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Hush

Eva Konstantopoulos
Chapters (14)
  1. Hush
  2. Copyright
  3. Contents
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. About The Author

Hush

HUSH

EVA KONSTANTOPOULOS

Copyright

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

Phone: 1-800-839-8640

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 6/5/2015

ISBN: 978-1-4685-0291-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-0292-3 (e)

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Original Cover Design: Matthew Blom

Original Photo: Andrea Konstantopoulos

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Contents

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7

8

9

10

About The Author

It is wonderful that five thousand years have now elapsed since the creation of the world, and still it is undecided whether or not there has ever been an instance of the spirit of any person appearing after death. All argument is against it; but all belief is for it.

Samuel Johnson, quoted by James Boswell

1

1

The dream is always the same. It’s just a trickle at first, dark hallways, empty rooms, but then I see a face. Eyes wide, nostrils flaring, a little girl’s mouth covered with tape. The room is damp and cold and simple, a chair in the middle of it all. That’s where the girl sits in a yellow dress, hands bound and feet dangling off the floor.

I want to tell the girl to run, to fight back, to scream, but I can’t move my lips. I can only watch as a hand strips off the tape over the girl’s mouth and picks up a pair of pliers, the hand tilting the girl’s head back and prying her mouth open. The pliers reach down, pulling on the girl’s tongue, stretching it longer and longer, the walls closing in and the girl’s eyes pleading…

“Freak!”

I sit up in the back seat and look out the window. Our client’s not here yet. Thank God. We’re parked on a quaint residential street a few miles from campus. Although this is the third house we’ve done and we’re getting into a routine, I still feel guilty about our little business.

Jackson, my big brother, grins at me from the driver’s seat. “You really got to stop talking in your sleep.”

“I wasn’t,” I say, feeling saliva running down my cheek. Crap. I look over to Elliot, who fiddles with an EMF meter next to me. He smiles politely and I wipe the drool from my face. Classy, Angela. Really classy.

“That same dream again?” Elliot asks.

I nod. “Maybe it’s a sign.”