U Really Can't Touch This
October 23
Enter the Three Witches
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,—
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
The Tragedy of Macbeth
“Okay. Last call for tonight,” Dan announced. “Those of you who haven’t had a chance to see us, you’ll just have to return on Monday. We’re taking the weekend off.”
“Hey! No fair,” a young man with greasy, light brown hair called. “We’ve been waitin’ a long time-“
Trixie glanced over at him and rolled her eyes. “Judging by that get-up? You’ve been waiting for decades. You can make it a few more days. Or, we could always just give you a one-way ticket to somewhere you really don’t want to be.”
He glared at her, but disappeared without further comment. Trixie turned her attention back to the old woman standing in front of her. “Sorry about the interruption. So, you were saying something about your neighbor’s choice of exterior paint colors?”
******
“Let me get this straight. You want me to call your bookie and place some bets for you?” Dan shook his head. “Man. That is one serious gambling addiction when even death doesn’t cure it.”
******
“It says what?” Mart asked, certain he must have misheard.
“It says ‘Sucks to be me.’”
“Your family put ‘Sucks to be me.’ on your tombstone.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you… do something to really piss them off?”
“Left my entire fortune to a society dedicated to taking care of the pigeons in Founders Park.”
“That would probably do it.”
“Eh. They deserved it. Vultures just waiting for me to die so they could get their hands on my money.”
“Right. Um… I’m not actually sure what you want me to do about this, sir.”
“I want you to mail them a letter. I want it to say, ‘It might suck to be me, but not as much as it sucks to be you. Guess what, you little worthless rats. I stopped paying your mortgages months ago. The bank is about to foreclose on you.’ And then sign it, ‘Love, Uncle Ned.’ Got that?”
******
“So she didn’t show again,” Mart said frowning. “I guess we have to accept that Caitlyn’s not coming back and move forward accordingly.”
Dan sighed and nodded. “Agreed. Dude. Some ghosts are just total pains in the ass. Come on, let’s go see what the professor’s been up to.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I have some theories, yes,” Professor Lee said with a nod as he stacked the books he’d pulled from a shelf earlier that afternoon. “First and foremost, it seems to me that ghosts may, if they so choose, appear to whomever they wish, if they have compelling need, such as Sarah’s desire to pass along her warning. And I would say this need does not necessarily have to correlate to any kind of good or noble intentions. It may equally be in the service of something… er, wicked.”
“Like how some people report seeing poltergeists?” Trixie asked. “The ghosts are appearing on purpose to terrify them or something?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. That makes sense. But it doesn’t explain why Sarah’s been so vague and uber-cryptic. Why can’t she give us some more direct information? Like a name. Or a date. All this ‘she’s evil and she’s coming’ stuff isn’t much to work with.”
“True. And unfortunately I can’t offer any help with that particular problem. Details certainly would be more beneficial than a general ‘Beware!’”
They both turned as they heard heavy footsteps on the main staircase. Dan and Mart appeared in the library doorway, carrying a battered wooden trunk between them.
Trixie hopped off her stool and crossed to them. “You found something?”
They set the trunk down on the floor with a loud thump. Mart straightened and rubbed the back of his neck wearily. “This didn’t belong to Sarah, if that’s what you’re thinking, Sis. It’s not that old. We’re guessing this is maybe from the late 1950’s or early 1960’s.”
“Oh. Then why drag it all the way down here?”
Dan flipped the trunk’s latch and lifted the top. “Because of what’s in it, Freckles,” he said. “Check this out, Professor.”
Professor Lee stepped away from the table that was serving as his desk and surveyed the trunk’s contents with a thoughtful expression. He knelt down to pick up a tied bundle and set it aside before carefully removing a long, slender knife. “This makes my little collection seem paltry and pitiful indeed,” he remarked. “Someone was very much into serious witchcraft, if I don’t miss my guess.”
“Bad magic,” Trixie murmured.
“Hmm?” The professor peered up at her, eyes intent. “This could simply be a ceremonial blade. They’re used for things like drawing sacred circles and carving symbols in candles and the like.”
She slowly shook her head. “No. This is… bad. It just feels bad.”
Professor Lee immediately replaced the knife. “I see. Although the mathematical, rational side of my brain tells me that one cannot make judgments based on ‘it feels bad,’ the more, ah… intuitive side says to trust your feelings in particular.”
Dan slammed the lid shut and reached for Trixie’s hand. “I’m with him on this one. If you feel like this trunk’s got a lot of bad mojo, I believe it.”
“We need the history of this house,” she said.
“Not to jump topics or anything…” Mart murmured.
“No, Bro. I’m serious. Look. We know that it was built in Sarah’s time. I guess by her husband. We know at some point it passed out of Sligo hands to the Lisgards, who changed the name, presumably. We’ve always known it as Lisgard House, but what was it before that? And how were the Lisgards related to the Sligos? Were they at all, or did they just buy the house like Mr. Lynch bought the old Carroll estate when the last of that family sold up and moved south?”
“Why is any of that even important?”
“I… okay, I’m not completely sure why… call it another feeling, if you must. But you said this trunk could be fifty-five or so years old. That would be when our grandfather was a young man. What if it has something to do with what Lester told us? About the really terrible thing that happened that led to the creation of the pact? I just think we need to know more about everything. What happened to Sarah’s children? One of them, I’m assuming the boy, would be our direct ancestor. I’m pretty sure that’s a given at this point. But what about the girl? What became of her? If she married and had children, what were their names? And Mart, we’re Beldens, not Sligos. Our family must have made the decision to raise her children as Beldens, instead of using her husband’s name. Why? Something happened there, too. Sarah Belden was all set to marry the man she loved, a Mundy. She even went so far as to defy her own family, it would seem, and lift all the curses. But then all of a sudden she marries a different man? Who was Luke Sligo and how did he come between Sarah and her fiancé? And how did he die? And why? Don’t you… I dunno! Don’t you feel like whatever is happening now, it all somehow ties in with the past?”
“So many questions,” the professor said softly. “This may be a puzzle we can’t fully piece together, Trixie. Unless we find additional journals or documents, much of this may be history that’s simply lost in the mists of time.”
She looked over at him and suddenly smiled. “Mists of time?” she echoed. “If you keep this up, I may have to start calling you ‘Charlie.’”
“Ah. Yes.” He chuckled good-naturedly at her teasing. “I suppose I deserve that.”
“Anyway… we don’t necessarily need any more journals. At least not to find out what happened in Sarah’s time. We could just ask her.”
Mart frowned. “But, as you keep pointing out, baby sister, she’s been pretty much anything but genuinely forthcoming with any information.”
“I know. But she did appear when I called her, right? Even if it was only briefly. And if Lester was right and one of the Belden powers really is an ability to summon the dead…”
“You want to – to deliberately summon her?” Professor Lee asked. “As in by performing some sort of ritual or holding a séance?”
“Yes. If we can have entire conversations with ghosts like Vern the Headless Wonder, then I don’t see why we can’t do the same with Sarah. We have questions that need answering and she has those answers.”
“I don’t know, Freckles,” Dan said quietly. “I may not be a Belden, but in this case? My feeling is that trying to force Sarah to appear at our bidding and answer our questions could be a very bad thing.”
She huffed out a frustrated breath. “Then what? Do we just resign ourselves to this is how our lives are gonna be from now on? Because I am this close to failing a couple of my classes and I’m not doing much better in the rest. I’m exhausted and overwhelmed and tired of feeling like we’re just waiting for something to happen or go hideously wrong. What’s this ‘evil’ that’s coming? And when? And what are we gonna do about it, because I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like we’re in any way ready for it. I just think… if we understood everything… if we understood what got us here, then maybe we could deal better with whatever’s coming next.”
Dan pulled her close into a tight hug. “Freckles… I know. Well, I don’t know exactly how you’re feeling, but I guess with the exception of Mart, I’m in the best position to understand. But I don’t want to do anything that will make this worse – possibly way worse – than it already is.”
“Can we at least think about it for a day or so?” Mart asked her. “Having an actual séance really does seem like a huge risk. Let’s not make a decision on it right now, okay, Sis? Give it a night. Tomorrow’s Friday and there’s a game against Briarcliff, so our folks won’t be expecting us home until late. Professor? Could you meet us in town?”
“I have a class at 3:30, but I could meet you by a quarter after 5:00, yes.”
“Good. Let’s go to the Historical Society after school. We can focus on seeing if we can find the answers to at least some of your questions, Trix. Then we can make a decision on whether or not to summon Sarah. All right?”
She hesitated, but then pulled away from Dan and gave a small nod. “All right,” she agreed. “But if we don’t find out enough, then I think a séance is the only option we’ll have left. We have to do something.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trixie crept along as silently as she could, wincing at the sound of crunching leaves beneath her feet. She crouched down next to Dan and Mart behind a row of neatly trimmed hedges. “There’s a car in the spot marked for his apartment number,” she whispered, “so it looks like he’s home. Now what?”
“We haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary from back here,” Dan replied in equally hushed tones. “A couple of people have gone in and out of the building, but none of them were dead.” He frowned slightly and shook his head. “A sentence that four weeks ago I never would have thought to find myself uttering…”
“So should we go… what? Ring the bell? See if he’ll talk to us?”
“About what?” Mart grimaced and shifted his weight slightly, trying to relieve his cramped muscles. “What would we say? Sir? We were wondering if you were seeing any signs of paranormal activity lately? Possibly some hint that your dead girlfriend is paying you some not-so-friendly visits? If so, we’re here to help. We might be able to convince her to leave.”
“Then what? It’s not like we can stay out here all night,” she pointed out. “What’s the plan?”
“For tonight?” Mart pulled out his pouch of dried herbs. “I’m going to go sprinkle this by the front and back doors and say a protective spell. You two go figure out how to mark his car somehow. Use a pen or maybe scratch it with your keys. Do something to put the protection symbol the professor taught you on it. I think that’s all we can do for now. And unless we actually find Caitlyn, I don’t know if there’s anything else we can do about the situation at all. Maybe we could try to get into his apartment somehow at some point and do what we can to make it… safer.”
Dan grabbed Trixie’s hand and rose, pulling her up with him. “C’mon, Freckles. If there’s one thing I do know how to do, it’s sneak around parked cars without getting caught.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The trunk was right where they’d left it. David set down his flashlight and stared at it for a long moment. A feeble trace of moonlight faintly illuminated the room, making the dark shadows around him even more pronounced. He swallowed hard. He was behaving rashly. He knew this. He wasn’t sure what frightened him more, the items inside the trunk and Trixie’s “bad feeling,” or the notion of letting his young friends fully unleash their powers in the form of summoning a spirit from beyond. Everything he knew, which he was honest enough to admit was very little, told him that holding a séance would be exceedingly dangerous, especially for Trixie.
And then there was the trunk. If she didn’t get the answers she desperately wanted, how long before she would risk exploring the contents? How long before her need to understand overruled her common sense and she threw caution to the wind?
He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t a hero. He was a bookish man who had devoted his life to researching and learning. His childhood had been one of lonely isolation, shunned by his classmates and mostly ignored by his flighty mother. His father was a mystery to him. An unknown. His mother refused to tell him anything about the man, and David was convinced the simple truth was, she had no idea herself who had fathered her son.
No. He was no hero. And yet… he’d be damned if he was going to sit back and allow something horrific to happen to Trixie, Dan, or Mart. Not if he could possibly prevent it. If there were answers buried in this trunk, he would seek them now, without the others present. Maybe he couldn’t do as much for them as he wished, but he could at least do this. If he came across anything truly terrible, he’d take the entire trunk and pitch it in the Hudson. Trixie would no doubt be furious, but he figured being the brunt of her anger would be better than seeing any of them get hurt.
He squatted down and reached out, intending to lift the lid and open the trunk. Several things happened simultaneously. As it had a few days prior, the front door slammed shut. The windows rattled in their frames. Something overhead crashed to the floor and a fine coating of ceiling plaster rained down on him. The trunk slid away from his outstretched fingers, slamming hard into the wall.
And a force that felt like an enormous invisible hand shoved David in the opposite direction, flinging him backward like a discarded toy. His head connected hard with the marble fireplace, and he had only a brief second to acknowledge the pain before losing consciousness.
Enter the Three Witches
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,—
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
The Tragedy of Macbeth
“Okay. Last call for tonight,” Dan announced. “Those of you who haven’t had a chance to see us, you’ll just have to return on Monday. We’re taking the weekend off.”
“Hey! No fair,” a young man with greasy, light brown hair called. “We’ve been waitin’ a long time-“
Trixie glanced over at him and rolled her eyes. “Judging by that get-up? You’ve been waiting for decades. You can make it a few more days. Or, we could always just give you a one-way ticket to somewhere you really don’t want to be.”
He glared at her, but disappeared without further comment. Trixie turned her attention back to the old woman standing in front of her. “Sorry about the interruption. So, you were saying something about your neighbor’s choice of exterior paint colors?”
******
“Let me get this straight. You want me to call your bookie and place some bets for you?” Dan shook his head. “Man. That is one serious gambling addiction when even death doesn’t cure it.”
******
“It says what?” Mart asked, certain he must have misheard.
“It says ‘Sucks to be me.’”
“Your family put ‘Sucks to be me.’ on your tombstone.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you… do something to really piss them off?”
“Left my entire fortune to a society dedicated to taking care of the pigeons in Founders Park.”
“That would probably do it.”
“Eh. They deserved it. Vultures just waiting for me to die so they could get their hands on my money.”
“Right. Um… I’m not actually sure what you want me to do about this, sir.”
“I want you to mail them a letter. I want it to say, ‘It might suck to be me, but not as much as it sucks to be you. Guess what, you little worthless rats. I stopped paying your mortgages months ago. The bank is about to foreclose on you.’ And then sign it, ‘Love, Uncle Ned.’ Got that?”
******
“So she didn’t show again,” Mart said frowning. “I guess we have to accept that Caitlyn’s not coming back and move forward accordingly.”
Dan sighed and nodded. “Agreed. Dude. Some ghosts are just total pains in the ass. Come on, let’s go see what the professor’s been up to.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I have some theories, yes,” Professor Lee said with a nod as he stacked the books he’d pulled from a shelf earlier that afternoon. “First and foremost, it seems to me that ghosts may, if they so choose, appear to whomever they wish, if they have compelling need, such as Sarah’s desire to pass along her warning. And I would say this need does not necessarily have to correlate to any kind of good or noble intentions. It may equally be in the service of something… er, wicked.”
“Like how some people report seeing poltergeists?” Trixie asked. “The ghosts are appearing on purpose to terrify them or something?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. That makes sense. But it doesn’t explain why Sarah’s been so vague and uber-cryptic. Why can’t she give us some more direct information? Like a name. Or a date. All this ‘she’s evil and she’s coming’ stuff isn’t much to work with.”
“True. And unfortunately I can’t offer any help with that particular problem. Details certainly would be more beneficial than a general ‘Beware!’”
They both turned as they heard heavy footsteps on the main staircase. Dan and Mart appeared in the library doorway, carrying a battered wooden trunk between them.
Trixie hopped off her stool and crossed to them. “You found something?”
They set the trunk down on the floor with a loud thump. Mart straightened and rubbed the back of his neck wearily. “This didn’t belong to Sarah, if that’s what you’re thinking, Sis. It’s not that old. We’re guessing this is maybe from the late 1950’s or early 1960’s.”
“Oh. Then why drag it all the way down here?”
Dan flipped the trunk’s latch and lifted the top. “Because of what’s in it, Freckles,” he said. “Check this out, Professor.”
Professor Lee stepped away from the table that was serving as his desk and surveyed the trunk’s contents with a thoughtful expression. He knelt down to pick up a tied bundle and set it aside before carefully removing a long, slender knife. “This makes my little collection seem paltry and pitiful indeed,” he remarked. “Someone was very much into serious witchcraft, if I don’t miss my guess.”
“Bad magic,” Trixie murmured.
“Hmm?” The professor peered up at her, eyes intent. “This could simply be a ceremonial blade. They’re used for things like drawing sacred circles and carving symbols in candles and the like.”
She slowly shook her head. “No. This is… bad. It just feels bad.”
Professor Lee immediately replaced the knife. “I see. Although the mathematical, rational side of my brain tells me that one cannot make judgments based on ‘it feels bad,’ the more, ah… intuitive side says to trust your feelings in particular.”
Dan slammed the lid shut and reached for Trixie’s hand. “I’m with him on this one. If you feel like this trunk’s got a lot of bad mojo, I believe it.”
“We need the history of this house,” she said.
“Not to jump topics or anything…” Mart murmured.
“No, Bro. I’m serious. Look. We know that it was built in Sarah’s time. I guess by her husband. We know at some point it passed out of Sligo hands to the Lisgards, who changed the name, presumably. We’ve always known it as Lisgard House, but what was it before that? And how were the Lisgards related to the Sligos? Were they at all, or did they just buy the house like Mr. Lynch bought the old Carroll estate when the last of that family sold up and moved south?”
“Why is any of that even important?”
“I… okay, I’m not completely sure why… call it another feeling, if you must. But you said this trunk could be fifty-five or so years old. That would be when our grandfather was a young man. What if it has something to do with what Lester told us? About the really terrible thing that happened that led to the creation of the pact? I just think we need to know more about everything. What happened to Sarah’s children? One of them, I’m assuming the boy, would be our direct ancestor. I’m pretty sure that’s a given at this point. But what about the girl? What became of her? If she married and had children, what were their names? And Mart, we’re Beldens, not Sligos. Our family must have made the decision to raise her children as Beldens, instead of using her husband’s name. Why? Something happened there, too. Sarah Belden was all set to marry the man she loved, a Mundy. She even went so far as to defy her own family, it would seem, and lift all the curses. But then all of a sudden she marries a different man? Who was Luke Sligo and how did he come between Sarah and her fiancé? And how did he die? And why? Don’t you… I dunno! Don’t you feel like whatever is happening now, it all somehow ties in with the past?”
“So many questions,” the professor said softly. “This may be a puzzle we can’t fully piece together, Trixie. Unless we find additional journals or documents, much of this may be history that’s simply lost in the mists of time.”
She looked over at him and suddenly smiled. “Mists of time?” she echoed. “If you keep this up, I may have to start calling you ‘Charlie.’”
“Ah. Yes.” He chuckled good-naturedly at her teasing. “I suppose I deserve that.”
“Anyway… we don’t necessarily need any more journals. At least not to find out what happened in Sarah’s time. We could just ask her.”
Mart frowned. “But, as you keep pointing out, baby sister, she’s been pretty much anything but genuinely forthcoming with any information.”
“I know. But she did appear when I called her, right? Even if it was only briefly. And if Lester was right and one of the Belden powers really is an ability to summon the dead…”
“You want to – to deliberately summon her?” Professor Lee asked. “As in by performing some sort of ritual or holding a séance?”
“Yes. If we can have entire conversations with ghosts like Vern the Headless Wonder, then I don’t see why we can’t do the same with Sarah. We have questions that need answering and she has those answers.”
“I don’t know, Freckles,” Dan said quietly. “I may not be a Belden, but in this case? My feeling is that trying to force Sarah to appear at our bidding and answer our questions could be a very bad thing.”
She huffed out a frustrated breath. “Then what? Do we just resign ourselves to this is how our lives are gonna be from now on? Because I am this close to failing a couple of my classes and I’m not doing much better in the rest. I’m exhausted and overwhelmed and tired of feeling like we’re just waiting for something to happen or go hideously wrong. What’s this ‘evil’ that’s coming? And when? And what are we gonna do about it, because I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like we’re in any way ready for it. I just think… if we understood everything… if we understood what got us here, then maybe we could deal better with whatever’s coming next.”
Dan pulled her close into a tight hug. “Freckles… I know. Well, I don’t know exactly how you’re feeling, but I guess with the exception of Mart, I’m in the best position to understand. But I don’t want to do anything that will make this worse – possibly way worse – than it already is.”
“Can we at least think about it for a day or so?” Mart asked her. “Having an actual séance really does seem like a huge risk. Let’s not make a decision on it right now, okay, Sis? Give it a night. Tomorrow’s Friday and there’s a game against Briarcliff, so our folks won’t be expecting us home until late. Professor? Could you meet us in town?”
“I have a class at 3:30, but I could meet you by a quarter after 5:00, yes.”
“Good. Let’s go to the Historical Society after school. We can focus on seeing if we can find the answers to at least some of your questions, Trix. Then we can make a decision on whether or not to summon Sarah. All right?”
She hesitated, but then pulled away from Dan and gave a small nod. “All right,” she agreed. “But if we don’t find out enough, then I think a séance is the only option we’ll have left. We have to do something.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trixie crept along as silently as she could, wincing at the sound of crunching leaves beneath her feet. She crouched down next to Dan and Mart behind a row of neatly trimmed hedges. “There’s a car in the spot marked for his apartment number,” she whispered, “so it looks like he’s home. Now what?”
“We haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary from back here,” Dan replied in equally hushed tones. “A couple of people have gone in and out of the building, but none of them were dead.” He frowned slightly and shook his head. “A sentence that four weeks ago I never would have thought to find myself uttering…”
“So should we go… what? Ring the bell? See if he’ll talk to us?”
“About what?” Mart grimaced and shifted his weight slightly, trying to relieve his cramped muscles. “What would we say? Sir? We were wondering if you were seeing any signs of paranormal activity lately? Possibly some hint that your dead girlfriend is paying you some not-so-friendly visits? If so, we’re here to help. We might be able to convince her to leave.”
“Then what? It’s not like we can stay out here all night,” she pointed out. “What’s the plan?”
“For tonight?” Mart pulled out his pouch of dried herbs. “I’m going to go sprinkle this by the front and back doors and say a protective spell. You two go figure out how to mark his car somehow. Use a pen or maybe scratch it with your keys. Do something to put the protection symbol the professor taught you on it. I think that’s all we can do for now. And unless we actually find Caitlyn, I don’t know if there’s anything else we can do about the situation at all. Maybe we could try to get into his apartment somehow at some point and do what we can to make it… safer.”
Dan grabbed Trixie’s hand and rose, pulling her up with him. “C’mon, Freckles. If there’s one thing I do know how to do, it’s sneak around parked cars without getting caught.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The trunk was right where they’d left it. David set down his flashlight and stared at it for a long moment. A feeble trace of moonlight faintly illuminated the room, making the dark shadows around him even more pronounced. He swallowed hard. He was behaving rashly. He knew this. He wasn’t sure what frightened him more, the items inside the trunk and Trixie’s “bad feeling,” or the notion of letting his young friends fully unleash their powers in the form of summoning a spirit from beyond. Everything he knew, which he was honest enough to admit was very little, told him that holding a séance would be exceedingly dangerous, especially for Trixie.
And then there was the trunk. If she didn’t get the answers she desperately wanted, how long before she would risk exploring the contents? How long before her need to understand overruled her common sense and she threw caution to the wind?
He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t a hero. He was a bookish man who had devoted his life to researching and learning. His childhood had been one of lonely isolation, shunned by his classmates and mostly ignored by his flighty mother. His father was a mystery to him. An unknown. His mother refused to tell him anything about the man, and David was convinced the simple truth was, she had no idea herself who had fathered her son.
No. He was no hero. And yet… he’d be damned if he was going to sit back and allow something horrific to happen to Trixie, Dan, or Mart. Not if he could possibly prevent it. If there were answers buried in this trunk, he would seek them now, without the others present. Maybe he couldn’t do as much for them as he wished, but he could at least do this. If he came across anything truly terrible, he’d take the entire trunk and pitch it in the Hudson. Trixie would no doubt be furious, but he figured being the brunt of her anger would be better than seeing any of them get hurt.
He squatted down and reached out, intending to lift the lid and open the trunk. Several things happened simultaneously. As it had a few days prior, the front door slammed shut. The windows rattled in their frames. Something overhead crashed to the floor and a fine coating of ceiling plaster rained down on him. The trunk slid away from his outstretched fingers, slamming hard into the wall.
And a force that felt like an enormous invisible hand shoved David in the opposite direction, flinging him backward like a discarded toy. His head connected hard with the marble fireplace, and he had only a brief second to acknowledge the pain before losing consciousness.
