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Back Whisper in the Dark
Chapters (36)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. About the Author
  33. Books by Joseph Bruchac
  34. Credits
  35. Copyright
  36. About the Publisher

The Whisperer in the Dark? Why was I suddenly thinking about that now? What was wrong with me? All that had happened was that I got a couple of dumb prank phone calls. I was blowing this way out of proportion. Instead of feeling afraid, I started feeling angry. I wasn’t some dumb kid in a movie or one of those heroines who had to wait for a prince to save her. Indian girls in our stories always knew how to take care of themselves.

Then I remembered. Nowadays if you get an anonymous call, all you have to do is dial * 69. It’ll give you the number of your last incoming call so that you can ring back and tell them you know who they are and they had better stop bothering you or you will call the police.

With a superior smile on my face, I reached for the phone. Be logical, calm. Dial *69. That was what I was going to do. But before I could touch it, the phone rang again. And in spite of myself, I screamed.

3

TOO MUCH IMAGINATION

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I JUST STARED AT the ringing phone. I wasn’t really freaked out. I didn’t pick it up. I didn’t have to. I could do something else. I had choices, lots of choices. I could rip the phone off the wall and hurl the darn thing out the window. Or I could run up to my bedroom like some demented nitwit and bury my head under a pillow.

Or I could sprint out into the street screaming for help—as if that would do any good. At this time of day in July, nobody is ever home in this neighborhood. They’re either at work or off to the beach or something. Like I would have been if I hadn’t had this weird midsummer cold that made me feel so achy and tired that Aunt Lyssa told me to just go ahead and sleep in.

It wasn’t like I’d been hypnotized by that whispery voice or frozen with fear like the people in that creepy story Grama Delia told about the Whisperer. Or was I?

This was stupid. I was just scaring myself. Maybe psycho killers in films call people, but not old-time monsters from Narragansett stories. No way. Totally ridiculous. Imagine the Whisperer in the Dark calling the telephone company to have them hook him up with a plan. Imagine a monster that no one has ever seen and lived to talk about listening to some sales rep at a mall babble on about what kind of service he wants on his cell phone.

Come on, Maddy, I thought to myself. Get real. It was just six little words.