Trick or Treat (2 page)

She nodded stiffly and followed him back downstairs.

She couldn’t eat. Picking at the mysterious concoction on her plate, she was only vaguely aware of conversations going on around her, until she felt Conor nudging her under the table.

“Martha, you haven’t heard a thing we’ve said,” Dad scolded.

“Oh … sorry … I….”

“Well, at least
someone
around here thinks my article is a stroke of genius — ‘The Doomed and Restless Dead!’ And I certainly have the inspiration for it,” Dad chuckled. “Did the realtor guarantee ghosts with this place?”

“Could be,” Sally grinned. “There’s supposed to be an old cemetery somewhere on the property.”

Martha nearly choked. “A cemetery!”

“You shouldn’t have told her,” Conor shook his head. “She’ll be packed up before dessert.”

Sally glanced apologetically at Martha’s bowed head. “I think you’ll really like the school here, Martha. When you go on Monday, you’re to see a Mr. — what’s his name? — anyway, he’ll be your advisor. Maybe you could kind of stick with Conor — he already knows his way around, and I know it’ll seem strange to you the first few days.”

Not any stranger than all of this, Martha thought, but aloud she said, “I’ll be okay by myself.”

Dad put down his fork. “Now look here, Martha. Sally’s gone to an awful lot of trouble and I —”

“No trouble. Really. None,” Sally insisted quickly, and Martha’s food stuck fast in her throat. “I just thought Conor could show her where things are.”

“I’d better stick close to her,” Conor announced so matter-of-factly that everyone stared at him. “She looks about twelve. If I’m not there to vouch for her, they might send her over to the elementary school.”

Martha gritted her teeth as Dad and Sally began laughing. It was true, she
had
always looked young for her age — wholesome, that’s what Mom had always called her. Wide gray eyes and bouncy blonde hair, and a face that couldn’t hide her true feelings, no matter how hard she tried. And she was trying now, but Conor was watching her, and she had that awful, exposed feeling that he could see right through her — and was enjoying himself.

“Thanks, Sally, good dinner,” Martha lied. “May I be excused?”

“You hardly ate a thing.” Sally looked worried. “But sure,” she added before Dad could object, “go on and have a look around.”

It was strange, Martha thought, how even with all these lamps on around the house, everything was still so dark. She felt hopelessly disoriented — like a mouse in a maze — silent walls rising around her, high ceilings and hidden corners swarming with shadows. She hated this house.
Hated
it. She’d never liked scary things. She’d never understood Dad’s macabre sense of humor or his fascination with the unknown, or the articles he was always researching and writing for those dumb human interest magazines. And she hated
herself
— it was horrible being sixteen and such a baby.

But it’s not you this time … it’s this house
.

Martha raised her eyes, her gaze settling on the heavy draperies at the far end of the hall.

Just now … she was sure she’d seen them move.

Just a slight rise … a fall … as if they were alive … breathing … as if someone might be hiding just behind the dingy folds of velvet….

She stared at them, mesmerized. She felt her feet moving her backwards, but she couldn’t turn around….

She didn’t see the figure standing behind her, its shadow spreading slowly over the wall.

She felt the hand against her back, and shrieking, she spun wildly as Conor sidestepped her flailing arms.

“You!” Martha gasped. “Don’t you
ever
do that to me!”

“I thought you heard me,” he said calmly.

“Heard you! What are you, part ghost?” She was shaking now, as much from anger as from fear, and Conor had that look on his face that she hated so much.

“Do you want to see the rest of the house?” He started down the hall, glancing back at her over his shoulder. She stood there rigidly, glaring at him. “I wouldn’t get too close to those curtains, if I were you. I think they’re moving.”

Martha caught her breath, then with forced casualness, caught up with him at the staircase.

As they wound through the house, she grew more confused by the minute. There were so many rooms — so many different hallways and stairwells — so many nooks and niches and closets that it was overwhelming and frightening. When they finally ended up in the kitchen, she collapsed in a chair with a gloomy sigh.

“I’ll never find my way around this awful place.”

Conor regarded her thoughtfully. “Before you know it, it’ll feel like part of you.”

“It’ll never feel like part of me. It’s
not
part of me.”

Conor shrugged and helped himself to some cake on the counter. “You have to admit, it has character.”

Martha stared miserably at the floor.
Character!
She couldn’t believe how drastically her safe, happy world had changed — and now Dad and Sally would be so wrapped up in each other and this stupid house and its character, they’d never care how unhappy she was. And as for Conor….

Martha glanced up quickly. She could have sworn he’d been watching her, his body propped lazily back against the wall, but now that she looked at him, his eyes were on the doorway where Sally was peeking in.

“I think I’ll go on up; I’m really tired.” Martha gave an exaggerated stretch, and Sally leaned down to hug her.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Martha. So glad we’re
all
here.”

Forcing a smile, Martha left the kitchen.
Everyone’s glad to be here but me
. The thought made her feel lonelier than ever, and she dragged herself upstairs, fighting back tears.

The cold was still there, trapped inside her room.

Not as strong as it had been before … not as jolting … but there, just the same … seeping from the corners like an invisible fog.…

Martha rubbed her arms and began emptying her suitcases.
This room must be on the windy side of the house; that’s why the temperature’s so much lower
…. For a brief moment she toyed with the idea of telling Dad, but then decided against it. He would only joke about it or accuse her of being difficult.
I’m just tired . . once I get a good night’s sleep, it’ll be gone … once the sun comes out I’ll probably even laugh at myself
. She hoped Conor wouldn’t say anything about it — she’d been embarrassed enough, acting like such an idiot in front of him.

Shutting her door, Martha got into her night-gown, her eyes going uneasily across the room … the windows … the closet.
Funny … that closet was open before
…. Puzzled, she tried to remember — had Conor closed it when he’d shown her around earlier? She was almost positive he hadn’t, yet now the door was shut.

Beads of sweat prickled her forehead. It was so quiet … so lonely…. She couldn’t hear anyone talking downstairs. Maybe they’d all gone out somewhere…. Maybe she was completely alone….

With a cry, Martha jerked open the closet door.

The closet was empty.

Weak-kneed, she crawled into bed, leaving the lamp on beside her pillow. Just this once I’ll keep it on, she argued with herself,
just this first night and I don’t care if they do laugh at me
….

Exhaustion settled over her like a huge weight. She was asleep almost at once, deep and dreamless, and she had no idea how long it had been, how many hours she’d lain there, when the phone jarred her awake.

Martha bolted upright, heart pounding, eyes frantically probing the darkness as she fought to remember where she was. The lamp was out, and beyond her door the phone shrilled again, insistent.

“Dad?” Martha called out fuzzily. “Sally?”

Stumbling out into the hall, Martha felt her way towards the sound. Someone had left a nightlight burning near the baseboard, and it cast a pool of shadows at her feet.

“Dad?” Martha tried again, and her hand fumbled for the receiver, rattling it off the cradle, its scream abruptly silenced.

“Hello?” Martha mumbled.

And at first there was nothing.

At first the quiet was so convincing that Martha really thought it had been a mistake and the embarrassed caller had hung up.

And then she heard the breathing.

Slow … hollow….

The raspy, choking sound it made as it tried to speak….

“Look outside,” it whispered. “
Trick or treat
.”

Martha dropped the phone. As her heart hammered in her throat, she groped back through the darkness to her room.
It’s just a crank call … what’s the matter with you? You’ve gotten crank calls before
….

But her window was there, waiting for her as she walked in, a black gaping hole against the night, frenzied trees clawing at the glass….

Martha moved across the floor like someone in a bad dream. She climbed onto the window seat and forced herself to look out.

The body was hanging there, so close she could have touched him.

She knew he was dead from the way he was swinging, a slow, crazy dance in the cold, cold wind.

There was a carving knife through his head….

And as the moonlight fell across his slashed face, he grinned up at her.

Chapter 2

As Martha screamed, a pair of hands came out of nowhere, catching her by the shoulders.

“What is it?” Conor’s face was eerily distorted in the half light. As Martha shrank back from him, he pressed his face to the glass, stared a moment, then steered her to the side of her bed. “It’s the scarecrow.”

“What!”

“The one from the porch. Someone sure went to a lot of trouble for a joke.”

Martha wrapped her arms around herself. “Where’s Dad?”

“They couldn’t sleep. They went for a drive.” He squatted down on the floor in front of her. “What happened?”

“It was
horrible
!” Martha buried her face in her hands. “Didn’t you hear it ringing? The phone call — what he said —”

“Who?”

“I don’t know!”

“
What
, then? Talk to me.”

“A man, I think — I don’t
know
— the voice was deep. Kind of … throaty —”

“Throaty.” Conor nodded, mouthing the word again to himself.

“Like he needed to clear his throat — like he was having trouble getting air … sort of choking. He told me to look outside. And then he said ‘Trick or Treat.’”

“Trick or treat.” Conor stared hard at the floor.

“What is it? What are you thinking?” Martha tensed.

“I’m thinking … what a fool he is — it’s not even Halloween yet.”

“Stop making fun of me!”

“I’m not making fun of you. Why would I make fun of you?”

She saw the look then — Conor’s look — creeping slowly across his face, and she shook her head, too upset to argue. Conor crossed to the window again and stared out into the night. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just rumpled jeans. He ran one hand through his thick, tawny hair.

“I’ll get rid of that thing in the morning. And if the phone rings again, don’t answer it. Let
me
answer it. It’s probably just kids being cute, but don’t answer it anyway.”

Martha shut her eyes. “It just figures.”

“What does?”

“That something else would happen in this
stupid
house. I don’t know why your mother ever picked it out to begin with.”

“Well,” Conor mulled it over, “I guess because she was trying to please your father.”

Martha looked daggers at him. “Dad was pleased in Chicago.”

This time Conor turned around, leveling a stare straight at her. “You’re really having a problem with their happiness, aren’t you?”

“I — what! Don’t you tell me what I feel!”

He nodded. “Okay, then, here’s the scenario. Two lonely people find each other and have a brand-new chance at life. Enter, one spoiled brat who —”

“Get out,” Martha snapped. “Just get out of my room.”

“The room where something terrible happened.” He gave a smile. “You.” He just managed to duck out the door as Martha’s purse crashed into the wall, missing his head but spilling its contents all over the floor.

For a long time she huddled there, trying not to think about the phone call — trying not to look at the window. That breathing … “Trick or treat….” But of course Conor had to be right — with Halloween coming up, it was only natural for kids to play jokes — especially on the new people in town. A prank, that’s all it was. But as Martha slid back beneath the covers she couldn’t shake her feeling of dread. That sense of tragedy was still lurking here in the room … just at the edge of her senses … wrapped up in the cold….

It seemed she had scarcely dozed off before she woke again, this time to gray daylight and the faraway sound of thunder. Great, Martha thought, sound effects to match the house. She peered timidly from the window, but the scarecrow was gone. Pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt, she followed the smell of burnt bacon down to the kitchen.