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

fields came the dreaming cry of an owl. Footsteps, faint and steady, came toward them down the path.
Carol's hand pressed against her mouth. Bruce's fingers curled warningly about her wrist. His breath rose
and stilled. The footsteps grew louder; a shadow slipped soundlessly from stone to stone. Something
flashed starlike from the moving figure. Bruce's hand tightened. Carol hid her face abruptly in her bent
knees. "I'm going to be sick." "ShтАФ"
The footsteps stopped. Bruce shifted; his flashlight scraped against the stone. There was an odd whimper
from the ghost. Bruce breathed a short incoherent word and rose.
An explosion of light drenched him. A neat elderly woman in a coat and hat pointed a formidable
flashlight at them. The terrier at her heels set up a frenzy of barking.
"Bruce Lawrence! Does your father know you're out?"
"No, Mrs. Brewster," Bruce said wearily. "But I expect he will."
"I don't understand," Uncle Harold said at breakfast the next morning. "What were you doing in the
graveyard last night?"
Bruce pushed a cold crumpet around his plate with one finger. Sunlight fell in a cheerful pool on the
table; from the stove came the crackle of eggs slowly frying. Aunt Catherine turned away from them to
listen.
"Was it Mrs. Brewster on the phone?" she asked, and Uncle Harold nodded.
"She was out walking her dog, and she saw a light flickering in and out of the gravestones. Being
naturally fearless, she investigated, and found my son, who as I recall, said he was going to bed at ten
o'clock last night." He shook his head. "I don't mind if you run about in graveyards in the middle of a
summer night as long as you don't damage property. But if you feel you absolutely must do such things,
I wish you would refrain from annoying Mrs. Brewster."

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"What were you doing there?" Aunt Catherine asked. Bruce tore his crumpet slowly in half. He sighed.
"I'm not really sure, now. It seemedтАФit seemed like a good idea at the time. We thoughtтАФI mean I
thoughtтАФ"
"We thought," Carol said. Uncle Harold's eyebrows rose.
"You, too?"
"I did the thinking," Bruce said. "I don't think I did very well."
"But what were you doing?" Uncle Harold said bewilderedly. Carol's eyes flicked to Bruce's face. It was
lowered; his mouth was set in a taut, stubborn line. He lifted his head suddenly. "DadтАФ"
"We were looking for ghosts," Carol said. Bruce glanced at her, startled. Aunt Catherine's eggs began to
smoke behind her, but she did not notice them. "Ghosts?"
"They come out at midnight." Uncle Harold eased back in his chair. He took a sip of tea. "Did they?"
"No. Mrs. Brewster came instead." "Oh." He chuckled. "I see. Tell me, did you really expect to see
ghosts?"
"We wouldn't have gone otherwise," Bruce said tightly. "It was just an idea. I'm sorry Mrs. Brewster was
annoyed. I don't know what she thought I was doingтАФbody-snatching or something. I wish she would
stop bothering me." He rose abruptly. "Excuse me. I'm not hungry."
"Bruce," Uncle Harold said quickly. Bruce paused, his hands closed on the back of his chair. "I don't
question your methods in this case. But I should have thought you would have formed your conclusion
about ghosts a few years earlier in your life."
"I thought I had." He turned. They heard his steps going down the hall quickly, toward the front door.
Uncle Harold touched his eyes. "I said something. What did I say?"
Carol pushed her chair. "I don't know. I'll be back; I'm starving. Aunt Catherine, your eggs are burning."
She caught up with Bruce as he went out the door, and he snapped miserably without stopping, "Why
did you tell? Couldn't you think up a good lie or stay quiet so I could? Now he'll know I'm barmy,