She pulled us into her house. I blinked in the shimmering gray light.
We stood in a narrow front entryway. The ceiling was high above our heads. The light came from a huge glass ball dangling on a thick chain above us.
“We — we’re just trick-or-treating,” Peter stammered.
The woman nodded. Her straight black hair fell over her face. She brushed it back with a pale hand.
I couldn’t tell how old she was. Maybe in her thirties, like our parents.
She was pretty, with round, dark eyes, high cheekbones, and a warm smile. Her black dress fell to her ankles, soft and flowy like a nightgown.
“I knew you would come,” she repeated.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. She turned quickly, her long dress swirling around her. And led the way into an enormous, dimly lit front room.
A low fire flickered in a wide stone fireplace on the far wall. It sent long shadows dancing into the room.
Antique black leather couches and armchairs filled the big room.
A tall painting hung over the mantel. It was a portrait of a sad-looking woman in old-fashioned lacy clothes, a single teardrop on one cheek.
Despite the fire, the room was cold. The air felt damp and heavy.
What a totally depressing place, I thought. Everything is so dark and creepy.
“My name is Bella,” the woman said. She tossed her hair off her forehead with a snap of her head. She stood facing us with her hands at her waist. Her dark eyes moved from Peter to me.
“You are Monica, aren’t you?” she said. “And your brother is named Peter.”
I felt my throat tighten. “How did you know?” I asked.
“Who are you?” Peter demanded. “Do you know our parents or something?”
She shook her head. A thin smile spread over her pale, slender face. “You’re in the book,” she said softly. Her eyes stayed locked on us, as if studying us.
“Book?” I said. “I don’t understand.”
She leaned a hand against the back of one of the big armchairs. “The book says you would come. It says you will help me tonight.”
I glanced at Peter. He rolled his eyes.
Is this woman crazy? I thought.
“We’re in a book?” I asked. “You mean, like a phone book?”
Bella shook her head. She motioned for us to follow her. She led us to a library at the back of the living room.
Bookshelves climbed to the ceiling on all four walls. The shelves were filled with old-looking books. The covers were cracked and faded.
Two lamps that looked like torches poked out from high on the walls. The lamps threw yellow light over a long wooden table. Four straight-backed chairs stood around the table.
Blue-black shadows stretched everywhere. I shivered. I had the strange thought that the shadows were alive.
Bella reached down to a lower shelf and tugged out a large book. She raised it in both hands and blew dust off the cover.
As she brought it to the table, I saw that the cover was cracked and stained. She held it up so that Peter and I could read the title etched in curly brown letters on the front: The Hallows Book.
“Hallows?” I said. “It’s … like a Halloween book?”
She didn’t answer. With a groan, she set the heavy book down on the table. Then she leaned over it, turning the yellowed pages carefully.
“I … don’t understand,” I said. “What is this book?”
“We just came for candy,” Peter said. His voice trembled. I could see he didn’t like this.
“Read,” Bella said. She ran a slender finger down a page. “Come closer, you two. Read what the book says.”
Peter and I leaned over the book. It smelled kind of musty, like the closets at Grandma Alice’s house. I squinted at the tiny, faded type, and read:
On Halloween night, the doorbell will ring. Two young people will come to Bella’s aid. Their names will be Monica and Peter Anderson.
They will be celebrating the rituals of All Hallows’ Eve. But Peter and Monica will give up their celebrations. And they will help Bella in her time of need.
I tried to swallow. My throat suddenly felt dry as cotton.
Peter and I stared down at the faded page of the old book. The writing ended there. The rest of the page was blank.
I raised my eyes to Bella.
“This is impossible,” I said. “How can this be?”