The Legend of Darklore Manor and Other Tales of Terror Read Online Free

four."
     Vaughn sat back in his chair. She was a slight girl. That was more than enough alcohol to knock her out for a while. "What were you girls doing just before you went to bed?"
     "Telling ghost stories. Trying to scare each other. We talked about boys. About who we liked."
     "Which boys in particular did you talk about?"
     Beth looked alarmed. She shut her eyes, shaking her head. "I don't want to talk anymore. Please."
     Vaughn patted her hand. "It's all right. Get some sleep."
     Angela Stefano sat in a chair by the window as dawn bled into the turbulent indigo sky. Although she seemed to be studying the horizon, heavy bandages were wrapped around her eyes.
     "You should be in bed," Vaughn said.
     "Are you with the police?"
     "I'm Detective Mike Vaughn. Your aunt is getting some coffee. She said I could speak with you about what happened."
     "Did you ask Beth?"
     "Yes," Vaughn said, sitting on the edge of her bed. "But I'd like to hear it from you."
     "I don't remember much." Angela's voice sounded flat, drugged.
     "That implies you remember something. What is it?"
     Angela turned her head in his direction, and Vaughn nearly winced at the sight of the blood smears on the bandages in the vicinity of her eyes. "Do you know the legend of Mr. Stitch?" Her voice quivered as she mentioned the name.
     "No. Who is that?"
     "Long ago, when two people wanted to make sure that a secret or a promise would be kept, they made a pact over a sewing needle and thread. Once they shared their secret, or swore their promise, they would recite this poem...

     This secret promise, I swear to keep,
     Shared in trust, then buried deep —
     Cross my heart and hope to die,
     Stick a needle in my eye —
     If I should tell a living soul,
     May Mr. Stitch come take his toll —
     And while I lie asleep in bed,
     Seal my lips with sewing thread."
     Vaughn said nothing. The poem's chilling lines and Angela's singsong lilt made him uneasy.
     "After reciting the poem," Angela said, "the two would bury the needle and thread in a graveyard. If either of the people broke their vow or told the secret, Mr. Stitch would pay them a visit at night. With needle and thread in hand, he would creep into their bedrooms to sew their mouths closed while they slept. If his victims awoke, Mr. Stitch would sew their eyes shut to keep them from seeing him."
     "Did you and the other girls recite the poem earlier tonight?"
     Angela nodded.
     "Beth said you had been talking about boys. About the boys you liked. I'm guessing you each swore an oath of secrecy. Did Beth break her promise?"
     Angela said nothing.
     "Did you break the oath, too?"
     "No," Angela said after a moment. "But I saw him. That's why he hurt me."
     Vaughn leaned forward. "Who did you see, Angela? What did he look like?"
     She swallowed, trying to maintain her composure and her wounded eyes strained to fight back painful tears. "I saw his face. I'll never be able to forget it—those cruel eyes squinting at me, that evil smile and the thick black strands of thread dangling from the curved needle in his hand."
     "Who?" Vaughn asked, "Who did you see?"
     Angela's lips trembled as she whispered "It was Mr. Stitch."
     Vaughn's brow furled. "The man from your story?"
     "Yes," she said quietly.
     Unable to make sense of her response, he tried to redirect his line of questioning. "How did he get inside the house?"
     "He came out of our nightmares," Angela's voice quivered. "He crept beside her and climbed on top of her. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't stop him."
     As gently but as persistently as he dared, he peppered her with further questions—how tall was this assailant, how old,