The Cemetery Boys Read Online Free

psycho run in the family?
    I closed my eyes, drinking in the faint singsong of the crickets outside, blocking out any thoughts of Cara and her crazy mother, until finally, I slipped into the empty quiet of sleep.
    Moments later, or maybe it was hours—with my alarm clock still lost in Fort Cardboard, I had no way of telling how long I’d dozed—I sat up, awakened by a noise. I listened closely, but there was nothing, just that eerie silence that comes with night in a small town. And then it hit me. It wasn’t a sound that had woken me, but the lack of one. The crickets outside my window had gone abruptly quiet.
    Stretching, I sat up and peered outside. Stars speckled the sky above, and my heart sank at the sight of them. In Denver, we couldn’t see the stars in town because of the city lights. In Denver . . . well, a lot of things had been different.
    I was about to lie back down when I noticed a strange silhouette standing on the sidewalk directly in front of the house. Whoever it was, they weren’t moving at all, just standing there. I watched, curious, waiting for them to turn and walk away, but they didn’t. And right as I became convinced that maybe it wasn’t a person at all, but a tree or a mailbox that I’d forgotten about, the figure raised its arm and pointed directly at my window. It was definitely a guy.
    My heart picked up its pace and I went straight intoattack mode. What the hell was that guy thinking? I threw on my jeans, T-shirt, and shoes, and moved through the house, quickly but quietly. All I wanted to do was scare the guy a little. Just a little warning to keep him from stalking around my place in the dark.
    Not my place, I reminded myself. My grandmother’s place. My temporary prison.
    As I stepped outside, the screen door slapping closed behind me, I readied some choice words. My feet practically flew across the lawn to where the man had been standing, those words and more on my tongue, but there was no one there. The sidewalk was empty. A chill crawled up my spine, sending goose bumps all over my skin even in the oppressive heat of the midwestern summer. Behind me, all around the house, the crickets began to sing again.
    A small, rectangular shadow near the sidewalk drew my attention, and I moved toward it to investigate. Plucking it from its spot in the grass, I realized I was holding a small leather book. Curiosity got the better of me and I tucked it in my back jeans pocket. For now, though, I had more pressing concerns.
    The guy had been right here. Where the hell had he gone?
    I looked up and down the street, and sure enough, the intruder was standing about four blocks up, watching me. Not running away, not looking to engage. Just standingthere. Watching. Under the glow of the streetlight, I could see that his hair was white. From this distance, his eyes looked like two coals embedded in pale skin. He raised two fingers to his forehead in a salute before slowly turning and continuing on. My stomach muscles tightened as tension rose inside me. What was with the salute? Did he think we were buds after he’d stalked my window and seen me come after him? I didn’t think so. And I was going to make damn sure he knew otherwise. I knew if I went back to bed, I wouldn’t sleep—not unless I’d confronted this guy directly first. So I moved up the street, ready to teach him a lesson, but suddenly, he ducked in between two houses and disappeared.
    â€œYou need medication, dude. Seriously.” My words were meant for the stranger, even though I knew he couldn’t hear them.
    The blocks were small—only four or five houses long—and there was only about a driveway’s width between each house. As I passed the sixth house down, midway into the next block, a shout reverberated through the walls and windows. Someone was arguing. Not just arguing, but really fighting it out, in that way only family can. And try as I might not to