Page 55 of A Boy Called Lovesong

Not to the morning sun.

Not to the sound of a rooster crowing or the church bell ringing.

But the sound of the French doors banging.

I sat upright in bed, the moonlight still casting its glow over the room, streaming in through the doors that were now open and swinging in the night breeze.

I figured the wind must have blown them open and stood from the bed, naked.

I began to walk toward the doors when I heard a whimper—a warning—from Chet. I couldn’t see him in the dim light, but the sound came from the foot of Lovesong’s bed.

I turned in his direction and put a finger to my lips, whispering “Shhh” so he didn’t wake Lovesong, then turned back to the doors and took another step toward them.

Only then did I notice one of the sheer curtains catching on something as it billowed in the breeze.

No, not catching on something, but wrapping itself around it.

Only it wasn’t a something…

It was asomeone.

With a jolt of fear, I realized someone was standing just inside the doors, the flowing curtain draped around them like a veil.

I stepped quickly backward and breathed, “Lovesong? Is that you?”

Suddenly I realized the person behind the curtain was too small to be Lovesong, the shoulders too narrow, the frame tall but petite. And then, from around the curtain, fingers unfurled, gripping the edge of the drape, about to reveal who was behind it.

Even in the pale moonlight I could see the fingers were caked in mud.

I saw hair, long and wild and knotted, twisted with twigs and dead leaves.

And then came the voice, a whispering chant, saying “Come to me, come to me, come to me, come to me…” faster and faster and faster until the words slurred into a shrill, nerve-shredding shriek. “Cometomecometomecometomecometomecometomecometome!”

It sent me staggering backward in terror…

Crashing into the stand with the record player on it…

Tumbling to the floor and grabbing for the nearest weapon to defend myself.

My hand seized on Lovesong’s electric guitar.

I snatched it up by the neck, raised it over one shoulder like a baseball bat and swung it at the intruder.

But it cut the air and caught nothing but the billowing curtain.

Whoever was behind it was now gone, as though they simply vanished on the wind.

I swung the guitar back and forth several more times just to be sure, my heart racing, my body shaking, but there was no sign of anyone else in the room.

“Lovesong, wake up! Lovesong!”

I dropped the guitar and raced toward the lamp, snapping it on.

As the room lit up, I saw Chet shivering at the foot of Lovesong’s bed.

But Lovesong himself was gone.

There was nothing but tussled sheets and a drawer left half open on his dresser.

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