Page 77 of Girl, Haunted

Next morning, Gus was gone too. Vanished overnight, along with his sister's bear. And ever since then, folks say that bear passes from hand to hand, child to child. So if someone tries to pawn an old brown bear off on you, run way. Because I promise you this, that bear’s got a taste for revenge and a nose for blood.

Luca’s mouth went dry. And when he flipped the page, he found the story’s accompaniments in the next section.

Pictures. Four of them. Pictures even Luca hadn’t seen.

Gregory Van Allen’s corpse, teddy bear in hand. Pictures that had been taken immediately after his death judging by the pools of blood.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Luca breathed. ‘This is it. This is why his ritual changes every murder.’

He couldn't stop. He needed to see everything to put any suspicions to rest. God damn, this was the killer's handiwork right in front of him, which meant the killer had to be the owner of this bookstore. Who else would leave something on the countertop?

The question ofwhyniggled, but Luca pushed it aside.

More stories. More homemade urban legends.

The Glass-Eyed Woman

In the dead of night, when the moon hangs low and mist clings to the ground like a shroud, she comes. Her footsteps make no sound as she glides through empty halls, seeking outthe unwary. Those who encounter her speak of a face as pale as bone, framed by hair as red as sin. But it's her eyes that haunt their dreams – endless pools of silvered glass that reflect your deepest fears back at you.

Natasha Langston. The redhead with mirrors in her eyes.

On the next page, close-up pictures of her corpse too. Pictures that hadn’t been taken by forensic examiners.

The Hanged Man’s Lament.

They call him the Hanged Man, but he had a name once. A life. Until she took it all away…

Benjamin Clarke. Strung up like a puppet with that damn masked fixed to his face.

The Heartless Phantom.

They whisper her tale in the shadowy corners of Yamhill. A woman scorned, betrayed by her lover, left to die with a gaping hole where her heart should be. But death was not the end for her – merely a gruesome new beginning…

Luca stumbled back from the counter. His mind reeled. This was it – the missing piece. Their killer wasn't just some run-of-the-mill psychopath. He saw himself a storyteller, someone who was creating new urban legends from the threads of real human lives.

He fumbled for his phone. Ella needed to see this, and they needed to find out who owned this damn bookstore.

Luca dialed, put the phone to his ear.

‘Come on, answer dammit.’

But then something whistled through the air. Pain exploded across the back of Luca’s skull. The world tilted; floor rushing up to meet him. Darkness crowded the edges of his vision. The last thing Luca saw before consciousness fled was a pair of shoes. Scuffed leather.

Then nothing but the void.

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

Ella Dark's gut did a backflip straight into her throat. She blinked at the laptop screen like it held the answer to life's darkest mysteries, but all she got back was a grinning skull in the place where her soul should be. She'd just stumbled across a break in the case big enough to drive a Dodge Charger through, but a lead this hot had a timer on it. And she didn't need cop's instinct to know that hourglass was nearly empty.

Ella clawed through the mound of crap on her desk, hunting for her cell. The damn thing was always playing hide-and-seek at the worst possible times; like now for instance, when she needed to drop a tactical nuke on her partner's skull.

She launched herself out of her chair so fast vertigo climbed up her spine and tapped out. She swept everything off her desk until she found that goddamn clump of metal.

‘Got it.’

But the moment she picked it up, the screen flashed with Luca’s name.

INCOMING CALL.

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