CHAPTER TEN
There is no storm tonight, the worst passed south an hour ago, though it left in its wake, a howling wind that rattles the windows. The house creaks. The mood is set. What better night for a ghost story.
Hurst sits with a old leather book in his hand, while the six of us and a nervous Hoyt –who can only stand leaning against the doorjamb – wait for him to speak.
“I think the new girl should read,” he says and he tosses the book to me.
I look up in surprise as the volume comes my way. I feel self-conscious being singled out.
“Read this? Where’d it come from?”
The others look at me blankly.
“It belongs to the house. Its author is long dead now. A while back Janis and Lily raided the attic and cellar looking for clues about the former occupants of the house. They brought me
