by Nancy Holder
I woke myself up. Gloomy, thin sunlight washed the walls. I was sobbing gently.
I forced myself to stop and wobbled to my feet. Alis and Sangeeta were both in bed, Sangeeta on her side, her face to the wall. I bent down to get my toiletry bag when a hand shot out and grabbed my elbow.
“Boo,” Alis said, with a grin.
“Boo,” Sangeeta added, rolling over and grinning at me.
twenty-seven
“Ha ha, guys,” I said weakly. Alis and Sangeeta both started to get out of bed, and I hurried into the hall, wanting to put some distance between us. Ida was pounding on the one-stall upstairs bathroom door, yelling, “I am dying! Hurry up!”
I headed past the bathroom. Ida saw me, wagged a finger, and said, “It’s just as crowded downstairs.”
Downstairs. I saw a mental image of the kitchen. This building has a landline, I realized. Could I call him from there?
“Coffee,” I mock-croaked.
“There’s probably a line there, too,” said Rose, as she wandered out of Mandy’s room. I studied her face; she cocked her head and frowned at me. “What?”
I shook my head. “I just thought you’d be at the head of that line, Little Miss Addict.”
“Ouch. Wounded.” Rose grinned at me. “I’m cutting back.”
“Not me.” I breezed past her and went down the stairs, heading for the kitchen. Ms. Meyerson and Ms. Krige were there, already dressed, discussing what to serve for breakfast.
“Can I use the phone?” I blurted. I didn’t have to say whom I was calling. Our parents had probably heard about the blizzard. They would be worried.
“The phone service is out,” Ms. Meyerson said, with a shake of her head. “But don’t worry. Dr. Ehrlenbach has notified all your parents that you’re safe.”
“Oh.” I forced myself to smile. “And everyone is okay?”
“Yes.” Ms. Krige looked at Ms. Meyerson, and then at me. She got up and gave me a quick little hug. “Everything is just fine.” Her voice was singsong. “There’s no need to worry about a thing.”
Oh my God. She knows about my breakdown, too, I thought, mortified, pissed. Had I just been stupid thinking it would stay my secret? Now no one would believe me if I tried to tell them about any of the weird things I had seen. About black-eyed Mandy and her black-eyed minions. I was alone in this.
And I still didn’t know if Troy was all right.
We ate breakfast in shifts; there were no classes. Some of us did homework; others watched movies on the big screen or their laptops. I roamed the house, searching for cell phone coverage and saving my battery by borrowing other girls’. The best place was still in front of the turret room, but despite the four bars, my call wouldn’t go through. If the phone service was out, did that mean cell phones, too? I didn’t think so.
The attic, I thought. But nothing in me wanted to go up there.
So I sat and fretted, hanging out in the living room with Rose, Claire, Ida, Sangeeta, and Alis—my two new best friends. A movie was on, but I didn’t even know what it was.
It was almost noon, and Julie, Mandy, Lara, and Kiyoko had not yet shown. They hadn’t come down for breakfast. I listened to every muffled bit of conversation, every laugh, and wondered what they were doing.
As swelling music played over the movie credits, Mandy stomped down the stairs with a hairbrush in her hand. She was wearing blue-and-white plaid pajama bottoms, Uggs, and a soft blue cashmere sweater. She walked up to the couch, glaring down at me, and held out her brush. Long, curly black hairs were tangled in the bristles.
“Not cool,” she said.
I shrugged. “That’s not mine.”
“No one else around here has frizzy, slagged-out hair,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I’m willing to bet that where you come from, people use each other’s toothbrushes, too.”
“Whoa,” Ida said. “PMS much, Mandy?”
“Stay out of it.” Mandy tossed the hairbrush to me, and it hit me in the chest, hard. “You may as well keep it. I won’t be using it again.”
Freaking, I looked at the brush, which had fallen to the floor.
She knows about Troy and me. I was sure of it.
That afternoon, I didn’t see Mandy and the other three—Kiyoko, Lara, and Julie—until they sat down at the table while Ms. Meyerson and Ms. Krige, Ida, Alis, Sangeeta, and I put out some cold cuts, bread, and condiments that had been delivered by the dining commons staff. They swooped in like hawks, Mandy first; she stared hard at me.
Julie scooted in after, all smiles and hugs for me, but there were deep circles under her eyes. It was the first time I’d seen her all day.
Behind her, Kiyoko gave me a stricken look. I tried to read her expression, but she looked away.
After dinner, some of us did the dishes. All those rich girls, cleaning up their own mess. Mandy didn’t participate, of course. After she made herself a plate, she left. I was hoping Kiyoko would stay behind, but she, Lara, and Julie did the same.
“I wonder if we’ll still have Midwinter,” Alis said, as she loaded a coffee cup in the dishwasher. “It sounds cool.”
“We’d freeze to death,” Rose retorted.
“Maybe it’ll warm up before then,” Ida said.
Midwinter had been scheduled to be held in a week and a half, on the last day of school before holiday break: a nice dinner in our commons, and then a bonfire “to burn the winter cold away.” Lakewood was invited for the bonfire.
“I hope the boys are okay,” I blurted, as I dried a platter. “The ones who came to the party.”
Rose smiled lazily at me. I looked away and put the platter on the counter.
Enough of this, I thought. I practically slammed the platter down. Enough.
twenty-eight
I fought to stay awake that night, waiting until Alis and Sangeeta were out. They fell asleep, and I got up, in my pajama bottoms and my mom’s sweatshirt. I was going to try again.
I was nearly out of the room when I stumbled over something by the door. My boots. As I picked them up to move them, I heard a sigh. Clutching them to my chest, I tiptoed out.
If I just stood in front of the door and—
The hair on the back of my head stood straight up.
The door to the fourth turret—the one that was forbidden—hung open.
I stared at it. It seemed to stare back, with one big black eye. I stood completely still, seeing nothing beyond the threshold except blackness.
Looking over my shoulder, I pushed on my phone light. The thin light cast a hazy, gauzy sheen about three feet in front of me. The floor looked . . . clean. Freshly swept. I stepped inside the room.
And suddenly, I had five bars.
Yes, yes, Yes, I exulted. I’ll just stand right here, I told myself. Just inside the door. If someone sees me, so what? I’ll just say I wanted some privacy. And, hey, I can use my phone. I can text people. It’s all good.
Or as good as it could be, snowbound inside Jessel with Mandy and the others.
I texted Troy: “hey how ru?”
I held my breath. It was after midnight. He was probably asleep.
I waited. Looked over my shoulder again. Looked at my battery charge. It was on low.
“C’mon, c’mon,” I whispered, not even aware I was talking out loud until I heard myself. I debated turning off the phone to save what little charge I had left.
Nothing.
I sagged. I was being dramatic. Of course he was all right. Spider would have told Julie if he wasn’t. Something like that would have been all over Jessel.
I turned to leave the room.
And my phone vibrated. I stared at the faceplate. It was Troy. Not texting back, but calling. And then I saw that I had three messages.
I connected.
“Lindsay,” he said. “Finally.”
“Oh,” I said. He’ d been calling me. “I’m sorry, I—”
“I can’t hear you. Can you speak up?”
Not really. But I remi
nded myself that I wasn’t a prisoner in the house. I was allowed to call people. No one else had to know it was Troy.
“This snow . . . we’re locked down tight over here. It’s insane.”
“I was worried about you,” I said.
“We’re good.” He paused. “Lindsay, I . . . I can’t stop thinking about what happened. Between us.”
I closed my eyes. Here it came. I knew what he was going to say: He was sorry it had happened. He was Mandy’s boyfriend. It was wrong, blah blah blah . . .
“And I want you to know—”
Hide!
I blinked. What was happening?
Hide!
I felt something moving me—moving inside me, forcing me to shut the door, sealing myself inside. Something almost dragged me through the blackness into deeper blackness. Frost swallowed me up; my hands hit something solid.
“Lindsay?” Troy said.
Voices ballooned in the hall. Footsteps. And the door opened.
I cut the call as light flared to my right. I was standing near a wooden wardrobe and leapt in, hidden from view.
“Careful with that candle.” It was Mandy, in her Southern-belle voice. “We don’t want to burn the place down.”
Grim laughter greeted her. “That’s her job, after all.” That was Lara, sounding New York.
“And we’ve got her, sweet bees,” Mandy drawled. “Number Seven is ours.”
“Are you sure?” That was Sangeeta . . . minus her cultured British accent.
“As sure as I’m starin’ at that little stuffed horsie with the pointed horn,” Mandy replied.
What? My eyes widened. They were talking about Julie.
“I can’t wait until this is over. I can’t stand this girl. So coarse. No manners. And her clothing. Shameful,” Rose muttered. Rose? I’d been right not to trust her.
“Wayward.” Sangeeta again.
“They’d all be locked up in here,” Mandy drawled. “Starting with my girl.”
“They’d be dead,” Alis chimed in. “Like us.” Her voice was hard. “Muchacha, you’re wrong about this. You’ve been wrong all along. I think it’s true. I think you’re truly out of your mind.”
There was a slap. “How dare you, after everything I have done. Everything I’ve gone through.”
Alis sniffled. “I only meant—”
“Either you trust me, or you don’t. I know who she is, and I’ll take care of her. And we’ll be free. I guarantee it. In fact, I bet my soul on it.” She laughed.
Help me.
I heard the voice in my head. The closet walls seemed to blur, and melt; the stench of kerosene made my eyes water. I felt a horrible jumble of images: a tiny room, a long hall—the long hall. Bars.
Dark water.
The lake, above me.
A blurry white face with dark eyes staring at me . . .
An ice pick.
My love is like a red, red rose . . .
And as something inside me forced me to shuffle to the right and peer out, I saw shadows thrown against the cob-webbed brick of the room.
Five shadows, female shapes.
And I saw Mandy and Alis standing with one of the lanterns from the mantel—
—and my legs wobbled.
Gauzy white images floated over their bodies and faces—the bodies of young girls, like them, but wearing shapeless long white gowns. Hospital gowns. And their faces . . .
. . . Oh God . . . I began to pant, silently.
Their faces were bone white, gouged with dark circles for eyes, and black holes for their mouths. But they were shadows. I didn’t understand what I was seeing. My heart shot into my throat; I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. There was nothing in their eye sockets, they had no teeth, and their noses were two tear-shaped holes. Skeletonlike, in white gowns . . . burial shrouds . . .
I was going to scream. I was going to open my mouth and—
“We’ll get her,” said Mandy, or the skeletal shadow that hovered above her. I couldn’t tell. It flared like a flashbulb, shooting up toward the ceiling—I saw wooden beams and a brick wall. I heard screams. Someone pleading.
Help me!
The Mandy-ghost shrank back down to its original size and said, “Now, tell me that you believe me. It’s no good if you harbor doubts.”
The other glowing thing reached out hands—no, they were Alis’s hands. No, I couldn’t tell. . . .
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I believe you, Belle.”
Belle? She called Mandy Belle. Why?
Something inside me quivered with terror at the name. I swayed, fighting not to drop my boots or my cell phone. I was trembling, hard. I was terrified I was going to lose consciousness, the way I had in the attic.
This house is haunted. I was right.
“Then we’re agreed. We’ll have to move fast,” Mandy-Belle said. “I’ll make sure Li’l Ol’ Three has the plan.” Light flared around her silhouette. “Those two gals stick to her like glue.”
Two gals . . . My mind raced. Which two gals? Who was “Li’l Ol—?”
Kiyoko. Kiyoko was Three. And she didn’t want to have any part of this. She’d been trying to tell me. No wonder she’d been so terrified.
“And that’ll be it? Finally? You promise?” Lara said.
“That’ll be it. We’ll be free of this place. I swear it.”
The two—the five—embraced. Light blazed and shifted. It was too bright; I couldn’t see.
“And we’ll go to a better place . . . ” the Alis-thing said.
“Seven’s our lucky number,” Mandy-Belle said.
“We’ll make her scream first,” Lara hissed.
“We’ll roast her alive,” Mandy-Belle said. The light flared, blazed. It was as brilliant as . . . fire. “Number Seven must die.”
There were five in the room. Six was missing. That was Kiyoko.
Seven. The stuffed horsie.
Julie. They were going to kill Julie. Right?
Oh my God, now I really am going to scream, I thought. I wasn’t going to be able to stop myself. My mouth was opening; my lungs were filling—
—and then I was outside the turret room, in the hall. I blinked, hard, and caught my breath.
What? How?
Lara was standing at the other end of the hall, just inches from her bedroom door. She was wearing a bathrobe over her pajama bottoms.
“Do you mind? I have to go really badly,” she said, rushing to the bathroom. I shrank back; maybe she didn’t notice. She opened the door to the bathroom and shut it behind herself. I heard her peeing.
I shook hard, afraid I was going to throw up or fall over. I looked down to see that I was wearing my boots. When had I put them on?
What did I just see? Am I crazy? Am I hallucinating?
I seized the moment and turned to the turret room door.
The toilet flushed.
I grabbed the knob.
I heard a creak behind me and dropped my hand to my side as I whirled around.
No one was there.
The bathroom door opened and I turned and faced it just in time. Lara gestured to the bathroom and glided back into her room.
I waited until her door shut and tried the knob again. The door was locked. I pressed my ear to the door and listened. I heard nothing. Had I even been in there? Was I dreaming?
I couldn’t feel my feet on the floor; I couldn’t tell where my body ended and the rest of the world touched it. Oh God, oh my God, I thought. They are going to kill someone. I don’t know who, but it could be Julie. I have to do something. I have to tell someone.
Troy.
I looked at the phone. I was back to four bars. I could only get five inside the room. The attic. The words came unbidden. I didn’t even want to think them.
You have to, I thought. They might be going after her right now.
Then just scream. Raise holy hell.
And who would believe me? Mandy and the others would put their plans on hold. Wait until I was c
arted off to the asylum, and the coast would be clear.
“No,” I whispered. A tear welled in the corner of my eye.
And then I hurried to the back stairs.
To the attic.
twenty-nine
I tiptoed halfway up the dark, narrow stairway and looked down at my phone. I had no idea how much time had passed since I’d been inside the turret room. My battery indicator was blinking. I was almost out of juice, and I only had three bars. I kept going.
The fourth bar began to shade in, fluctuating, as I took the last few stairs. It started coming in stronger as I reached the top.
The door to the attic hung open.
I pressed the flashlight function on my cell phone, and stepped into the room. I gasped. The boxes had been moved, and Rose’s crappy repair job must have broken apart, because I could see into the tunnel. Who had done it? Rose herself? Because she was one of them now?
Where’s the wheelchair? I thought. But it didn’t matter. I didn’t care. I just wanted to call for help and get out of there.
And go where? Back downstairs?
I aimed the weak light down the secret passage. There were cobwebs and piles of trash and mouse poop, but the wheelchair wasn’t there. I straightened, turned . . .
. . . And inhaled sharply.
The wheelchair stood before me.
Between the door and me.
I backed up, covering my mouth with both hands; my flashlight beam grazed the wall, the ceiling, as I stared at the wheelchair. My mind hurtled down pathways of possible reasons: I just didn’t notice it; tilted floor; sure, the doors open by themselves here . . . they tricked me to get me up here . . .
It’s something they rigged; there’s a wire on the door; it’s remote-controlled, ohmyGod it moved—this is all a terrible practical joke; oh, please, let it be a prank.
I studied the worn slats of wood, the rusted wheels.
“Ha ha, you guys,” I said in a low voice. “Very funny. You got me.”
My phone vibrated; at that moment, the chair rolled toward me, one revolution, and then it stopped.
A chill ran through me. I couldn’t move. Correction: I couldn’t remember how to move.
The wheelchair rolled forward. The wheels squealed.