“What did Perry and Terry have to say about Cary?” Eddie asks. “You just phoned home, Mary? What’s up?”
“We told mom, Eddie. We said everyone is doing well; and that we had success. St. Andrew’s Castle was fun, I said. Then, like yikes, I didn’t tell her about the scary stuff…no way. But I mentioned we’re now making haste for Edinburgh,” Mary says as Barry finishes drinking water.
Barry swallows. “Yep. It’s about lunchtime back home, Eddie. Mom said everyone was fine. Repairs have slowed down, certainly, since much of the building crew had left to join us. Cary is all right. But groggy, she still appears spellbound. She seems to go into a trance of some kind and wants to be in her own room and left alone. Or strangely, she wants to, and she does, walk to the cemetery. Oh, she babbles, ‘Drink the wine, the Count and I dine.’ Can you believe it?”
“What? You must be kidding. That’s creepy,” Eddie squeals.
“Don’t I know,” Barry continues.
“It’s bloody bad, Eddie.” Mary shakes. “Mom said Cary stands for long bouts of time, just staring ahead.”
Perked-up and next to Suzy, Eddie nods.
“Mom said the mark about her neck is about the same shade and the same size it was when we left,” Barry rambles on. His mouth twitching, he pulls his left ear lobe. “Blue shoe Magoo that itches,” he mumbles; and he scratches.
“That shadow-mark, I’m concerned about that. The news doesn’t sound particularly good,” says Suzy.
“It doesn’t.” Eddie sighs.
Reading, Tales of European Nightmares, Suzy’s cute, blond, curls, spill about her head as she plats her white collar.
“I’m so dismayed,” Suzy goes on. “To want to be in your room all alone is okay, certainly, if you’re occupying your time well,” she continues. “But, to go out into the cemetery, and just stand, staring blindly on occasions for several minutes? To say words about a Count and head for the graveyard—that sounds so peculiar.”
“It concerns me, Suzy,” Barry mums.
“I think Mom just tries to cover up too much sometimes. She wants to pretend there’s nothing the matter,” Mary adds.
“That’s the problem,” Creepy says.
His eyes titter; and Sleepy and Fairy lick chocolates.
“As a family, we’ve never talked like we should,” Creepy continues. “There are too many Screepy secrets covered up in Screepy Cemetery. Screep,” he bleats. “You know it, Barry. There are shadows, marks, spells, and too many dark corners in the attic, in the basement, too.”
Barry nods. His lips roll, down.
“The Screepy graves,” Creepy carries on, “are where the spirit of ancestor Bartholomew Screepy lays, Suzy. He’s the culprit Mary.”