Page 68 of Grave Matter

I can’t do it.

I crouch down and quickly reach for the arms.

Just as a large, fat spider comes crawling out from under the bed, toward my hand.

I shriek and stumble backward, banging into the wall hard enough for the painting of the raven to fall down. The spider, seemingly scared, scurries back under the bed.

“Jesus,” I swear, leaning against the wall, my hand on my chest. I glance at the painting, hoping I didn’t break it.

But…there’s something not right about it.

There’s something stuck behind it.

A round, black metal object.

I reach down and pick the painting up, peering at the back closely.

Then, I flip the frame over and examine it.

Up close, I notice one of the raven’s black eyes is extra shiny.

Dread creeps up my throat.

Oh my god. Please don’t tell me.

I flip it over again, and I try to pull the black object off. I have to yank and twist, and finally, it comes out, destroying part of the painting in the process, but I have to know.

I let the painting fall to the floor and turn the object over in my hand, noting the USB slot in the side, peering into the lens.

Someone’s put a fucking camera in my room.

I clutch my stomach, feeling sick. I put the camera in my pajama top’s pocket, then go to the other painting on the opposite wall above my head. The center of the starfish is a glossy lens as well. I take that off the wall and rip the camera out.

I look around wildly, wondering where else they could be.

The ghost mushrooms.

I run over to the bathroom and lift the embroidered picture off the wall.

There is no camera on the back of the frame, but there is a small round microphone.

Someone has been watching me.

Listening to me.

Spying on me.

Stalking me.

And in the depths of my heart, I know who it is.

Kincaid.

CHAPTER 18

I don’t wasteany time.

I put on my slippers and robe and I’m running out of my room, not bothering to lock it. What’s the point when people like Kincaid can enter any damn time they want?