Charlotte Doyle

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The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle
by Avi

Excerpt:
I was too frightened to cry out again.

Its eyes were glinting wickedly, its lips contorted into a grim, satanic smirk.

Its eyes were glinting wickedly, its lips contorted into a grim, satanic smirk.

At first I cringed, but then puzzlement began to replace fear.

The first one—I was mortally certain—had been a human's, belonging to the person who snuffed out the candle and who then, under the cover of dark, set up the carving to deceive and frighten me.

I could make out the ladder descending from the deck, a square dim light above.

Then I recollected that Zachariah's dirk was still with me.

The closer I inched the more disported and grotesque grew the head's features.

After closing the hatch's double doors, I crawled out from beneath the table and retreated hastily to my cabin.

Instead I remained absolutely still, crouching in pitch blackness while the wash of ship sounds eddied about me, sounds now intensified by the frantic knocking of my heart.

Besides, though I hardly knew the man, he seemed too submissive, too beaten about, to be capable of such a malicious trick.

The first one—I was mortally certain—had been a human's, belonging to the person who snuffed out the candle and who then, under the cover of dark, set up the carving to deceive and frighten me.

Horrified, I nonetheless stared back.

Then I recollected that Zachariah's dirk was still with me.

With shaking hand I reached into the pocket where I'd put it, took it out, and removed its wooden sheath which slipped through my clumsy fingers and clattered noisily to the floor.

Besides, though I hardly knew the man, he seemed too submissive, too beaten about, to be capable of such a malicious trick.