Dead Voices

by Katherine Arden

  An hour? Ollie wondered. She opened her mouth to ask another question.

  But she didn’t. The footsteps had started up again. They were thumping somewhere on the stairs in the dark. Coming closer.

  Ollie shut up and crouched low. Gretel, shivering, retreated deeper into the darkness. The footsteps got to the bottom of the stairs. They were the footsteps of a two-footed person. Not the bear, then. And they didn’t sound like the clacking footsteps of Mother Hemlock. Who was it?

  The footsteps paused, right at the base of the stairs.

  Ollie peered cautiously around the lockers.

  But there was no one there.

  The footsteps continued, though. Foot by foot they went farther into the basement.

  But what kind of ghost would be invisible here? Ollie wondered. She was on the bad side of the mirror. She should be able to see the ghosts. Ever since she’d come through the mirror, Ollie had seen all the ghosts. Mother Hemlock. The dead skier. This trembling girl.

  Ollie thought she heard Gretel speaking softly to herself from the shadows. “Don’t listen,” she was saying. “Don’t listen don’t listen . . .”

  That was when Ollie heard the beeping.

  She stiffened. That soft, steady beeping was definitely the sound of her mother’s watch. But how could her mother’s watch be here? The last time she’d seen it, her watch had been dangling between Seth’s fingers. Was Seth here? All Ollie’s muscles were tense, ready to run. But she kept still, listening hard.

  The sound was coming from the open space right next to the oil lamp. Where the invisible person’s footsteps had stopped.

  “Hello?” Ollie whispered, her voice almost too low even for herself to hear. And, a little louder: “Hello? Mom?”

  Silence. She waited, trembling.

  Still nothing.

  Then, in front of Ollie’s startled eyes, Seth’s Ouija board tumbled out of nowhere and hit the stone floor with a clatter.

  * * *

  —

  When the watch started beeping loudly, Coco’s first instinct was to clap her hand over it and muffle the noise so it wouldn’t give her away. But as she did, she forgot about the Ouija board under her arm. It fell with a crash. Coco jumped back from the noise, breath coming panic-fast, wanting to run, not sure where to run to. The watch was still beeping. Why was it still beeping? Was it betraying her after all? Was this it?

  The watch fell suddenly silent.

  For a few seconds, there was no sound at all.

  Then Coco heard footsteps. Soft, sneaking footsteps. They came out from behind a pile of dusty lockers. Coco strained her eyes into the dimness until they watered, but she couldn’t see who was making the noise. The steps came nearer. Nearer. Coco started to back away, imagining cold, invisible ghostly hands reaching out.

  But instead the footsteps paused. Right next to the Ouija board. And then, all by itself, the Ouija board turned right way up. It floated up and came down softly on the table, right next to the oil lamp.

  Somehow, Coco didn’t think it was Seth. “Is it the smiling man?” Coco whispered to the watch.

  One beep. NO.

  Silence fell again. A thick, expectant silence. There were no more footsteps. Coco, on sudden impulse, pulled the planchette out of her pocket, put it on the Ouija board, took a step back, and waited, heart beating fast.

  Immediately the planchette started to move.

  Don’t trust it, Coco reminded herself. Last time the Ouija board had tricked them, tricked Ollie. This was probably another trick.

  She was so busy reminding herself to watch out for tricks that she didn’t notice the first couple of letters.

  O R U, said the planchette, and stopped.

  Huh? Coco had to think about that a second. She combed through her memory for the letters she’d missed. Oh. WHO R U.

  Okay, Coco thought. Even if the invisible person was out to trick her, Coco might still learn something, if she talked to them. She’d just have to be on her guard for lies.

  But her hand trembled when she put it down on the planchette. COCO, she spelled out. WHO U.

  * * *

  —

  COCO, signed the planchette.

  Ollie didn’t know who she’d been expecting. It wasn’t Coco.

  But maybe it was fake. A lie? Vivid in Ollie’s memory was the last time she’d used the Ouija board. Don’t trust anything it says, she reminded itself.

  But, oh, she wanted it to be Coco. Maybe she could test it, somehow? She put her shaking forefingers on the planchette. OLI, she signed. U HAV MOM WACH HOW.

  The planchette didn’t move for a second. Ollie’s heart beat with a mix of hope and terror. PROVE U OLI 1ST, said the planchette.

  That definitely sounded like Coco. Despite herself, Ollie felt a surge of hope. She thought a second. UR FAV CLR PRPL, Ollie signed back. FAV DESSERT PI.

  WUT KIND PI, returned the planchette. Ollie could almost feel her friend’s suspicion.

  APL, she said. PROV U COCO.

  * * *

  —

  For the first time since Ollie disappeared through the mirror, Coco felt a sudden hope. How could the smiling man know all that? Ollie, it’s Ollie. She’s talking to me. UR DAD CALL U OLLIEPOP, FAV CLR YLW, she signed back. FAV SNACK POPCRN. Tears were stinging in her eyes. GOT UR WACH BAK.

  The planchette didn’t move for a second. Then, simply, it spelled out TNX. HOW.

  LNG STRY. Coco felt that little flicker of pride again. She was glad she’d gotten the watch back. It was Ollie’s most treasured possession. U OK, Coco signed.

  YA BUT STUCK BHND MROR came the reply. WHERE BRIAN.

  LOST HIM.

  * * *

  —

  Ollie stared at the Ouija board. At first she’d just been happy that Coco was talking to her, that Coco had gotten Ollie’s watch back. But now she was horrified. Lost Brian? How—lost?

  HE OK, she signed.

  The board—or Coco, on the other side—seemed to hesitate.

  DUNNO, came the reply.

  Ollie was so engrossed in watching the planchette whiz around the Ouija board that she totally failed to notice a new set of footsteps. Clomping down the stairs. They were nearly at the bottom before Ollie registered them, and then she threw herself away from the table, back into her hiding place behind the lockers.

  She thought she heard a faint whimper of fear from Gretel, who was still hiding too, somewhere in the darkness.

  Silence. Ollie peered out of her hiding place.

  This time the person wasn’t invisible. It was the ghost skier. Gabriel, maybe. He stood right in front of the staircase, peering left, then right, like he wasn’t sure where to go. He was faceless in his ski mask. His hands pointed down at his sides, stiff with frostbite.

  A garbled sound came from his ski mask. It sounded like a growl. It sounded terrifying. But Ollie wondered if it was just because his lips and jaw were frozen and he couldn’t talk. Like Gretel but worse. He had tried to stop Mother Hemlock from taking her up to the closet. Ollie was almost sure that he had. Maybe he’d stopped her from coming down to the basement. Gotten ahead of her and blocked the door, somehow. Ollie hoped so. It was good to feel like she wasn’t alone.

  On the table, the planchette on the Ouija board was moving, but Ollie didn’t dare take her eyes off the skier.

  “Are you Gabriel?” Ollie asked, gathering her courage, stepping boldly out from her hiding place. “Gabriel Bouvier?”

  An empty-eyed stare. Then a single, jerky nod.

  “Can you talk?”

  A shrug. An awkward head shake.

  “Did you try to warn us? The person Coco saw, the first night, in the road. Was that you?”

  Hesitation. Then a tiny nod.

  “Did you try to help me? In the dining room?”

 
Another nod.

  Ollie pointed down at the Ouija board. “Can you use that to talk?” she asked. “Can you move the letters?”

  She thought he was doubtful, just by the way he stood still. “I have to get back through the mirror by dawn,” Ollie told him. “Or else I’m stuck here. Please. If you can help me—just, please.” Ollie didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t like she could bribe him to help her or anything. Or make him help her. But maybe asking was enough. He gave her a jerky nod. Ollie wished he wasn’t wearing a ski mask. It was a bit like he didn’t have a face at all. Hugely awkward in his giant, heavy orange ski boots, Gabriel went to the Ouija board. He turned his face to Ollie. Now what? he seemed to say.

  Ollie took a place on the other side of the table. She thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye; Gretel poked her head around her walls of boxes.

  “Can I call you Gabe?” Ollie said to the ghost in the ski jacket. “My name’s Ollie.”

  Another nod; she saw his hand tremble. Ollie wondered how long he’d been here. She wondered who the last person was to call him by name.

  She decided she didn’t want to find out. It would just make her scared. She said, “Wait a sec,” put her hands on the planchette, and spelled, GABE BOUVIER GHOST HERE SAYS CN HLP HE GNA USE BORD 2 TLK.

  A pause. Ollie could imagine Coco’s expression going from surprised to nervous to frowning understanding. Then Coco’s reply came back: K.

  Gabe clumsily put one hand on the planchette. Ollie put her fingers on the planchette next to his frostbitten ones. Gabe’s hand looked like a mummy’s hand, but Ollie didn’t flinch away. She was done with being scared of people—ghosts—who might look creepy but were trying to help. She was going to need all the help she could get, she thought, if she was ever to make it home again.

  Slowly, with difficulty, Gabe began to slide the planchette.

  * * *

  —

  OLI NEED OPN MROR AN GO THRU.

  “Okay,” whispered Coco, watching. Obviously they needed to open the mirror. Ollie was on the wrong side of it. HOW OPN, she signed.

  FND BONES.

  The Ouija board was like the worst text messenger ever, Coco thought in annoyance. She thought of Gretel, in the hallway of her nightmare. I’m looking for my bones.

  GRTL BONES, she signed.

  The planchette slid up to YES.

  There were about a half dozen extremely important follow-up questions that Coco knew she had to ask. She picked one. HOW CN GRTL BONES OPN MROR.

  BONES N REAL LODG, came the reply. GHST N OTHR LODG WIT OLI. GHOST AND BONES CNNCTED IF R RFLCTD IN SAME MROR. WILL OPN DOR THRU MROR.

  * * *

  —

  Okay, Ollie thought. “I think I get it,” she said aloud. “Gretel is on this side. Gretel’s bones are somewhere on Coco’s side. The ghost and her bones are connected. If Gretel stands in front of a mirror on my side, and her bones are reflected in the same mirror on Coco’s side, then a door will open.”

  Gabe nodded slowly.

  “But where are the bones?” said Ollie. “We know where Gretel is.” She gestured back into the darkness where Gretel was hiding.

  The planchette was moving again. Coco. Asking the same question. WHR GRTL BONES, she was asking.

  * * *

  —

  DUNO, came the answer. IN CLOSET I THNK. 2ND FLR.

  Coco ground her teeth. She’d had enough of those second-floor closets. But at the same time her heart was beating fast with hope. She could do that! She could go back up the stairs, use the watch to tell her which closet held Gretel’s bones. The planchette was still moving. BTR HURY, it said. SETH AN MTHR HMLCK TRY STOP U.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Coco muttered. She grabbed the planchette. There were more important questions. Quickly she spelled out WHCH MROR, WHN MEET, and DUZ GABE NO WHR BRIAN. The cold of the basement floor soaked into her socks as she whipped the planchette around the board.

  Coco wished she could actually see Ollie and talk to her properly. But she was desperately glad she’d grabbed the Ouija board. She didn’t know what would have happened if she hadn’t. She finished her questions, sat back. Waited for a reply.

  BUNK RM MROR, said the Ouija board.

  Okay, Coco thought. But when?

  Coco waited for the rest. Nothing.

  WHN, she signed impatiently.

  The planchette wasn’t moving.

  “Ollie?” she whispered.

  Just then the watch started to beep. Not slow and calm this time. No, loud and fast, like an alarm when you were late to school. Like a warning.

  A blast of icy air whipped through the basement, and finally the planchette started to move again. But this time, Coco didn’t think it was Ollie.

  DO U KNO WHT HPNS TO THEVS, said the Ouija board.

  Another cold gust whipped down through the stairwell, hard enough to instantly numb Coco’s face. Up there, in the dark, she heard footsteps.

  Then she heard Seth’s voice. “Thieves are punished,” he said.

  Then the lamp went out.

  14

  A CLACKING FOOTSTEP landed on the dark staircase above Ollie. And a soft, hissing voice spoke out of the shadows. “Little mouse—where are you hiding? Where? Good little mice don’t hide. Where are you?” Another footstep thumped on the staircase.

  Ollie scrambled to her feet and back from the Ouija board just as she heard her mother’s watch start beeping again. Loudly. Urgently. Invisibly. On the other side of the mirror.

  Mother Hemlock was coming. Why hadn’t she come before? Had Seth told her to wait? Why?

  Clack. A foot landed on the steps in the darkness. Clack. Ollie’s lips went stiff with fear; her skin felt tight and cold. Gabe’s masked face showed no expression, but she saw his big shoulders go rigid under the rotten ski jacket. Behind Ollie, Gretel whimpered, “You brought her here, you brought her here!”

  Somewhere on the staircase, Ollie thought she heard the strange, grinding growl of the dead bear. Its stiff paws thudded on the stairs.

  “No,” Gretel was whispering to herself. “I’ll be good, I’ll be quiet, don’t put me back with the others.”

  “Someone has been telling secrets,” muttered Mother Hemlock from the staircase. Clack, clack went her footsteps. “Someone has been plotting. Someone is trying to run away. I know what to do with runaways.”

  Everything in the basement looked to Ollie as sharp as though it had been outlined in ink. The footsteps were coming nearer and nearer. Ollie turned to Gabe. “Is there another way out of the basement?”

  Without a sound, he pointed away into the darkness.

  “Okay,” said Ollie. She had to force herself not to bolt, immediately, in the direction of Gabe’s pointing finger. “Gretel, we have to go.” If she needed Gretel to open the mirror, Ollie knew she couldn’t lose her. The smiling man definitely wanted her and Gretel to be separated.

  A gust of icy air swept through the basement, as though Mother Hemlock had breathed it out from the staircase.

  Then the oil lamp went suddenly out. They were left in the darkness, with Mother Hemlock’s footsteps still descending. There was a soft wail from Gretel. “No! My light! Please, I’m tired of the dark.”

  The basement was dark. Coal-dark, moonless-night-camping dark. Darkness seemed to press on Ollie’s eyelids, like it had a force all its own. Unable to see, Ollie froze; she didn’t know which way to move. There were crates and boxes scattered all over the floor; she’d trip if she went three feet without light. Fumbling, Ollie pulled her book of matches out of her pocket and lit one.

  Only to find Mother Hemlock right in front of her, inches away, smiling her wide, dead smile. “Can’t hide,” she said.

  Ollie screamed. She hadn’t screamed at the dead bear, or at Don Voland when he turned out to be the smili
ng man, but now she shrieked, pure fright and shock, and fell backward, hitting the icy stone floor hard. Her match went out, and in darkness, Ollie heard Mother Hemlock’s whisper: “Not so disobedient now, are we? Well, up the stairs with you—”

  Ollie smelled the old tombstone smell as Mother Hemlock reached down to grab Ollie by the ankle. But before she could, Ollie scrambled up and backward, and with shaking fingers, she seized and struck another match, all the while expecting to feel a cold, dead hand grabbing her.

  But it didn’t. Instead, Mother Hemlock shrieked, a horrible dry sound.

  By the light of her match, Ollie saw a couple of things very quickly.

  The dead bear was coming laboriously down the stairs. Its formaldehyde-filled legs didn’t seem to work very well. Gabe had thrown an old sack of some kind over Mother Hemlock’s head. She was groping around in a fury trying to get it off. Mother Hemlock, Ollie thought with a slightly hysterical part of her mind, looked way less scary with a bag over her head.

  Ollie’s match was about to start burning her fingers. Feverishly, she reached for the oil lamp, yanked off the glass cover, and relit the wick. The light wavered, steadied. She hoisted the lamp. Maybe carrying the light with her as she fled would give her away, but anything was better than facing that basement in the dead-screen dark.

  Ollie turned toward the stairwell. The bear was almost at the bottom of the stairs. Its shoulders seemed to fill the whole space. She wasn’t getting out past that, Ollie thought. She prayed that Gabe had been right about knowing another way out of the basement.

  Gretel was crouched hiding in a corner. “Please,” she was whispering. “Please, please, please go away. She’s chasing you. Go away and she’ll go too. But don’t take my lamp. It’s mine. It’s the only thing I have. Don’t take it.”