The Marked Son (Keepers of Life) by Shea Berkley Read Free Book Online Page A

experience.
    She reaches a small clearing. If she gets too far ahead, I’ll lose her. The impulse to follow, to connect with her, is overpowering.
    I push away from my hiding place and draw in a breath to call out to her. As I do, sweat trickles down my neck. A strange ache stabs through my bones. I watch as the air in the clearing thickens in front of the girl. A sudden mist ripples forth, stretching out its glittering fingers as if to grab her. I put my hand on the tree to steady myself, unable to look away.
    “Hey!” I finally manage to shout.
    She spins around. Surprise registers on her face, and in the blink of an eye, she disappears.
    I force my eyes closed and then open. Only a small wisp of the strange mist remains.
    My hand finds my head of its own free will, a reflex, as if my mind will explode if I don’t hold it in. I’ve been dreaming about a ghost, and now it’s here. In my grandparents’ backyard.
    And it saw me.
    It actually heard me and looked straight at me.
    A shiver snakes down my spine. Every horror flick I’ve ever seen flies in a chaotic jumble through my brain, and one irrefutable fact stands out. Something everyone agrees on.
    Once one of “them” sees you, it’s never good.
    The time between light and dark accelerates and night soon rules. The wind gains strength as if to warn me of my own stupidity. From this spot in the woods, I can’t see the lights to my grandparents’ house. I’m alone. In a strange place. A flash of lightning rips across the sky. A loud clap of thunder shakes the ground. The air around me crackles. The feeling of being watched returns, but I can’t see anything.
    Panic settles in, and I plow back the way I came, not paying attention to my steps, which have grown wilder since I chased the girl.
    She saw me.
    No. I made her up when I was a little boy. She was never real, ghost or otherwise.
    She saw me. She saw me. She saw me.
    I stumble, catch myself, and forge forward. I’ve been dreaming about a ghost. My genetics being what they are, I could be crazy. Mom certainly is.
    A drop of rain lands on my forehead. I brush it away. A useless gesture. Within minutes, the rain streaks between the trees as if searching just for me. I finally break through, glad to be out of the woods. With rain pelting down, I run along a dirt path that’s grown muddy and slick, and I nearly slide past the back gate in my rush to safety. When I dash through the back gate, I find Grandma standing on the porch, her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. “Where in the world did you tear off to?”
    I vault up the stairs, out of the rain, and into the bright halo cast by the porch lights. My heart is beating in my throat, and my side aches from running. I may be taller, but when I look down at Grandma, something about her makes me feel very small. “I thought…well…the woods and…”
    I try to catch my breath and focus my thoughts, but it’s like a fever has set in, making my tongue thick and dumb. No way am I telling her the truth: that I saw a ghost, a female ghost dressed in white, one whom I’ve been dreaming about my whole life. It’s so cliché, it can’t be true. To save myself from embarrassment, I search for a logical answer that won’t reveal itself. No doubt I look and sound like a complete idiot.
    “Look at you,” she finally huffs. “You’re filthy. Those pants have a good four-inch layer of mud on them. And I suppose those are your only decent pair of sneakers?”
    They are. I throw her a pained expression.
    She sighs. “Wait here.”
    The back screen door squeaks open and slaps shut as she goes inside. I’m shivering now. The wind is cool, and my clothes are wet, and I feel every inch of the weather. Thankfully, Grandma returns in no time with a towel. “Take off your clothes and wrap yourself up in this.”
    I stare at her, embarrassed. “Y-you want me to st-strip out here?”
    “Well you’re not getting into my house with those clothes on. Don’t