King of Murder by Betsy Byars Page A

I’ll go to the library and load up with books.”
    â€œOh, there’s a huge library at the house. You won’t need to take anything.”
    â€œA huge library? This old man has a huge library in his house?”
    Her mom hesitated a moment before she answered. “Have you ever heard of Shivers Hunt?”
    â€œMom! Not the Shivers Hunt!”
    â€œThere couldn’t be but one.”
    â€œMom, you mean I’d actually get to go inside Haunt House?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHaunt House. That’s what all the kids call it. And, Mom, nobody has ever been inside it. I cannot believe that I’m going to Haunt House.”
    â€œWell, you aren’t going unless you stop calling it that.”
    â€œRight! Hunt House!”
    â€œI won’t let you go unless you promise you won’t do anything to upset Mr. Hunt.”
    â€œI won‘t, I won’t! I promise! But I can’t help being excited. I, Herculeah Jones, am going inside”—she swallowed the word—“Hunt House.”
    But when Herculeah got there, she hadn’t been taken to the library to choose a book as she had expected. The nurse took her straight up the stairs to Mr. Hunt’s bedroom. The book had already been chosen for her. It was waiting on the table by the old man’s bed.
    Herculeah picked up the book. She read the title aloud. “ The Terror in Black Tower. This is what I’m supposed to read?” she asked the nurse.
    â€œYes, Herculeah. When I told Mr. Hunt that you were coming to read to him, I asked if there was any particular book he’d like. He blinked yes. I must have carried a hundred books up from the library before he finally saw this one and gave a very definite yes.”
    Herculeah picked up the book. On the cover, embossed in the black leather, was the silhouette of a tower. It was outlined in gold, but it looked as if someone had rubbed their fingers over the gold, as if to erase the whole tower from sight. It gave the book a sinister look. She rubbed her own fingers over the gold, then stopped abruptly.
    â€œWell, let’s get on with it.” She opened the book. “Ready, Mr. Hunt?”
    Yes.
    Inside, the pages were thick and yellow with age. They smelled of mildew and dark passages and old secrets. Herculeah loved it.
    Perhaps, she thought, Mr. Hunt had read the book as a boy, and back then it had seemed scary, probably full of family madness and secret passages, and—who knows?—maybe some terror actually had been up in the black tower.
    But those things didn’t exist in modern times.
    They didn’t.
    She paused.
    Or did they?
    2
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    THE TRAPDOOR
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    Herculeah glanced at Mr. Hunt. He was waiting for her to continue. She looked down at the page.
    â€œWhere was I? Oh, yes, she’s going up the tower steps.” Herculeah smiled. “Actually, this will probably sound foolish to you, Mr. Hunt, but I can understand the girl doing this. I mean, she knows she’s not supposed to. She knows there’s something up there, something dangerous. But she can’t stop herself. That’s the way I am. I would do the exact same thing. The only difference would be that at this point my hair would be frizzling. I have radar hair. It gets bigger when I’m in danger. Like this.”
    She laughed and fluffed out her hair. Mr. Hunt watched. His bright bird eyes never left her face.
    At that moment, her hair actually seemed to be frizzling on its own, as if it were anticipating the day she would climb the tower, the day she—heart racing with fear—not the character in the book, would take those circular stairs.
    She patted her hair into place and said, “Oh, here’s where we were.” She began to read.
    Slowly she took another step and another. Higher ... higher. With each step, her fear grew until it seemed to swirl around her like a cape that held no warmth.
    In the distance