhythm, stopped then repeated. As it had earlier, the sound brought to mind the idea of someone tied up, only able to move their head to beat against the wall. On the heels of the thought, came the memory of Sissy’s warning.
     
    He’s got her and he’ll hurt her . . .
     
    JD stared at the ceiling. She put her hand on his chest, calling him back. “Who would she be talking about?” she asked.
     
    He shook his head. “Who are you talking about?”
     
    In halting, fearful bursts, she explained what she’d seen, what she’d heard.
     
    Upstairs the rhythmic thumping paused and then started again.
     
    “What if it’s Jillian? What if she’s here?”
     
    Carly swallowed her terror and started for the stairs, JD following right behind her. It gave her courage, having him with her. But nothing could quell her fear. Just as she reached the first step, the old man appeared in front of her.
     
    “Disrespectful,” he said. “That’s what it was, bringing her here. Right to Sissy’s room.”
     
    Carly kept going, past him, though it took every bit of grit to do it. At the landing on the second floor, they paused. JD looked to the ceiling, searching for the hatch.
     
    “You’re sure there’s an attic?”
     
    Up ahead at the entry to Sissy’s dark room, stood Sissy’s mother. Her face was whole now. No gruesome gashes or ghastly caverns of bone and flesh. Both eyes gleamed in that perfect china blue. She motioned them to follow.
     
    “There, JD,” Carly whispered. Her voice shook, her legs shook. She’d never been so scared. But that steady thumping kept going, spurring her on.
     
    Jillian. It had to be.
     
    Carly reached for JD and he was there, beside her, holding her hand and helping her when she might have given up.
     
    In Sissy’s room, lit candles lined the walls around the mattress, giving the room a romantic, flickering