Scaredy Kat Read Online Free Page A

there.
    “Please,” I said to him, kneeling down so that my face was level with his. “Can’t you just turn your head and look? Or nod
     if you understand me?”
    He just kept looking up at that one spot. Like he was talking to God or something. Like someone was standing over him, looking
     down at him.
    “No, don’t,” he began.
    And just like that, I was alone.
    I put my hand out and lightly touched the place on the floor where he’d been sitting. It was stone cold. The sun was setting,
     its rays shining orange and rose through the window and illuminating the painting with warm light. From where I was still
     kneeling, I could see that something was written under the painting. Moving closer to the wall, I could make it out clearly.
For Tank. Let your light shine. Love, Aunt Ruby.
A date was written underneath. Three years ago, about ten months before we’d moved next door. I took a picture of the painting.
    Something told me that Tank was the little boy’s name, or maybe I was just so desperate to know something about him I’d decided
     the painting and inscription were for him. So now I knew where he lived, what he looked like, and what his name was, or at
     least what I intended to call him. That was more than I found out about most spirits in the first encounter. What, then, was
     stopping him from communicating directly with me? He was old enough to talk.
    This is stupid, I told myself. You’ve seen him. You’ve tried to make yourself known to him. There’s nothing else to do here.
    The sun had now dropped down below the horizon. The house felt cold and dark. I thought of the old man in the next room and
     suppressed a shiver at the memory of his rage. It was definitely time to get out of there.
    But before I left, I walked over to Tank’s window, where I’d first seen him. I’d left my computer on in my room, and I could
     see the blue rectangle of its screen perfectly. The lights in the kitchen were on—my mother was probably starting dinner.
     My stomach rumbled. I was about to turn to go, when something caught my eye. There was a light covering of dust on the windowpanes,
     and something had been traced over it with a finger. I leaned closer so that I could make out the words.
    The backwards letters spelled: help me.

Chapter 4
    “I’m back! Going upstairs for a while, ’kay?” I called over my shoulder to my mom, all while practically sprinting for the
     stairs. If I had to come face-to-face with her at this moment, she would know there was something wrong. And I didn’t want
     to talk about it. Not now. Not with her. Why? I wasn’t sure. I suspected it had something to do with the fear I could still
     feel in the pit of my stomach. I kept seeing that old man’s face in my mind’s eye. Mediums weren’t supposed to be fearful.
     I didn’t want my mother to know how weak I was. And I didn’t want a lecture about how there was nothing to fear but fear itself.
    “Sure, Kat, we can eat whenever you’re ready,” I heard her say.
    I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready for food that night. I still felt light-headed, and now my stomach was a little upset to boot.
     When I got to my room, the first thing I did was pull my curtains closed. They were light and flimsy, and the sun shone right
     through them in the mornings, but closing them gave me the illusion that whatever was in the house next door wouldn’t be able
     to see me. I put on a Norah Jones CD. The music was relaxing. I lay on my bed for a few minutes, listening and taking long
     deep breaths. I still didn’t feel quite myself, but my stomach did feel a bit better.
    After a while, I felt so safe and comfortable in my room that I began to wonder if I’d overreacted to the house. It wasn’t
     like I hadn’t expected the place to be haunted. When a house has been around for a hundred and fifty years, it would be weird
     to not find any ghosts there. Nothing truly bad had happened. I’d just gotten a little startled. The more I