She smiled. “Good. We’ll be waiting for you.
She set the receiver gently into the cradle. Living in a haunted house did have some advantages!
The video Brian had brought with him was over, the last kernel of popcorn consumed.
“Don’t you think you’d better go to bed?” Lisa said to Carrie.
“What for? It’s Saturday night. You’re supposed to stay up on Saturday night.”
Lisa threw a hopeless glance at Brian, but he was smiling. Carrie’s presence didn’t seem to bother him at all.
“Let’s play Monopoly!” cried Carrie, as if she had just had a revelation.
“I thought you were bored sick with Monopoly,” said Lisa.
“I was tired of playing with you,” said her sister airily. “It’s different now that Brian’s here. Too bad Gramma isn’t home. Then we could play bridge.”
“I don’t know how,” said Brian.
“We’ll teach you,” replied Carrie glibly. “Then you’ll be ready for the next time we have a chance. I’ll get the cards.”
“Maybe Brian doesn’t wants to learn,” said Lisa tartly.
“Oh, I don’t mind. We’ll work at it till your folks get home. Then I’ll have to get going.”
Lisa felt her heart sink. She was dying to spend some time alone with Brian.
“Great!” cried Carrie. “I’ll be right back.” She scrambled up the stairway.
“I’m sorry,” said Lisa, when she was out of sight.
Brian waved his hand. “Don’t be so uptight. I don’t know what’s worrying you. You and your sister are fun to be with. You’ve got a good sense of humor. You don’t talk when it’s not necessary. When you do say something, it makes sense. I’m having a good time. Relax, will you?”
He smiled at her. Lisa smiled back, delighted by his words.
“Here they are!” yelled Carrie, bounding down the stairs. “We couldn’t have played Monopoly anyway. The board’s still sticky….”
Lisa laughed and told Brian the story of the orange soda. It didn’t seem possible it was only two days ago they had caused the mess.
“That was what got us started on the automatic writing,” she said, finishing the tale. She paused uncomfortably. She hadn’t really meant to talk about that.
Brian nodded.
Lisa busied herself with shuffling the cards.
Carrie looked from Lisa to Brian and back again. “You know,” she said softly, “we don’t have to play bridge.”
Suddenly the silence grew heavier. Brian and Lisa looked at each other across the table.
“Your grandmother—” began Brian.
Carrie cut him off. “Oh, come on. I like Gramma, but she’s not here right now.” Her eyes were flashing. “What do you say?”
Lisa hesitated. It was the oddest thing. She really didn’t want to stir up anything else. Yet she had a fantastic urge to follow Carrie’s unspoken suggestion and try the automatic writing again. She was so curious about what someone was trying to communicate to them! Lisa glanced at Brian. He seemed distinctly uneasy. Yet she could read it in his eyes—he was curious, too. Their gazes locked. She felt a sense of challenge, and the excitement of doing something weird and dangerous together.
“Let’s give it a try,” he whispered.
Lisa felt a chill run down her spine. What was it that made something forbidden, something possibly dangerous, so incredibly appealing?
Without a word, she began to gather up the cards. Carrie jumped up and ran to get the paper and pencils. “It’s my turn,” she said when she came back. She set the paper in front of her, picked up a pencil, and said, “Will you light the candle, Brian?”
He struck a match and did as she asked. Lisa turned off the lamp nearest to the table. She left on the lamp that stood on the far side of the parlor, not wanting to take a chance on the candle going out and leaving them in total darkness.
She reached across the table and took Brian’s hand. His face was intent, almost grim, and she wondered if he regretted saying yes to the experiment. She caught his eye, asking the question silently.
He shook his head. “Let’s get started,” he whispered.
“Take my elbows,” said Carrie. “Lisa, you give the call.” She closed her eyes and set the pencil on the paper, waiting expectantly.
Lisa paused for a moment, then began to speak. “O spirits from the other side, if there are any here who wish to communicate with us, now is the time. Give us your message.”
They waited in silence, scarcely daring to breathe.
Nothing happened.
Carrie opened her eyes, and her disappointment was clear on her face. “I guess the spirits don’t like me,” she said almost bitterly.
There was a little plink as a drop of water fell from the ceiling.
“What was that?” cried Carrie. She looked up. Another drop struck the table. “Ohmigosh!” she yelled. “The bathtub must be running. Who turned it on? Come on, you guys!” She bolted away from the table and started up the stairs. Brian and Lisa were close behind her.
But when they reached the bathroom, they stopped. “I don’t get it,” said Carrie, a puzzled expression on her face. “There’s no water here at all. What’s going on?”
“Maybe there’s a pipe leaking,” said Brian.
“That could be,” said Lisa. “But I don’t really think so.”
Brian turned to her. “Why not?”
She told him what had happened earlier that evening.
“This place is wackier than I thought,” he said. Taking Lisa’s hand, he headed back toward the stairway. Carrie followed close at their heels.
The ceiling was still dripping. They took their places at the table and stared at the little puddle that had formed in the center of it. Brian reached out and touched it with the tip of his finger, then placed his finger on his tongue.
He made a face. “It’s not salt water,” he said. “But it has a swampy taste to it. A little like a fish tank. Or at least it tastes the way a fish tank smells.”
“Shhh!” said Carrie. Her eyes grew wide. She reached across the table and took Lisa’s hand, squeezing it so hard that it hurt.
Lisa squeezed back. She reached out and took Brian’s hand. She knew that he heard it, too.
An adult imitating a childish voice, high and piping, was calling out somewhere above them, “Mother? Mother, where are you?”
Lisa felt the small hairs on the back of her neck begin to rise. The voice stopped. Another took its place. Lisa felt a lump in her throat block the scream she wanted to release.
“Carrie?” called the voice. It was desperate. “Carrie, where are you, darling? I’m looking for you!”
Lisa looked at her sister. She was trembling, her face white with terror. Lisa could see she was struggling with herself, straining to resist some impulse.
Finally she gave in. “Here I am!” she cried at last. “Here! Here!”
The candle roared up as it had the night before.
There was a rush of wind and then another sound, strange and unexpected. Lisa looked toward the stairway and choked back a cry of terror. Water was pouring down the steps. Green and swampy looking, it flowed like a waterfall, gathering in a pool at the base of the stairs.
“No!” roared Brian. He yanked his hand away from Lisa’s and sprang to his feet. The circle was broken. Instantly the candle’s flame dwindled to its normal size. The water stopped running. The puddle at the base of the stairs disappeared.
But somewhere far above her Lisa could hear the hysterical sobbing of a woman who sounded as though her heart was breaking.
She looked at Brian and Carrie.
Their faces were blank.
She didn’t need to ask. She could tell that now she was the only one who could hear it.
Chapter Six
The Furious Apparition
A flash of light along the living room wall signaled a car entering the driveway. They could hear the sound of tires crunching on gravel.
“It’s Mom and Dad!” cried Lisa. “Put these things away! I don’t want them to know what we’ve been up to.”
With a single sweep of her arm Carrie cleared the table of the incriminating pencils and papers. As she rushed to hide them, Lisa bolted for the television set and switched it on. Then all three of them scrambled for the sofa.
They settled in as the tube began to glow.
A scream pierced the night.
“Great,” muttered Lisa as the front door opened. “Just what we need; a Freddy Krueger movie!”
“Lisa!” whispered Carrie. “They’re never going to believe this!”
Lisa looked at her sister in puzzlement, then suddenly realized that she was sitting at one end of the couch, with Brian at the other, and Carrie in between! Lisa and Carrie fumbled to change places quickly and quietly. Lisa was just settling against Brian when her father walked into the room and boomed, “Hello, kids! Have a nice evening?”
Lisa flinched. She hated it when her father acted overenthusiastic in front of her friends. She knew he meant well. But it always embarrassed her.
Her mother and grandmother appeared in the doorway behind him, looking slightly frazzled.
“Hello, girls,” said her mother. “Hello, Brian.”
When Brian stood to greet them, Mr. Burton said in an impressed voice, “Manners! I like that.”
Lisa flinched again.
Mrs. Burton stepped forward and took her husband’s arm. “Come on, Martin. We’re interrupting the movie.”
“What? Oh, sure, sure. You kids have a good time,” he said as his wife steered him toward the stairs.
Dr. Miles remained standing at the door to the living room.
“Did you have a good time, Gramma?” asked Carrie.
The old woman nodded. “As a matter of fact, I did. But I began to feel uneasy around the time we left. And just before we got home, I had an awful feeling that…” She looked at them searchingly. “Are you three all right?”
Lisa and Carrie exchanged a glance. “Sure,” said Lisa. “No need to worry about us!”
Dr. Miles shook her head. “I hope not.” She stepped into the room and kissed each girl on the cheek. “Good night, darlings. Good night, Brian. It was nice to see you again.”
“Good night, Dr. Miles,” Brian replied politely.
They watched as she climbed the stairs. Lisa thought, for no reason she could put her finger on, how proud she was of her grandmother.
“Whew,” said Brian, when the old woman had disappeared at the top of the steps. “`An awful feeling that something was wrong.’ Is she psychic or something?”
“I’m beginning to wonder,” said Lisa.
Brian sat back down. “So… what are you going to do?”
“About what?” replied Lisa.
Brian frowned. “Don’t act stupid. Are you going to tell your parents about all this or not?”
Lisa shook her head. “Absolutely not. We’re just going to stop messing around with the automatic writing.”
“That won’t be easy,” said Carrie. “It’s like potato chips—hard to stop once you get started.”
“Potato chips only make you fat,” said Brian. “I’ve got a feeling the consequences from this could be a lot worse.”
Lisa grimaced. “I’ll admit it was fantastically scary. But I told you yesterday I don’t think there’s any real danger. Nothing threatening has happened. It’s only scary because we don’t understand it.”
“If you don’t understand it, how do you know it’s not dangerous?” Brian asked.
Lisa hesitated. He had her, and she knew it. “Well, it doesn’t make any difference,” she said at last. “I told you, we’re not going to do it any more.”
“Let’s just hope that whatever you’ve stirred up is also willing to stop,” said Brian grimly.
As Lisa and Carrie were settling into bed later that night Carrie said, “Do you really think there’s nothing to worry about?”
Lisa looked at her sister. Her eyes were troubled, and a worried expression wrinkled her face. She wanted to lie to Carrie, to reassure her the way she had Brian. But they were in this together, and there was no sense in keeping anything from each other.
“I’m not certain,” she answered, pulling back the sheets. “I don’t believe Gramma’s explanation that it’s something psychological. Not for a minute. This place is haunted, and that’s all there is to that.”
Carrie shivered.
“Hey, I thought you were eager for some good stories to tell when you got home,” teased Lisa.
Carried forced a smile. “You know me—always changing my mind!”
Lisa put an arm around her. “That’s right,” she said soothingly. “I forgot.”
Carrie leaned her head against Lisa. “Do you think she’ll come back tonight?”
“I don’t know,” said Lisa softly. She glanced at the clock on the dresser; the lighted dial read 12:05. “It’s after midnight. If she was a traditional ghost, she would have been here already.”
“Maybe she’s like me,” said Carrie, stifling a yawn. “Always late!”
Lisa woke with a start. Where was she?
She looked around and let out a little sigh of relief. She was in her bedroom. Carrie was sleeping next to her. It was the sudden waking out of a deep sleep that had made her feel disoriented.
But what had roused her? Something had caused her to stir from her slumber.
The piano! Someone was playing the piano.
She had a feeling she knew who it was. Sliding her feet into her slippers, she stood and put on her robe. Then she lit the candle again and headed for the hall.
I must look like the cover of a horror novel, she thought. Then, creating the advertising copy, she added, “Stalking the darkened corridor with a candle in her hand, the fearless girl searched for the mysterious sounds.”
Lisa paused at the top of the stairs, struck by a sudden urge to turn back. Why are you doing this? demanded a tiny voice inside her head, speaking for the sensible part of her personality, the part she so often ignored.
It was a reasonable question. Why was she doing this?
Slowly an answer took shape in her mind. It was partly curiosity. She had never realized how powerful curiosity was, how it could drive you on even in the face of fear. She had heard her mother and father talking about “the human condition” one night after dinner. This must be part of it—to be controlled by curiosity, to push on when some wiser part of you was crying out, “Turn back! Turn back!”
That was part of it. But there was more. In the same way that the house was haunted by a ghost, Lisa was haunted by the ghost’s sorrow. She had to believe that the woman who wept in the night had come back because she wanted something, needed something. And Lisa had the wild idea that maybe she could help solve the spirit’s problem. The sound of that weeping had stayed with her since she had first heard it. It, too, was part of what drove her on now.
The piano was playing softly. Lisa hummed under her breath, trying to catch the tune. It was sweet and oddly sad. Suddenly she recognized it: “Beautiful Dreamer,” by Stephen Foster. Her grandmother had often sung it to her as a lullaby when she was little. The words drifted through her head as she took her first step down the stairs.
For an instant the piano stopped, almost as if the player had sensed her presence. Then it began again, a little louder than before, yet still only a ghost of a melody tickling across the threshold of her hearing.
Lisa reached the bottom of the stairs and stood for a moment in wary silence. The woman was sitting at the piano, swaying from side to side as she played. She stopped. Lisa could see her shoulders shake with sobs. Then she began to play again, and Lisa smiled in spite of herself as the merry notes of “Bill Bailey” came tinkling through the room. She almost had an urge to sing along.
Suddenly the woman slammed her hands against the keys, creating a harsh jumble of sound. She turned around on the bench and, looking up, saw Lisa. H
er expression of grief shifted to one of rage, her face contorted by a fury that was almost insane. She leaped from the bench and rushed toward Lisa, her hands stretched before her.
Her anger was searing, in the same way that a light that is too bright hurts the eyes or a noise that is too loud hurts the ears. This blast of emotion hurt some tender place inside Lisa. It was too much, too powerful, and she staggered under the weight of it.
But only briefly. For the woman was almost on her now, and Lisa’s sudden terror was far greater than the pain. A scream burst from her lips, and without even realizing it she turned and scrambled up the stairs as fast as she could. Her candle swayed precariously, spattering drops of hot wax. At the top of the stairs Lisa tripped. The candle flew ahead of her, then went out. Sprawling in the darkened hallway, she screamed and screamed. She tried to get to her feet, but she was tangled in her gown and robe.
Suddenly her father was at her side. He took her by the elbow and helped her to her feed. “Lisa! Lisa, what is it?”
For a moment she was mute with horror. Gasping, shaking, she tried to tell him what had happened. Nothing would come out. She turned.
The ghost was still there!
Rage twisting those familiar features, the ghost reached past Mr. Burton and slapped Lisa across the face.
Though all she really felt was a moment of numbing cold, Lisa screamed again.
The ghost vanished.
Her father was shaking her shoulders. “Lisa! Lisa! What is it?”
Her mother appeared in the hall behind them. Carrie and her grandmother dashed out of their rooms as well, the concern that etched their faces making them look strangely similar.
Lisa was gasping for breath. “It was a ghost,” she sobbed. “Didn’t you hear it? It was playing the piano. It was angry. It was after me. Didn’t you hear it?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said her father. “I thought you were old enough to watch those stupid films without going off the deep end. No more Freddy Krueger for you for a while, young lady!”
Waiting Spirits Page 5