Bronze Pen (9781439156650) Read Online Free

black-eyed stare. It was possible to imagine that someone could be tempted into danger by the slit yellow eyes of a cat. But to sensesuch evil purpose in the shiny black eyes of a duck? That seemed, somehow, impossible.
    And the rest of it? The creature—old woman—whatever—in the pirates’ cave. That hooded shape with its birdlike cackle. How much of it had been the product of her imagination? Of that overactive imagination that, as she had so often been told, was sometimes way out of control? As Audrey made her way down the steep, slippery path, there were still so many questions without answers.
    CHAPTER 4
    I T WASN’T AFTER THAT FIRST VISIT THAT Audrey told her parents about the woman in the cave. She thought about telling them, of course, but for more reasons than one, she decided against it. In the first place there was the fact that she had been forbidden to go there. Had, in fact, promised never to visit the cave again. That, by itself, was a good enough reason not to have mentioned it. But there was more to it than that.
    The other reason was a lot harder to put her finger on, but it had something to do with the possibility that some of it had been added to, at least a little bit, by her imagination. That sort of thing, Audrey had to admit, had happened before. There was, for instance, the time when she had gone with her mother to put flowers on her grandparents’ graves and she’d heard a voice reminding her to water her grandmother’s favorite rosebush. She’d been sure, or almost sure, of what she’d heard, and she’d toldher mother so. But after a while she herself began to wonder whether it had been a real voice or only, as her mother insisted that day in the graveyard, a well-remembered one.
    And now, on the evening of that first visit to the cave, Audrey was still sorting it out. Trying to narrow it down to the things she was absolutely certain of, while at the same time cleaning the cockatiel’s cage and half listening to what her mother was saying about yesterday’s visitors. It wasn’t easy.
    For one thing Sputnik, the cockatiel, was, or at least tried to be, a dangerous bird. John, Audrey’s dad, had rescued him from a reporter at the Greendale Times , who had called him Bleep and had threatened to throw him to the chicken hawks because he was hopelessly mean and foulmouthed.
    Andy Anderson, the reporter, had been right about the foulmouthed part. Sputnik certainly did know how to swear. The Abbotts had changed his name from Bleep to Sputnik not because he’d stopped swearing, but because of his tendency to go into orbit whenever he escaped from his cage. So cleaning Sputnik’s cage was never easy, but Audrey had discovered she could do it without being pecked or sworn at if she ignored his threats and moved quickly and quietly.
    â€œThey do mean well,” Hannah was still insisting. “At least Virginia does.” Adding freshly peeled carrots tothe stew pot, Hannah Abbott turned and gave Audrey a rueful smile. “I do have to admit that Maribel always did have a mean streak. I remember one time in Mr. Martin’s chemistry class…”
    It was about then that Audrey lost track completely of what her mother was saying as she focused once more on what she had seen in the cave.
    There had been the duck and then the slippery trip up the muddy path. Of that much, she was absolutely certain. But then there was the cave itself and the strange creature—an old woman, perhaps. Audrey closed her eyes and tried to picture exactly what she had seen. Some of it wasn’t hard to recall.
    The vine-covered entrance to the cave and the rickety table and chairs were all as clear as if a negative had been imprinted on the inside of her eyelids. And the owls and bats as well were easy to picture. But farther back, almost hidden in the deepest shadows, there was only movement and a vague, ever-changing shape and the sound of a raspy,