Dead Scared Read Online Free

his son alone. It was a
miracle Dougie had grown up to be so well-rounded, and that was in no small part thanks to the love of his father. All the while the sound of Dougie’s (disturbingly poor taste in) music drew
me closer, my feet creeping up the stairs towards his bedroom. I stepped into Dougie’s den, trying to ignore the odd sensation as I passed through the door.
    He lay flat on his bed, feet hanging off the end and balancing on his drum-kit stool. His eyes were closed, hands resting on his belly, fingers drumming along to
Teenage Kicks
. He was
still wearing the grey suit he’d worn at the funeral home, the tie yanked loose into a knot around his throat. I stood over him for a moment, trying to decide what to do, what to say.
Had
he really seen me earlier? Was I just wasting my time?
    I opened my mouth to speak. ‘Best mates through thick and thin?’
    Any lingering concerns I’d had about whether Dougie had seen me vanished in an instant when he flicked open his eyes. He shrieked once – a sound familiar to anyone who’s ever
been suddenly and horribly surprised – before rolling off the bed, hitting the floor with a clumsy
thunk
.
His stool tumbled forward, clattering into the drum-kit and sending his
cymbals toppling over with a
clash.
When Dougie emerged from the other side of his bed he held his drumsticks in each hand, crossed over one another in the sign of the crucifix.
    ‘Get back!’ he cried, his face white with horror.
    ‘This isn’t
Buffy
, you idiot,’ I said. ‘I’m not a blood-sucking vampire.’
    ‘Look . . . look at you!’
    I lifted my hands, turning them over before my eyes. They were pale and deathly white, and with each movement they left a phosphorous blue shimmer trailing in the air. I looked like Ben
Kenobi’s spirit in
The Empire Strikes Back
, only instead of being aglow with Jedi magic it was the cold chill of death.
    ‘Is everything all right up there, son?’
    It was Mr Hancock, calling from the foot of the stairs. I stared at my best friend and shrugged.
    ‘Your call, mate:
is
everything OK?’
    Dougie chewed his lips, the drumsticks rattling against one another as he held them before him, warding me away.
    ‘Fine thanks, Dad!’ he called over his shoulder. He smiled, throwing me a hopeful look as if asking if he’d said the right thing.
    ‘Dougie, I’m still Will. I haven’t changed that much.’
    ‘Haven’t changed?’ gasped Dougie, killing the stereo with a flick of a switch. ‘You’re dead.’
    ‘But I’m still me. Anyway, you can talk about change: One Direction? What’s with that?’
    ‘It was on the radio.’
    ‘I can
see
the CD box, dude!’
    Dougie glowered at me as the thumping of footsteps on the stairs warned us that his dad was on his way up to investigate.
    ‘You’re a flippin’
ghost
, Will!’
    ‘You saw me this afternoon, Dougie, back at the funeral home. You’ve got to see; I’ve nowhere else to go.’
    ‘Your folks live over the way: can’t you go there?’
    ‘You don’t understand, mate. I’ve been there, but it just felt wrong. They were all so sad, so miserable. I couldn’t be near them.’ I shrugged. ‘I’d
rather just hang out.’
    The door opened and the haggard face of Mr Hancock appeared around the corner.
    ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Douglas?’
    I was standing directly between father and son. Ordinarily, this might obscure the line of sight of one to the other, but that wasn’t really a problem any more. Dougie looked straight
through me towards his dad as his old man smiled back sadly.
    ‘Yes . . . thanks, Dad,’ whispered Dougie. ‘I’m just tired.’
    ‘It’s been an exhausting time, son, for you as much as anyone. Don’t make it a late one, eh? You’ve got school tomorrow.’
    Dougie’s dad’s pale face was etched with concern, the worry lines more pronounced than ever. He didn’t look well at all, clearly my loss and its effect on his son having hit
him hard too. Mr Hancock