Abruptly, he fell silent, and Angel stopped and looked at him. “When your dad does what?”
A shadow seemed to pass over Seth’s face. “Nothing,” he said. “Sometimes he just gets mad at me, that’s all.”
That’s not all, Angel thought. But there was something in Seth’s expression that told her not to push, so she didn’t press him, and for the rest of the walk out to the Crossing, neither of them said another word. But when they finally came around the last bend and stood across the road from Angel’s house, Seth paused, cocking his head as he gazed at the structure on the other side of the road.
“Seth? What is it?” Angel asked. “Do you see something?”
Seth hesitated, remembering the strange image he’d seen on his computer — an image he’d been unable to duplicate, even though he’d come back out here half a dozen times since, taking pictures of the house in all kinds of light. But none of the pictures had shown the strange flames bursting from the second story window or the faint shadow, as if someone — or something — might have been inside the house.
Now it looked perfectly normal.
Perfectly normal, and perfectly ordinary.
Seth finally shook his head in answer to Angel’s question. “I was just wondering,” he said. “I mean — is it weird living in there, knowing what happened?”
Angel wondered if she should tell Seth what had happened on her very first night in the house.
As they went inside, the cat that had followed them all the way from town darted off into the woods.
They were in Angel’s room, their backpacks on the floor, the two of them sitting side by side on the bed, leaning against the wall. Seth glanced uneasily around the room. “This was the girl’s room.”
Angel shrugged. “I guess.”
“I don’t need to guess — this was the room they found her in. Doesn’t it bother you, sleeping in here?”
“Why should it?” Angel countered, a little too quickly, her voice sharper than she’d meant it to be. “I mean, it’s not like there’s—” She hesitated, then went on. “—not like there’s a ghost or something.”
Seth cocked his head as he gazed at her, just like he had when he’d been looking at the house earlier, and Angel felt herself reddening. “What?” he asked. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Angel said, again too quickly.
“I don’t believe you.” For an instant he thought Angel was going to say something, but then he could see her changing her mind. “Come on,” he pressed. “Tell me. Did something happen?” Now he could see by the look in her eyes that he was right — there was something she didn’t want to tell him. “What is it? You might as well tell me, ’cause I’m going to keep bugging you till you do.”
“It wasn’t anything,” Angel protested. “It was only a dream!”
“So if it was only a dream, what’s the big deal?”
“It isn’t a big deal,” Angel countered. “It was just a nightmare, that’s all. Can’t we just talk about something else?” But when she saw that Seth wasn’t going to talk about anything else, she finally told him about the strange dream in which she’d seen a girl burning in the closet, and what had happened when she finally woke up, when she was certain she could still smell smoke in the closet, even though the fire had only been a dream.
Seth listened in silence until she finished. “See?” she said. “I told you it was just a dream, didn’t I?”
Instead of replying to her question, Seth opened his backpack and pulled out a notebook. From the pocket in the back cover he took an envelope, which he wordlessly handed to Angel.
“What is it?” she asked, holding the envelope gingerly, as if it were hot.
“A photograph,” Seth said, his voice sounding oddly hollow. “I took it a while ago, the day you and your folks came to look at this place. There’s something in the window — something like…”
He spread his hands helplessly. “I don’t know — it doesn’t show up real well. Even when I blew it up, I couldn’t really see anything.”
Angel pulled the photo out of the envelope. “How did you know we were looking at the house?” she asked as she studied it. The photo showed the house exactly as it had been the day she and her parents first came to see it. But one window on the second floor — her window — looked strange. Fuzzy, and slightly out of focus. But there seemed to be something behind the glass, something she couldn’t quite make out.
“I saw you. I was across the street when you left.”
And then Angel remembered. It had been just as they were driving away from the house. She’d looked back at the house and seen something — something that looked like the face of a girl looking out the window of her room. Was it possible that Seth had actually taken a picture of it? “Are there any more?” she asked.
Seth nodded, and handed her another envelope. Her pulse suddenly quickening and her fingers trembling, Angel opened the envelope and pulled out another photograph, also of the house, but in this one flames were pouring out the second story window.
Her window.
She stared at it silently for almost a full minute, then tore her eyes away to gaze at Seth. “I don’t understand. If the house was on fire—”
“It wasn’t,” Seth broke in. “It was sunset, and the sun was sort of reflecting in the window, but when I looked at the picture on my computer…” His voice died away and he shook his head. “It’s weird, isn’t it? I mean, doesn’t it look exactly like flames?”
Angel’s eyes narrowed, and she was suddenly certain she knew what had happened. “You used one of those programs like PhotoShop, didn’t you?” But as soon as she uttered the words, she could see by the expression in his eyes that she was wrong. “But if you didn’t do it…” Now it was her voice that died away, and when she spoke again, her voice held the same hollow note she’d heard in Seth’s a few minutes ago. “So how come you’re taking so many pictures of my house?” she asked, looking once more at the strange image of flames seeming to billow from her window.
Seth shrugged. “I like it. I mean, it’s not like it’s huge or anything, but it’s really old, and—” His eyes shifted away from her. “Maybe part of it is that nobody else usually comes out here.”
“Why not?”
“All the stories,” Seth replied. He glanced around the room, which appeared utterly ordinary with the afternoon sunlight pouring in.
“You mean about the murders?”
Seth nodded. “But there’s other stuff too.” He fell silent again, but looked at her. “You know how kids tell stories about haunted houses?” Angel nodded. “Well, around here, this is the haunted house. I mean, even before that guy killed his family, everyone talked about it.”
“About what?” Angel pressed. When Seth still hesitated, she reminded him that she’d told him about her dream.
“There’s stories about all kinds of stuff,” he finally said. “You know — ghosts and witches.”
“I don’t believe in that kind of stuff,” Angel replied, but even as she said it, her gaze drifted to the photo that still lay on her lap. Was it possible that whatever was behind the window was the strange apparition she’d seen that day they’d come to see the house? She decided then that she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Getting up, she went to the dresser, turning her back on Seth. But she could still see him reflected in the mirror, staring at her.
“Don’t do that,” she said.
“Do what?”
“Don’t stare at me — I hate it when people stare at me.”
“I wasn’t staring at you,” Seth protested as he put the pictures in his backpack. “But even if I was looking at you, so what?”
Now it was the memory of the kids in Mrs. Holt’s class that rose in her mind:
Now Seth was truly staring at her. “What are you talking about?” he asked.
Finally giving in to the tears she’d been struggling against all day, she said, “What does it matter if I’m
