Trick or Treat (9 page)

“You don’t know? You live with him, don’t you?” Blake laughed, but Wynn came to Martha’s defense.

“She hasn’t known him that long. They practically just met.”

This time it was Martha who looked grateful. “He keeps to himself a lot. He’s sort of in his own world.”

“And to top it off, he plays a
mean
game of basketball.” Blake shook his head in mild disbelief.

“He cooks,” Martha added, and Blake rolled his eyes.

“Naturally.”

“And he likes to walk in the woods.”

“That’s nice,” Wynn said. “It’s sensitive and —”

“And what?” Greg nudged her.

“Nothing.”

“Come on, you were going to say ‘romantic,’ weren’t you?” Blake picked up mischievously.

“Well, suppose I was.” Wynn lifted her chin. “We could sure use some guys around here with a little sensitivity.”

Blake and Greg groaned in unison, then cheered as the pizza arrived. For a while Conor was forgotten as they attacked their food and talked about other things: school, sports, the town. Martha laughed uproariously as Greg recalled childhood escapades that he and his cousins had been involved in, and then Wynn retaliated with some choice stories of her own that Blake and Greg swore had never happened. Martha couldn’t remember when she’d had such fun, and she hated the evening to end.

After dropping Wynn off, Greg insisted that Blake borrow his car to drive Martha home. And though Martha felt shy about being alone with Blake, he soon put her at ease, driving around town as Greg had suggested earlier, showing her the general layout of Bedford. They took their time, talking, listening to tapes, and when the heater got temperamental, Blake’s arm slipped easily around her shoulders and stayed there the rest of the way home. They drove slowly because of the fog, and Blake didn’t seem in any hurry to drop her off — and when they finally pulled up in the driveway, Martha realized she hadn’t thought about Conor or the house all evening. Conor’s light was on, which seemed to amuse Blake. He helped her out of the car and took her hand, walking her to the porch.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

“Me, too.” They looked at each other for a long moment, and he gathered her into his jacket, resting his chin on top of her head. His touch felt warm and secure.

“I’ve been thinking … being the official welcome committee definitely has its advantages.”

“How’s that?” Martha couldn’t look away from his laughing eyes.

“I get first dibs on the new kid,” Blake said in mock seriousness.

Martha laughed, embarrassed, then her voice grew urgent. “Do people here like to play jokes on the new kid?”

Blake looked puzzled. “Jokes? What kind of jokes?”

“Oh,” Martha shrugged evasively, “stupid phone calls … things like that….”

Blake studied her, his smile uncertain. “You mean Prince-Albert-in-a-can phone calls? It wouldn’t surprise me — there’re
lots
of dumb kids in Bedford.” His smile widened as he pulled her closer. “Lucky Conor.” Blake looked down at her, teasing, and Martha frowned.

“What’s lucky about Conor?”

“He gets to live with you.” Blake grinned again, his hand sliding from her arm. “I’ll call you,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

Martha stood there and watched as the car disappeared into the woods. Her heart felt almost sick with excitement, and her insides were still shaking. Blake Chambers? With her? She was almost afraid to believe it was possible. A guy like that without a single serious girlfriend in the whole school?
There must be something wrong with him
…. And then she sighed and shook her head.
No, there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s absolutely perfect, he’s the most perfect boy I’ve ever met in my life
….

“Dreamer,” Martha muttered to herself. “When you wake up, you’ll be sorry.” She turned the door-knob and groaned. It was locked. “Conor!” she called. She pounded and put her ear to the door to listen. No footsteps coming down the stairs. No answer from within. “Conor!” Martha called again. How stupid, going off without a key. Conor would never let her forget this one. “Conor! Come on, let me in! It’s cold out here!”

Martha tucked her hands inside her jacket and stomped her feet. He’d probably fallen asleep studying, cramming his mind with all those genius things. She didn’t know what Wynn saw in him, but she could tell Wynn was definitely interested and too shy to pursue it.
Maybe I’ll help her out
. She really liked Wynn — maybe she’d introduce them in just the right environment and Conor would ask Wynn for a date, and then he’d turn into a normal person.

“
Conor!
” Irritated, Martha stepped off the porch and looked up at 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 —”

“Watched you do what?” This time his mouth twitched, but not in amusement — more in a battle for patience.

Martha stepped away from him, her mind racing.
Could there be another phone line in the house that I don’t even know about?
“I think —” Her mind faltered and went blank.
I don’t even know what I’m thinking anymore, I’m not even thinking at all
—

“It could have been clouds breaking. It could have been me turning on the hall lights.” Conor sighed. “It could have been lots of things. I’ll sleep in here tonight. You take my room.” When Martha shook her head he hesitated … shrugged. “Okay, then, Martha, do what you want.”

She let him get to the other end of the hall before she finally spoke. “I changed my mind.”

He didn’t seem the least bit surprised. He waited while she grabbed her things, and then he held his door open for her, making a mock bow as she went inside. She slammed the door behind her and stood looking at his bed, his books scattered carelessly around, his shirt draped over the back of a chair. She felt so strange being here in his room … even stranger climbing into his bed. For a long, long while she lay there. And when she finally dreamed, she ran and ran through the black maze of the house, pursued by a shadow with no face.

Martha overslept the next morning and, going to school, she was so busy cramming for a test she’d forgotten about that she didn’t have time for suspicions about Conor. She failed the test, but her spirits lifted a little when she saw Wynn waiting by her locker at lunch.

“You look tragic,” Wynn said tactfully. “Wanna go for a walk?”

“I
feel
tragic. I’m working on flunking my junior year.” Wynn looked properly sympathetic, and Martha went on. “What do you think of Conor? I mean,
really?
”

“I think I’d like him to carry me off and love me forever. Why? Is it that obvious?”

They stared at each other, then burst into laughter, heading outside into the cold.

“Oh, I’m just not good with boys,” Wynn groaned.

“Don’t be silly! When you walk down the halls they
all
say hello to you — they
all
knew you at that pizza place.”

“They
know
me, but they never ask me out. I’d rather be a stranger and have a date once in a while.”

Martha turned up her collar and kept pace beside her friend. “I
am
a stranger, and it hasn’t done me a bit of good. Not that I’m looking,” Martha added hastily. “And I’d
love
to introduce you to Conor, only —” She broke off, frowning. How could she share her suspicions about Conor when Blake had asked her not to mention the house to Wynn?

“Only I’m too nervous,” Wynn said innocently. “Martha, you’re sweet to offer, and who
wouldn’t
want to know Conor better —” She dropped her eyes, then cast Martha a troubled look. “Number one, I don’t want you to think you’re my friend just because of Conor.”

Martha looked surprised. “I don’t. I never
thought
to think that.”

Wynn nodded, relieved. “Good. Some girls would, though. But I’m not like that. Friends are … important to me.”

An ache went through Martha’s heart as Wynn turned her face away. For one moment she wrestled with the idea of admitting that she knew about Elizabeth Bedford, but luckily Wynn saved her.

“Martha, my best friend died last year. You might have heard about it, ’cause the town’s full of stories. Except nobody really talks to
me
about it ’cause they don’t want to upset me. Only I wish they
would
talk to me about it, ’cause the truth is — well … I don’t remember.”

Martha stopped, only half conscious that the wind was whipping her hair around her face. She pulled a strand from the corner of her mouth and thought how sad Wynn’s eyes looked as she stared back at her.

“I don’t,” Wynn said again. “I wish I did, but I don’t remember a lot.” She started walking again, and Martha’s legs moved mechanically, trying to keep up. “They sent me to doctors, you know … and one even hypnotized me. But I still can’t remember much about that night. People say I found my friend Elizabeth and that … that someone had killed her….” She tucked her arms around herself, and her face was plaintive, like a little girl. “But, Martha, I really can’t remember. I remember … terrible … horrible fear. And the long dark.”

Martha was interested. “What’s that? The long dark?”