Free Trick or Treat by Richie Tankersley Cusick Page B

Conor’s window. The light was still on, but there was no sign of movement. He probably had a headset on or something — she’d be out here screaming for hours before he heard her. Then another thought struck her — maybe he was in the bathroom — clear at the back of the house.
    The wind was so cold, she was covered with goosebumps. On a hunch she tried the casements on the terrace at the side of the house, but all the rooms were locked. “Damn you, Conor.” She kept close to the house and went on around, her eyes darting nervously at every sound, every shadow. She hadn’t thought about the phone call till now — now it came back to her with frightening clarity — the voice — the breathing — “ you’re dead … dead ….”
    A mournful cry floated from the trees, stopping Martha in her tracks. Only an owl, she told herself firmly — keep moving …. But the yard was alive with foggy shapes, and the house rose like a giant tomb against the night.
    “Conor!” She was behind the house now, but there were no lights. The porch lay deep in blackness, and the wind was a muffled roar, carrying away her cries. She craned her neck, trying to pick out the bathroom window — the small one — there — right next to the window of her own empty room….
    Her own empty room ….
    Except it wasn’t empty.
    As Martha’s eyes widened in mute horror, she saw a pale light pass over the ceiling, throwing grotesque shadows on the walls….
    A pale light that flickered as it moved … then stopped … moved … stopped … as if it were lost….
    As if it were searching….
    “ You’re dead, Elizabeth … trick or treat ….”
    And Martha’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling her scream, as a silhouette slowly materialized out of those deep black shadows in her room….
    As a silhouette took shape in the window above … uncoiling and lengthening up the flickering wall….
    A person … suspended there….
    Watching her.

Chapter 8
     
    “ Conor! ”
    Martha beat her fists so hard against the front door that the whole porch shook. Almost at once a light came on and as Conor let her in, Martha fell on him, her eyes wild.
    “Conor, there’s someone in my room! Call the police! Hurry! ” She hurtled past him, only to stop again, spinning around in horror. “What’s the matter with you — someone’s up there! I can’t go by myself!”
    Looking totally baffled, Conor went obediently up the stairs and straight to Martha’s bedroom. As she huddled outside in the hall he turned on her light and checked the closet, then stood in the middle of her floor, looking around.
    “There’s nothing here.”
    “There was something here. Someone here. Conor, I saw them, I really —” She was still in the hallway, afraid to walk through the door, and Conor came out again, eyeing her curiously. “I didn’t have my key, and you wouldn’t let me in, so I went around to the back to see if you were in the bathroom, and there was this light in my room, and someone was at the window —” She crossed to the window then and looked out, searching the shadowy lawn below. “He was here — right here — looking out and —” She wheeled around and faced Conor, who was watching her in silence. “Why wouldn’t you let me in?” she asked tightly.
    His face was unreadable, not even a sign of denial. He just stood there, his deep blue eyes full on hers. After a long moment his shoulders stirred slightly. “Martha … maybe we’d better talk about this in the morning after —”
    “After what? After you have another chance to scare me to death?” The scarecrow … the graveyard … the fire …. “Why are you looking at me like that!”
    “Excuse me,” said Conor. “I’ll see you tomorrow when your sanity comes back.”
    Martha felt dangerously close to tears, but Conor’s face hadn’t changed. “You knew I didn’t have a house key tonight and you figured I’d try the back door and you stood up here and watched me