Page 9 of Petrify

“It’s true.”

I whirl toward the voice. I forgot the guy was here.

Deep blue eyes, light brown hair, and dressed in slacks and a tight-fitting long sleeve t-shirt. Handsome in a boyish way. Kneeling by the window, he looks me up and down at the same time I study him.

“What is?” I ask like a moron.

“The story about Arnie. He died fifteen years ago. Buried in a tomb next to the old Beauchenes and a few family dogs.” He’s by the radiator with a small box of tools.

“Do I want to know how?”

“Drowned in the pond when he was only eleven years old.”

“That’s… terrible.”

A shrug. “It happened a while ago. No one really talks about it.”

He tinkers with the radiator—ithasbeen a bit chilly in this room—giving me his back. His shoulders are broad, and the shirt does nothing to hide the muscles of his torso. He glances at me. “Don’ttalk about it,” he amends. “At least, not around the family.”

I bite my lip. “Does this house creep you out too?”

His laugh is endearing. Setting down the tool in his hand, he stands to his full height, a few inches taller than me. His hair is tousled, like he just didn’t care to tame it before getting to work. “At first, yes. There are rumors the house is haunted.”

The way I feel eyes on me constantly, I’d believe it. “That explains it, then.”

“What, you think the ghost of Arnie is watching you?”

Against my better judgment I decide I like his smile.

“Some of the staff here say they’ve seen him.”

“They have?”

I imagine an adolescent, child-ghost slipping around corners just out of my periphery. Puddles of pond water pooling on the floor, flooding the room. Laughter fading in the corridors. Rapid footsteps. Something straight out ofThe Shining.

“Yeah. But he doesn’t seem to knowhe died. It’s been a while since he was last seen. Supposedly, he’s all grown up. The same age he’d be as if he were still alive.”

I cross my arms. “He doesn’t know he died?”

“I can’t pretend to understand the logic of ghosts.”

“That’s kind of sad, don’t you think? To be stuck in one place forever, not knowing what happened to you?” And in such a cold house, with such an unfeeling family?

“Purgatory, maybe—or Hell.” He shrugs. “That’s if the afterlife even exists.”

“Maybe.”

The oppressive weight of the ghost’s stare is present even now, but the guy doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well, I haven’t seen him.”

“You probably won’t. It’s a rumor.” He steps closer and closer until we are only a few feet apart, and I fight the instinct to step back.Too close. “Reece.” He says, offering his outstretched hand.

He and I are alone in this room.

Warily, I place my fingers in his. “Mallary.”

“I know. You’ve been here, what, two days? What do you think?”