I walked the four blocks to Fear Street. A light rain had started to fall, a dewy mist, and it made the shrubs and lawns glisten. As if I’m walking through some sort of child’s fairyland, I thought. Not heading to a house of evil.
I shuddered and pulled up the hood on my jacket.
As I crossed Powell, a family of raccoons darted out from under a hedge. Startled, I jumped back. There were four or five of them, all different sizes, and they shuffled across the street a few feet in front of me. I watched them disappear around the side of a house.
They’re Night People too, I thought. All kinds of strange thoughts kept running through my head. I tried to force them away, to concentrate on my spells, on my . . . mission.
I turned onto Fear Street and heard the flapping of wings. Soft at first, then louder as the big bird swooped low over my head.
The one-eyed blackbird.
I ducked away from it. Buried my head in the parka hood.
The bird floated over me, staring at me with its one bulging black eye.
“Please—go away!” I tried to shout. But my plea came out in a choked whisper.
The frightening bird circled over me, once, twice, flying low. Was it going to attack?
No.
It turned in the air and swooped away, flapping its dark wings as it rose. It disappeared over the trees, flying over Fear Street.
I shivered. The cold mist covered my hot face. I brushed water from my eyes.
I suddenly thought of the burning owls, their wings outlined in bright yellow flames, screeching, screeching. And once again, I pictured the evil blackbird, its one eye staring so cold and cruel.
I squeezed the bracelet. It felt warm in my hand.
I took a deep breath and ran the rest of the way to Fear Street.
“Return . . . return . . .”
And yes, there it stood on its dark hill. The Fear Mansion had returned.
No lights from the shopping center. No familiar bar where we all met every night.
The old mansion loomed over me, sinister and menacing. And I knew I had no choice. I had to go inside and face the evil that awaited me there.
Rainwater ran down my face. My shoes sank into the marshy grass and mud as I made my way up the hill. An even deeper darkness washed over me as I stepped into the shadow of the house.
The front doors creaked open. And again, I felt the hard pressure at my back, the invisible force pushing me forward, pushing me into the house.
Did someone whisper my name?
Or was that the wind through the trees?
I stopped in the front entryway. I shook water off my coat and lowered the hood. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light.
Pale yellow light seeped from a room down the front hall.
My shrill voice echoed against the bare walls.
Without realizing it, I was gripping the bracelet tightly. I let go of it, felt its warmth disappear, and started walking toward the light.
“Who is here?” I cried. “Is anyone here?”
The house creaked and groaned. My only reply.
I swallowed hard. My throat felt dry as sand. I tried to ignore the hard pounding of my heart.
“Is anyone here?”
The yellow light seeped over my shoes as I stopped outside the room. My legs started to tremble.
Why was there a light on inside this house? Someone had to be in that room.
I heard a rustling sound inside it. A soft scraping.
Gathering my courage, I gripped the door frame, stuck my head out slowly, and peeked into the room.
Bare walls. No furniture. The light filtered down from the ceiling.
Squinting hard, I saw a shadow move. No. Not a shadow.
The blackbird.
Standing on a slender wooden perch, it raised its wings and ducked its head as if greeting me.
How did it get in here?
Why was it here?
It kept its eye on me, staring back at me coldly, tilting its head from side to side. I cringed, seeing the empty eye socket, the black hole in the side of the bird’s head.
And then, without warning, it took off. Pushed itself from its perch and darted toward me, raising its talons and screeching its attack call.
“No—!” I tried to dodge away. But the bird fastened its claws around my shoulders. Beating its wings in my face, it lowered its open beak and—
—and I heard a shout.
I saw an arm swing. A hand slapped the side of the bird, slapped it hard.
Stunned, the big bird fell back. Screeching in anger, it raised its wings, floated back . . . back onto its perch. Bobbing, it squinted at me with its one eye.
I turned to see who had rescued me. A figure moved into the pale light, raised his face to me—and I let out a shocked scream.
“You? What are you doing here?”