happened? Damn! Someone must have hit her. Was he or she standing over her right now, ready to plunge a knife through her heart?
Skye’s eyelids flew open. She could dimly make out a sprawled body in front of her, and she realized what had happened. They both must have tried to go through the door at the same time and hit their heads. As Skye’s vision cleared, she could see that the other person was dressed in a long, cobwebby black gown, wearing stark white makeup and fangs. Who was playing Countess Dracula? Skye searched her memory, but came up blank.
The woman sat up slowly, reached for the flashlight that had rolled a few inches from her hand, and flicked it on. She stared at Skye. Fear, stark and vivid, glittered in the woman’s eyes, and her mouth formed a large circle. Screaming, she struggled to her feet and, keeping her gaze on Skye, backed through the door, then turned and ran.
Clearly Skye wasn’t the only one spooked by the haunted house. She eased to her feet, her head still swimming. Why had the countess run away like that?
Warily, Skye stepped farther into the passageway. The door had swung shut, as it was designed to do, and it was even darker here than in the outer hallway. Skye took a moment to get her bearings, then reached out and felt along the wall. Somewhere nearby was a panic button that would turn on an emergency light in the passageway, as well as a signal in the control room indicating that there was a problem. And a freaked-out Mrs. Dracula was definitely a problem.
She knew the button was at shoulder level and the size of a doorbell. Shuffling forward, she inched down the narrow corridor while trailing her hand against the rough plywood. If she went too fast, she might overlook the switch.
Where was the blasted thing? Had she somehow gotten turned around? Was she going the wrong way? Or had she missed it? As she took another step, her right foot slid into what felt like a large pile of clothes. Still unable to see in the darkness, Skye crouched. Tentatively, she reached out and touched the mound, then ran her fingers down its length.
Yikes! She yanked her hand back. It wasn’t someone’s abandoned laundry. It was a person.
Hesitantly, she grabbed what she hoped was the shoulder and shook it. “Hey, get up. Are you all right?”
Skye tried again, but there was no response. She needed help. Jumping to her feet, she continued her search for the light. Her breath was coming in shallow, quick gasps, and by the time her fingers stumbled onto the switch, her chest felt as if it would burst.
She pushed the plastic button and light flooded the passageway. Blinded from the sudden glare, Skye instinctively closed her eyes as she swung around and stepped back to the person on the floor.
When she opened her eyes, she recoiled, then stood frozen in shock. A woman was lying on the floor in front of her, unmoving and corpselike. And she was a dead ringer for Skye herself!
CHAPTER 9
It Might Be You
S heer black fright swept through Skye. Her mind reeled with confusion. Was she going insane? The situation was jarringly reminiscent of her recurring nightmare—the one in which she was attending a funeral, went up to pay her respects, and instead of finding the deceased in the casket, she saw herself.
Panic, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before, welled up in her throat. Her breath whistling rapidly in and out and her heart pounding like a jackhammer, she sank to the floor. Huddled against the wall, Skye gripped the stun gun and stared at her doppelgänger, trying to make sense of what was in front of her. Several minutes ticked by, but her brain refused to function and she remained paralyzed.
The sound of running footsteps roused her from her stupor. As the initial shock began to wear off, she calmed down. Regaining a fragment of self-control, she realized that the person sprawled a few feet from her was one of the other two witches. During the rehearsals they had discovered that all
Skye’s eyelids flew open. She could dimly make out a sprawled body in front of her, and she realized what had happened. They both must have tried to go through the door at the same time and hit their heads. As Skye’s vision cleared, she could see that the other person was dressed in a long, cobwebby black gown, wearing stark white makeup and fangs. Who was playing Countess Dracula? Skye searched her memory, but came up blank.
The woman sat up slowly, reached for the flashlight that had rolled a few inches from her hand, and flicked it on. She stared at Skye. Fear, stark and vivid, glittered in the woman’s eyes, and her mouth formed a large circle. Screaming, she struggled to her feet and, keeping her gaze on Skye, backed through the door, then turned and ran.
Clearly Skye wasn’t the only one spooked by the haunted house. She eased to her feet, her head still swimming. Why had the countess run away like that?
Warily, Skye stepped farther into the passageway. The door had swung shut, as it was designed to do, and it was even darker here than in the outer hallway. Skye took a moment to get her bearings, then reached out and felt along the wall. Somewhere nearby was a panic button that would turn on an emergency light in the passageway, as well as a signal in the control room indicating that there was a problem. And a freaked-out Mrs. Dracula was definitely a problem.
She knew the button was at shoulder level and the size of a doorbell. Shuffling forward, she inched down the narrow corridor while trailing her hand against the rough plywood. If she went too fast, she might overlook the switch.
Where was the blasted thing? Had she somehow gotten turned around? Was she going the wrong way? Or had she missed it? As she took another step, her right foot slid into what felt like a large pile of clothes. Still unable to see in the darkness, Skye crouched. Tentatively, she reached out and touched the mound, then ran her fingers down its length.
Yikes! She yanked her hand back. It wasn’t someone’s abandoned laundry. It was a person.
Hesitantly, she grabbed what she hoped was the shoulder and shook it. “Hey, get up. Are you all right?”
Skye tried again, but there was no response. She needed help. Jumping to her feet, she continued her search for the light. Her breath was coming in shallow, quick gasps, and by the time her fingers stumbled onto the switch, her chest felt as if it would burst.
She pushed the plastic button and light flooded the passageway. Blinded from the sudden glare, Skye instinctively closed her eyes as she swung around and stepped back to the person on the floor.
When she opened her eyes, she recoiled, then stood frozen in shock. A woman was lying on the floor in front of her, unmoving and corpselike. And she was a dead ringer for Skye herself!
CHAPTER 9
It Might Be You
S heer black fright swept through Skye. Her mind reeled with confusion. Was she going insane? The situation was jarringly reminiscent of her recurring nightmare—the one in which she was attending a funeral, went up to pay her respects, and instead of finding the deceased in the casket, she saw herself.
Panic, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before, welled up in her throat. Her breath whistling rapidly in and out and her heart pounding like a jackhammer, she sank to the floor. Huddled against the wall, Skye gripped the stun gun and stared at her doppelgänger, trying to make sense of what was in front of her. Several minutes ticked by, but her brain refused to function and she remained paralyzed.
The sound of running footsteps roused her from her stupor. As the initial shock began to wear off, she calmed down. Regaining a fragment of self-control, she realized that the person sprawled a few feet from her was one of the other two witches. During the rehearsals they had discovered that all
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