Free The Black Tower by Betsy Byars Page B

and cold. She could still turn back, she reminded herself, yet—just like the girl in the book—she could not. She stepped into the dark, unwelcoming interior of the tower.
    She crossed the stone floor to the first of the circular stairs and looked up. Above her, the stairs twisted, snakelike, up the walls. They stopped at what appeared to be a trapdoor. Slowly Herculeah began to climb. She knew now that she had no control over the matter.
    She continued up the stairs slowly, taking them one by one. Halfway up the stairs, she paused. She heard the sound of the tower door closing below her. Had it been a hand that closed it? She looked down. The thought that she might be trapped made her dizzy.
    She touched the wall to steady herself. There was an eerie coldness to the stone beneath her hand.
    She lifted her head. She listened.
    She heard nothing, but she knew someone was up there, waiting for her.
    And whoever it was knew she was coming. The creaking of the tower door would have given her away.
    Slowly she took another step and another. Higher ... higher. With each step, her fear grew until it seemed to swirl around her like a dark cape that held no warmth.
    Herculeah continued to move slowly, deliberately up the stone stairs. Her steps were silent.
    Suddenly she froze. She had heard a noise from the tower room above. She listened.
    The noise was unlike anything she had heard before. It was not a human sound, nor was it the sound of an animal—at least no animal Herculeah had heard of.
    It was breathing, and yet not ordinary breathing. It was a labored, troubling sound, almost a moan.
    Herculeah glanced at one of the slotted windows. She could not see outside, but maybe the sound she had heard was the wind. A storm was coming. She knew that. She had seen the dark clouds. She had felt the rain. And now she could feel the wind moving around the tower.
    What was it she had said to Mr. Hunt? “Dramatic things always happen during storms—though it’s dramatic enough with something waiting for her at the top of the tower.”
    But, no, what she was hearing was not the wind around the tower. It was inside the tower.
    Seven steps remained now.
    It was just as it had been in the book, she thought, just as she had known it would be. But there would be no Meat waiting outside Hunt House to walk her home and make her laugh.
    Six steps remained.
    The trapdoor was overhead. Herculeah looked at it for a moment, trying to judge its weight. The wood was heavy. Perhaps it would take all her strength to open it.
    She decided she would open it just a crack, just wide enough so she could see what was in the room. Then she could close it if she saw.... Her thoughts trailed off because she had no idea what she would see.
    Five steps remained.
    What was it she had said to Mr. Hunt? “People have climbed Everest in the time it’s taken this girl to get to the top of the tower.”
    Four.
    But then people want to get to the top of Everest.
    Three.
    She could go no higher without opening the trapdoor. She brushed her hands together, raised them, and, with all her strength, she pushed on the trapdoor.
    Herculeah had misjudged. The trapdoor was not heavy at all. Perhaps it was even on some sort of pulley, because the trapdoor sprang open.
    Herculeah did not have time to see what awaited her in the tower room and to close the door if she didn’t like what she saw.
    The trapdoor seemed to pull her with it. Her momentum carried her into the tower room and left her sprawled across the dusty floor.
    She lifted her head. She was not alone.

23
    THE ANGEL OF DEATH
    Meat walked slowly toward Haunt House. His mother had not wanted him to come here, but he had said, “I have to go, Mom, even though I may be in danger myself. I’m sorry if that causes you discomfort, but Herculeah needs me.”
    Well, actually, he had not said that. He had written it.
    Well, actually he had not written those exact words. The note he