The Mystery of the Whispering Witch

at them.
    “What was that?” she asked in terror.
    As if in answer, fists pounded at the front door. “Open up!” a man’s rough voice roared. “We know you’re in there! Open up!”
    Trixie leaped from her nest of blankets and stood quivering, every muscle alert. She stared toward Fay’s bedroom door as if, by her will alone, she could see through it.
    Fists continued to pound on that distant front entrance. Now the first voice was joined by others.
    They were angry voices—hateful and hate-filled.
    Soon Trixie fancied she could hear other feet tramping across gravel and onto the porch. As she strained her ears, she could detect a low persistent muttering. It sounded just like the noise of an unruly mob.
    “I don’t believe it,” she said, staring at her friends with wide eyes, “but it’s almost as if we’re reliving the death of Sarah Sligo!”
    Fay and Honey were beyond speech. They stared back at her in horror.
    In the next instant, it seemed that strong axes were biting into wood. Somewhere a door had burst open, as if made of cardboard. The sound of angry voices grew louder—and closer.
    “Come out, you witch!”
    “Find her!”
    “Kill her! Kill her! Kill her!”
    Then there was silence.
    The three girls stared toward the bedroom door.
    A long moment passed. Finally, her voice trembling, Honey asked, “Is—is it over?”
    “Oh, please, please let it be over.” Fay’s eyes were closed. She was kneeling in bed, hugging her arms across her chest and rocking herself back and forth.
    “Stop it, Fay!” Trixie’s voice was sharp. “Come on! We’ve got to get out of here, now! I have a feeling that this—this—whatever it is—isn’t over at all. If we’re fast, we can run before it starts again.”
    She ran to the door and reached for the knob. But it was too late.
    Someone in the passage outside was shuffling slowly toward their room—and the someone was moaning!
    “Come on!” Trixie yelled and yanked at the door.
    “We’re ready, Trix!” Honey gasped from behind her.
    Fay was sobbing, her hands clutching Trixie’s outstretched arm. “Open it!” she screamed. “What are you waiting for? Let’s get out of this dreadful place.”
    Trixie turned to face them, her face white. “We can’t get out of here,” she answered deliberately. “We seem to be locked in!”
    The next few minutes were a haze of terror for the three friends. The footsteps shuffled closer and closer toward them. The moans grew louder, as if the person making them were in agony.
    Then they heard the voice, begging, pleading with them to open the door.
    “Let me in!” the voice screamed. “For pity’s sake, do something. Help me! Oh, help me!”
    Next, Trixie heard the terrible sound of frantic fingernails scrabbling over woodwork. Then someone’s fists pounded against their door—and pounded —and pounded –
    Trixie backed away in horror. “We—we can’t let you in!” she shouted at last. “We’re locked in ourselves!”
    “Go away!” Fay screamed.
    “Leave us alone!” Honey yelled.
    For a moment, all noises stopped. Then someone laughed softly.
    “Then open thy ears and listen well,” a voice whispered. “Thou thought to burn me—and mayhap thou hast! But curses be upon thy heads— yea, even unto thy children and thy children’s children. Thou wilt be sorry for thy actions this night. Burn me, would ye? Then watch!”
    The voice stopped, but the three girls couldn’t move. It was as if they were frozen with terror.
    “Oh, Trix,” Honey cried, clutching her friend with both hands, “what does it all mean? What is it we have to watch for?”
    Trixie’s face was grim as she stared at the floor. She pointed. “There!” she said, her voice shaking. “That’s what we have to watch for!”
    Unbelievably, a curl of black smoke was billowing toward them from beneath the door.
    “The house is on fire!” Fay screamed.
    Helpless, she and Honey watched as Trixie twisted and tugged and yanked desperately at the knob once more.
    “It won’t budge!” Trixie shouted.
    The smoke, thicker now, stung her eyes and choked her lungs. She gazed frantically about her.
    But no window had appeared magically since the last time she’d looked. The walls, with their brave display of bright mementos, offered no other exit. The room had become a prison from which there was no escape.
    Trixie turned to her friends. “It’s no use,” she said hopelessly, her voice catching on a sob. “We’re