Trick or Treat by Richie Tankersley Cusick

—”
    “Watched you do what?” This time his mouth twitched, but not in amusement — more in a battle for patience.
    Martha stepped away from him, her mind racing. Could there be another phone line in the house that I don’t even know about? “I think —” Her mind faltered and went blank. I don’t even know what I’m thinking anymore, I’m not even thinking at all —
    “It could have been clouds breaking. It could have been me turning on the hall lights.” Conor sighed. “It could have been lots of things. I’ll sleep in here tonight. You take my room.” When Martha shook her head he hesitated … shrugged. “Okay, then, Martha, do what you want.”
    She let him get to the other end of the hall before she finally spoke. “I changed my mind.”
    He didn’t seem the least bit surprised. He waited while she grabbed her things, and then he held his door open for her, making a mock bow as she went inside. She slammed the door behind her and stood looking at his bed, his books scattered carelessly around, his shirt draped over the back of a chair. She felt so strange being here in his room … even stranger climbing into his bed. For a long, long while she lay there. And when she finally dreamed, she ran and ran through the black maze of the house, pursued by a shadow with no face.

    Martha overslept the next morning and, going to school, she was so busy cramming for a test she’d forgotten about that she didn’t have time for suspicions about Conor. She failed the test, but her spirits lifted a little when she saw Wynn waiting by her locker at lunch.
    “You look tragic,” Wynn said tactfully. “Wanna go for a walk?”
    “I feel tragic. I’m working on flunking my junior year.” Wynn looked properly sympathetic, and Martha went on. “What do you think of Conor? I mean, really? ”
    “I think I’d like him to carry me off and love me forever. Why? Is it that obvious?”
    They stared at each other, then burst into laughter, heading outside into the cold.
    “Oh, I’m just not good with boys,” Wynn groaned.
    “Don’t be silly! When you walk down the halls they all say hello to you — they all knew you at that pizza place.”
    “They know me, but they never ask me out. I’d rather be a stranger and have a date once in a while.”
    Martha turned up her collar and kept pace beside her friend. “I am a stranger, and it hasn’t done me a bit of good. Not that I’m looking,” Martha added hastily. “And I’d love to introduce you to Conor, only —” She broke off, frowning. How could she share her suspicions about Conor when Blake had asked her not to mention the house to Wynn?
    “Only I’m too nervous,” Wynn said innocently. “Martha, you’re sweet to offer, and who wouldn’t want to know Conor better —” She dropped her eyes, then cast Martha a troubled look. “Number one, I don’t want you to think you’re my friend just because of Conor.”
    Martha looked surprised. “I don’t. I never thought to think that.”
    Wynn nodded, relieved. “Good. Some girls would, though. But I’m not like that. Friends are … important to me.”
    An ache went through Martha’s heart as Wynn turned her face away. For one moment she wrestled with the idea of admitting that she knew about Elizabeth Bedford, but luckily Wynn saved her.
    “Martha, my best friend died last year. You might have heard about it, ’cause the town’s full of stories. Except nobody really talks to me about it ’cause they don’t want to upset me. Only I wish they would talk to me about it, ’cause the truth is — well … I don’t remember.”
    Martha stopped, only half conscious that the wind was whipping her hair around her face. She pulled a strand from the corner of her mouth and thought how sad Wynn’s eyes looked as she stared back at her.
    “I don’t,” Wynn said again. “I wish I did, but I don’t remember a lot.” She started walking again, and Martha’s legs moved mechanically, trying to keep