Free Amulet of Doom by Bruce Coville

smooth, blue edge peeking out from under a curling petal, she had an almost irresistible urge to reach down and snatch it.
    She glanced around. No one was watching.
    She shook herself. Craziness! All it would take would be one person turning in her direction, and there would be an uproar, followed by embarrassment and humiliation, and the rest of her natural life in therapy.
    She looked down at Zenobia again. Her sharp features were waxy with the pall of death. Why are you doing this to me? thought Marilyn fiercely. What is this all about?
    To her horror, Zenobia answered her. The words came as a whisper in the back of her mind: Be patient, Marilyn. Be patient, and brave. I need you .
    The combination of staring at her aunt’s dead body and hearing her voice at the same time was too much for Marilyn. She gripped the edge of the coffin as her knees started to buckle. For a horrible instant the coffin wobbled. Marilyn gasped. She thought it was going to tip over, and her mind conjured up a gruesome picture of Zenobia’s body falling out and pinning her to the floor.
    Her mind continuing to run wild, she wondered if she could snatch the amulet if that happened.
    All at once Kyle was at her side. Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he led her back to her chair, supporting her as he did. A small circle of concerned people quickly formed around them.
    Suddenly she saw her father come pushing through the crowd, shouldering aside assorted cousins. To her enormous relief he shooed the entire group away, bellowing, “Give her some room to breathe, for Pete’s sake!”
    He used the fierce voice he generally reserved for his high school students, which caused the murmuring relatives to pull back in astonishment. Standing at a respectful distance, they watched her from the corners of their eyes.
    â€œHot night,” said her father gruffly. “Too much going on. You okay, Marilyn?”
    She nodded weakly.
    â€œGood.” He took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Take her outside for a while, would you, Kyle?”
    â€œYes sir,” said Kyle. Putting his hand on Marilyn’s elbow, he led her through the crowd to the front porch. The air was indeed warm, and still muggy from the afternoon rain. But a gentle breeze offered some relief, and as it lifted the damp strands of coppery hair from her shoulders, Marilyn realized for the first time how stuffy the big room had actually been.
    Kyle let go of her elbow. Then he took her hand and led her to the large oak tree at the corner of Flannigan’s lawn.
    â€œOkay,” he said. “Spill.”
    â€œSpill?” asked Marilyn nervously, though she knew perfectly well what he meant.
    â€œSomething is really messing you up. And it’s not just your aunt’s death, though Lord knows that would be enough. But I’ve been watching you. You are seriously spooked. I’ve known you too long not to see it. So just spill it, will you? We’ll both feel better.”
    Oh, Kyle , she thought desperately. How I wish I could. But I don’t dare. It’s too crazy. You could never believe me .
    Out loud she said, “You’re wrong. It is Aunt Zenobia. It was all so sudden, and I really miss her, and being the one to find her was just so weird.”
    Which is pretty much the truth , she told herself, trying to salve the way her conscience was complaining about the lie.
    Kyle looked at her suspiciously. “That’s all?”
    She nodded. “You know how I felt about her. The loss is hard to take.”
    His eyes, fringed with golden lashes and bluer than a summer sky, peered into hers, searching for something.
    â€œWill you call me if I can help you?” he asked at last.
    â€œYes,” she said simply. “If I think you can help, I’ll call.”
    But I don’t think you can. I don’t think anyone can help me now. Because either I’m being haunted or I’m losing my mind. And those