Free Book of Horrors (Nightmare Hall) by Diane Hoh

she worked. Newspaper clippings, some old, some new, faded matchbook covers, parcel post labels, outdated calendars with no jottings on them … there was nothing in any of the drawers that seemed the least bit interesting to Reed.
    She closed the top right drawer and leaned back in her chair, disappointment etched across her face.
    The fan club members were counting on her to bring back information about the author and how she worked. They would all rather have been in her place, but since that wasn’t possible, they expected her to fill them in on the details of a writer’s life.
    Ha. She had no information to give them. Except what she’d already said. “Victoria McCoy disappears inside her office, puts her headphones on so she can listen to horror-movie music without disturbing anyone else in the house, and doesn’t come back out.”
    Well, that would certainly thrill everyone. Especially Jude. He’d say, “That’s it? That’s all you can find out? What good are you?”
    Aimlessly, Reed thrust out her leg and toed open the bottom left-hand drawer again. There was a small jumble of looseleaf pages and index cards and notepaper left in its depths. No manuscripts, but … might as well check it out.
    A grocery list … milk, eggs, squash, tomatoes … two index cards with what looked like possible titles of books scribbled across the top two lines … a thank-you note from someone named Marjorie, and a medium-sized white envelope, its flap closed but not glued shut.
    Reed picked up the envelope, flipped it open. Inside was a small, folded sheet of lined notebook paper. Aware that she was invading someone’s privacy but past the point of caring, Reed unfolded the sheet.
    In an uneven scrawl, in pencil, someone had written, Now that I know the truth, I’m afraid I will never leave this place alive.
    There was no signature, no way of knowing who had penned the words.
    Reed swallowed hard. What a horrible thing! To know in advance that you were going to die because of something you learned. Sounded like one of McCoy’s books …
    She sat up straighter in her chair, her eyes bright with interest. Of course! McCoy must have jotted this down. A germ of an idea? The tiniest beginning of one of her books? Or had it been an ending?
    Either way, it was something. McCoy probably carried one of those small spiral notebooks around with her, the kind you could flip open in a hurry, and jotted down ideas as they came to her, in the grocery store, out in the woods, in her office, at night when she awakened from a deep sleep.
    Which book was it from? Reed strained to recall which McCoy plot had been centered around someone being afraid they’d never leave a place because they knew too much. Not The Wheelchair or Cat’s Play. Maybe Pitfall? The blackmailing captive in that book had certainly known too much.
    That could be it.
    Or it could even be an idea that had been discarded.
    That wouldn’t be nearly as much fun, though. Reed wanted to believe that an entire novel had sprung from the piece of paper she was holding in her hand.
    She’d take it to the next meeting, see what everyone else thought about what she’d found. No one was going to miss a tiny little piece of paper that had been lying in the bottom of a desk drawer for who knew how long. She slipped it into her jeans pocket and closed the drawer.
    Although it was only three forty-five, she decided to leave. If she was going to be sitting around, she’d rather be sitting around in her room. McCoy wouldn’t even know she’d gone.
    But she’d barely set foot outside the house when her spine began to tingle. It wasn’t dark yet, but the pine trees were so tall, they blocked out the light. It might as well have been night. Maybe she should have waited for Link, after all.
    Telling herself she was being silly, that there was nothing in the pine grove that hadn’t been there earlier that day, Reed took a deep breath and left the safety of the house.
    It was cold, very