Free The Black Tower by Betsy Byars

she still could. She should get help.
    But the key. The key!
    Mr. Hunt’s sister had given her this key as surely as if she had put it directly into her hands. The sister had wanted her to come into the house and now wanted her to unlock the door to the tower.
    And if she left, her thoughts continued, whatever was in the tower might disappear. If she left, she would never know the secret it held. That was something Herculeah could not bear.
    She didn’t know where the door to the tower was, but she knew the direction. She ran through the hall, through an old parlor, into another hallway. The first nurse had said a person could get lost in the house. She said there were odd-shaped rooms and halls that led nowhere.
    This was one of those halls that led nowhere. Herculeah turned. There was a small storage room on the left, then another hallway. It was like a maze. The door had to be here somewhere.
    With the key clasped tightly in her hand, she continued her frantic search for the tower’s entrance.

21
    AT THE WINDOW
    Meat was standing at his living-room window. He had been standing here ever since Herculeah had left for Hunt House. His dad had not called, and Meat was not free to leave until he did.
    He had already been uneasy about her going, but there had been something in her early morning phone call that had made him even more uneasy. “I wish you were going with me,” she had said. The voice had not sounded like Herculeah at all.
    â€œI wish I could, too,” he had said. It wasn’t true; what he really wanted was for neither of them to go again—ever. He’d blurted out, “Don’t go!”
    And she had answered, as he had known she would, “I have to.”
    There at the window, Meat would occasionally rub his hands nervously up and down his sweatshirt. As he did this, he thought of all the dangers, all the things that could harm her.
    There was Mr. Hunt. Meat wasn’t at all sure the man was really paralyzed. The thought of Herculeah sitting there, unaware, reading that terrible book when suddenly ... gotcha!
    Meat swallowed.
    The sound was loud enough to reach his mother in the kitchen. “Are you all right, Albert?” she called.
    â€œI’m fine.”
    Then there was the old woman. He had looked into her face and seen madness and evil, and the thought of Herculeah being trapped by her in one of those dark rooms ...
    He swallowed again. Immediately he called out, “I’m still fine,” to his mother.
    He realized then that he was trying to swallow his fear. He knew from past experience that fear was an object that could not be swallowed.
    Then there was Nurse Wegman. Meat had only seen her for a moment or two at the front door and when he was recovering from a faint, but there had been a look in her eyes that he hadn’t liked. It reminded him of a newspaper picture he’d seen of a nurse who went around killing old people, putting them out of their misery.
    What was it they had called her? Oh, yes—“The Angel of Death.”
    Meat didn’t even try to swallow that thought. He just pressed his fingers against his throat to hold the terror from rising any higher.
    And then there was the tower.
    The tower was a place where tragedy happened. It had happened twice before, and it would happen again. He himself had almost been the victim, but a tower like that would not be satisfied with only two victims.
    Meat’s mom came and stood in the doorway to the living room. She smelled nicely of barbecued pork chops, but Meat, whose throat was blocked, could not have eaten anything.
    â€œIf you’re so worried about Herculeah ...” she began.
    Meat didn’t let her finish. “I didn’t say I was worried about her.”
    â€œYou didn’t have to. If you’re so worried about Herculeah, why don’t you call her?”
    â€œShe’s at Hunt House.”
    â€œWell. Hunt House has a phone, doesn’t it?