She leans toward the girl, baring her yellow teeth in a smile as hideous as the dear boy’s wicked grin. “Your brother won’t be back,” she says. “My dear boy has scairt him off. But if ’n he does come back, you won’t go with him ’cause you love your old auntie and you know she loves you.”
She reaches out and pinches the girl’s cheek. “Say you love me. Tell me, let me hear you.”
Tears of pain fill the girl’s eyes. “I love you so much, Auntie, more than anything.” She wants to pull away from those fingers and their sharp nails, but if she does, Auntie will pinch harder.
“Tell me I’m good to you. Tell me I give you what you deserve.”
“You’re good to me, Auntie,” she whispers. “You give me what I deserve.”
The old woman releases her grip on the girl’s cheek and settles back in her rocking chair. The fire flickers and casts dancing shadows on the walls and across the ceiling.
The girl crouches by the hearth. Over her head, three bats hang upside down, sleeping the winter away. Bundles of dry herbs dangle from the rafters. The girl hates their smell. The whole cabin reeks of deadly nightshade, henbane, hemlock, and foxglove—poisons, every one of them. Auntie makes potions from them, things that harm and hurt and sometimes kill.
She tells the girl about them and cackles. “I got me a bunch of names on a list, both the living and the dead. One by one I gets my revenge on them who done wrong to me.”
In dark corners, black widows and other poisonous spiders lurk. The girl is afraid to sweep away their webs. She’s also afraid of the scuttling noises the rats make. Sometimes she glimpses them darting across the floor from one corner to another. They’re bigger than cats, and their teeth are long and sharp.
But most of all she’s afraid of Bloody Bones. If she dared, she’d give him one of those little bottles of poison and kill him dead. That’s how much she hates Auntie’s dear boy.
But she doesn’t hate Auntie. Oh, no. She loves Auntie. Auntie is all she has to keep her safe from Bloody Bones.
Fourteen
Bella led us eagerly down the path, never faltering, steering us deftly around rocks and roots and fallen branches. I’d lost the flashlight in the confusion and was grateful for the dog’s sure footing.
All the way down Brewster’s Hill, neither Selene nor I said one word. We didn’t look behind us, for fear of what might be following us. Every noise made my heart pound. I thought I heard Bloody Bones snuffle, heard his hooves on the stones, smelled his hot, bloody breath, thought he was getting closer, closer. Soon he’d have us both, and Bella, too.
But when we came out of the woods at the bottom of Brewster’s Hill, Bloody Bones was not behind us after all. Or if he had been, he wasn’t there then. I paused and took a deep breath. Here on the edge of the field, with the house in sight, I felt almost safe. Bella licked my hand and wagged her tail. I watched her trot off toward Brody’s house, sad to see her leave.
Selene’s cold hand touched mine. She’d been crying silently. “I got no one now,” she whispered. Her voice was like a song you hear in the dark just before you fall asleep.
I squeezed her hand and felt its tiny bones shift in my grip. People were so fragile, so easily broken, so hard to put back together. “Mr. and Mrs. O’Neill will take care of you,” I told her.
Selene said nothing, but she let me lead her across the field toward the farmhouse.
The back porch light lit the yard like a spotlight. Before I opened the door, Dad threw it wide. “Where have you been?” he shouted. “Aren’t we worried enough without your going off somewhere without a word to anybody?”
His eyes lit on Selene. “Is this the girl your mother was talking about?”
I nodded and squeezed Selene’s cold hand. “She ran away, and I went to find her.”
Mom came into the kitchen, followed by the O’Neills. Looking at Selene with hostility, Mom said, “She took the doll with her. And she’s wearing your clothes, Daniel.”
“Now, Martha.” Mrs. O’Neill patted Mom’s shoulder in an effort to calm her. “What have I been telling you?”
“Nothing I believe.” Mom never took her eyes off Selene. “What’s your name?”
“Girl.” Selene lowered her head. She was so pale and so little and so skinny—how could Mom be so mean to her?
Mom scowled down at Selene. “Your real name. Tell me your real name. Tell me who you are.”
“I’m his sister now.”
Mom seemed too stunned to speak, but Dad said, “You are not my son’s sister!”
“That’s what Auntie said,” Selene whispered. “I’m to be his sister now. To take the place of the other.”
Before Mom or Dad could say more, Mr. O’Neill knelt beside Selene and studied her face. “I knew you a long time ago, Selene. You lived right here in this house. You were friends with my daughter Eleanor. I knew your parents, too. Do you remember my wife and me?”
“I never lived here,” Selene told Mr. O’Neill, obviously confused. “I don’t have no mama or daddy. No friends, either. I’ve lived my whole life long with Auntie. But she don’t want me anymore.”
Pointing at me, she added, “Auntie says I’m to be his sister now. And I’ll be hurt bad if I come back to the cabin looking to be with her again.”
“I can’t take this anymore.” Mom left the kitchen and clattered up the back stairs. We all heard her bedroom door slam shut. It was just like before, only this time she didn’t take the doll.
“Will you please tell me what’s going on, Daniel?” Dad asked.
I did my best to explain it, but I knew I was losing him. He kept interrupting and saying, “This is ridiculous. Do you expect me to believe you?”
Mr. O’Neill sighed. “I tried to tell you, Ted.”
Dad turned his back and followed Mom upstairs. The O’Neills, Selene, and I were left in the kitchen. I had no idea what to say or do.
Mrs. O’Neill sat down and lifted Selene into her lap. The girl leaned against Mrs. O’Neill and pressed her face against the woman’s body. Little Erica stared over her shoulder, her blank blue eyes focused on nothing.
“Do you remember anything about this house?” Mrs. O’Neill asked Selene. “Your mama or your daddy?”
Selene shook her head. “I been tellin’ you and tellin’ you. I’m Auntie’s girl.”
“But not anymore,” Mrs. O’Neill said.
Selene didn’t say anything.
“She’s almost asleep, poor thing,” Mr. O’Neill murmured.
“How about we take her to our house?” Mrs. O’Neill asked me, as if she expected me to make the decision. “The very sight of her upsets your mother and angers your father.”
“Maybe that would be best,” I said.
I found a spare blanket and gave it to Mr. O’Neill. He wrapped it around Selene and carried her out to the car.
I stood on the back porch, shivering in the cold. “Just make sure she doesn’t run off,” I called. “She’d freeze to death in those woods.”
“Don’t worry,” Mr. O’Neill said. “We’ll keep her safe.”
“Come by and see us tomorrow,” Mrs. O’Neill added. “I’ve got things to talk about with you.”
I watched the car turn and head down the driveway. When its taillights disappeared around a curve, I went back inside. I was so tired—so, so tired. So sad. My head ached, as if my brain were about to explode from trying to understand what I’d seen in the woods. It couldn’t be true. It was true. It couldn’t be. It was.
The next morning, I woke up early, ate breakfast, and left a note telling Mom and Dad I was at the O’Neills’ house. It was cold, and the sky was a solid light gray, so heavy with clouds that the sun couldn’t break through. It felt as if snow was coming. Maybe it was better to think of Erica being with Old Auntie than to imagine her wandering in the woods, lost and cold and hungry.
I saw Brody at the end of our driveway. He was wearing his suede jacket and a pair of filthy pink tennis shoes with holes i
n the toes.
Bella was with him, trotting along the edge of the road and sniffing in the weeds. When she saw me, she ran up and wagged her tail.
“Did you go to the cabin?” Brody asked. “Was Selene there?”
I looked up from petting Bella and nodded. “She swore Erica was inside, but all I saw were ruins, looking just like they always have.”
“Did you see Old Auntie?”
“I was never so scared in my whole life. She’s, she’s—” I couldn’t say any more for fear of somehow bringing her to me.
Wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket, Brody stared at me. “What did she do? What did she say?”
“She told me to take Selene home. She said she’s my sister now.”
“That girl don’t want to be your sister.” Brody spat on the ground.
“She wants to be with Auntie, but Auntie says that if Selene comes near the cabin, she’ll sic Bloody Bones on her.”
Brody’s eyes widened. “Did you see him?”
I stared off into the woods and tried not to think about what I’d seen. “He’s horrible, just like you said.”
“Did he chase you?”
“No. He stood there and looked at us, and then Old Auntie whistled for him.”
Brody sucked in his cheeks and let his breath out in a puff of air. “You must be really brave or really stupid, I’m not sure which, but I’m glad you brung my dog home safe.”
With Bella between us, we stood on the edge of the road for a while, staring at the trees, as if we expected to see Bloody Bones or Old Auntie. A red-tailed hawk soared overhead, dark against the pale sky, and the wind picked up. It looked more like snow than ever. You could practically smell it in the wind.
“Is Selene at your house?” Brody asked.
I shook my head. “The O’Neills took her home with them last night. That’s where I’m going.”
“Can I come with you? I want to see that girl.”
He and I and the dog walked on down the road. Snow began falling. Bella snapped at the flakes, and Brody opened his mouth like a kid and caught snow on his tongue. Even though I was half crazy with worry about my sister, I did the same. I’ve always loved the way snow feels on my tongue.
When we got to the O’Neills’ house, the snow was at least half an inch deep, falling fast and thick now, making it hard to see. Trees blurred, fields blended in with the sky, and the house was no more than a faint outline against the smudge of woods behind it.
Mrs. O’Neill opened the door wide and let us all in, even Bella, who immediately made herself at home in front of the fire. “You must be freezing,” she said.
Brody stopped in the living room doorway and stared at Selene, who was sitting on a couch beside Mr. O’Neill. A photo album lay open in his lap, but she seemed more interested in combing Little Erica’s hair than in looking at the pictures. She didn’t appear to notice the dog, Brody, or me.
“Get those wet shoes off, boys, and dry your feet by the fire,” Mr. O’Neill said. “How’s your father doing, Brody?”
“’Bout the same.” Brody busied himself taking off his shoes and laying them carefully on the hearth. He’d already shed his jacket and hung it on the back of a wooden chair in the corner. “He ain’t found a job yet.”
I put my hiking boots beside his worn-out tennis shoes. It always makes me feel guilty to have better stuff than other people. Something’s wrong with a world that lets me have waterproof boots and someone else have tennis shoes with holes in the toes.
I looked at Selene, but she kept her eyes on the doll. Mr. O’Neill nudged her. “Aren’t you going to say hello to Daniel? You haven’t met Brody before—he lives on the other side of your old home, just over the bridge.”
Without looking at either one of us, she shook her head. She wore a gray plaid dress and a dark green sweater. Her hair had been combed until it was free of tangles. If you didn’t look too closely, you’d think Selene was a perfectly normal girl. Maybe a little shy, but nothing out of the ordinary.
When she finally raised her head and stared at us with those pale green eyes, you could see right away that she was different, not normal after all, a wild child with wild ways.
Brody actually took a step back when he saw Selene’s pale, pointed face and her fierce eyes. For a moment I thought he was going to grab his jacket and shoes and leave, but he stayed where he was, wiping his nose and staring at the girl.
Ignoring Brody’s reaction to Selene, Mr. O’Neill motioned to us to join him. “I’m showing Selene some pictures. Maybe you’d like to see them too.”
I sat beside him, on the opposite side from Selene. Brody perched next to me on the arm of the sofa, ready to head for home if he needed to. He was a little wild himself, but nothing like Selene.
“This is my daughter’s first-grade class picture.” Mr. O’Neill pointed at a tall dark-haired girl in the back row of a faded black-and-white print. “That’s Eleanor.” Glancing at Selene, he moved his finger slowly to a child sitting in the middle of the front row. “And this is Selene.”
Selene faced the camera, a big grin on her face. Like the other girls, she wore a dress with a round collar, very much like the one she was wearing now. Her curly red hair touched her shoulders.
Brody leaned past me to see. “It’s her all right.”
We both looked at Selene. With her face turned away from the photo album, she continued to comb Little Erica’s hair.
“Selene disappeared not long after that picture was taken,” Mr. O’Neill went on. “I’ve been showing her photos taken here at our house.”
I looked at a page of snapshots of Selene and Eleanor. It was hard to believe that the frightened, unhappy kid sitting with us on the sofa had once hung upside down by her knees from a tree limb, ridden a bike, splashed in a swimming pool, and made silly faces.
“This is Selene’s mother.” Mr. O’Neill pointed to a pretty woman pulling both girls on a sled on a snowy day and smiling at the camera. “And her father. See? That’s Selene on her dad’s shoulders. She must have been two or three.”
Mrs. O’Neill joined us then. “Don’t you want to look at the pictures, Selene?” she asked gently. “It might help you remember your family—and who you are.”
Keeping her head down, Selene said, “I know who I am.”
“These were taken at Eleanor’s seventh birthday party.” Mr. O’Neill turned the page and moved the album closer to Selene, but she slid off the sofa and sat in a rocking chair by the fire.
Mrs. O’Neill smiled. “It was November, but unseasonably warm, so the children played outside. Look, here’s Selene. I still remember that pretty blue dress—she was so adorable. And so happy.” She paused a moment and turned to Brody. “Look at this—it’s your uncle Silas.”
Brody leaned closer to stare at the skinny boy in the photo. “Whew, he sure don’t look like that now—bald and fat. Got a scruffy old beard and spends most of his time down at the tavern on State Street.”
“Here’s your dad. See? Right there beside Silas.”
Brody squinted at the slightly blurry face of a five-year-old. “Now, he ain’t changed so much, except for his hair, which is mostly gone. He’s still skinny as a fence post.”
Mrs. O’Neill’s eyes returned to Selene in her blue dress. She was backlit by the sun, and her hair glowed in its light. “A week after the party, Selene disappeared,” she told us. “Eleanor cried for weeks. She’s never forgotten Selene or gotten over her disappearance.”
We all looked at the girl across the room. Humming to herself, she rocked the doll. She might as well have been alone, for all the attention she paid us.
Mr. O’Neill closed the album and laid it gently on the table. “I was hoping,” he said wearily, “that seeing the pictures might make her remember, but I guess not.”
He excused himself, saying he had work to do in his shop. “I’m building a dollhouse for my granddaughter—still hoping to finish it in time for her birthday. Maybe I’ll build the
next one for Selene.”
Mrs. O’Neill beckoned to Brody and me. “You boys, come along with me.”
We followed her down a narrow hall to the kitchen. It was big and modern, the kind of place Mom wanted so badly. I looked through a sliding glass door to an outside deck. The snow was about an inch and a half deep on the railing and still falling. The mountains had vanished behind a white curtain, and the woods were hard to see. Erica was out there somewhere.
“I told you last night I wanted to talk to you, Daniel,” Mrs. O’Neill said. “You, too, Brody.”
She sat on a stool at the counter, and we perched on either side of her. “First of all,” she said, “I’ve called Eleanor and told her the news. If the snow doesn’t keep her from coming, she’ll be here one day this week. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll find a way to communicate with Selene.”
“But what about Erica?” I asked. “Now that we know where she is, can we get her back?”
Turning to Brody, Mrs. O’Neill asked him what he knew about an old woman who lived down at the end of Railroad Avenue.
“Miss Perkins?” Brody hunched his shoulders. “She’s crazy, that’s what. Nobody has nothing to do with her unless it’s something secret, like, like—well, I don’t exactly know what—except every cat and dog that goes missing ends up in her stew pot. And maybe other things, too.”
“Yes, I’ve heard plenty of stories myself.” Mrs. O’Neill paused. “But I’ve also heard she’s a descendant of Old Auntie and knows a thing or two about conjuring herself.”
Brody folded his arms across his skinny chest, hiding the puppy face that was knitted into the moth-eaten sweater he wore. “Not to be rude or nothing, but I ain’t going near that old lady. And you shouldn’t either.”
Mrs. O’Neill turned to me. “How about you, Daniel?”
What choice did I have? If I refused, it would be like saying I didn’t care what happened to my sister. “As long as somebody comes with me,” I said. “I’ll go.”
Took: A Ghost Story Page 10