Nieve by Terry Griggs Read Free Book Online Page A

floor, and before she even had a chance to react, it was on her bed, and on her! She jumped in fright and smacked at it but couldn’t stop it as it rolled up her arm, over her shoulder, her chin, and plunged into her gaping mouth. That blasted candy! She gagged and spat it out and scrambled out of bed, coughing violently.
    Still coughing, she bolted over to her closet – the thing was following her! She grabbed the baseball bat that she’d shoved in there after her last game of the summer. Before the jawbreaker could roll onto her foot, she took aim and whacked it hard . . . once . . . twice . . . and the third time she whacked it even harder. It exploded with a BOOM! like a fat firecracker going off. What was left of it sizzled and burned and finally expired in a cloud of fluorescent green smoke, leaving behind nothing but a scorch mark on the floor and a putrid smell in the air.
    Nieve stood trembling, staring at the spot where it had been, and expecting her parents to show up any minute, angry, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes, and demanding an explanation for what they might think was a stupid prank.
    They didn’t come, which was worse than being unfairly scolded. What if she’d been seriously hurt? Her only consolation was that she didn’t have to try to explain what had happened.
    Once her heartbeat had slowed to normal, Nieve leaned the baseball bat up against her nightstand, close by just in case, and opened her window. The stench in her room was unbearable, a rotten swampy sulphuric smell. She climbed back into bed, a little nervous about the window being open, but she couldn’t stand the stink. The cool, fragrant air that wafted in did help dissipate the fumes, although before they were completely gone, and probably because of them, she grew drowsy and soon drifted off. And because she was so soundly asleep, she didn’t hear the silky voice that was also carried into her room, a thin thread of sound woven into the night breeze. Nieve , it said softly. Nieve, Nieve . . . .

    The next morning, Sutton asked her if she’d run to the pharmacy to buy some tissues. That very night was to be the sympathy gig for which he and Sophie had been rehearsing so strenuously – he had anyway. He figured that five or six boxes might be needed.
    â€œBut Dad,” she said, “don’t you know it’s closed?”
    â€œNot any more, En. New owners. That’s what your mother said.”
    â€œOh. I wondered about that. And they’re open already ?”
    â€œApparently so.” He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “Here’s a ten, that should do the trick.” Normally, he’d also tell her to buy a treat for herself, a chocolate bar or a bag of chips, but this time he didn’t.
    Forgot, Nieve sighed, as she started toward the door. She knew there was no point in telling him what had happened last night, but just because her parents had lost interest in her didn’t mean that she felt the same way about them. She turned to look at her father, saying, “What is this job you’re doing, I keep meaning to ask?”
    â€œIt’s for Mortimer Twisden.”
    â€œThat rich guy from the city?”
    Mortimer Twisden, owner of several huge pesticide factories, had recently bought the oldest and most beautiful and most secluded house in town (there was only one, actually) and used it as his weekend place. The house, which had belonged forever to the Manning family, used to be call “Woodlands,” but for some reason no one could figure out, he changed it to “Ferrets.”
    â€œThe very same. His wife died unexpectedly, about a week ago. He’s holding a wake for her at his place here and Sophie and I have been hired to provide the . . . you know, the grief. It’s a pretty big deal.”
    â€œI’ll say. He must be really sad.”
    Sutton nodded, and said, without much conviction, “Yeah.