Eyes of a Stalker Read Online Free Page A

characters!” he continued. He was warming up and I could tell by his tone that he was enjoying the book as much as I had. “I swear, even though the story takes place back in the early 1900s, I know people who are just like some of the characters.”
    For the rest of the walk to my house, we chatted and laughed about poor Willie Baxter and his increasingly bizarre behaviours, all brought about because of his wild infatuation with Miss Pratt.
    Mom was in the kitchen chopping tomatoes when we got to my place. Small bowls were near the cutting board, filled with diced onion and green pepper, shredded cheese and lettuce, and salsa sauce. The smell of taco seasoning, simmering in hamburger in a frying pan on the stove, filled the air.
    She looked up in surprise to see Greg with me, and I could tell by the look on her face that she was trying to remember if I’d mentioned anything about bringing him over for dinner.
    â€œGreg walked me home from school,” I explained. “He’s just going to get a glass of water before he goes home.”
    â€œDid something happen? I mean, did anyone bother you today?”
    â€œNo, Mom. Nothing like that.”
    â€œI’m just being overly cautious,” Greg said lightly. I knew his tone was deliberate. He knows what a worrier Mom can be.
    â€œWell, did you find out who sent
that plant
?” she asked. The way she said it, you’d have thought the plant itself was vile and disgusting.
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œWell, I sure appreciate you seeing Shelby home, Greg,” Mom said. “Why don’t you stay and have a bite to eat with us? If your dad isn’t expecting you, that is.”
    â€œActually, he’s involved with that research focus group in Viander these days, so he gets home pretty late most evenings,” Greg said. “We do a bunch of cooking on the weekend and make up frozen dinners, since our hours are at odds lately. So, I’d love to join you. Thanks.”
    We were just settling in at the table a while later when the phone rang.

C HAPTER F IVE
    â€œI ’ll get it,” I said, heading to the kitchen. Behind me I heard Dad tell Greg that I normally only jump for the phone that way if I think it might be him calling.
    â€œHello?”
    Silence. Somehow, it seemed heavy and dark.
    â€œHello?” I could feel my heartbeat quicken.
    â€œShelby?” The voice was a thick, rasping whisper.
    â€œWho is this?” The words were automatic, but my throat felt dry and constricted. I realized that I sounded scared.
    â€œShelby.” He drew my name out this time, a long, flat sound that sent a chill through me. Oddly, it struck me that it almost sounded like an echo.
    â€œIf this is supposed to be some kind of joke,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice from shaking, “it isn’t one bit funny.”
    â€œOh, Shelby.” There was a strangely sinister amusement in his tone. “Don’t you know that you belong to me?”
    Fear ran through me — a cold bolt that paralysed my voice. I told myself I should hang up, but I was frozen in place, the phone pressed to my ear.
    â€œI will make you my queen.”
    â€œShelby?” Dad called, and for once I was glad about our family rule about no phone interruptions during dinner; Dad would want to know whom I was talking to and why I was on the phone. I heard muffled voices in the next room, and then the sound of a chair being pushed back. Seconds later, Greg came through the kitchen doorway.
    â€œIs everything okay?” he asked. Still unable to speak, I couldn’t answer. But he saw my eyes and he knew something was wrong. He stepped toward me.
    â€œMine for all time,” said the voice on the phone. This came out in a burst and was followed immediately by a click. Within seconds, the dial tone followed.
    Greg reached me. He steadied me and took the phone, listening. At the same time, he called to my