Mothman's Curse Read Online Free

hold on my hand.
    â€œThey did not,” I insisted. “Quit messing around.”
    Fox shoved the picture under my nose. Sure enough, the mystery man’s lips were moving, shaping the same few words over and over. I gasped and stumbled backward.
    â€œThey’re all moving!” Mason shouted, pointing at the table.
    In every photograph, the man’s mouth worked furiously, desperately. We stood helpless, paralyzed with fear, watching until his movements slowed and finally stilled.
    Fox kept staring, his breathing rough. I pulled my sweatshirt sleeves down over my hands to slow the cold creeping into my limbs. Mason curled up against me. I could feel his heart racing in his chest.
    â€œSo,” I said, swallowing, my throat bone-dry, “not a trick camera, then?”
    â€œWhat’s happening?” Mason said. “Is it a ghost? What does he want?”
    Fox widened his eyes at me, then tilted his head at Mason. His standard you’re-older-you-handle-it look. But the wide eyes remained, seeking reassurance I wasn’t sure I could give.
    â€œDon’t worry,” I said, squeezing Mason’s shoulders. “What would a ghost want with us? Nothing, that’s what, because there’s no such thing. There has to be an explanation. We just need some time to figure this out.”
    Mason’s forehead scrunched. His mouth was shaped to form another question when Fox came to the rescue. He picked up the leather case and held it close to his face, examining the lining inch by inch. “Check this out,” he said, tilting the case to show us the clue he’d uncovered: the initials JG inked in red on the white silk lining.
    â€œ JG ? Does that help us?” I said.
    â€œWe can find out who this is—who owned the camera before now.”
    I frowned. “How do we know JG is a person? Maybe it means ‘joke gift.’” Or “joyless ghost,” I thought without meaning to.
    Mason wriggled away from me. “Why don’t you ask Dad?” he said. “If it is a person, he just sold all their stuff, didn’t he?”
    Fox nodded. “Best idea of the day,” he said. “Josie and I will talk to him. But listen, kiddo. All of this needs to stay a secret for a while, okay?” He pulled a Snickers bar from his pocket and held it out to Mason. “The mystery man, the photos—all of it. Just until we figure out what’s making the camera work that way. You know how Dad worries. We don’t want him to take it away or anything. Deal?”
    Mason grabbed the candy, head bobbing.
    â€œNow, go on and eat that in your room while we finish up here,” Fox said.
    Mason took off toward the house, already chewing.
    I blocked Fox’s path, hands on hips. “You still think the camera is rigged? You saw the guy’s face, saw his mouth moving. How do you explain that?”
    Fox gathered the photos, tucked the camera in its case, and swung the strap over his shoulder. “I can’t.”
    â€œAnd you’re not even a little bit worried about all this.”
    â€œWho, me?” He smiled his most reassuring smile: cocky, unflinching, all pearly whites and lofty eyebrows.
    Which set me worrying even more, because it was the smile he used whenever he was lying through his teeth.

 
    3
    On the way back to the auction house, we passed a few straggling customers in the lot trying to wedge boxes and lamps and the odd piece of furniture into their cars. Inside, we found Dad sweeping up dried mud from the auction floor. Uncle Bill was stacking chairs. Aunt Barb stood chatting with a neighbor, her own broom long forgotten.
    Dad spotted the camera right away. “I should have known that woman was in cahoots with the two of you,” he said by way of greeting. “You wasted sixty dollars on that? We must have a dozen old cameras stashed around the house.”
    â€œI knew it,” Fox muttered. “Pure