Ghastly Deux by Carolyn J. Tody (year 7 reading list .txt) 📖

Soon the long wooden fence surrounding my place is ablaze with silver light. A sign appears that I don’t remember from my earlier explorations: “Danger! Leave now ~ this means YOU!”

I jump back from the window fighting my sudden powerful urge to run away, to exit through the back and never return. My suitcases are in the coat closet, so I don’t just want to take off. Besides, if I run, Witherworm Villa will haunt me forever. The ramshackle old building might even fall down around me as I escape. Despite goosebumps and a dry mouth, I gulp back my fear. This night is one I will see through.

Footsteps thunder closer. I toss a dark lampshade over my head and poke out two holes.

Emerging from the darkness is a monster covered in silver fur, snapping its white jaws like a timber wolf. Its arms and legs flail madly. I think it resembles an Alaskan king crab with a bloated belly hiding in a thick Tortoise shell. Whatever. There is no time to think. I see no way to defend myself against such a sheer demonic force. Soon, the frail door bulges under its weight. At any second it is going to pop off its single hinge, exposing my hiding place and allowing other night inhabitants to enter my sanctuary. So I do the only thing I can... I open the door and let the creature inside. Then I hit it with my secret weapon: my camera flash

The wolf crab creature rebounds in dazzling light and falls backward in the tall grass, where he glares at me as if in a daze. He probably wonders how such a bright light can come from a black lampshade.

After I relock the ramshackle door, I pile every piece of wood I can find against it for the little extra insurance it provides. Terrible crashing noises erupt outside. I peek cautiously out the window-slit. More creatures pour from the sides of the hill to converge just below my window. My stars, but I am happy to be inside out of the way! Whatever is happening, I don’t want to be any part of it. It is so dark there is no way to tell what dank, dark creatures are out there. So I take another picture without using the flash. Placing it in my pocket for safekeeping, I leave to search for the fallen flashlight.

The light is still eluding me when the clatter outside finally ceases. By then, luminescent green mist from the basement doorway is filling the room with so much light I no longer need my light. I use the lampshade to shield my eyes against its glow and venture another peek outside.

Uh oh! There will be no pies tomorrow after all! Jack-o’-lanterns line the fence as neatly as you please. I wonder if those are different pumpkins, or if someone has been reassembling smashed bodies the way our nursery friend Humpty Dumpty expects the King’s Men to make repairs.

Imagine my surprise when a gaggle of vines arrives driving an old garden tractor and carts off the remaining debris! The whole scene is too surreal for my primitive brain. I slump to the floor and sit there for a moment trying to wrap my mind around the idea of hosting monsters every night. Mwahaha! Maybe I’ll go crazy before then. It astounds me to remember that I am an aspiring writer! And here, staring me right in the face, is the best story I am likely to find in a very long time.

Taking the darkened stairs three at a time, I sail up through the gathering mist to the huge linen closet I’m fashioning into a fairly decent study. In the luminous glow that fills the closet, I document those midnight happenings until I create the first story I've authored since my arrival. My lit teacher will love me this year!

By now, the world is silent again and I am getting sleepy. Using colored pencils I find on my improvised desk, I draw a sign in vivid shades of the rainbow. Before it is finished I fall exhausted into the dusty duvet once more and lay snoring on the closet floor.

Next morning, I take my sign downstairs and prop it against the toaster while I make breakfast. It doesn’t take long to locate the photographs I’ve taken. I prop them against a cup and read old pamphlets. According to these brochures, the derelict mansion once housed a powerful land baron. He built Witherworm Village to accommodate staff members and workers at his automotive factory until he died. Then the company folded and the house was deserted for ages until my uncle took charge.

Until now, I believe all ghost stories to be untrue. But if last night portrays the real nightlife in this vicinity, it changes everything about the way I perceive ghouls and creatures of the night. I am not anxious to spend another night in the house. But daylight is also empowering. New stories are waiting to be told. I am beginning to enjoy certain parts of my little adventure.

So after breakfast, I hang my sign outside and step back to admire my handiwork. The old house remains dark and uninviting even in the daylight, but it also looks different somehow. Curtains flutter in the upper windows, shutters dangle precariously, and the yard holds no sign of invasion from the previous night.

Don’t get me wrong…I am still scared stiff. But since I can’t leave until the creatures are ready to let me go, there isn't much I can do about the situation. At least I know where to hide in a closet. And they don’t hurt me. In fact, they seem to be asking for help. I am also beginning to wonder if Uncle Dan found a way to declare the house off limits to monsters.

I saunter across the porch and look at the ground under my window-slit lookout. Fresh footprints dent the soil here and there in too many places to ignore. Several scratches also mar the wooden siding. Last night, when I was gazing curiously out the window at them, they were peeking in at me. Is that creepy? You bet. This is simply amazing. A certain level of intelligence is required to look in without being caught. There must be some pretty audacious spirits watching over me.

At lunchtime, I gather every pumpkin shards I could find. Many have fallen under leaves. With flour, butter and a little luck, I can still make a tasty little tart. Then my heart skips a beat. I hear a mewling sound. Inside a hollow pumpkin I find a tiny creature half buried by leaves and scoop out a wolf pup no larger than my palm! No claws exist on the tiny paws it reaches out to me. Cuddling the newborn, I feel along its backbone until I find the beginnings of a thin shell.

So that is what happened last night! The wolf was not attacking me. She was seeking sanctuary to birth her litter. She placed blind trust in me, a female of a different species. Am I really such a meanie? Why did I scare her away? Raising a pup alone is going to be a huge responsibility. But then again, so is becoming a ghostwriter. I think I am growing up somewhat because I’m deciding to embrace both roles.

When the pup is warm and I stash him safely inside one of my worn out tennis shoes, I ventilate the villa to drain away the last of the mist. Then I let him sleep while I hunt for rubber gloves and canned milk.

Upon reaching the kitchen, I spot the forgotten photos propped against my teacup. What was it I photographed last night? Oh, yes... one very surprised wolf and a yard littered with pumpkins. Excitedly, I examine the pictures. Now what is this I se? These can’t possibly be the same photos from last night. If so, why are the pup and I walking together through a maze of tangled pumpkin vines? Why, I implore you... why?

I know. That camera has evil powers!

Later in the afternoon, I hear a chopper drop my biweekly supply rations into the back yard. At least I will have enough food to stay until school resumes.

Flicking dust from the new sign, I brush a coat of lacquer across the board so it will dry before nightfall. Twelve colorful words are highlighted in wet varnish: “Ginger Daphne Hayes, Demon Photographer. If you can’t lick ‘em, join ‘em!”

Find more from Carolyn J. Tody at https://www.facebook.com/Carolyn.Tody.Author

Text: Reproduction rights reserved beyond passages used for publicity. Copyright © CactusFiction
Publication Date: 11-03-2011

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
To the kiddos who invited me to enjoy their Halloween celebration.