father. He told my father to dress me in the drifter’s clothes. “Then the sorcerer cut off the drifter’s hair. He clipped off his fingernails. He put the hair and the fingernail clippings into a leather pouch. This pouch.” Brandt touched the leather pouch again. “He put the pouch around my neck. Now I wore the drifter’s clothes on my body, and wore his hair and nails around my neck. Still, I was dead. The drifter lay on the floor, breathing softly. “The sorcerer and my father lowered my body on the floor beside the drifter’s. Then my parents huddled in a corner and watched the sorcerer perform a strange ceremony. “He lit a torch and danced around my body and the drifter’s body in a figure eight. He chanted something in a strange language my father had never heard before. Then he waved the torch over my corpse, passing it from the drifter’s body to mine, over and over again, chanting in that weird language. “The ceremony lasted until dawn. My father said he heard a rooster crow. At that very moment he saw the drifter shudder. The man never breathed again. “Then my father stared at me—and saw my chest move up, then down. “My mother screamed, she was so happy. She had seen me breathe too. “I was alive! I had been dead—but now I was alive again! I sat up, I opened my eyes. I was alive—but the drifter was dead. The sorcerer had stolen his life force—and given it to me.” Brandt sank back. His story was finished. Cally floated closer. “Brandt,” she whispered, “this is even better than I’d hoped. You’re dead but you’re not. You’re undead!” She threw her arms around him. “We’ll have so much fun, Brandt. You and I. We’ll haunt this house together—forever!” She brought her face close to kiss him. But a cold cloud fell over Brandt. He raised his eyes to it—and saw the dark shadow figure that had been chasing him.
“Who—who are you?” Brandt cried out.
Chapter 29
The shadow loomed closer, darkening the hallway as it moved. “I’ve come to take back my life!” the dark figure cried. Brandt gaped into the darkness. “You!” he uttered. As Brandt stared at the shifting dark cloud, the figure inside it began to take shape. The image came clearer, clearer, like a camera lens focusing. The shadows faded and fell away. Brandt found himself staring at a man. It was impossible to tell how old he was. His hair had been shorn off until he was nearly bald. He was short and wiry. The top of his head reached only to Brandt’s chin. He wore cotton pants and a cotton shirt. The clothes hung long and loose on him, clearly too large. The sleeves of the shirt flapped over his hands. The cuffs of the pants dragged along the floor. His tiny round black eyes gleamed dully, hard and empty. Lifeless. A cold, sickening realization shuddered through Brandt. The shadowy figure who’d been chasing him—it wasn’t Cally’s ghost after all. The shadowy figure was the spirit of the drifter from the island. “I’ve come to take my life back,” the drifter announced in a dry whisper, the sound of crackling dead leaves from the hole that was his mouth. “No! Stay away from me!” Brandt cried, backing away in terror. “Please— stay away!” With lightning quickness the man’s bony hand shot out and ripped the leather pouch from Brandt’s neck. “No! Please—” Brandt protested, weaker now. Clutching the pouch, the shadowy figure grew solid. His features grew sharper and clearer in the dim light of the hallway. His skin and eyes gave off a warm glow. “My heart is beating!” the drifter cried joyfully. “I’m alive!” He vanished silently down the stairs. “Please …” Brandt whispered helplessly. The breath seeped out of his body. He tried to inhale, to pull air in with his lungs. But he hadn’t the strength. “Brandt?” Cally narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you okay?” Brandt answered with a low moan. He could feel his tongue shrivel up. As he opened his mouth,
“Who—who are you?” Brandt cried out.
Chapter 29
The shadow loomed closer, darkening the hallway as it moved. “I’ve come to take back my life!” the dark figure cried. Brandt gaped into the darkness. “You!” he uttered. As Brandt stared at the shifting dark cloud, the figure inside it began to take shape. The image came clearer, clearer, like a camera lens focusing. The shadows faded and fell away. Brandt found himself staring at a man. It was impossible to tell how old he was. His hair had been shorn off until he was nearly bald. He was short and wiry. The top of his head reached only to Brandt’s chin. He wore cotton pants and a cotton shirt. The clothes hung long and loose on him, clearly too large. The sleeves of the shirt flapped over his hands. The cuffs of the pants dragged along the floor. His tiny round black eyes gleamed dully, hard and empty. Lifeless. A cold, sickening realization shuddered through Brandt. The shadowy figure who’d been chasing him—it wasn’t Cally’s ghost after all. The shadowy figure was the spirit of the drifter from the island. “I’ve come to take my life back,” the drifter announced in a dry whisper, the sound of crackling dead leaves from the hole that was his mouth. “No! Stay away from me!” Brandt cried, backing away in terror. “Please— stay away!” With lightning quickness the man’s bony hand shot out and ripped the leather pouch from Brandt’s neck. “No! Please—” Brandt protested, weaker now. Clutching the pouch, the shadowy figure grew solid. His features grew sharper and clearer in the dim light of the hallway. His skin and eyes gave off a warm glow. “My heart is beating!” the drifter cried joyfully. “I’m alive!” He vanished silently down the stairs. “Please …” Brandt whispered helplessly. The breath seeped out of his body. He tried to inhale, to pull air in with his lungs. But he hadn’t the strength. “Brandt?” Cally narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you okay?” Brandt answered with a low moan. He could feel his tongue shrivel up. As he opened his mouth,
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