Page List


Font:  

building half-full of rotting hay. In the dimness rain leaked through in a hundred places to splatter down on the dirt floor and create puddles. The roof holes allowed me to see the darkened sky now full of terrifying lightning bolts that seemed to converge directly overhead. I sank down to my knees as Troy took care of the horse, unsaddling him, rubbing him dry with the saddle blanket; then he came my way to rake with his hands at the hay until he found some that was dry and not so smelly, and on that we both sat in

the damp and miserable barn.

As if there hadn't been any interruption at all, I

continued in my angry way: "It's a wonder rich people

like the Tattertons didn't have this barn torn down

long ago."

He ignored my remark, leaned back on the

mound of hay he'd created, and spoke softly. "I used

to play in this barn when I was a boy. I had a makebelieve friend I called Stu Johnson, and with him I'd

jump from that loft over there." He pointed to show

me where. "I would jump down to this haystack we

are sitting on."

:Wahat a silly and dangerous thing to do! I

stared with disbelief at the attic loft, and its great

height. "You could have been killed."

"Oh, I didn't think about that. I was five at the time, and very needing of a friend, even my imaginary one. Your mother had run away and left me lonely. Jillian was crying and calling Tony long distance all the time, begging him to come home, and when he

did, they fought day after day."

Breathless now that he was remembering a little

about my mother, I turned toward him. "Why did my

mother run away?"

Instead of replying, he sat up, took a

handkerchief from his pocket, dipped it in a nearby

puddle of rainwater, then began to wipe smeared mud

from my face. "I don't know," he said, leaning to

touch the tip of my nose with his lips. "I was too

young to realize what was going on." He kissed my

right cheek, then my left one, his breath warm and

exciting on my face and neck as he kissed and talked.

"I only knew that when your mother left, she

promised to write me. She said she'd come back one


Tags: V.C. Andrews Casteel Horror