Read The Light (Morpheus Road) Online

Authors: D.J. MacHale

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Action & Adventure - General, #Children's Books, #Action & Adventure, #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic, #Children: Young Adult (Gr. 7-9), #Horror & Ghost Stories, #Ages 9-12 Fiction, #Supernatural, #Horror, #Ghost Stories (Young Adult), #Horror stories, #Ghosts, #Mysteries (Young Adult), #Science Fiction; Fantasy; Magic, #Mysteries; Espionage; & Detective Stories, #Legends; Myths; Fables

The Light (Morpheus Road) (6 page)

BOOK: The Light (Morpheus Road)
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43

nothing. For a second I feared that I had gone deaf. I snapped my fingers and heard that clearly enough. There wasn't anything wrong with my ears. I stood stock-still in the middle of the living room, desperately trying to pick up any sound that would tell me that the world hadn't stopped turning.

What I heard was the sound of a dripping faucet. It was the kind of sound that would normally get lost amid every other sound in the world. But not then. It was faint but unmistakable. It was a steady
drip . . . drip
...
drip
that seemed to be coming from the downstairs bathroom. I had to check it out. I was drawn to it because it was the only sound that existed. I crept through the living room and down the small hallway toward the bathroom to see that the door was closed. I had inspected the room a few minutes earlier and the faucet hadn't been dripping ... but it sure sounded as though it had started. I raised the heavy iron again, just in case I had missed something. Or someone. Slowly I pushed the door open.

Sure enough, the sink faucet was dripping. It was a steady
plip
. . .
plip .
. .
plip
sound that bounced into the standing water in the sink and echoed through the otherwise silent house. I tightened up both valves and the dripping stopped. Silence had returned. But not for long.

Another dripping sound came from somewhere else. I walked from the bathroom and listened. It was coming from the kitchen. What was going on? Had the plumbing in the house suddenly gone wacky? More important, why was it the only sound I could hear? I moved across the living room. The only other sound was the squeak of my sneakers on the wooden floor. The dripping sound grew louder. I crossed through the dining room to the swinging door that led to the kitchen. As I pushed the door open, the dripping sound grew even louder. I was all set to walk in and turn it off, but when I stepped through the door and looked to the sink, I saw that the faucet wasn't dripping.

44

Huh? I still heard the sound, but the sink was dry. I looked around quickly. Where was it coming from? There were no other faucets. It was like the dripping was just . . . there. It grew impossibly loud, like it was a sound effect and somebody was slowly turning up the volume. The gentle dripping sound had become an incessant, booming echo that bounced off the walls. I was desperate to stop it but didn't know how.

I was a second away from running out of the room when the sound stopped. Just like that. It was like I had hit the pause button on the iPod. The room fell deathly silent. I was in a vacuum again.

I'm not sure what made me look back to the sink . . . and the window above it. The empty window. It was night. There was nothing to see on the outside but blackness . . .

. . . and a pale white face that hovered there, staring in at me.

It was such a shock that I stumbled backward as if I had been pushed. The sounds of the house suddenly rushed back. The ticking of a clock, the buzz from the refrigerator, the hum of a fluorescent light, the far-off sound of Rod Stewart's voice . . . the house was alive again. I hit my back on the edge of a counter, twisted, and nearly fell down. The weight of the heavy iron in my hand yanked me toward the floor. I grabbed the counter with my other hand and managed to stop my fall. Once I got my balance, I was ready to run out of the room. I didn't want any part of whoever was out there. I had only seen it for a fleeting instant, but that was enough. It was a man with skin that was so white, it seemed transparent. His dark eyes were abnormally large, and in the split second I saw him I knew they were looking at me. I wanted to get out of there and find a closet to hide in.

I took a step to run but stopped. This was my house. I was in charge. Running away was not acceptable. I stood up

45

straight, held my breath, and forced myself to look back at the window. Slowly, I turned around to see . . .

The face was gone. I could breathe again. Whoever it was didn't want any part of me. But who was it? Why was he creeping around my house? I had to know. I grabbed the iron and ran for the back door. There was a creep lurking around in my yard, peering in at me, and he wasn't going to get away with it. I threw open the door and jumped outside, screaming, "Hey! Who are you?"

I stood outside the kitchen door, breathing hard, ready for I-didn't-know-what. The heavy iron was up and poised to strike. I looked to the window where the guy had been. The wind was blowing hard, knocking around the branches of a bush next to the house. It scraped against the window like it was scratching to get in. A flash of white caught my attention. I think I screamed with surprise. I heard a steady flapping sound and looked to see a white, plastic grocery bag caught on a branch, fluttering in the wind.

I had found my lurker.

It wasn't a face outside the window--it was a grocery bag caught on a branch. A gust of wind kicked up, tearing it from the bush. It whipped away on the breeze and disappeared into the neighbor's yard . . . maybe to peer into their window.

Once my heart stopped pounding, I went back inside and closed the door, double-checking to make sure it was locked. Everything was normal. Even the sounds. It sure seemed as though I had been terrorized by my own overactive imagination. What else could it have been? I figured my ears must have been ringing because I was playing the music so loud, which is why my hearing was messed up. And our house was old. Who knew what kind of shape the ancient plumbing was in? That could explain the pounding and the dripping. It wasn't a monster--it was old pipes.

46

The intruder at the window was the easiest of all to explain away. It was a plastic shopping bag from Trader Joe's. Nothing sinister about it.

Though I was certain that nothing strange had happened, I left all the house lights on anyway. Why not? Dad wasn't around to tell me to put them out. I went upstairs, took off my clothes, and crawled into bed. Winston hadn't even moved. It gave me more confidence that nothing strange had happened.

It would be a while before I could power down enough to sleep. Adrenaline takes time to get out of your system. I had really done a number on myself. I figured I had better get a grip or it was going to be a long week. I don't know how many hours went by before I finally calmed down enough to nod off.

The last thing I remember before my eyes closed was a sound.

Somewhere in the house, a faucet was dripping.

47

Chapter 5

I woke up before the alarm.

Usually I'm knocked out until the buzzer shakes me awake, but not that morning. I felt a slight breeze on my face that gently brought me back to consciousness. It was kind of nice. Definitely better than any alarm sound. I lay on my back, enjoying the feeling as it rustled my hair. I stretched, feeling pretty good considering I had only gotten a few hours of sleep. The weird events of the night before were more or less forgotten. I thought about how I had to get up, eat something, and get to work. I was actually looking forward to it, seeing as I didn't have anything else going on.

I felt the breeze again. It made me think that an alarm clock that blew warm air across your face would be a cool invention. I filed it under "things to do but probably never will" and reached over my head to pull the window shut.

My hand hit glass. The window wasn't open. Huh? I

48

sat up straight and looked to the other window. It was shut tight. My bedroom door was closed too. Where was the breeze coming from?

Brraaaannngggggg!

The alarm went off. The
real
alarm. I was definitely awake after that. I hammered it off and sat there wondering why our house had suddenly sprung a wind leak. I decided not to stress and to tell Dad about it when he got home.

My breakfast was a healthy combination of raspberry-filled Pop-Tarts and chocolate milk. I fed Winston, got out the Ovaltine, and stirred up a king-size glass. It wasn't until I was sitting at the kitchen counter, chewing on the raw Pop-Tart (I never bother to toast them), that I looked to the window over the sink and remembered what had happened the night before. It was already a bright morning. Warm summer sun streamed in. The idea that a mysterious creeper who hated classic rock was lurking around outside seemed kind of silly. I listened. There was no dripping water. All the normal sounds of the house were there, just as they should be. I laughed, remembering how terrified I had been as I searched every dark corner with a heavy iron, ready for action. I felt pretty silly about the whole thing.

I was reaching for my glass of chocolate milk when Winston suddenly jumped up onto the counter.

"Whoa!" I shouted, and pulled back quickly. My sudden move startled the cat and she shot past me, knocking over the container of Ovaltine. Brown chocolate powder spread all over the white tiles of the counter.

"Winston!" I yelled, as if that would have done anything. It wasn't like she was going to come back and clean up. I was ticked. The Ovaltine was supposed to last me for the week. I hated to trash it, but the idea of shoveling it all back into the container to be used again kind of grossed me

49

out. It was officially garbage. I pulled the trash can from under the sink and grabbed a sponge.

As I was about to turn away from the sink, I felt another short, soft breeze. I wasn't imagining it--the air had definitely moved. But the window wasn't open. None of the windows were open. I went into the living room to check the thermostat. Maybe during my frantic house search the night before I had accidentally turned on the air-conditioning. Those stray puffs of air must have been coming from the air ducts built into the floor and the ceiling.

When I checked the thermostat, I saw that everything was turned off. Still, I knew it had to be something else that was equally simple, so I shrugged it off and went back into the kitchen to scrape up the Ovaltine. I was about to start wiping up the powder when the puff of wind returned. This time it not only blew my hair, it blew some of the chocolate powder across the counter. I froze in mid swipe and leaned down so that my face was on counter level. Several impossible puffs of air from nowhere blew the chocolate around like a mini storm in a desert. I couldn't take my eyes off it. It was like some odd air vortex was spreading the powder across the countertop.

After a few seconds the brown powder was spread out over the white tiles. For a second I actually thought it was a cool phenomenon. I was debating about whether or not to clean it up or leave it to show Dad . . . when the breeze returned and I watched the impossible happen. The powder moved, but instead of spreading out randomly, a pattern began to emerge. While much of the brown chocolate blew to the side, some of it remained in place. Slowly, very slowly, the powder that was left behind formed a swirl. Then another. And a third. They were all the same size, about four inches in diameter and connected in the center. It was a simple pattern, but there was no way a random puff of air could have formed it.

50

I had no idea of what I was seeing, or how it could be happening. I wasn't scared--I was dumbfounded. I tried to think of a logical explanation, but nothing came to me.

Bang bang bang!

Somebody was pounding on the door. I think I jumped a few inches. Was it the intruder from the night before? It didn't matter that it was a bright, sunny day--I flew right back into terror mode.

Ding dong!

The doorbell. That calmed me down. Intruders didn't ring doorbells. Unless they were particularly polite intruders. Still, I didn't take any chances. I grabbed the first weapon I could find. It happened to be a small fire extinguisher. I figured if there was trouble, I could squirt the guy in the eyes and then bean him on the head. Gripping the red cylinder, I hurried for the living room. I didn't want to open the door without knowing who it was, so I first peeked out of the front window over the couch. It wasn't an intruder, but the guy standing there was definitely a surprise . . . and not a good one. I dropped the fire extinguisher and opened the door to greet Mikey Russo, Sydney Foley's goon boyfriend.

"Where is he?" Russo snarled.

He was angry. Or at least excited. Something was up. It made me want to go back and grab the fire extinguisher. Instead I went outside and joined him on the porch. I didn't want this guy in my house.

"Where's who?" I asked.

Russo was edgy. He glanced around to see if anybody was watching, then gave me a shove that nearly knocked me off my feet. I stumbled back a few steps and hit the wall.

"Stop doing that!" I yelled. "What is your problem?"

"Where's Foley?" he demanded to know.

I knew exactly where Cooper was ... at the lake house

51

with his parents. But if this creep was looking for him, I saw no need to tell him that.

"I don't know. Ask your girlfriend," I said dismissively, and backed toward the door.

Russo grabbed my arm and yanked me forward, getting right in my face. He was strong and stood a couple of inches taller than me. I felt like a rag doll. "You tell him to keep his freakin' mouth shut or he's gonna get hurt," he growled.

I suddenly understood what this was all about. Unfortunately, my mouth started working before my brain did.

"Ohhhh ... ," I said knowingly.
"You
gave him the counterfeit tickets!"

Bad move. Russo shoved me so violently, I thought I would break through the screen door when I hit it.

"He
told
you that?" Russo asked, his face red with rage.

"No,
you
just told me," I countered, trying to keep my voice calm. "I knew Coop was in trouble for scalping counterfeit tickets, but he wouldn't tell me where he got them. If you're so worried about him talking, then he must have gotten them from you."

Russo's eyes turned scary. The guy had a temper, and it looked like I was a second away from paying the price for stoking it.

"I'll get my dad," I said, pointing inside the house. "Maybe he knows where Coop went."

There was no way Mikey Russo could know that my dad was on a trip. At least that's what I was counting on. He hesitated. I could sense the wheels turning in that simple brain. He was calculating his next move. He glanced inside, looking for my dad. I felt his anger rise. He was ready to pound me but knew he was going to have to back down in case Dad was there. The frustration was killing him, poor guy. He wasn't used to thinking so much. He let go of my arm and backed away.

BOOK: The Light (Morpheus Road)
9.92Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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