Free Amulet of Doom by Bruce Coville Page A

are both things you do alone .
    Of course, she wasn’t really alone, Marilyn thought later, sitting in her room. She had Alicia. But she wasn’t sure how much of this Alicia believed. She had a feeling her friend was merely humoring her.
    She looked around her room. It was familiar, comfortable. She had slept in it all her life.
    But she no longer felt safe here, which was why she was awake now, even though she needed sleep so desperately that her eyes were stinging. She was too afraid to sleep. When she stretched out on her bed, her body was as rigid as a board. Her eyes, as if they were out of her control, refused to close. The book she had been trying to read lay on the floor beside her chair. She had been totally unable to concentrate on it.
    Brick jumped up and sat in her lap. She reached down and stroked his head. But she could feel the tension that had formed in her shoulders at his approach. She was still afraid of the cat, and that made her sad. Brick began to purr, pushing his head insistently against her hand to demand more attention.
    The clock in the downstairs hall chimed three.
    A moment later Zenobia walked through the door.
    Brick yowled in protest as Marilyn’s hands clutched his body. She felt a cold sweat pop out on her brow. She wasn’t dreaming, or just waking up, or just drifting off. All the reasons she might use to explain things away were worthless here. She was wide awake, and the woman who was lying in a coffin at Flannigan’s Funeral Home had just walked through her door—which was still closed, now that she glanced at it.
    She tried to say something, but her throat seemed sealed shut, her mouth as dry as a day old doughnut.
    Zenobia spoke instead. “Don’t be afraid.”
    Though it was clearly her voice, the words didn’t seem to come from Zenobia’s lips. Instead, they whispered inside Marilyn’s head.
    Marilyn remained rigid, fear winning out over desire. For part of her wanted to rush to her aunt and fling her arms around her. Another part, stronger, wanted this awful thing to disappear forever and leave her alone.
    â€œIt’s difficult,” said the voice in her mind. “I know you don’t understand. But I need your help.”
    Marilyn nodded.
    â€œYou know what you have to do?” asked Zenobia.
    She nodded again, then said, “What I don’t understand is why.”
    Zenobia sighed. “Because if I am buried with that amulet, I will never be allowed to rest. Guptas will see to that. He’ll haunt me and harass me through all eternity.”
    â€œWho is Guptas?”
    â€œThe prisoner of the amulet. Listen quickly. I would come with you, if I could. But this appearing act takes a lot out of me, and I can’t keep it up very long. I’m hoping I’ll get better at it as times goes on.”
    Zenobia was already beginning to fade. But Marilyn had one last question, the most important one of all as far as she was concerned. “Are you real?” she whispered desperately.
    Dumb! she thought as soon as she had asked it. Do you expect a hallucination to tell you it’s imaginary?
    â€œAs real as tomorrow,” replied the voice in her mind.
    Marilyn relaxed a little. That was the kind of thing Zenobia would say. And not the kind of thing she, Marilyn, would think of on her own.
    So maybe this really was Zenobia’s ghost.
    With a start Marilyn realized she was glad the ghost was real. She had been half convinced she was losing her mind … a prospect she found far more frightening than a mere ghost.
    â€œI have to go now,” said Zenobia. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.” Her figure wavering in the air, growing mistier by the second, she took a step toward Marilyn. Holding her hands out beseechingly, she added, “Don’t let me down.”
    Then she was gone.
    But one last thought hung in Marilyn’s mind, one last message from Zenobia’s spirit. The words