Will Jed, Henry, and their friends be able to successfully hold Red Eagle's spirit in check or will Red Eagle's spirit prevail and destroy those who mean to imprison him again?
His heart hammered in his thin chest when the sound came again, his eyes went wide with fear. Bishop made his way to the window in his room and looked toward the porch. The heat lightning flashed showing only a pale, sleeveless arm, smeared with some reddish brown substance and speckled with bits of leaves and twigs. The hand was thick and fleshy, the fingernails black with grime.
Bishop jumped with the roll of thunder that followed, but it got him moving. He headed through the dark to the living room, where he thought he could get a better view of the porch.
Outside the wind picked up the little, billowing the curtains in the open windows, then sucking them to the screens in the next breath. The lightning flashed again, leaving an X-ray image of the room before his eyes. Bishop crept to the window closest to the porch, kneeling on the couch and leaning over the back. He looked past the curtain, craning his neck for a better view.
The visitor had moved closer to the door, revealing no more than he could see from his room. Bishop noticed that the breeze blowing in through the window came in as cold as a grave and smelled of death. This skin on his back came up in chill bumps.
The knock came again, followed by the knob turning back and forth. Bishop was paralyzed with fear. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to call out to the intruder to get away, or call to his mother for her to get up, but his vocal cords wouldn't cooperate. The knocking became more insistent, increasing from a tap-tap-tapping to a solid
thudding that resounded through the room. The door handle turned again, and Bishop said a silent prayer of thanks that he'd remembered to lock up when he came in, but then it creaked in its frame like the visitor leaned his shoulder against it measuring its strength.
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