by R. L. Stine
Contents
Part One: Betrayal
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part Two: Despair
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Part Three: Revenue
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Part Four: The Curse of Fear
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
About the Author
Prologue
The New World Western Pennsylvania Frontier, 1710
Matthew Fier laughed and laughed. He couldn’t stop. He started laughing days ago—when he triumphed over his enemy William Goode.
But triumph came with a price. And Matthew Fier knew it. I am going to laugh myself into my grave, he thought.
Matthew’s stomach muscles ached. His throat felt raw and sore. But he laughed on.
He spread a layer of mortar over the top row of bricks. Soon all the walls of his study would be brick from floor to ceiling. No windows. No doors. Nothing but strong bricks to keep them safe.
The Goodes will never be able to reach us, he thought. Not once I wall us in. They will never get their hands on the Fier amulet. They will never get their hands on the power of the Fiers.
Matthew placed another row of bricks in the wet mortar. He pushed himself to work faster. As he worked, he pictured the Fier amulet.
A shiny silver disk with a bird’s claw on the front. The claw clutching bright blue stones. And on the back, the words the Fiers lived by: Dominatio per malum. Power through evil.
Matthew knew the history of the amulet. It had been passed down from father to son for hundreds and hundreds of years.
The amulet was old. So old he could hardly imagine it. Before the time of recorded history it belonged to a young Celtic spell-caster called Fieran.
The dark power of Fieran’s amulet would never die—as long as one Fier still lived to claim it.
I will die soon, Matthew thought. He laughed as he set the last brick in place, completing the final wall. Yes, soon I will die. But someday another Fier will come. A Fier who will claim the amulet.
Matthew remembered another time when the amulet had to be protected. It had been lost and Matthew reclaimed it from a woman. What was her name?
Matthew felt dizzy. A buzzing sound filled his ears. Images from his past flashed through his mind.
Christina! he thought suddenly. Christina Davis! That was her name.
She had the amulet when I found it.
Matthew drew another breath.
This is the last I will ever take, he realized. He held it for a moment.
A red haze filled his vision.
Fire, he thought. There was a fire the night I received the amulet from Christina. And a fire the night Fieran first beheld the amulet.
Christina . . . Fieran.
Fire . . . Fier.
The amulet. The amulet. The amulet.
Matthew wheezed as he released his final breath.
PART ONE
Betrayal
Chapter
1
The New World Massachusetts Bay Colony, 1679
Christina Davis stared down into the open grave. Wide and black. It reminded her of a huge mouth.
Oh, Papa! Christina thought. I don’t want to be alone. Why did you leave me? A strangled sob escaped her throat.
Hard, bony fingers dug into Christina’s arm. “Shame me and you’ll live to regret it,” her aunt whispered in her ear. “Displaying so much emotion in public is improper. Control yourself, girl!”
Christina pressed her lips together. Don’t cry, she told herself. Not in front of Aunt Jane. She concentrated on taking deep, slow breaths. Gradually, her aunt released her painful grip.
How could I have thought I was alone? Christina asked herself. She closed her eyes for an instant. I will never be alone. There will always be Aunt Jane.
Aunt Jane!
She hates me, Christina thought. Always criticizing. Calling me stupid and lazy. Slapping me when I make even a tiny mistake.
But never in front of Papa. No, in front of Christina’s father Aunt Jane acted soft and loving. She waited until she had Christina alone to scream at her. Punish her.
Now she will always have me alone, Christina thought. Now I have no one to protect me.
The minister stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Brethren,” he began in a deep, loud voice. “Let us pray.”
Christina heard a soft rustle as the assembled townspeople clasped their hands before them. She bowed her head with the rest of the congregation. Her eyes focused on the hem of her dark mourning dress. On the square toes of her thick, black shoes.
Dear God in Heaven, she prayed silently. Welcome my father into your loving embrace. And help me find a way to escape.
Christina caught her breath. Yes, that was what she had to do. She had to escape. She had to run away from Aunt Jane.
With a firm “amen,” the prayer ended. The townspeople lifted their heads. Four strong men moved forward. They began to lower Christina’s father’s coffin into the grave with stout ropes. The wood of the coffin groaned and creaked.
Scalding tears burned Christina’s eyes. Oh, Papa, she thought. Things could have been so different. If only you hadn’t gotten sick.
Her father’s coffin hit the bottom of the grave with a thud. Through the haze of her tears, Christina saw the minister beckon to her. He pointed one bony finger at a pile of earth alongside the grave.
Christina’s stomach clenched. She understood what the minister wanted. She had to throw the first handful of earth into her father’s grave.
Christina could feel the eyes of the townspeople upon her. Her legs felt stiff as she moved forward. She bent down, and scooped up a handful of cold, clammy earth. A fat, purple worm wiggled between her fingers.
Christina could almost see the worms’ dark bodies sliding in and out of her father’s clean, white bones.
She couldn’t stand the feel of the dirt on her fingers one more second. She flung it into the grave with all her strength. Then she backed away.
Aunt Jane strode forward. She didn’t hesitate as Christina had. She scooped a handful of dirt up and hurled it into the grave with one powerful stroke. Then she moved back to Christina’s side.
One by one, the townspeople approached Christina and her aunt and paid their respects. One by one, they threw handfuls of dirt into her father’s grave.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Christina mumbled her thanks to the townspeople without listening to what they said. Her eyes locked on the dirt filling her father’s grave.
Why does it have to be Papa we bury? she thought. Why couldn’t it have been Aunt Jane?
At exactly that instant, the sun went out.
Christina gasped. She stared up into the sky. It boiled with dark shapes. The sound of hundreds of beating wings echoed off the hillsides.
Crows. The entire sky is filled with crows.
Christina opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t move.
A crow dove toward her. Its yellow beak opened wide. It grabbed a thick lock of Christina’s hair and yanked it out of her head. She f
elt warm blood flow down the side of her head and trickle into her ear.
The minister uttered a high, shrill scream. Christina jerked her head toward him—and saw a crow tear a piece of flesh from his cheek.
A woman shoved her way past Christina, dragging her two sobbing children behind her. One of the children fell to the ground. The crows surrounded it, jabbing and pecking. The woman tried to drive them off, screeching and flapping her cloak.
Christina ran to her aid. The crows slashed at her legs, ripping through her black dress and cutting into her flesh. She ignored the pain and pulled the child to his feet. “Run!” she urged.
She heard Aunt Jane begin to pray behind her. Christina turned to face her aunt—and saw a huge crow ready to attack.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
The crow hurled itself straight at Christina.
Christina bent down and frantically searched for a weapon. She grabbed a stone that fit perfectly in the palm of her hand. Then she straightened and hurled the stone as hard as she could.
Thunk! The stone hit the crow on the head. It fell to the ground with one last cry.
But another crow came right behind it. A crow with something shiny and silver grasped in its beak.
Christina scrambled for another rock. No time. The bird was too close. So close Christina could see the gleam of its black eyes.
Christina threw her hands over her head. Her fingers tangled on the silvery object the bird held in its beak. The bird flapped its wings wildly, trying to escape. She felt the hot, musty air hitting her face.
Caw! Caw! Caw! The bird tore free and wheeled in the air. Then it dove toward Christina again.
Christina stumbled backward. She felt the earth crumble beneath her feet. Felt herself begin to fall.
Fall into her father’s open grave.
Chapter
2
A heavy weight pressed down on Christina. She struggled against it. But her arms and legs would not move. She was pinned in place. Her body completely useless.
She remembered falling. Falling and landing in a hole. No. Not a hole—her father’s grave! I’ve been buried alive!
Christina’s eyes popped open. She rested in her own bed, the covers tightly tucked around her.
Christina loosened the blankets and sat up. How did I get here? She had no memory of going home.
Perhaps I fainted when I fell. Some of our neighbors must have helped Aunt Jane bring me home.
Christina’s tongue felt dry and swollen. She needed a cool drink of water. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Pain shot through her body. I must be covered with bruises, she thought.
The floorboard outside Christina’s door creaked. Aunt Jane checking up on me, Christina thought. She quickly stretched out and pulled the covers up to her chin. She did not want to speak with her aunt now. The day had been hard enough already.
Christina heard the door swing open and the whisper of skirts against the floor. She struggled to make her breathing slow and even. Leave, she thought. Go away and leave me alone.
“She still sleeps,” Aunt Jane murmured. “That is good. If she is tired it will make things that much easier for us.”
Who is she talking to? Christina wondered. Why did she bring someone into my room?
“You are certain you wish to do this?” a second person asked, the voice low and harsh. But a woman’s voice, Christina felt sure.
“Of course I’m certain,” Aunt Jane snapped. “I would not have asked you to come here otherwise, now would I?”
The women moved closer. Christina could feel their hot breath on her face. Stay calm, she told herself. Don’t move. Don’t move.
What is she planning? Christina thought. What is Aunt Jane going to do to me?
“We should do it tonight,” the woman murmured. Aunt Jane grunted in agreement.
“And her absence?” the woman asked. “How will you explain that?”
My absence? Is she sending me away? Christina thought. Almost any place would be better than here with her aunt.
“ ’Tis none of your concern,” Aunt Jane answered. She sounded annoyed. “Leave it to me.”
“It is my concern,” the woman insisted, her voice growing louder. “I have a right to know. You will put me in danger if you handle it badly.”
“You saw her at the graveside today,” Aunt Jane said impatiently. She stepped away from the bed. “It’s plain her grief for her father has upset the balance of her mind. She might do anything in this state. She might even wander off . . . and become lost in the woods around the town. An unprotected girl, alone, would meet all sorts of dangers.”
“Dangers in the woods,” the woman echoed. “Ah, yes, I see.”
“Naturally, I would be terribly distraught should any harm come to my niece,” Aunt Jane continued.
Evil, Christina thought. She is pure evil.
The other woman laughed. A harsh, ugly sound. “I’m certain the entire town will join me in extending my sympathy for your difficult situation.”
“A kind thought. I thank you.” Christina could almost hear her aunt smiling. “We’re agreed, then?”
“Oh, aye,” the woman answered. “We’re agreed.”
Christina heard the soft clink of coins changing hands. Then the sound of footsteps moving toward the door.
“I’ll return tonight,” the woman said, as the bedroom door creaked open.
“At midnight,” Aunt Jane suggested. “No one else will be awake.”
“Very well, at midnight, then.” The bedroom door shut on the rest of their conversation.
Christina remained motionless. Her heart pounding so hard she feared it would choke her.
The moment she heard the large, heavy front door close, she bolted upright.
Aunt Jane is planning to kill me!
Chapter
3
Christina threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed. She had to escape. She had to run away. Now!
If I’m here when Aunt Jane returns, I’m trapped, Christina thought. She won’t let me out of her sight.
Christina tiptoed over to her bedroom window. The scrubbed wood floor felt icy against her bare feet. She carefully parted the checkered curtains—just an inch—and peered out.
She saw her aunt helping a woman into a wagon in the far corner of the yard. Christina couldn’t make out the woman’s face.
Go! Go now! a voice inside Christina urged. Aunt Jane could come back in the house at any moment.
She darted over to the chest and grabbed her long cloak. Then she realized she wore only a nightgown.
I don’t have time! she thought. Aunt Jane will be back before I am ready! Christina’s heart began to hammer in her chest. She felt light-headed, her ears ringing.
Stop it, she ordered herself. This is no time to fall apart. She reached for the lacings of her nightgown. Her fingers slipped and fumbled. Something clattered to the floor.
What was that? Christina thought. She noticed a silver pendant next to her feet. Where did that come from?
Even in the dim light of her bedroom it glimmered. It seemed to glow with a strange light of its own. Fascinated, Christina picked it up. The silver disc felt warm. Comforting.
She ran her fingers over the silver bird’s claw on the front. Over the six clear blue stones clutched in the claw.
A memory stirred in Christina’s mind. A memory of an enormous black bird flying down at her. Something silver clutched in its beak. She remembered striking out at the bird—and her fingers becoming tangled in a thin chain.
That’s how I got it. It’s beautiful, she thought. So beautiful. And it’s mine.
Christina lifted the chain over her head and slid on the silver pendant. Then she blinked several times. Why am I just standing here?
Within moments, she dressed in her sober black mourning dress, thick stockings and heavy, squaretoed shoes. She hesitated over her white cap and apron.
I’d better leave them off, she thought. The white color might a
ttract attention. She knew people considered it scandalous to go out bareheaded. But she could use the hood of her dark cloak.
Ready, she thought. She took a quick look around her bedroom. This is the last time I will ever be here, she thought. The last time I will ever call this place my home.
“Good-bye, Papa,” Christina whispered. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to visit your grave. But I know you’ll understand what I’m doing. Why I can never come back here.”
Choking back her tears, Christina hurried to the door and pulled it open.
Creak.
Did Aunt Jane hear that? Is she back in the house? Christina held her breath. But the hall remained empty. The house silent.
Christina dashed down the hallway. Once she made it out the back door, Aunt Jane would never catch her.
Bang! The front door opened.
Oh, no! Christina thought. Now she couldn’t make her way to the back door without Aunt Jane spotting her.
Christina crept back down the hallway. Placing each foot carefully so she wouldn’t make the smallest sound.
Tap.
One of Christina’s heels hit the floorboards.
She hesitated. Not a word from her aunt.
Almost there, she thought. Almost to my room.
Christina pulled in a deep breath and took another step.
“Christina Davis! What are you doing out of bed?” her aunt shrieked.
Christina raced into her room and slammed the door behind her. Do something! she ordered herself. Do something!
Christina picked up her dressing-table chair. Can I use it to block the door?
Aunt Jane’s heavy footsteps thundered down the hall.
In another moment, she’ll be here!
Christina whirled around. She flung the chair through her bedroom window with all her strength. Glass shattered. Jagged shards flew through the air.
Aunt Jane uttered a high, shrill scream of outrage.
Christina threw herself across the windowsill. Jagged glass bit into her arms as she dragged herself forward. Thank goodness her bedroom was on the first floor.
She could see Aunt Jane’s vegetable garden beneath her. One more shove and I should make it. One more shove and I’ll be free.