"Nina Kiriki Hoffman - Skeleton Key" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hoffman Nina Kiriki)

"No."
"It let you in anyway. It knows you."
"It won't let me leave."
"Have you completed your business here, and asked to exit?"
"No."
He stroked my hair. "If you are determined to leave and a dwelling tries to trap you, you can step
sideways into the meadow and then emerge where you choose. But a gentle aspect will take you far.
Respect will help you."
"Step sideways?"
"Close your eyes and see the meadow where we were."
I did it.
"Take a step."
I stepped.
"Open your eyes."
We were back in the night-dark meadow where the grass glowed.
He smiled at me. "Now. Find your way back."
I closed my eyes and thought about my parents' front hall. I took a step. I opened my eyes and
stared at the coat rack where Dad's fedora hung (he never wore it). Mom's back-pack drooped in its
straps, and my rain slicker dangledтАФI had forgotten to take it when I moved out. I turned to thank
Hermes, but he was no longer with me.
"Thanks for letting me in," I said to the door. I patted the wood. It felt warmer than it had before.
Feeling a little stupid, I went upstairs.
The digital clock on my mom's bedside table said 4:32. Dad's snores were gentle, rhythmic as
waves slapping against a dock. I went over to Mom's vanity and sat on the tuffet. The urge to weep
washed over me. They might never know where I had gone. If they ever found outтАФ
тАФan image of my dead self, twisted and horribleтАФ
 тАФit would hurt them even worse. My torture had been finite; theirs might go on for years.
"Mom," I whispered.
My mother's breathing shortened.
"Mom?"
She turned over. "Wha?"
"Mom? Can you hear me?"
She sighed. She rubbed her eyes. She sat up, blew out a breath.
"Mom?"
She took a sip of water from the glass on her bedside table, then lay down, her back to me, and her
breath lengthened again.
"Mom," I said, out loud, but there was no response.
I looked at the key I held, a gift from Hermes. I sat a little longer, wondering if this was the right time
for its first use.
I didn't know what Steve and his friends did with their corpses. Maybe they ate them or burned
them. Maybe Mom would never know.
I thought of a TV show I saw once about missing children, a segment of "Sixty Minutes," where
someone whose child had disappeared said, "You wait. You hope. You cry...a river of tears."
I went to my mother and plunged the key into her chest. It slid in easily. I gave it a half-turn, and her
spirit sat up, loosed from her body, blinking and looking around. "What?" she said.
"Mom, are you awake?"
"Of course I'm awake, Tessa! What do you think?" She glared at me.
"How do you feel?"
"Startled, I guess. What are you doing home? What time is it?" She glanced over at the bedside
table, reached out to switch on the lamp. Her hand went through it. She screamed.