The Ghost Witch by Betty Ren Wright Page A

the floor and raced after her. Hand in hand, they flew down the steps and around the side of the house.
    â€œI t-t-told you that house was haunted,” Chris gasped when they reached the gate. “I could tell.”
    â€œIt’s not haunted.” Jenny tried to keep her voice steady. “The wind blew the door shut, that’s all.”
    â€œWhat wind?” Chris demanded. “You were scared, too, Jenny. You ran as fast as I did.”

    Jenny knew it was true. “We have to go back and lock the doors,” she groaned. “Come on.”
    Once again Chris grabbed the gatepost. “Not me,” she said, and it was clear that this time she wouldn’t change her mind. “I’ll wait here for you.”
    With dragging steps, Jenny started back up the walk. She tried not to look at the dark windows or think of the empty rooms behind them. All she had to do was cross the back porch and lock the kitchen door. It was silly to be afraid.
    She opened the door to the porch and went through it to the outside of the kitchen. Now just put the key in the lock. She tried to keep her eyes on the keyhole, but she couldn’t help one quick peek through the glass pane in the upper half of the door.
    The cat was on the counter with his paws tucked under him. Poor Rufus , Jenny thought. I’m sorry we ran off and left you . But then she realized the cat hadn’t even noticed her. Instead, his green eyes were staring across the kitchen at the door to the hallway.
    It was wide open.

CHAPTER TWO
    The Dragon in the Mirror
    â€œOf course it was a draft that moved the door,” Mrs. Warren said. “What else could it have been, Jenny?”
    They had just finished supper and were standing at their living-room window watching old Mr. Barkin pick up soft-drink cans along the curb and drop them into a bag. Mr. Barkin lived in an apartment building a block away. All year long he collected cans to earn money for his Barkin Christmas Fund for Poor Children.
    â€œOld houses are drafty,” Mrs. Warren went on. “If we live in Miss Nagle’s house, we’ll have to get used to that.”
    â€œI don’t want to live there,” Jenny said. “I like it here.”
    â€œYou like sleeping on the couch?” Her mother was amazed. “I thought you hated it. The first thing you said when I told you about Miss Nagle’s wonderful gift was ‘Now I can have my own bedroom.’”
    Jenny thought about the house and those dark, staring windows. She thought about the door that closed and opened by itself.
    â€œI don’t mind sleeping on the couch,” she said firmly.
    â€œWell, we needn’t make up our minds tonight,” Mrs. Warren said. “We’ll just polish the place up a bit, and then we’ll decide whether we want to live in it or sell it. I know Miss Nagle hoped we’d live there. She even left us some money to take care of the taxes every year.”
    â€œWho’s going to polish it up?” Jenny wanted to know.
    â€œI am. You are. We are—together.”
    Jenny sighed. Ever since her father died, she and her mother had done lots of things together. Most of the time it was fun, but this was different.
    â€œI’d rather sell it right away,” she said.
    Her mother just smiled. “No rush,” she said. “Maybe you’ll change your mind.”
    Two days later it was Jenny’s turn to feed the cat again. “And while you’re there, look for my sunglasses, please,” Mrs. Warren said. “I’m pretty sure I left them in the dining room yesterday.”
    â€œCan’t we both go?” Jenny asked. But as soon as the words were out, she was sorry. Mrs. Strauss, their neighbor in the apartment down the hall, had stopped in for coffee, and now she said the same thing she said almost every time she visited the Warrens.
    â€œToo bad you don’t have a big strong son to help you, Mrs. Warren.