Darkness Conjured by Sandy DeLuca Read Free Book Online Page B

nearer. I grasp the receiver
and electric currents pulse through my hand. I say, “Hello.” Into the mouth piece.
    A haunting voice answers me.
    “Help me. Help me…”
    I quickly place the receiver back on its hook. I’m spooked as the voice continues to call for help from someplace in my head and
then from below.
    Flora is by my side. She’s tugging on my sleeve.
    “I just saw something—a face peeking in the window.” She’s shaking.
    “Get a grip.” I put my arm around her. The phone rings again. We stay close until it stops
and then we hold hands moving out of the den and into the dimly lit corridor.
We’ll stay together tonight.
    I hear Flora whimper and wonder if one day we’ll be calling for help, lost between life and death—ghosts in this house of mystery.
    “I won’t let anything bad happen to you, Flora.”
    “Promise?” She pouts and then a tear, like unblemished crystal, forms at the corner of her
left eye.
    I can’t promise a damn thing.

6

    I volunteered to help with the chores. It’ll make time pass quicker. Maybe I won’t think about Ken so much.
    I’m in the library, dusting off books and shelves. There’s a small couch in the midst of the bookcases. The floor is hardwood, shiny,
with no scratches or scuff marks. There’s an open closet behind the couch. Books are stacked on its floor. There are no
windows here and there’s a pungent musty smell. Most girls don’t take advantage of the knowledge stored here. There are thick volumes on
quilting and sewing. Literature books take up two bookcases and there are
Science Fiction, Horror and Fantasy books, too.
    I grab a copy of Paradise Lost , by John Milton. I notice there are explanations and notes accompanying Milton’s poetry and some of Blake’s art. I slide the book into my pocket.
    I know the Ouija board is nearby, probably behind a classic by H. G. Wells or
Lovecraft.
    I feel its presence, a dark spirit that wants to be heard and set free. I feel
other things here, too. Memories of the Amelia Leech Home. Specters struggling
to survive the passing of time.
     I try to shrug off words and feelings inside my head as I move about, dusting
and straightening. I can’t reach the high shelves and I look around for something to stand on. There’s a utility ladder in a corner. It’s about five feet high, enough so that I can clean several of the high shelves.
    I drag the ladder to a bookcase and then carefully climb the steps.  I run my dust rag over book tops, over wood. I sneeze and feel the ladder
wobble.
    “Help me…”
    I freeze. The voice is coming from the closet. I tell myself it’s one of the girls messing with me. Or maybe it’s my imagination. I know different when a dark foreboding fills my gut.
    The voice grows louder. “Help me. They beat the drums so I won’t hear.”
    The ladder shakes. I press my hands against the shelf, trying to brace myself. I
carefully step downward, but I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on.
    I hold my breath. My eyes dart to the closet. No wire hangers dangle from a
wooden rack. Gone are books piled on the floor. An archway looms just beyond
the threshold. Bones are scattered on a blood stained floor.
    “Help me.” A figure emerges from the dark. A young girl. She steps onto the threshold and
stops short as if something prevents her from moving into the library. Blood
pools around her ankles. Her white night gown is streaked with red. She’s holding something wrapped in a blanket. Smoke billows from it. The girl drops
it and it turns to dust.
    “What the hell?” I say.
    “Your voice unbinds me. He  told me to listen. That you are the one,” she says as she steps over the threshold and into the room. She’s moving towards me—hands outstretched. I manage to climb down another step—maybe two.
    This is insane. It’s a joke , I think as the ladder wobbles. Aria O’Malley covered herself with ketchup last week and then ran through the halls
screaming