Poltergeist Read Online Free Page B

window.
    Carol Anne huddled under her covers across the room. “It’s trying to get in, Daddy,” she whispered.
    “Now, that tree does not want to get into this house,” Steve instructed them matter-of-factly. “That tree is very old, and its name is Ebeneezer, and it just so happens that it is guarding your room, so nothing bad can get in—even if there was something bad out there, which there’s not.”
    Outside, the wind rose, pulling a trash can lid off somewhere and crashing it down the street. Lightning struck again, revealing the tree once more: its shape seemed almost to have changed, its arms groping toward the house, its main fork a gaping maw. The children jumped—thunder boomed—they jumped again.
    “Now then,” Steve went on, in a calm, fatherly voice, “all you have to do is count the seconds between when the lightning hits and when the thunder comes. If you can count to seven, the storm’s a mile away. And if you can count higher, the storm is getting even farther away. So there’s nothing to worry about. Okay?”
    “I can count to eleven, Daddy,” Carol Anne volunteered.
    “That’s terrific, Sweet Pea. Let’s hear.”
    “One, two, three, four . . .”
    “No, wait until the lightning hits, Carol Anne.”
    The lightning hit.
    “One, two, three . . .”
    Steve rose quietly, and walked out the room.
    “. . . seven, eight, nine . . .”
    From far away, the heavens rumbled. The children were quiet. Steve went back to his room.
    On the way there, he stopped by Dana’s closed door and put his ear to it. Music. He opened it a crack and peeked in.
    “Good night, Dana.”
    “Uh, g’night, Dad.”
    “Off the phone, Dana.”
    “Uh, okay, Dad.”
    He closed the door again and went back to his own room, smiling the smile of a satisfied patron.
    Robbie stared out into the night. Shadows moved, tried to push the house over. The house creaked under the strain.
    Finally, the rain came. It spattered the window at first, then drove down in a flood, churning the air, pelting the glass, distorting everything even more. Robbie was certain of it now: they were under attack.
    The night flashed white again, like a missile explosion in deep space, silent, violent. The tree writhed as if in pain. Robbie counted to himself, waiting for the shock wave: “. . . five, six, seven . . .”
    The thunder started low, like a growling cur, came closer in waves along the ground, finally reached the house, shook the house, pounded the house. Robbie grabbed his terry-cloth bear, and they held each other tightly. Carol Anne had the covers over her eyes, but kept peeking out, uncertain what to think, taking her cues from her older brother.
    Again, the lightning. The tree bent forward now, clenched its broken fists, battered the side of the house. The hollow that formed its mouth was open wide: laughing, screaming.
    “. . . two, three . . .”
    The thunder came more quickly this time, heavier, more insistent. It seemed to grab the house and shake, and it wouldn’t let go. The tree claws began tapping at the window. The wind keened like a ghoul; rain began to leak under the window. Robbie tried to close his eyes, but he couldn’t look away, couldn’t not see, couldn’t . . .
    A terrible bolt slammed into the tree—the flash was blinding, the shock wave instantaneous, an overwhelming concussion of sound and light. The tree raised up its arms; the children screamed, jumped out of bed, ran down the hall crying.
    Steve and Diane sat up with a start, then smiled compassionately as the young ones burst into the room.
    “Okay,” Steve said, holding out his arms, “everybody in bed for a camp-in. Waddaya wanna watch—‘Superman’ or ‘Dallas’?”
    Everybody jumped in bed.
    “. . . Please join us again at six-thirty for ‘Traffic Watch,’ and until then, have a pleasant Good Morning.”
    The flag was replaced by a screen full of white snow, as KTCV went off the air. Outside, the rain continued—steadily, without