SHUDDERVILLE SIX Read Online Free Page B

steps and scraped his boots on the horsehair mat. Then he went inside.
    The house was warm and full of solid blocks of furniture with well-established boundaries—assertive desks and obstinate chairs with tufted upholstery. He went over to a living room window, parted the curtains and looked across the road at the dark, sodden woods. He heard a distant cry and flinched.
    Bella’s voice inside his head was like the warm breath of a dog, intrusive and inquisitive. It would whisper things that didn’t make any sense: Who is she? What did she ever do to him? I’ll kill him. Did he kill her? What did she ever do?
    Babbling like an insane person.
    Then it faded away.
    He waited. He listened.
    Nothing. Not for the longest time. It was maddening. He was fed up.
    The house was dark. He switched on the hallway light and made his way toward the second story, drifting past an ecology of shadows. Cassie was still sleeping a lot during the day, still healing. He didn’t want to wake her up but he needed the human contact, and not just any contact—hers. She had closed the door again. She was so incredibly afraid of everything since her experience at Hope Hollow that she kept the doors and windows shut. Now he placed his hand on the antique glass knob, and the door opened smoothly on well-oiled hinges. The lights were off. The curtains were drawn. He could barely make out the peaks and valleys of this nocturnal landscape.
    Something was wrong with the play of shadows.
    “Cassie? You okay?”
    She was sitting up in the dark. Rubbing her face. Rubbing her shoulder.
    Crying. She was crying.
    “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He threw the switch.
    “Benjamin?” She looked up with an awful urgency.
    He went over to her. In the soft pink light, he could tell she was trapped inside a remorseless hole of sorrow. Her pajamas had ice cream cones all over them—reflecting Cassie’s ironic sense of humor, but her sorrow gave them a pathetic resonance. As soon as he sat down beside her, she thrashed around, pushing him away and making soft, blunt motions with her hands. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t touch me!”
    “Okay,” he said, terrified for her. “I’m sorry. I’m here. It’s okay.”
    At the sound of his voice, she stopped thrashing around. She wiped the tears off her cheeks. There was an antique chest at the foot of the bed where they’d once made uncomfortable love. There were two lamps, perfect for reading, and an easy chair by the window that beckoned you to sit and relax. Benjamin’s books were stacked in precarious piles against the walls, waiting to be shelved. She reached for him in a helpless way and let him hold her. He did his best to reassure her by pushing past his own inner turmoil.
    “Benjamin?” She twisted her fingers like the roots of a tree into his scalp and gave him a steely, unrelenting look. “Whatever happens… say you’ll understand. All right?”
    His heart began to pound irregularly.
    There was a pearly translucence to her skin. He touched her lovely swan-like neck and stroked the silky loops of her hair, then bent to kiss her sugary lips.
    She pushed him away and made him stop. She held his eye. “I love you.”
    He was too stunned to respond.
    “Do you understand?”
    He nodded dumbly. He didn’t believe her. He could only hope it was true.
    “I love you, Benjamin. You’re such a good person.” She was crying. Her mouth was wet and open, and her face was flushed and hot. He brushed aside some of her hair, dumbstruck with love.
    “Benjamin, I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t be sorry. I love you, too.”
    “No. You don’t understand. I have to go home. I’m sorry.” She was sobbing. Home, she signed. “I have to go home.”
    Dignity, Vermont
    48 hours later, the moon was out. It was past midnight. A cool breeze had blown in from the southwest, promising more snow. Colton pitched his shovel into the ground, leaning hard on the shovelhead and digging out more dirt. He balanced the steel