Читать книгу House of Secrets - Ned Vizzini - Страница 7

Brendan took a deep breath and tried to stay calm, strong. The figure remained still. “Hello?” he called, stepping off the path and pulling Eleanor with him, Cordelia following close behind. “Is someone there?”

He was trying to use his toughest voice, but it cracked – more Sesame Street than Schwarzenegger. He cleared his throat to cover it as he and his siblings crept to the side of the house.

The figure was nothing but an old statue. A Gothic angel, looming two metres tall, carved from grey stone stained with streaks of green and black. It had wings folded behind it and arms stretched forward, with the right hand broken off. Its face was worn down, chinless and lipless, eroded by decades of San Francisco wind and fog. Mossy patches covered its eyes.

“Beautiful,” said Cordelia.

Brendan wiped his forehead, surprised to find it covered in sweat. It was stupid, but he’d expected to see the person Eleanor had described: a bald woman, a crone. His imagination ran away with him a little and he could even picture this woman pointing a crooked finger and hissing, “Here are the suckers who will finally buy this house!”

“See, Nell? It’s just a statue. There’s no one here,” Brendan said, putting his hand on Eleanor’s shoulder.

“She went somewhere.”

“It was the light. It played a trick on you.”

“No, it didn’t!”

“Let it go. You’re scared.”

“Not, as scared as you,” said Eleanor, moving Brendan’s hand away and pointing at the sweaty spot he had left on her shoulder. Before Brendan could protest, another hand reached out from behind and grabbed his neck.