touched something small, soft, and furry. She cringed when she heard the tiny squeak and felt whatever she had stepped on scurry away. She shuddered, afraid to move, lest she encounter something worse.
Emma’s nose twitched from the dank, musty smell of rotting wood. Summoning up her courage, she inched her body along the wall, carefully testing the environment. Cobwebs brushed across her face and a spider skittered across her arm. Her skin crawled and she frantically brushed at herself.
She had to do something. She blinked and tried to focus her eyes. A faint pinprick of light was barely visible high above her. Searching with her hands she found something cold and metallic. She ran her fingers across it and determined it was a ladder. Tugging on it to test its strength, she decided to try it. Anything would be better than being trapped in this place.
Emma closed her eyes and prayed she was doing the right thing. Her head throbbed again, reminding her of the pain that had been replaced by terror. Moving with great care, she placed her hand on an upper rung and then her foot on a lower. When it held her weight, she climbed higher. She repeated this action several times until she could feel the change of temperature in the narrow space. She shivered and she felt her hair rise upward from the extreme vertical current that blustered through the shaft.
A scraping noise from above alerted her to trouble. Her heart pounded when she felt the ladder shift under her weight. She heard the brittle snap of rusted metal just before she fell. Something sharp scraped against her shoulder and she felt searing pain.
Then something crashed down on her head. Her fear went away. All of her thoughts left her.
CHAPTER SIX
Zan gripped his cue stick and carefully studied the balls on the table. Choosing his target, he leaned into position, drew back the stick and aimed, then followed through with the shot. He banked the six-ball off the side cushion and it rolled into the pocket.
“Yes!” He thrust his fist into the air and strutted around the pool table.
“Way to go, Zan!” Phoebe and Moonbeam yelled in unison. Phoebe jumped up and down, waving her arms like a cheerleader. The Chief smiled and rubbed the tip of his stick with chalk. Allen pretended to sulk.
Zan walked around the table and prepared his strategy. Feeling cocky, he decided to really show off and try for a cut . But just as he was about to make his shot, the eerie sight of an old woman standing in the corner distracted him. Startled, he missed, and the cue ball went flying across the table without hitting any of the balls.
“Scratch!” Allen yelled in triumph.
Zan lowered his cue stick and stared at the elderly woman. The others noticed his odd behavior and turned to see what had arrested his attention.
“Who is that ?” Allen broke the silence.
She looked tiny and ancient, standing forlornly in the shadows. Her thin gray hair was pulled back in a bun and her face was lined with age. She wore an old fashioned, long black dress with a white lace collar and carried an old, worn reticule. A prominent dowager’s hump contributed to her shrunken stature; the expression in her deep-set eyes seemed to cry out in unspoken pain and sadness.
A heaviness centered in Zan’s heart as an ominous premonition engulfed his mind. Something was wrong with Emma. His voice broke. “What’s wrong with my wife?”
“She needs you now,” the old woman answered in a shaky, solemn voice. “You must go to her. Quickly.” She paused to search his face, and then disappeared.
Zan stood frozen. The Chief and Moonbeam exchanged worried looks. Phoebe’s eyes widened and her hand flew to her throat.
“Jeez, that was freaky,” said Allen.
Zan threw down his stick, headed out of the game room and rushed down the stairs. The others chased after him. When he got to the parking lot two blocks away he fumbled in his pockets and stormed, “Where’re the friggin’ keys?”
“You
Emma’s nose twitched from the dank, musty smell of rotting wood. Summoning up her courage, she inched her body along the wall, carefully testing the environment. Cobwebs brushed across her face and a spider skittered across her arm. Her skin crawled and she frantically brushed at herself.
She had to do something. She blinked and tried to focus her eyes. A faint pinprick of light was barely visible high above her. Searching with her hands she found something cold and metallic. She ran her fingers across it and determined it was a ladder. Tugging on it to test its strength, she decided to try it. Anything would be better than being trapped in this place.
Emma closed her eyes and prayed she was doing the right thing. Her head throbbed again, reminding her of the pain that had been replaced by terror. Moving with great care, she placed her hand on an upper rung and then her foot on a lower. When it held her weight, she climbed higher. She repeated this action several times until she could feel the change of temperature in the narrow space. She shivered and she felt her hair rise upward from the extreme vertical current that blustered through the shaft.
A scraping noise from above alerted her to trouble. Her heart pounded when she felt the ladder shift under her weight. She heard the brittle snap of rusted metal just before she fell. Something sharp scraped against her shoulder and she felt searing pain.
Then something crashed down on her head. Her fear went away. All of her thoughts left her.
CHAPTER SIX
Zan gripped his cue stick and carefully studied the balls on the table. Choosing his target, he leaned into position, drew back the stick and aimed, then followed through with the shot. He banked the six-ball off the side cushion and it rolled into the pocket.
“Yes!” He thrust his fist into the air and strutted around the pool table.
“Way to go, Zan!” Phoebe and Moonbeam yelled in unison. Phoebe jumped up and down, waving her arms like a cheerleader. The Chief smiled and rubbed the tip of his stick with chalk. Allen pretended to sulk.
Zan walked around the table and prepared his strategy. Feeling cocky, he decided to really show off and try for a cut . But just as he was about to make his shot, the eerie sight of an old woman standing in the corner distracted him. Startled, he missed, and the cue ball went flying across the table without hitting any of the balls.
“Scratch!” Allen yelled in triumph.
Zan lowered his cue stick and stared at the elderly woman. The others noticed his odd behavior and turned to see what had arrested his attention.
“Who is that ?” Allen broke the silence.
She looked tiny and ancient, standing forlornly in the shadows. Her thin gray hair was pulled back in a bun and her face was lined with age. She wore an old fashioned, long black dress with a white lace collar and carried an old, worn reticule. A prominent dowager’s hump contributed to her shrunken stature; the expression in her deep-set eyes seemed to cry out in unspoken pain and sadness.
A heaviness centered in Zan’s heart as an ominous premonition engulfed his mind. Something was wrong with Emma. His voice broke. “What’s wrong with my wife?”
“She needs you now,” the old woman answered in a shaky, solemn voice. “You must go to her. Quickly.” She paused to search his face, and then disappeared.
Zan stood frozen. The Chief and Moonbeam exchanged worried looks. Phoebe’s eyes widened and her hand flew to her throat.
“Jeez, that was freaky,” said Allen.
Zan threw down his stick, headed out of the game room and rushed down the stairs. The others chased after him. When he got to the parking lot two blocks away he fumbled in his pockets and stormed, “Where’re the friggin’ keys?”
“You
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