Drop Dead Gorgeous Read online

  “How did you find me?” I asked.

  She took my hand. Her eyes locked on mine. “I have my ways,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper.

  “No. Really,” I said. “Who told you I’d be here?”

  She held on to my hand. “No one.” She flashed me a teasing smile. “I wanted to find you, so I did.”

  That didn’t make any sense, but why should I care?

  She leaned her head so that a wave of her soft hair brushed my face. It sent a tingling feeling to the back of my neck.

  She brought her lips to my ear and whispered, “I was lonely. Do you ever feel lonely?”

  Before I had a chance to answer, we were kissing. She placed her hands around my neck and pulled my face close, and we kissed, gently at first, but then harder. And we held it . . . held it for a long time, until I was breathless.

  I started to pull my head back and break the kiss. But her mouth was insistent, not retreating, and she tightened her grip on my neck and held me in place.

  Yes, it was exciting. This beautiful girl who was so into me and so eager to be close. But at the same time, I wondered why she was so desperate to be in control.

  And then as we caught our breath, she pressed her cheek against mine. Her skin was surprisingly cold despite the heat in the room. I raised my eyes to the clock on the mantel. Almost nine thirty.

  A ripple of panic ran down my back. I had to get Morgan out of the house before my aunt and uncle returned.

  She slid her forehead against mine. She licked my ear. Then she pressed her lips hard against mine, and we started another long kiss.

  I wrapped my arms around her waist. I’d never felt anything like this. She was so intense . . . so hungry.

  Where was this going?

  I couldn’t help it. I glanced at the clock again. I imagined my aunt and uncle’s car rolling up the gravel driveway. I didn’t want this to end. But . . .

  I could feel panic mixing with my excitement.

  And then Morgan pulled her head back. She had her arms around my shoulders. Her lips were swollen, and her green eyes were half closed. “Listen . . . ,” she whispered.

  I couldn’t reply. I was struggling to catch my breath.

  “I’m going to be honest with you, honey,” she said, trailing a fingernail lightly down my cheek. “I’m going to open up to you—because you’re my honey.”

  “What do you mean?” I managed to choke out.

  She didn’t answer. She pulled me back to her and kissed me, really hard this time, so hard I could feel her teeth, so hard it hurt.

  I tried to pull back. But her eyes were shut tight and her arms had me clamped against her.

  And as I stared into her face, she began to change. At first, I thought I was imagining it. But then I realized it was really happening.

  Her creamy skin sagged. Like her cheeks were melting. And her pale skin darkened to a dark yellow-green.

  I blinked a few times. No. This wasn’t happening. My eyes were going crazy. Something had happened to me, making me see things.

  What was that sour smell? Like a damp, moldy basement? Where had it suddenly come from?

  I tried harder to free myself from her grip. But her teeth were digging into my lips now. And her eyes . . . those beautiful eyes . . . her eyes sank deep into their sockets.

  As I gaped in horror, her lips brushed mine. Loose, floppy lips, the color of raw liver. “Come on, honey,” she whispered in a harsh, raspy voice that made my skin crawl. “Don’t you see how much I need you?”

  I started to choke. The horror of it. Seeing her so ugly, like some kind of creature, all shriveled and shrunk and eyeless with her skin oozing wet down her face.

  I tried to escape. But she held me with inhuman strength.

  “Please—” I gasped. “Please—”

  She held me tight and began to bite me. She bit my cheek. Bit my mouth. Sharp teeth that felt pointed. Bit my cheek again, frantic biting now, faster, harder.

  “Please—”

  The teeth puncturing my skin, sending currents of pain down my whole body. Another bite. Another slashing bite. Cutting away at my cheeks, my lips . . . and then my neck.

  22

  Winks Narrates

  A howl of pain escaped my throat. I shoved her hard with both hands. It caused her to loosen her grip, and I tossed my body forward. I hurtled to the floor on my hands and knees.

  Blood from my face and neck trickled onto my shirt. I tried to raise myself to my feet, but I suddenly felt too dizzy. The room was spinning. The ugly creature on the couch appeared to tilt one way, then the other.

  Too unsteady to run, I forced myself into a sitting position. Then I shut my eyes and raised my hands over my face as if protecting myself.

  “Come back, honey,” the creature growled. Her voice was low and pleading, from somewhere deep in her throat. “You know you are my honey, don’t you?”

  “Who . . . who are you?” I screamed. “What are you? What do you want?”

  “You don’t have to shout, honey,” she rasped. I opened my eyes and gazed up at her. Her eye sockets were black holes. Her teeth poked out over her swollen mouth.

  “I need you,” she said. “I can’t look pretty again without you.”

  “What do you mean?” I shrieked. “What are you talking about? You—you’re a monster!”

  “Don’t hurt my feelings,” she said. “You know you want to be my honey.” And then she tossed back her hideous head and uttered a booming, ugly laugh, a laugh that made her belly bounce up and down beneath her sweater.

  I turned my head and eyed the door. Could I get out of there before she grabbed me? And what about Spencer? I couldn’t leave him here with a—a monster in the house.

  “What do you want?” I cried.

  “Honey, I said I’d tell you the truth. I said I’d be open with you. Why do you doubt me?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that question.

  “You want me to be pretty again, don’t you?” she rasped.

  I couldn’t answer that question, either. “Who are you really?” I demanded.

  She rolled the lips between her fingers. “I’m Morgan. Just Morgan. Morgan Fear,” she said.

  I swallowed. “Morgan Fear? But you told everyone—”

  “I took another girl’s name. The other Morgan in my class. I took her name. Morgan Marks died, too. She died like me.”

  Am I dreaming this?

  My brain was spinning. I knew the story of the Fear family, their long history of horror, their knowledge of the dark arts, and the curse that doomed them—to evil and horror for all eternity.

  “You . . . you died?” I stammered.

  She nodded her ugly head. “But I’m a Fear. I know how to deal with things like death.” Again, she tossed back her head and roared with cold, ugly laughter.

  “Please—let me go,” I said, my voice catching in my throat. “Let me take Spencer and go. I won’t tell anyone about this. I promise.”

  Outside the window, I heard a car rumble past. Were my aunt and uncle back? No. Just a passing car.

  “I promise,” I repeated. “I won’t tell anyone. Just let Spencer and me go.”

  She shook her eyeless head. “I can’t. I can’t let you go, Winks. I need you. You’re my honey—”

  “No!” I screamed. “No! Please—”

  “I need my honey,” she growled. “You have no idea how much I need my honey.”

  I suddenly realized I was still seated on the floor. My legs shaking, I climbed to my knees. Fighting off my dizziness, I glanced at the front door again. Could I stand up and make it out of here before she stopped me?

  “I must stay alive,” she rasped. “I must stay beautiful. And how can I do that without you?”

  “Me?” I choked out. “Why do you need me?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I need you, Winks,” she said, “because I need to feed.”

  And before I could move, she was on me.

  She shot off the c
ouch and dove on top of me. She shoved hard, pushed me over, onto my back. I landed hard. I felt the breath whoosh out of me in a painful rush.

  She sat on top of me. Straddled me. Pressed both of my arms against the carpet.

  Then she leaned down. Brought her face to my throat.

  I screamed as her teeth dug deep into my throat.

  I screamed again as she began to drink.

  23

  Winks Continues

  I struggled and squirmed. But she sat heavily on top of me, pinning my arms down. No way I could kick her or roll out from under her.

  I felt hot liquid on my throat. My blood. And I could hear a lapping sound, and sometimes what sounded like a slurp, and hungry swallowing.

  I shook my head from side to side, trying to avoid the pain of her needle teeth.

  “Hold still!” Morgan shouted. “I don’t want a shake—I want a smoothie.”

  I felt a harsh scraping on my neck and knew it was her tongue licking up my blood. She lowered her head and drank hungrily, as if she had been starving.

  The slurping sounds rang in my ears, then seemed far away . . . far away . . . like ocean waves in the distance.

  I knew I was getting weak. She is draining me.

  I don’t have much time left. If I don’t act now . . .

  I took in a deep breath. Then I swung my body hard to the left, swung with all my remaining strength. I jerked an arm free. Her hand slid off as I pulled the arm up.

  And I punched her as hard as I could in the face.

  It felt like hitting solid stone.

  She made a gurgling sound and toppled off me, landing on her side. It gave me just enough time to swing around, roll to my knees, lurch to my feet.

  My throat ached. I could feel the warm blood trickling down my neck. My legs didn’t want to cooperate. But I forced them forward. I took a few staggering steps toward the front door.

  Behind me, I glimpsed Morgan shake off the pain from my punch. She rose up with an animal growl. Dove forward, grabbing for me with both hands.

  “Come back, honey. I need to finish.”

  “N-no,” I stammered. Just a few feet from the front door. But I felt so weak, my legs so rubbery and heavy, as if they weighed a thousand pounds.

  And she was charging after me now, growling, curling and uncurling her hands like claws as she tore across the room.

  I can’t make it.

  I struggled to breathe. Struggled to move.

  She roared closer, running hard. I spun around in time to see her stumble over a stack of Spencer’s puzzles. The puzzles flew in all directions as she went down.

  Morgan’s arms flew up as she crashed to the floor. She uttered a loud gasp as her head smacked against it. Her head hit hard once, then bounced and hit again.

  Was she out? She wasn’t moving.

  I grabbed the front doorknob with a trembling hand. I pulled the door open, almost hitting myself with it, and stumbled onto the front stoop.

  The feel of the fresh night air was overwhelming. I suddenly felt as if my lungs would burst. I felt the stain of blood on my neck, still warm.

  I turned and slammed the front door shut. My car shone under a streetlamp at the curb beyond the front yard.

  Got to get away. Got to get away.

  My shoes scraped and crunched down the gravel driveway. The only other sounds were the wheezing of my breath and the bass-drum pounding of my heart.

  I was halfway down the driveway, but my car still seemed a mile away.

  The last thing I heard was Spencer’s high voice, ringing out from the house. “Winks? Winks? Are you okay?”

  24

  Julie Narrates

  I was driving Delia home from Amber’s house. I had to click the radio off because Delia was talking so quietly, and even though she was sitting in the passenger seat right next to me in my mom’s tiny Civic, I had trouble hearing her.

  “You’re in a weird mood,” I said, slowing for a stop sign, then turning right onto Harvest Street. It was late and there were few cars.

  Why do I have to live in a town that shuts down at eight o’clock?

  Delia said something in reply. But the words seemed to dribble down her chin, and I couldn’t hear them.

  She kept her eyes straight ahead, staring out the windshield. I saw that her phone was gripped tightly in her hand. Her other hand teased a ringlet of her dark hair.

  “First you came late,” I said. “And then you barely said a word. Didn’t you like Amber’s new puppy? I thought he was adorable. And he certainly had a thing for you.”

  Delia frowned. “I couldn’t get him off my leg.”

  I laughed. “That’s what I meant.”

  “What kind of dog is that?” Delia asked.

  “It’s half Cavalier and half poodle. That’s what Amber said. It’s called a Cavapoo.”

  “Disgusting name,” Delia muttered. “Couldn’t they think of something better?”

  “What’s your problem tonight?” I demanded. Of course, I knew her problem had to be Winks. What other problem could she have? “How come you were so late getting to Amber’s?”

  She was silent for a long moment. “I was trying to reach Winks,” she said finally. She rolled the phone in her hand. “He didn’t answer any of my texts.”

  “Well, it’s Thursday night,” I said. I slowed for a red light. “You know he babysits his cousin on Thursday.”

  “I know,” Delia said. “But he always answers my texts. And he always calls me when Spencer goes to sleep.”

  I knew what was going on. That pig Winks was trying to show Delia that he really didn’t care much about her anymore. Instead of being straight with her, he was being a big baby and letting her hang in the wind.

  An SUV with its brights on moved toward us. I was blinded by the light for a moment, so I hit the brake and waited for the SUV to pass.

  “Delia, you’re not really worried about Winks, are you?” I asked. I still had the white circles of light in my eyes.

  She twisted the phone in her hand. “Well, actually, yes. I don’t understand—”

  “If you’re really worried,” I said, “let’s stop at his aunt’s house.”

  She blinked. “Really?”

  “Why not? I’ve known Marie and Art for a long time,” I said. “Winks’s uncle Art worked with my dad for a while before he started his own IT company.”

  I made a right and headed into the Valley Acres section of Linden, where Art and Marie lived. Valley Acres is the rich part of town, and they have a big house with a pool and a three-car garage, and a glass greenhouse in the back where they grow orchids.

  A few minutes later, I reached the house and pulled to the curb behind another car parked there. It took me a few seconds to recognize Winks’s mother’s Camry. “His car is still here,” I said.

  Delia hesitated. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing the ringlets into place. She peered up at the house. “Weird. Why are all the lights on?”

  I climbed out of the car. The air was cool and smelled like pine. I stretched my arms above my head. Delia was right. It appeared that every light in the house was on.

  We crunched our way up the gravel drive. I heard voices from the back of the house. Art and Marie were shouting. I heard Spencer’s voice, too. Why was he up so late?

  I knocked on the kitchen door, and Winks’s uncle Art pulled it open immediately. His blond hair was standing up, pushed to one side, as if it had been blown by the wind. His eyes were watery and wide, and his cheeks were bright red. “Julie? Have you seen Winks?” he demanded without saying hello or anything.

  “Huh?” The question took me by surprise. I heard Delia gasp behind me.

  I stepped into the house. Marie stood at the hallway door. She still had her denim jacket on. I guessed they had just returned home. She had her hands clenched down at her sides. Her expression was angry.

  “This is Delia,” I said, motioning toward her.

  Delia offered an awkward hello. But
Winks’s aunt and uncle didn’t seem to hear it or even to see her.

  “Where is Winks?” Art repeated, his eyes questioning me, kind of pleading.

  “Do you girls know?” Marie said in a harsh whisper. “He left Spencer all alone. When Art and I got home, the front door was wide-open. And no sign of Winks. We were terrified.”

  “Thank God Spencer is okay,” Art said. “When we saw the front door open like that, and the blood by the couch, we . . . we . . . didn’t know what to think.”

  I walked over to the couch. There was the tiniest trickle of blood staining the white carpet. It might have been evidence of a paper cut, but not much more.

  “This is crazy,” I said. “Winks would never leave Spencer.”

  “Yes, he did!” Spencer cried. He stepped out from behind his hiding place, his mother. He was in a pair of Star Wars pajamas. “I shouted for Winks. But he was gone.”

  “I’ve been texting him,” Delia said in a tiny voice, holding up her phone as if for evidence. “But he never answered.”

  Marie gritted her teeth. She jammed her hands into her jacket pockets. “I don’t believe this. I really don’t. How could he be so irresponsible?”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “His car is still here.” I motioned toward the front of the house. “It’s still at the curb. He wouldn’t leave without his car.”

  Art shook his head. He grabbed the back of a kitchen stool, as if he needed support to hold himself up. “It doesn’t make sense. He has never left before.”

  Spencer tugged at the front of his pajama shirt. “A girl came,” he told his mother.

  Marie blinked. “A girl?”

  Spencer nodded. “A girl came and they had a fight.”

  Marie hunched down and brought her face close to Spencer’s. “A girl? Are you sure?”

  “Yes. They had a fight. Then they left.”

  “You heard that from your room?” Art asked him.

  Spencer hesitated. “Maybe I peeked a little.”

  “You saw the girl?” Delia demanded. “What did she look like?”