Amulet of Doom by Bruce Coville Read Free Book Online Page B

Her mother was standing at the counter, peeling onions. “Grab a knife!” she said, tears streaming down her face. “It’ll give you a good excuse to cry.”
    Mrs. Sparks believed that crying was good for the soul. Marilyn tended to think so, too, although she had not been able to cry over Zenobia—not since she had heard her voice. She was sure her mother was worried that she was “repressing her emotions,” which had become one of her favorite phrases since she had heard a talk show about it a few months earlier.
    Marilyn rummaged in a drawer by the sink and pulled out a paring knife. She picked up an onion.
    â€œI don’t know how your father does it,” said her mother. “He’s wonderful about sharing the work, but somehow he always manages to arrange the cooking schedule so that I do all the onions.”
    Marilyn smiled. But the vague feeling of uneasiness persisted.
    When supper was in the oven, she headed for her room. As she reached the top of the stairs she could feel her apprehension increasing.
    She was beginning to feel seriously frightened. What was causing this? Was it like the fire in the wiring? Was there something real, registering in her subconscious, warning her that something was wrong? Or was the feeling merely a reaction to everything that had happened in the last few days?
    She stepped into her room. A little cry of fear broke from her lips and a thrill of horror shuddered down her spine. Every inch of her skin rose in goose bumps.
    Someone had left her a message—scrawled it in dripping, blood-red letters on the mirror over her dresser:
    GIVE IT BACK!
    Marilyn lifted the back of her hand to her mouth and bit back a scream. For a moment she stood as if frozen.
    Suddenly a welcome thought eased her tension. “It’s a joke,” she said out loud. “Stupid. But a joke.”
    She could see it now. Somehow Geoff had found out about the amulet and decided to give her a little scare. “He’s the one Mom should be worrying about,” she said to herself. “I don’t know if he’s ‘repressing his emotions,’ but I think he’s getting a little too weird for normal people to deal with.”
    She walked toward the mirror, to see what Geoff had used to put the letters on with, wondering how much trouble it was going to be to clean them off.
    She felt a little chill. Not only did they not smear when she ran her fingers over them, she couldn’t feel them at all! The smooth surface of the glass was unmarked.
    So how had Geoff put the message on? Suddenly Marilyn gave a cry of surprise and pulled her hand back as if she had been burned.
    Watching in amazement, she saw the jagged, dripping letters fade from view. Within a few seconds the words were gone, the mirror as clear as if they had never been there.
    All she saw when she looked into it now was her own face, staring back at her with eyes that were pools of fear.
    A light rain pattered against the windshield of the car as the Sparks family drove to Flannigan’s Funeral Parlor. Marilyn sat huddled in the backseat, still shaken by the incident with the mirror, uncertain whether the message had really been there or if she was simply losing her mind—and wondering which was more frightening.
    They arrived in advance of the regular calling hours, and Mr. Flannigan ushered them into a long room. At one end of the room was Zenobia’s coffin, surrounded by a startling number of floral arrangements. The bright profusion of gladiolus, roses, carnations, daisies, and lilies (not to mention at least a dozen varieties that Marilyn couldn’t name) seemed an odd contrast to the solemn purpose of their visit.
    Marilyn and her mother approached the coffin together. Marilyn was astonished when she saw Zenobia’s body. Her aunt didn’t look natural, or peaceful, or any of the other things her mother had told her people would say. She just looked infinitely