The Mystery of the Whispering Witch

them the promised hot chocolate, and soon afterward, Trixie climbed into a pair of borrowed pajamas, tossed a coin, lost the call, and found herself scrambling between the thick, fluffy blankets waiting for her on the bedroom’s only armchair.
    Trixie watched as Honey made herself comfortable in what was, she assumed, normally Mrs. Franklin’s bed.
    Behind it was a photograph of a man and a woman holding a chubby, dark-haired baby.
    Fay followed Trixie’s glance and smiled shyly. “That’s my parents—and me. My father died when I was very young—not much older than I was there. Mother and I are very close, and she’s always worked very hard to give me the things I need. Right now, we’re saving for the time when I go to college.”
    Trixie and Honey exchanged glances. They knew now why Mrs. Franklin and her daughter stayed at Lisgard House, in spite of its reputation. They needed the money.
    For the first time, Trixie had a chance to take note of this small room. Someone, probably Mrs. Franklin, had done the best she could to make it as cozy as the circumstances would allow.
    Next door to the kitchen, the room had no window of its own. Its only door opened onto that same dark passage that led from the back entrance. Its walls, though, had been hung with bright travel posters and photographs of long-ago movie stars.
    Trixie thought of the back door and wondered if it, too, was locked and bolted. I must remember to check on that when the others are asleep, she thought.
    Fay was about to scramble into her own bed when she said suddenly, “Trixie, what is the real story about the witch—what was her name, Sarah Sligo? I’ve heard so many tales since we moved in here. It’s hard to try and figure out which one to believe.”
    “Yes, Trix,” Honey said, leaning up on one elbow, “tell us what really happened. I’d like to hear the story again, too.”
    Fay frowned. “I thought you were learning about the witch for the first time tonight, Honey. At least, that’s what Bobby said.”
    Trixie laughed. “Honey’s just got a kind heart,” she declared. “Both Mart and Bobby were having such a good time that she didn’t want to tell them she’d heard the legend many times before. Remember, Fay, we pass this house every day on our way to school, so of course I told her about it.”
    Fay climbed between the covers and propped her pillow behind her back. “I’m ready,” she said breathlessly.
    “Me, too,” Honey declared, smiling across the room at Trixie.
    Trixie hesitated, frowning. Around her the house was silent. All at once, she had the same weird feeling that she’d had before. It was almost as if someone—or something—were holding its breath and waiting to hear what she was going to say.
    Then, as she still hesitated, she had a sudden hunch that she didn’t like at all. She felt that she was about to make a terrible mistake.

The Witch’s Curse ● 4

    TRIXIE BIT HER UP and looked down at her hands. “Why—why don’t we leave it for tonight?” she said at last. “I’ll tell you tomorrow. In any case, there isn’t much left to tell.” She began to slide under the covers.
    Honey’s voice stopped her. “Jeepers, Trix!” she exclaimed. “Since when did you pass up a chance to tell a story to an eager audience—in this case, us?” She grinned and waved a hand at the other bed.
    “Yes, Trixie. Please tell us.” Fay’s voice was oddly urgent. “Besides, I—I don’t think I feel very sleepy just yet. I can’t help wondering what’s going on at the hospital with my mother.”
    “Forget it, Fay,” Honey told her firmly. “You know what Dr. Ferris said. Your mother will be fine. Really. Come on, Trix! Story, please! We need something to get Fay’s mind off her troubles.”
    “Well, it’s hard to know where to start,” Trixie answered uncertainly.
    “There was once a young woman named Sarah Sligo,” Honey prompted her. “She lived in this house many, many years ago. Some people thought she was weird, because she wore a tall, black hat and one of those billowy black cloaks that reach almost to the ground.”
    Fay looked puzzled. “You mean people thought she was a witch just because of her clothes?”
    Trixie shook her head. “It wasn’t only her clothes. It was lots of other things, too. You see, she used to spend a great deal of time wandering around Martin’s Marsh. It seemed that she picked flowers and herbs and stuff like that. My dad thinks that maybe she used