"Patricia A. McKillip - The House on Parchment Street" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKillip Patricia A)

somewhere, and it's traditional they bite you in the neck, and people find you the next day stiff as a
board without a drop of blood in your veins. What would my mother say? What would your mother say?"
"At this point, I don't think my mother would be
too surprised at what happens to me. I'll go alone, if
you're frightened. Shall I? But in the cellar, I didn't
think you were afraid of anything."
Carol eyed him coldly. His voice was guileless, but
the corners of his mouth curved. He grinned suddenly, the scratches pulled awry across his face, and she
laughed in spite of herself.
"Oh, all right. But if anything horrible happens, I will never speak to you again."
"No, I don't expect you will," he said reflectively.
She sat at her window watching the moon hung like an eye above the church steeple when Bruce tapped
at the door. She opened it softly. He said, "You'll want shoes."
"Why? It's my neck they'll bite."
"I know, but there will be slugs all over the grass."
She put on her shoes without a word. They crept through the hall by the light of Bruce's flashlight and
slid down the banister. The house was soundless in the quiet midnight. They went out the back door. The
night smelled richly of damp earth and cut grass. Moonlight glanced silver off the corners of the house.
"The moon is full."
"Sh."
The gate creaked faintly as they opened it. The long grass blades curved silver against the cold iron of
the graveyard fence. The spire loomed above them, a shadow against the stars, and moonlight brushed
the ancient arches of the windows. Carol brushed close to Bruce, her hands tucked under her arms. The
faint chill of their breaths drifted mistlike before them. "Emily Raison's house is so darkтАж ."
"She's in bed."

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"Most people are in bed. Sensible people, who don't believe in ghosts, who wouldn't dream of coming
out at midnight to sit on a gravestone andтАФWhat's that?" Her ringers closed on his arm.
"Emily Raison's cat," he said patiently.
"What's she doing out at midnight?"
"I don't know. Cats keep odd hours. Come on." He swept the light toward the side path. "Let's go over
the fence here. There's a tree we can sit in." He pulled himself up. The sharp railing points glittered like
spears. He was still a moment, balanced between them. She heard the soft whisper of his sigh. "It's
different, thinking about a graveyard and being in one. It looks so quietтАж ."
"Just wait." She swung a leg over the railing.
"It seems like there should be rain and thunderтАж ."He slipped down and focussed the light. The worn
stones stood waist-high, tilted, shadowed from the clear moon by hunched, aged trees. Carol jumped
down beside him, and the midnight bell began to toll.
Bruce was still beside her; she saw the flicker of his eyes across the ancient graves. He touched her, and
she jumped.
"ShтАФ" His voice was the tendril of a whisper in the hushed air.
"I want to get off this grave. Suppose somebody wants out?"
He looked down. Grass moved under the light,
springing straight where he had first stepped. He moved slowly at first, almost jerkily. She stared after
him. The last bell pealed, echoing into unendurable silence.
"Come onтАФ"
His head was a dark patch above a gravestone. She moved finally, crouched beside him. From the deep