The Ghost Files

Chapter Twenty Nine

I take a deep breath. My first and only thought is escape. He just needs to get far enough into the room so that I can slip by him and back down the stairs. Mrs. Olson is down there, but I'll take her over the knife in his hand any day.

He stops in the doorway and looks around. His head moves slightly from side to side, the face still buried in the shadow of the hoodie. He takes a step inside and I freeze, doing my best to be quiet. I can hear my heartbeat pound away.

Come on, just come in already, I think to myself. Why doesn't he move faster? I need him to walk around so I can sneak out.

My wish comes true in the next second, but he closes and locks the door behind him.

Fudgepops, fudgepops, fudgepops. How am I going to get out now? My hands can't unlock and open the door in enough time to run from him even if he walks all the way to the end of the room. I'll bet good money that's what he's banking on. He knows how badly I'm hurt since he was the one who caused the injuries.

"You can't get the door open," Eric's whispered words are full of defeat.

"Well, duh," I say in my mind, knowing he and the other ghosts can hear. "We just have to figure out something else."

"What?" He sounds almost desperate. "You can't hold a weapon even if we could find you one."

I frown. He has me there. I can't hold anything that would do damage.

Mr. Olson starts to whistle softly as he moves further into the room, unhurried. He knows I'm good and trapped. I can feel the ghosts cringe. It hurts my skin. His whistling scares them more than anything else. What had he done to them while whistling a jaunty little tune? Their fear presses in on me and for a moment, it's hard to breathe. The cold invades me, invades my lungs.

The whistling stops and he turns in my direction. My eyes widen when I realize what caused the reaction. He can feel the cold. It's centered here, around me. Oh crap. The ghosts are going to get me killed yet, the little buggers. I feel bad almost as soon as I think it. They have been doing everything they can to help me. Still, though, they need to stop with the freeze-fest.

He stops about ten feet away and cocks his head. I can make him out between the crack s in the stacks of boxes I'm hiding behind. The knife is clearly visible in his hand and my breathing quickens at the sight. I'm terrified at just the thought of it on my skin. I hate my mother more than I ever have in this moment. She caused this terror and it's going to get me killed. I giggle. I can't help it. What she failed to do when I was five, she'll accomplish now.

Oh crap. He heard the giggle. He's coming this way. How stupid can I be? Eric is right. I am going to get killed because I'm doing everything wrong. I've seen enough scary movies to know better than to let my emotions get the best of me. You forget the basic rules of a scary movie and you die. I could so be Rose McGowan in Scream right now. I remember thinking 'How stupid can you be when she went out into that garage?' and here I go and giggle of all things.

Before I can blink, the boxes I'm hiding behind go flying in all directions and I stumble back, falling. The ankle I'd sprained twists at an odd angle and I hear a crack. Pain lances up my leg and I cry out. Tears spring to my eyes, but I force myself to focus on getting away from that knife coming down at me. I roll away and land against an old chest. I use my forearms to maneuver my way up. My ankle is broken. Each step tells me that, I push the pain to the back of my mind and concentrate on moving one foot in front of the other. 

Icy waves of cold wrap around me, trying to comfort me. I want to snarl at the stupid ghosts. It's their fault he found me to begin with. I don't though. The cold actually helps. It gives me strength. Dr. Olivet said my energy was a beacon to them, that my aura was made up of ghost energy. Maybe theirs can give me strength? Could mine give them strength too? Can I use that? My mind races with the possibilities.