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Zusatztext "The plot keeps readers guessing until the end."-- School Library Journal "Typical of Nixon's popular gothics, this title has it all."-- The Horn Book Magazine "Nixon creates a spooky setting fairly dripping with atmosphere, then spins an ever-tightening thread of tension."-- Kirkus Reviews Informationen zum Autor Joan Lowery Nixon Klappentext For fans of Gillian Flynn, Caroline Cooney, and R.L. Stine comes The Haunting from four-time Edgar Allen Poe Young Adult Mystery Award winner Joan Lowery Nixon. The walls whisper. The ceilings shriek. No one can survive a night of terror inside Graymoss. The old plantation house has been in Lia's family since the Civil War, but it's been possessed for generations by a malicious spirit, and Lia's family has always stayed far away. Now her parents have decided to move into Graymoss, and Lia must either change their minds or chase away the horror lurking inside the old house. Using clues from her great-great-grandmother's diary and an old copy of Favorite Tales of Edgar Allan Poe, Lia must discover what-or who-the evil wants. "Nixon creates a spooky setting fairly dripping in atmosphere, then spins an ever-tightening thread of tension." -Kirkus Reviews "A book that will please mystery fans…[and a] plot [that] keeps readers guessing until the end." -School Library Journal "Nixon has woven a tale that grabs and holds her readers…It's a really fun read!" -VOYA "A page-turner that will satisfy mystery and ghost story fans." -Booklist Leseprobe My fingers shook as I pushed back the long strands of hair that had fallen over my face. I peered at the pale, shriveled ninety-six-year-old woman who lay in a coma in the hospital bed. The sound--was it a whisper?--came again. This time I could see the colorless lips move. Holding my breath, I edged forward in the wobbly plastic chair. I was ready to jump to my feet and run. I had better find Mom and Grandma. Great-grandmother Sarah was waking up. I stretched out a hand to the edge of her bed, steadying myself. Slowly and quietly I began to rise. Suddenly Sarah's deep brown eyes opened and she stared at me. Her knobby fingers clamped around my wrist so tightly that it hurt. "Don't go, Anne." It sounded like an order. In a voice as raspy as a fingernail on a blackboard, she managed to utter, "I have something important to tell you." I took a deep breath, my pounding heart banging loudly in my ears. "I--I'm not my mom--that is, Anne," I stammered. "It's--Lia. Anne's daughter. Mom's down in the hospital cafeteria with Grandma. They asked me to sit with you. Mom and I came to San Francisco because you've been in a coma, and . . . I knew I was babbling and it felt as if, as usual, I was doing everything all wrong. I begged, "If you'll let go of me I'll run and get Mom. Grandma, too," But Sarah didn't seem to hear. Her gaze didn't waver as she stared into my eyes. "Be quiet, Anne," she insisted, "Listen to me. I realized that Great-grandmother hardly knew me, so I didn't blame her for not recognizing me. But I didn't look like Mom, I didn't look like Grandma, I didn't look the way I was supposed to look at all. I thought of the long line of strong women from whom I had descended, Tall, big-boned, and handsome, with dark hair and brown eyes, my maternal ancestors had stepped into the world with pride and courage and had accomplished amazing things. Then there was me. I couldn't count how often I'd heard Grandma Augusta say, "Speak up, Lia, so people can hear you. And for goodness' sakes get that hair out of your eyes. It looks like you're hiding behind a curtain." Sometimes Grandma would sigh dramatically, sadly shake her head, and say to my mother, "Look at the child, Anne. She's no bigger than a minute and all that pale hair--where did it come from? She's not a bit like...
