Her father smiled, and it was as if a cloud had lifted from the room. “That would be great. Thanks, Lisa. I really appreciate it.”
Lisa felt a warm glow inside as she went back upstairs to get dressed. She had almost forgotten how nice her father was when he wasn’t so preoccupied. She was glad to be able to help him. And maybe typing would take her mind off the recent, unexplainable events.
Lisa sat at the desk in her father’s office, trying to make sense of the page she was supposed to be typing. She had no idea what it said. Her father’s handwriting was pretty bad to begin with. Add to that the penciled in changes and the damage from the water, and the page was almost impossible to decipher. She was beginning to regret having volunteered for this job—especially since it was such a sunny day outside.
Plink!
She looked to her right. A drop of greenish water had appeared on the table.
Plink! Another drop struck the first, causing a small splash. Plink! Plink! Plink! Three more drops fell in rapid succession, forming the beginnings of a small puddle in the middle of the desk. Lisa frowned. Pond water again. The smell was uncomfortably familiar. She recognized it at once as the odor she had detected when she first woke that morning.
“Daddy?”
No answer. She forgot; for once her father was taking a break. He had gone to the beach with the others. She was alone in the house.
Plink!
This time the water splashed on Lisa. She flinched back as if she had been scalded. For some reason she didn’t want it to touch her.
She pushed herself away from the desk. Gathering up the three pages she had already typed, she ran from the room. She slipped and nearly fell in a puddle of greenish water that lay in the hall.
“Mom? Dad?” Her voice was urgent, tinged with fear, though what she was afraid of she could not have said. She ran down the stairs.
The smell of smoke filled the living room. Dropping the papers, she began a frantic search for the source of it.
She found nothing.
Suddenly she stopped her search and stood bolt upright. The sound of crackling flames filled the room.
The smoky odor grew stronger.
Lisa looked around, her eyes wide with fear. What was going on?
She heard something in the hallway above her and held her breath, straining to catch the sound. It was the voice of the weeping woman. She was calling softly, “Carrie? Carrie, where are you? I’m coming, Carrie!”
Lisa turned and bolted from the house, slamming the door behind her. She was panting as if she had just run a mile. What was going on inside seemed impossible out here in the daylight.
She turned back. After a moment’s hesitation, she opened the door.
A blast of heat struck her in the face.
She screamed and slammed the door, then raced down the driveway as if the Hounds of Hell were at her heels.
As she ran she looked back over her shoulder to see if she was being followed—then suddenly hit something solid. A moment later she was lying on the gravel of the driveway, aching in half a dozen places.
Brian was lying next to her.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked angrily, standing and dusting himself off. He was wearing cutoff jeans, and had scraped one knee badly when he fell.
Then he saw the expression on her face. “Hey,” he said, kneeling and taking her by the shoulders. “What’s going on?”
She looked at him and suddenly realized who it was. “Brian!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. For the first time since the manifestations had begun, she started to cry.
Brian hugged her against his shoulder for a moment, letting her sob out her fear. When her tears had subsided he pushed her away and took her chin in his hand. “All right,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “Out with it. What’s going on?”
Her voice shaking, Lisa gasped out the story of what had just taken place in the house.
Brian frowned. “That is genuinely weird,” he said at last. “Especially the part about the voice calling for Carrie.” His face grew hard. “Now do you believe me that you’ve got to get out of there?”
“Sure!” said Lisa angrily. “Now do you want to tell me how? Or do you want to be the one to explain to my father that we’re living in a haunted house?”
“I’d be glad to,” said Brian fiercely. He paused, and his shoulders slumped. “I see what you mean.” Just as quickly, his face brightened. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He started toward the house.
“Where are you going?” cried Lisa, running to catch up with him.
“Inside. If that stuff is still going on, I want to experience it, too. Then I’ll be glad to talk to your father. If it happens to both of us, maybe he will believe it!”
Lisa put a hand on his arm. “Brian, don’t. It might be even worse now.”
He shook her hand away. “And it might be even worse than that tonight or the next night. Who knows what could happen if you stay here?” He smiled. “But it doesn’t seem quite so spooky in the daylight, so I’d just as soon check things out now.” He turned up the long driveway and strode purposefully toward the house.
Lisa hesitated for a moment, then ran to catch up with him. “If you’re going in, so am I,” she said, taking his hand.
He started to object, looked at her face, and decided to say nothing. Together they stepped onto the porch, Lisa gripping his hand tightly.
They stood for a moment, staring at the door, wondering what they would find on the other side. Lisa shuddered; she felt as if she were standing at the gateway to the underworld.
Brian put his free hand on the doorknob. “Ready?” he asked, giving her fingers a squeeze.
She nodded.
He turned the knob and opened the door.
Chapter Nine
How Many Ghosts?
Nothing. No strange smells. No unexpected sounds. Nothing at all out of the ordinary.
Lisa didn’t know whether to be disappointed, or relieved.
Clutching Brian’s hand, she followed him through the living room.
He looked around. “If I hadn’t been here for the fireworks on Saturday night, I wouldn’t believe you now,” he said softly.
It seemed strange to whisper in the middle of an open room in broad daylight. But Lisa understood. Despite the fact that everything seemed so normal now, something about speaking out loud felt uncomfortable, inappropriate.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered.
Brian nodded and led the way.
“My father’s office is at the end of the hall,” she said when they reached the top step. She frowned. From where they were standing, she could see that the puddle she had slipped in was gone. “It’s hopeless,” she said with a sigh. “We’ll never get any evidence out of this.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” said Brian grimly. Nevertheless, he began walking cautiously down the hallway.
“I don’t remember closing the door to the office,” said Lisa as they approached it.
Brian stopped. “Do you want to go in?” he asked. His voice had a nervous edge that Lisa found disconcerting. She hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Here we go.” Taking a deep breath, he swung the door open—then leaped back with a startled cry as something hurtled out of the room.
Lisa screamed, then began to laugh.
It was Smoky.
The gray cat stared at them, fur bristling, back arched.
Lisa reached for Brian’s hand again. “Something has him really spooked,” she said.
Brian had sagged against the wall outside the office. “Something has him spooked? What about me? I think I just lost ten years off my life!”
They both looked at the half-open door. After a moment, Brian stepped forward and entered the room.
Nothing.
Nothing except the steady plink, plink, plink of green water dripping from the ceiling.
Forty-five minutes later Mr. Bu
rton was staring angrily at the puddle on his desk. “I just don’t get it,” he said. He looked at the ceiling again. “Where the heck is it coming from?”
“Maybe there’s a pipe running over the room?” suggested Mrs. Burton.
“If there is, the plumber must have been potted,” snapped Mr. Burton.
Mrs. Burton lapsed into silence. Lisa glanced at her grandmother and caught her breath. Dr. Miles had been staring at her, but when Lisa turned in her direction, she had quickly shifted her gaze. Not quickly enough to hide her feelings, though; Lisa had caught the expression in her eyes.
The only word to describe it was fear.
“I can’t make head nor tail of it,” said Mr. Burton, scratching his bald spot.
At that moment the dripping stopped. The group exchanged puzzled glances.
“Well, that takes care of that,” said Mr. Burton heartily. “Brian, help me move this desk, would you? I’d just as soon not have to worry about it if the dripping starts again. And ask your Dad if he’ll come over to take a look at the roof tomorrow. Maybe there’s a spot up there that’s trapping water somehow.”
As they started to move the desk the phone rang. Lisa’s mother went to answer it.
“Now,” said Mr. Burton, when he and Brian had repositioned the desk. “I want to talk to the two of you.”
Lisa’s heart sank. She knew there was no chance he was going to buy any of what she had to say.
“Alice?” said Mr. Burton meaningfully, glancing at his mother-in-law.
Dr. Miles nodded. “Come on,” she said to Carrie.
Carrie scowled fiercely but followed her grandmother out of the room.
Once the door had closed Mr. Burton sat down behind his desk. He looked out the window for a moment, then turned back to Lisa and Brian. Folding his hands in front of him he said, “Let me start by thanking you for your relatively calm behavior on the beach. Considering what you were trying to tell me, you were remarkably restrained.”
Lisa smiled at Brian. She had been proud of the way he had approached her father when they went to get the family. He had managed to be respectful but urgent, convincing Mr. Burton that it was indeed important for him to come back to the house. She wasn’t sure what Brian had said to him on the walk back; the two of them had moved ahead of the rest of the group and had talked softly.
“However… that doesn’t mean I believe for a minute what you’re trying to tell me,” said Mr. Burton.
He looked at his daughter. “You, I’m surprised at. I’m a scientist. Your grandmother is a scientist. And somehow you’ve come out a mystic!” He made a noise in his throat, a sound reserved for things that truly disgusted him. “You know as well as I do that this spirit stuff is nonsense. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for anything that happens in this world. It may not be evident at first, but it’s there. No matter how strange an event seems, if you investigate it carefully enough, you can find the cause behind it. This dripping ceiling for instance. Offhand, I can think of half a dozen reasons that would provide a rational explanation—”
He was interrupted by the door swinging open. Lisa’s mother poked her head into the room. Her eyes were red, her cheeks wet with tears. “Martin, I have bad news. Jack Wilson is on the phone. Dr. Graham died last night. He had a heart attack. The family would like you to deliver the eulogy.”
“Peter Graham?” asked Lisa. She felt tears well up in her eyes. Dr. Peter Graham had been a close friend of the Burton family for over a dozen years, popping in almost every day to swap stories, gossip about the college, or just mooch a meal. Lisa was shocked. How could he just die like that?
Mr. Burton looked as stunned as Lisa felt. He pushed himself away from the desk and left the room without another word.
Brian said a quiet farewell to Lisa, then slipped away from the house to let the Burtons deal with their grief in private.
An hour later the family held a meeting. After some discussion, it was decided that Mr. and Mrs. Burton would take the late-afternoon ferry to the mainland, and then fly back to the college for the funeral. Carrie and Lisa would stay on the island with Dr. Miles.
Both girls had wanted very much to go home, too. But time problems made driving impossible, and plane fare for the entire family was simply more than they could afford.
Lisa and Carrie had accepted that, though it made them unhappy. Lisa had been tempted to plead with her parents to take her with them. But she had restrained herself, knowing they had enough on their minds as it was. Besides, she also knew there was no way she was going to convince them she needed to go to a funeral at home just to get away from a ghost here.
She was stuck.
The day brightened somewhat when Brian reappeared in the late afternoon with a bag of groceries and a bottle of wine.
“This is for you,” he said, handing the wine to Dr. Miles. “From my parents.”
He carried the groceries into the kitchen. “Mom thought it would be nice if I cooked dinner for all of you. She said you’ve got enough on your minds as it is.”
Then he had shooed them all out of the kitchen.
Lisa had been skeptical until she put the first forkful of chicken into her mouth. Then her eyes widened in surprise. It was very tasty! She found herself slightly jealous as she realized Brian was a much better cook than she was.
She looked over at him. He winked and smiled back.
“Hey, this is good!” exclaimed Carrie, her surprise all too obvious.
Brian laughed. “You don’t have to sound like it’s such a shock!”
For a moment the tension was broken. But before long gloom had settled over the table again.
After dinner they played Bridge, Carrie and Lisa patiently teaching Brian how to count and bid. As it turned out, he had a mathematical mind that took to the game. He and Dr. Miles played as partners and beat the two girls rather badly.
At eleven o’clock he left for home. Lisa could tell he was reluctant to go. But her grandmother had made it clear it was time for him to head out, so he went. He and Lisa spent a little time on the front porch before he left, holding hands and looking at the stars until Dr. Miles flicked the porch lights on and off, signaling that it was time for Lisa to get back inside.
“I don’t feel good about leaving you,” he said.
Lisa smiled. “That’s nice. But there’s not much we can do about it. I doubt your mother would let you spend the night!”
Brian laughed ruefully. “Probably not. I don’t think your grandmother would go for it, either.” He took both her hands. “Listen, will you call me if anything happens? If you need me? I’ll come as fast as I can. I’ll even get my dad to come with me.”
Lisa squeezed his hands. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. But we’ll be all right.” Hearing the lost note in her own voice, the fear that she couldn’t quite hide, she shrugged and added, “I hope.”
Lisa sat up in her bed and shivered. What a bizarre dream! She felt so odd.
She shook her head. The strange feeling persisted. It wasn’t a dream at all! Something—or someone—was trying to communicate with her. She wasn’t sure how she knew that, but she had not question that it was what she was feeling.
She looked at Carrie, who was sleeping with one arm flopped across her forehead. Her fingers were twitching restlessly, and her lips moved as if she were talking to herself.
Lisa wondered what was happening in her sister’s dreams.
She flinched. She had just felt it again. Something was definitely after her, compelling her to go to the desk, pick up the pencil—and let a message come in.
She clutched the covers. She didn’t want to do it. She wanted to bury her head under the sheet and pretend nothing was happening.
But she couldn’t. The call, the urging, was too insistent.
She had to go to the desk.
She flung aside the sheet. Smoky hissed as she got out of bed and just missed stepping on his head. Not bothering with robe or slippers, she hurried to the
desk and sat down.
The paper and pencil lay there, almost as if they had been set out for her use.
She froze. Downstairs someone was playing the piano. The melancholy strains of “Beautiful Dreamer” drifted up to her ears.
She tried to get up from the desk, but her body wouldn’t respond.
Carrie tossed restlessly and began to whimper in her sleep.
Still fighting to avoid picking up the pencil, Lisa let out a gasp of surprise. The piano music had changed. She was not musically trained, but her ear was keen enough to know that she was now hearing a duet!
Her hand trembled as it reached for the pencil. Two ghosts downstairs, one up here compelling her to write. Could there really be three ghosts in the house?
Suddenly there was no more time to think about it. Her hand grabbed the pencil and began to write.
The music tinkled. Carrie thrashed on the bed. And Lisa’s hand moved firmly, decisively across the page.
When it stopped, Lisa collapsed over the writing, like a rag doll dropped onto the floor. Her forehead was soaked with perspiration.
After a moment she pushed herself away from the desk. She picked up the paper. The moonlight streaming through the window gave her sufficient light to read by.
A shiver made its way along her spine.
The message was written in large, bold letters, the handwriting noticeably different from the first communication they had received. But even more frightening than the form of the message was its content: DANGER. GET CARRIE OUT.
YOU MUST LEAVE THIS PLACE AT ONCE!!!
Trembling, Lisa put the paper down.
Now what was she supposed to do?
Carrie still tossed and turned, moaning in her sleep.
Lisa decided to wake her grandmother. Scientist or not, skeptic or not, she was the adult here, and she was going to have to do something. They couldn’t stay in this house any longer.
She took the paper and stepped into the hall. The piano was still playing. Lisa rubbed her arms, trying to smooth down the gooseflesh.
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