I glanced at it—just to make sure there were no demons there right now. “What tree are we talking about exactly?”
Her eyes got wide. She leaned in even closer, her voice even more soft and secret and serious. “The one in the hall outside my bedroom. It’s a demon tree. A low-spreading oak over the tarn.”
I licked my dry lips. I found my own voice getting softer too, like Jennifer’s. “What’s a tarn?”
“It’s like a lake. A flat, black, round lake under the spreading branches of the tree. The demons come out of it and they gather there. They write evil symbols on the walls. And they put a coffin under the tree.”
“Wait,” I said. “This is in your hallway? In your house?”
Eyes big and round, she nodded.
“And you saw this?” I asked her. “You saw this coffin there?”
“I saw the thing that was in it too,” she said.
“In . . . ?”
“The coffin.”
Okay, well, that didn’t sound good. In fact, this was really starting to creep me out in a major way at this point. I mean, I didn’t mind Jennifer saying silly-sounding stuff that rhymed or whatever. But this sounded downright crazy. Or something. A tree in her hall? With a coffin under it? With a thing in the coffin . . . ?
And just then the clouds seemed to grow even darker in the sky, and the air around us seemed to get darker too. The wind blew down the alley of grass, and the willow shifted and rattled as if something were hiding under its branches. I thought I felt the first drops of rain touch my bruised face.
“Sam Hopkins,” Jennifer whispered.
“What?” I said.
But she didn’t answer. It was as if she just wanted to say my name out loud.
“What was in the coffin, Jennifer?” I asked her.
“It was dead,” she answered.
“Yeah, I was sort of afraid you were going to say that.”
“And then it sat up.”
“What?”
“It reached for me. It had skeleton fingers.”
For a second I just stood there, just gaped at her. I mean, I’d heard stories like this before, of course. My brother used to tell them sometimes when we were camping out in the backyard—ghost stories, you know, to scare me before I went to sleep. And I’ve read comics and seen TV shows where scary stuff like this happens, skeletons getting out of their coffins or whatever. And sure, it creeps me out. But I always know somewhere inside me that it’s just a story, right? Just a comic or movie, not something that could ever happen in real life.
But this was different.
I’m not saying I believed what Jennifer was saying. But I did believe that she believed it. I could tell just by looking at her that she wasn’t lying or making it up. Somehow she had actually seen this stuff. Or dreamed it. Or something.
And somehow that made it scarier than a movie, scarier than a comic book or a story. Because Jennifer was real. She was standing right there in front of me, staring at me with her spooky eyes.
“Sam Hopkins,” she whispered. Which made the whole thing even scarier.
I shook my head. “Why do you keep saying my name like that?”
“It’s magical.”
“It is?”
“Yes. There’s magic in a friend’s name.”
“Oh.” I guess I could understand that. Sort of.
The wind blew up again. This time as it came down the grass alley, it carried a full rainfall with it. I felt the damp spray against my face, stinging on the sore places. I heard the rain begin to patter in the branches of the trees all around me. And the willow branches rattled and whispered.
Jennifer felt it too—the wind, the rain. She looked up at the sky for a long moment. “Something terrible is coming,” she said.
“Just rain,” I told her.
But she shook her head, still studying the darkening clouds above. “No. Something else. Something bad. Soon. Very soon.”
I looked up too, trying to see what she saw.
When I looked down, Jennifer was gone. No, wait—there she was—down the alley, backing away from me, backing over the grass along the house,
Her eyes got wide. She leaned in even closer, her voice even more soft and secret and serious. “The one in the hall outside my bedroom. It’s a demon tree. A low-spreading oak over the tarn.”
I licked my dry lips. I found my own voice getting softer too, like Jennifer’s. “What’s a tarn?”
“It’s like a lake. A flat, black, round lake under the spreading branches of the tree. The demons come out of it and they gather there. They write evil symbols on the walls. And they put a coffin under the tree.”
“Wait,” I said. “This is in your hallway? In your house?”
Eyes big and round, she nodded.
“And you saw this?” I asked her. “You saw this coffin there?”
“I saw the thing that was in it too,” she said.
“In . . . ?”
“The coffin.”
Okay, well, that didn’t sound good. In fact, this was really starting to creep me out in a major way at this point. I mean, I didn’t mind Jennifer saying silly-sounding stuff that rhymed or whatever. But this sounded downright crazy. Or something. A tree in her hall? With a coffin under it? With a thing in the coffin . . . ?
And just then the clouds seemed to grow even darker in the sky, and the air around us seemed to get darker too. The wind blew down the alley of grass, and the willow shifted and rattled as if something were hiding under its branches. I thought I felt the first drops of rain touch my bruised face.
“Sam Hopkins,” Jennifer whispered.
“What?” I said.
But she didn’t answer. It was as if she just wanted to say my name out loud.
“What was in the coffin, Jennifer?” I asked her.
“It was dead,” she answered.
“Yeah, I was sort of afraid you were going to say that.”
“And then it sat up.”
“What?”
“It reached for me. It had skeleton fingers.”
For a second I just stood there, just gaped at her. I mean, I’d heard stories like this before, of course. My brother used to tell them sometimes when we were camping out in the backyard—ghost stories, you know, to scare me before I went to sleep. And I’ve read comics and seen TV shows where scary stuff like this happens, skeletons getting out of their coffins or whatever. And sure, it creeps me out. But I always know somewhere inside me that it’s just a story, right? Just a comic or movie, not something that could ever happen in real life.
But this was different.
I’m not saying I believed what Jennifer was saying. But I did believe that she believed it. I could tell just by looking at her that she wasn’t lying or making it up. Somehow she had actually seen this stuff. Or dreamed it. Or something.
And somehow that made it scarier than a movie, scarier than a comic book or a story. Because Jennifer was real. She was standing right there in front of me, staring at me with her spooky eyes.
“Sam Hopkins,” she whispered. Which made the whole thing even scarier.
I shook my head. “Why do you keep saying my name like that?”
“It’s magical.”
“It is?”
“Yes. There’s magic in a friend’s name.”
“Oh.” I guess I could understand that. Sort of.
The wind blew up again. This time as it came down the grass alley, it carried a full rainfall with it. I felt the damp spray against my face, stinging on the sore places. I heard the rain begin to patter in the branches of the trees all around me. And the willow branches rattled and whispered.
Jennifer felt it too—the wind, the rain. She looked up at the sky for a long moment. “Something terrible is coming,” she said.
“Just rain,” I told her.
But she shook her head, still studying the darkening clouds above. “No. Something else. Something bad. Soon. Very soon.”
I looked up too, trying to see what she saw.
When I looked down, Jennifer was gone. No, wait—there she was—down the alley, backing away from me, backing over the grass along the house,
Similar Books
