“Strange days?” I echoed. For what could she mean?
I shortly ceased to wonder. During our mother's long absences from the house, Mrs. Lynch had taken it upon herself to search through our mother's rooms, and what she found disturbed her greatly. She spoke of her grim discoveries with great reluctance: sticks wrapped in human hair, golden hair like Marguerite's; pages upon pages of dark and vile writings addressed to the devil himself; little flannels covered in blood and all manner of foul smelling concoctions and potions.
I had no desire to see these things for myself. Indeed, had no reason to. I believed the woman completely and absolutely, for it was the only thing that made sense. Our mother was not simply mad, she was driven by something far greater and darker than anything we could have imagined.
“But what shall I do?” I cried, taking the good woman's hands in mine.
She knelt next to me and looked into my eyes. “Whatever you can, sir. Your father is in great danger, and so is the woman he has turned to for comfort and companionship. I have seen evidence of the spells myself.”
I was left alone to ponder my course of action. After a sleepless night, I wandered the veranda drenched in a soft morning light and wondered how our mother, surrounded by such beauty, could be tempted into darkness. Any explanation, I decided then and there, was of no consequence.
Suddenly filled with a great purpose, I went in search of our mother, armed with nothing but determination to put a right to a great wrong.
I found her in the new carriage house. She was shuffling about inside its dim interior, her hair undone and quite wild. Her task was hanging bits of strange, dried things from the rafters, where they dangled overhead, their purpose so ominous that I hardly dared look at them.
Not knowing how to begin, I said, “Mother...” When her chasmic eyes registered my arrival, my words drifted off.
She said not my name nor called me son. Gone was any attempt at dressing in a manner befitting a gentlewoman of her rank and age. What she wore I cannot adequately describe, only that she was strangely garbed in dark clothes that gave the impression of old and tattered silks, as if a monster had caught her in its claws.
Unable to call her mother once more, I said her name aloud: “Edith Wirth.”
She slowly turned and faced me, pointing at the door, as if to order me away. Her expression was cold and forbidding.
If she ever had any true affection for me, her youngest son, there was no evidence of it in her ghastly countenance.
“You killed my Marguerite,” I whispered. When she did not respond, I repeated my words of accusation, loudly and clearly this time.
It was as if I had not spoken. As if I had not remonstrated with the dreadful woman at all.
She turned away and resumed her fiendish tasks, ignoring me altogether. By this time, dear brother, a fierce, great rage had taken hold, and I rushed toward her and pushed her with all my might. The carriage house is long, and she was at the other end of it, so when I finally struck her, it was with such great force that she flew into the air as if attempting flight. When she landed, her head struck a large stone.
That is how I killed her, Edward.
When we buried her, next to the little creek near the carriage house, I felt no remorse. I made no confession. It is believed that my mother did fall and hit her head, with deadly effect. A tragic accident.
Mrs. Lynch gave some odd advice on things we might do to make sure our mother's wicked soul does not return to this earth. But now that she is buried, deep in the ground, I can see no purpose to it.
Burn this letter, Edward, now that you have read it.
Pray for my soul, my brother.
David
Chapter 47
It's nearly five-thirty when I get to the Wirth Mansion.
Madison wanted me to come as soon as possible, but there was no putting off meeting with Principal Buskin about The Clarion. And what a strange meeting it was. Buskin not only acted as if reinstating The Clarion was all his idea, he acted like our biggest supporter. Mean and nasty Nutskin had disappeared. In his place was helpful and friendly Buskin. We only recognized him because he was wearing his trademark khakis. We left Chloe to handle the technical work of getting the news site back online.
“That was some serious gaslighting back there,” Alfie said when we were out of earshot.
“Someone must have come down on him pretty hard,” I replied.
When Madison called, she asked that I come alone. Whatever it was, she wanted to show me first.
It's the first time I've been back to the mansion since our terrifying ghost hunt. I text Madison from the parking lot. As I wait for her in my car, I stare up at the windows on the upper floor, watching lights wink on, wondering about the spirit Destiny invited. Was it already there on that night, hibernating like a snake in a crawl space? Had Destiny lured it out? Or had it been somewhere else, and Destiny's magic brought it there?
A rap on the window makes me jump. It's Madison in her tour guide uniform of high-necked blouse and long skirt.
As soon as I step out, I know she's found something important. She's frowning, pacing next to the car. “What took you so long?”
“I came as soon as I could.”
She grabs my hand and hauls me behind her. We skirt around the mansion and enter through a back door.
“Hardly anyone ever comes in this way,” she says over her shoulder.
I wonder how many entrances the place has, but there's no time to ask because I'm practically running to keep up with her long-legged strides. Voices drift toward us from other parts of the mansion as the staff closes up for the day. I hope whatever Madison wants to show me won't take long. The prospect of just the two of us alone in the place makes me want to turn around and head back to the car. But I force myself to keep going. We run up a flight of stairs. Madison opens the first door to our right, reaches in and flicks on the light.
The room is crammed with stacks of books and boxes piled on top of long, white tables. It has that old book smell, grassy and musty.
Madison heads straight for a cardboard box and flips open the lid. “Part of my job is to take inventory of donations made to the mansion. That's how I was able to find these.” She points triumphantly at the box.
“Do you want a drum roll or are you going to explain?”
She runs a finger along the side of the box. “We just got this. From the estate of Edward Wirth.” She stops and looks at me expectantly.
“Okay. I get the Wirth part. But remind me, who's Edward?”
Madison smacks her forehead. “I thought you read the History of the Wirth Mansion! Edward is the older son, the one who went traveling around Europe until he had to move back and take over the business because his parents and brother died. That Edward! Someone sent us all his old letters and stuff without going through them first, if you can believe it. I thought there might be something interesting in there, something that might explain our ghost. And hell yes, I found it.”
“You're kidding?”
Madison pulls out a faded overstuffed folder. “I'm not. It's all here. Edward ended up with all his brother's stuff, which he kept. There's a diary in here from a girl called Marguerite. I haven't had time to read the whole thing, but it's fascinating. She was a servant here, and she had her eye on David Wirth. You know, the hot brother. They got engaged and his mother, Edith Wirth, was furious. David's letters to his brother are in here, too. And guess what? He says his mother killed Marguerite out of jealousy, burned her alive and nearly burned the mansion down, too.”
“Burned her alive!” My mind is struggling to digest this shocking information. Edward was hardly mentioned in the book about the mansion. The servant Marguerite is new. And never, at any point, was there even a suggestion of murder.
“But that's not all,” Madison says, her voice rising.
I sink into the closest chair, my eyes fixed on the folder. “There’s more?”
“A lot more,” says Madison. She
carefully withdraws a sheet of paper. It's so thin it's nearly transparent and covered in a spidery scrawl. “This is a confession of murder. By David Wirth. He wrote a letter to his older brother Edward admitting that he killed their mother, because of what she'd done to his fiancé, Marguerite. Can you believe it? And if that wasn't enough, he thought their mother was straight up evil. And a witch. And not just him, other people did, too.”
“My god,” I whisper, after a long time. “Was Marguerite blonde?”
Madison frowns. “She was. She had beautiful blonde hair, according to David. We need to go through everything. Together. Who else should help us?”
In the end, we decide to call everyone. Everyone who was there that night at the Wirth Mansion, including Daniel. Gabe can't make it because he's visiting his mother in the East Bay. We meet at Destiny's house. It all works out because her mother and sister can go shopping without worrying about leaving Destiny alone.
When we settle in, a box is sitting on the coffee table in the living room and the blinds are up. It's night now and Hillside is lit up below. It's such a cheerful sight, it's hard to imagine that four girls have died in such a hideous way in less than three months. And one of them was Mary McKissick, who should have been here with us tonight.
Silently, we begin reaching into the box, opening old, faded letters, journals and yellowed newspaper clippings. We sort through them and organize them into piles. Then we put them in order by date. Chloe enters descriptions of everything into a file on her laptop.
By the time we finish reading, chills are running up and down my arms.
We sit back. Everyone looks stunned, dazed.
It's a sinister story, starting with a young girl desperate to escape a life of prostitution in San Francisco. What happened to Marguerite was worse than anything she could have imagined: she'd burned to death, locked in a room by her future mother-in-law.
It wasn't the first time Edith Wirth had it out for a younger rival. By the time Marguerite enters the picture, Edith Wirth had already scared away the fiancé of her eldest son, Edward. Not long after that, he ran off to Europe to get away from his possessive mother.
At some point after moving to the mansion, according to a letter written by the head housekeeper Mrs. Arundel, Mrs. Wirth began acting strangely, spending more and more time deep in the woods at the back of the mansion. Mrs. Arundel claims to have found all sorts of “diabolical things” in Mrs. Wirth's rooms. When the housekeeper began pleading with Mrs. Wirth to come with her to church, Mrs. Arundel fell sick with “such pains and other mysterious ailments that continue to perplex Dr. Smith.”
When David learns his mother killed Marguerite, and becomes convinced that she's a witch, he kills her in the carriage house. Everyone believed she died from an accidental fall. She was buried near the little creek. The same creek where Madison and I found Mary McKissick, who admitted that she'd felt mysteriously drawn to the place.
This is enough for all of us to make the connection. There are just too many coincidences.
Marguerite was blonde. So were all the girls. Nicole summoned Edith Wirth's long quiet spirit and suddenly, girls are dying. Blonde girls who visited the mansion and lived close to it. Strange electrical disturbances were reported in neighborhoods near the mansion, including the shuttle bus that caught fire. At least some of the girls sparked, even Destiny, who's now shaking and rocking back and forth. We all stare at her. I feel a rush of protectiveness, except I have no idea how to protect her.
We know for sure that Mary visited the mansion and so did Emily and Monica. Nicole probably did too, to do the invocation.
“Edith Wirth killed Mary,” Madison says.
I lean forward, my head suddenly clear. “And Emily, Nicole and Monica. I wish we had a picture of Marguerite. See if they looked like her.”
Raj glances at Destiny, then quickly looks away. “Our killer ghost probably hates all pretty young blonde girls because she hated Marguerite.”
“How are we supposed to make sure Edith doesn't go after Destiny?” I nearly shout. “She's already sparked. That's not a good sign.” The color drains from Destiny's already pale face.
Daniel slowly gets to his feet, points at Destiny. “If she did the whole invitation thing like she did at the mansion, and Old Edith showed up, can't she send her back again? Except, more permanently this time?”
“I don't see why not,” Alfie says. “And it's not like we can trap the old bitch in a bottle and call the police. Or lock and load and take her out. If a spell called her out of retirement, then another spell is the only way to send her back, right?” This is met with nods of agreement. Chloe hands Destiny a glass of water and gestures for her to drink.
The only one who looks unconvinced by any of this is Destiny, who picks up the glass with shaking hands. Water splashes all over her knees. She sits there for a long time, staring down at the spreading patch of damp.
“I have to try,” she finally says, twisting the hem of her long sweater. Destiny looks around the room while she swallows. “The only thing I have to lose is my life."
Chapter 48
Everyone takes turns making sure that Destiny is never alone for a single second—we're that worried.
This means sleepovers and one foot shoved in the door of the bathroom while she's inside. Even the guys take turns hanging out with her, except for Gabe. His mother had another breakdown, and she's become his full-time job. I hardly get to see him. But I'm so busy, there's not much time to sit around dreaming of the way his dark hair curls at the back of his neck.
Between Destiny and writing new stories for The Clarion, plus homework, I hardly have time to breathe. Whenever I'm with Destiny, she either has her nose in one of her books about magic spells or she's muttering over her laptop.
There are how-to videos for witches online, but she's not sure if she can trust them. She's had no luck trying to find someone with experience banishing an evil spirit. The search for help hasn't been easy. The women on the forum are either suspicious she's up to no-good or worried she's in trouble. Each day she gets a stack of messages in her in-box.
“At least they care,” I say.
Destiny groans. “I'm just nervous someone's going to figure out who I am and show up at my door. And then what am I going to tell my mom?”
As the Halloween dance gets closer, there is still no magic solution in sight. Alfie suggests looking for an exorcist. It's not the worst idea I've heard, and even Gabe thinks we should consider it but Destiny refuses. “No. No way. It's not like I'm possessed.”
On October 31st, I wake up realizing it's been fourteen days since Mary McKissick died. So much has happened that it seems forever ago.
My feelings of sharp grief for Mary have turned into a dull ache. When I climb out of my sleeping bag, I stand up and stare at Destiny. She's on her back with her long blonde hair spread out on the pillow. Her skin is clear, perfect. Suddenly, I'm imagining what would happen to that soft skin if she became the next victim of Old Edith's ghost. What I see in my mind is so horrible that I need to shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut to make it go away.
“What the fuck are you doing, Samantha?”
My eyes fly open. Destiny is sitting up, one hand on her heart.
I flop down next to her. “You can't go tonight. To the dance. It's, like, the last place you should be.”
Destiny sniffs, picks up a book next to her and hurls it to the floor. She argues for a bit, but I can tell she's relieved. Her staying home, so close to the mansion, isn't a good idea, either.
Then I think of Raj. He lives the furthest away, in the newest part of Hillside, separated from old Hillside by a wide busy street and train tracks. It doesn't take much convincing. He quickly agrees to have Destiny spend the evening at his house. It's clear he's also relieved not to go the dance, the dance he'd planned on taking Mary.
We show up at the Wirth Mansion an hour before the doors open.
Not one of us is dressed in anything remotely sca
ry. Knowing what we know has taken all the fun out of the freaky costumes we used to love. Alfie and Chloe show up as pirates. Madison is a Viking warrior, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail. Daniel is a nerd with high waisted pants and a red sweater. Gabe and I are wearing orange prison jumpsuits I found in a second-hand store. All of us are wearing boots of some kind. At least we'll be comfortable if all hell breaks loose and we need to run.
As Chloe sets up the memorial she's created for Mary McKissick, we sit on the bottom steps of the grand staircase, reluctant to go any deeper into the mansion. By the looks on their faces, my friends are just as scared as I am.
Two weeks after Mary's death, we still have no idea how to banish the ghost of Edith Wirth.
Outside, the weather is cold and dry, but a windstorm is prowling around, scattering leaves and twigs across the grounds. Behind us, we can hear voices. Two Wirth Mansion employees are there, flicking on lights, getting ready to staff the dance. The upper floors and some rooms at ground level will be off-limits. This includes the secret passage and the parlor with the disturbing portraits of the Wirth family. I try and not think of Old Edith and her dark, piercing eyes.
My mind is sagging under the weight of everything that could go wrong.
Waiting. We're waiting for the dance to begin, looking over our shoulders, peering down hallways that are dimming fast as dark creeps in through the windows.
“Anyone else feel like something's about to happen?” Alfie asks. He looks ridiculous with his fake black beard.
Madison kicks at him with the toe of her knee-high boots. “Shut up.”
Alfie's about to respond when there's a burst of noise at the entrance. It's the first wave of dance arrivals. Madison and Chloe scurry over to open the door and begin taking tickets. A few teachers are there, too, to help supervise. By the sound of it, everyone is excited about the location. Most students have toured the mansion as part of a school trip, but it's another thing to be there at night.
The Box in The Cuts: A Supernatural Mystery Page 19