Miss Perkins put my sister’s doll into a burlap sack, tied it shut, and gave it to me. “No matter what, don’t open this sack until you’re inside the cabin, and don’t be scairt of the dolly.”
Before I could ask her why I’d be scared of a doll, she gave me a warning look, and I shut my mouth.
Miss Perkins nodded, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Now go sit on that sofa and keep your mouth shut about everything I done told you.”
I took my place next to Mrs. O’Neill, who continued to stare straight ahead at nothing I could see.
Miss Perkins murmured a few words to the cat. The moment he closed his eyes, Mrs. O’Neill and Selene came back from wherever they’d been. They stretched and yawned as if they’d been napping. Selene looked bewildered, as if she wasn’t quite sure where she was. Although I expected her to ask about the doll, she didn’t say a word.
“Thank you for your time,” Mrs. O’Neill said to Miss Perkins. “I’m sorry you can’t do anything to help us. That poor child—fifty years is a long time.”
“The years will go by in a flash.” Miss Perkins picked up a ball of yarn and her knitting—a lumpy black scarf already long enough to wrap two or three times around her neck.
Gently helping Selene to her feet, Mrs. O’Neill turned to me. “Come along, Daniel. The snow’s getting worse. Your parents must be worried.”
“See yourselves out,” Miss Perkins said. “I’m a mite weary tonight. When you’re old as me, the cold settles in your bones and sets them to aching and scraping against each other.”
“Good night, then,” Mrs. O’Neill said. “Take care of yourself, Miss Perkins.”
“You, too, dearie, and don’t fret yourself about the snow. It’ll stop soon enough.”
We left Miss Perkins sitting by the fire, knitting and humming to herself while the cat dozed on her lap. Outside, the cold air froze the hairs in my nose, and my eyes watered, but I was glad to be away from the smoky smell of the house.
I kept the sack behind my back, but no one noticed it. Selene sat behind me with her nose pressed against the window and watched the empty streets of Woodville glide past. A flake or two of snow drifted past the windshield, but Miss Perkins was right—the moon was already breaking through the clouds.
As usual, our house looked dark and vacant. As it had the previous night, a lamp glimmered in Mom’s bedroom window, but the downstairs windows were lit only by the headlights of the car.
Mrs. O’Neill stared at the house. “My goodness, Daniel, is anyone home?”
“They’re upstairs,” I said. “The light’s on in the bedroom. Dad’s office is in the back—that’s where he is.” Where he always is—lost in computer games and websites for missing children.
As I opened the car door, she asked, “Do you want me to come in with you?”
“No, it’s okay. Everything’s fine.” What a good liar I was getting to be. “Thanks for taking me to see Miss Perkins again.”
While we talked, I was aware of Selene watching me through the window. I waved to her, but she turned away.
Mrs. O’Neill said goodbye and turned around slowly, her headlights washing over the unpainted sides of our house. I watched the taillights grow small as the car disappeared around the curve in the driveway.
The kitchen looked the way it always did. Sink full of dirty dishes. Trash can overflowing with pizza boxes, beer cans, and wine bottles. Table littered with newspapers, paper plates, coffee cups, forks and knives and spoons, an empty wine bottle, ashtrays heaped with cigarette butts.
“Dad? Mom?” I called.
“Up here,” Dad answered.
I climbed the back stairs slowly, keeping the sack behind my back. It was the new normal—Dad playing a war game on the computer, Mom huddled in her room under a quilt, reading.
“We saved some pizza for you,” Mom said. “It’s in the fridge. Just heat it up in the microwave.”
“Thanks.” I stowed the sack under my bed and went down to the kitchen to warm up the pizza. The crust tasted like burned cardboard and the cheese had turned to something that resembled melted plastic and stuck to my teeth, but I ate it anyway. I was going to be out in the cold a long time. I needed something in my belly.
For a while I sat at the table and watched the clock. Seven p.m., eight p.m.—time crept past. Upstairs, my parents were silently engrossed in their books and games.
I said good night to them and went to my room. They barely acknowledged my presence. It was as if I’d disappeared too. If I failed tonight, if Bloody Bones killed and ate me, would they care? Would they send anyone to look for me? Or would they just sink deeper and deeper into the house, burrowing under blankets, eating bad pizza, drinking, smoking, not even noticing I was gone?
For at least an hour I stood at my window, trying to remember the way our family used to be, but only seeing myself teasing Erica and making her cry, forcing her to leave the doll in the woods. Why had I been so mean to her?
I shivered in the cold air that leaked through the loose windowpanes and watched the wind blow the clouds away. The moon sailed into sight and shone on the snowy fields. In its bright light I saw the beginning of the path that led to Auntie’s cabin.
I glanced at my clock. Ten thirty. It was time to go.
Eighteen
I hauled the burlap sack out from under the bed, grabbed a flashlight, and tiptoed downstairs. Even though I’d heard Dad go to bed and I knew Mom was with him, the house felt empty, so dark and cold and silent I could hear my own breathing. I pulled one of Erica’s old jackets off the coatrack, grabbed a pair of mittens, a hat, and her red boots, and stuffed everything into a backpack. Zipping my parka, I stepped into the darkness. The cold wind hit me like a fist, and the freezing air hurt my chest.
Crouched in the snow, I took a long look at the house. Then with my head down, I ran across the field and into the woods. No one but deer and small animals had walked on the path since it snowed, so I slipped and slid and sank to my knees over and over again, clambering out of one snowdrift and stumbling into another.
The burlap sack made everything worse. With every step I took, it grew heavier. I didn’t understand how the doll could weigh so much. Maybe plowing through the snow was taking all my energy, leaving me tired and weak legged.
I was about to open the sack to make sure something else wasn’t in there—a few boulders maybe—but I remembered what Miss Perkins had told me. If I wanted to rescue Erica, I had to do exactly what the old woman said.
By the time I reached the trail to the top of Brewster’s Hill, I was exhausted. There was no protection from the wind. Snow blew in my face. Hard, icy pellets stung my skin and made my forehead ache. Every now and then I glimpsed shadowy shapes in the darkness—deer, I hoped.
There were noises, too—owls, foxes, and the low mutters of other things, growling and snarling, squealing and yelping in the woods. Brody told me there were wild hogs up here, razorbacks like Bloody Bones. I told myself it wasn’t the monster hog I heard out there, but my knees shook with fear.
The sack grew so heavy I could barely drag it uphill. Gasping for breath, I thought it was like a backpack that never weighed much when I left home, but grew heavier after an hour or so of hiking. I felt like Atlas carrying the world on my shoulders.
Again I was tempted to open the sack and take out whatever was weighing it down, but when I started fumbling with the rope that held it closed, I swear I heard Miss Perkins’s voice in the wind telling me not to do it. I sighed and began climbing again, dragging the sack behind me.
When I finally reached the top of the hill, it was almost midnight. Stunned, I stared at the scene before me. No longer in ruins, the cabin looked like something in a fairy tale. Snow covered its roof, icicles hung from its eves, smoke rose from its chimney, and candles glowed in its windows.
I crept closer, scared that Old Auntie would hear my footsteps. After hiding my backpack behind a rock near the cabin, I laid the sack down by the cabin d
oor, glad to be relieved of its weight. Shadows cast by the windblown trees made the sack seem to be moving. Uneasily, I edged away from it. It wasn’t a trick of the shadows. The sack had begun to move, as if something inside wanted to get out.
I heard Old Auntie walking around inside the cabin, berating someone in a harsh voice. “Lazy girl, stupid girl,” she said. “You ain’t worth a wooden nickel. The girl afore you done all I asked and more, but you act like you never scrubbed a pot in your life.”
I heard a smack and a low cry. “Don’t hit me, Auntie. I’m doing my best.” Erica, I thought, Erica’s in there. Yet I stood at the door like a statue, afraid to raise my hand and knock.
“Well, your best ain’t good enough, is it?” Another slap. Another cry from my sister.
The moon cast my shadow on the door, making me seem much larger than I was. I forced myself to knock three times.
From inside, a shrill voice called, “Who’s that knock, knock, knocking at my door?”
“A poor traveler lost in the cold.” Fear made it hard to keep my voice steady.
“What do you want with me?”
“To sit by your fire a spell.”
“Ask me a riddle, and maybe I’ll let you in.”
I took a deep breath. Hoping I remembered the words, I said, “I brung you a cherry without a stone.”
“A cherry when it’s blooming, it has no stone,” Old Auntie answered. “Ask me another that ain’t so easy.”
“I brung you a chicken that has no bone.”
“Hah, another easy one—a chicken when it’s pipping, it has no bone.” Old Auntie laughed. “Now you tell me one I ain’t heard, laddie, and make it snappy.”
“I brung you a servant that never tires and never grows old.” At my feet, the sack lurched wildly, and a harsh voice cried, “Let me out!”
I backed away in horror, but inside the cabin, all was silence. Auntie must have been mulling over the riddle. “A servant that never tires and never grows old?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The sack heaved. “Let me out!”
“Is the answer time?” Auntie called.
“No, ma’am.”
Another silence. “You sure it’s not time?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s right. Time ain’t nobody’s servant,” she muttered. “T’other way round, I reckon.” Another moment of silence. “How about water? Is that the answer?”
“No, ma’am.”
Again the sack twitched with life. Again the voice cried, “Let me out!”
“Is it fire, then?” Auntie asked through the door.
“No, none of them is right, ma’am.” That was three wrong guesses. She had to let me in.
Sure enough, a key jiggled in a lock and the door slowly opened. The old woman who’d terrified me in the woods poked her head out.
Spotting the sack, she asked, “What’s in that there gunnysack?”
“The answer to the riddle,” I told her. “Let me in and you’ll see.”
She stepped back, and I dragged the sack inside. It was all I could do to manage it. It humped up and swayed from side to side. Something in that sack was definitely alive.
Behind Old Auntie, my sister crouched by the fire. Although I’d told myself that Erica might not look like herself, I had no idea she’d be almost unrecognizable. Thin and pale, dirty and barefoot, her hair an uncombed thicket of tangles, she wore a colorless, shapeless dress that hung loosely from her bony frame. More than anyone else, she looked like Selene—the same sullen expression on her face, the same fear, the same exhaustion. She could have been Selene’s twin.
It was clear that she didn’t know me, and judging by the look in her eyes, she didn’t trust me either. How was I to get her out of the cabin and drag her all the way home?
Auntie must have noticed me staring at Erica, because she said, “Don’t pay her no mind. She ain’t nobody. Just Girl. The worst servant I ever had. Don’t know the meaning of work.”
Hiding her face, Erica fed twigs into the fire. “I’m sorry, Auntie,” she whispered. “I do my best.”
“I told you your best ain’t nearly good enough, Girl.” Old Auntie started struggling with the rope that tied the sack closed. “There’s something alive in here,” she cried. “It wants out. Get away, laddie. Let’s see what you brung me.”
She shoved me aside. At the moment I was more scared of the doll than I was of Old Auntie.
“It’s my servant, ain’t it? The answer to that there riddle about never getting tired and never getting old.”
She tore the sack open, and the doll jumped out. It was the size of Erica herself, but it looked nothing like Little Erica. Its hair was tangled and fell over its bony face like a thicket of brambles. Its arms were long and skinny, its sharp nails like claws. It wore tatters of clothing, stained and faded. The fabric was so thin I saw its ribs.
With a grin as wicked as death, the conjure woman laughed with delight and picked up the doll. “Why, ain’t you the ugliest little critter I ever did see!”
“Let me down, Auntie, let me down!” As soon as its feet hit the floor, it grabbed a broom and began sweeping, running this way and that like a wind-up toy, lurching and bumping into things, knocking furniture over, breaking bowls, scattering Auntie’s things like leaves in a winter storm.
“Auntie, Auntie,” it cried, “catch me if you can!”
While Auntie chased it around the cabin, I grabbed Erica and hauled her toward the door. Just as I expected, she fought the way Selene had, kicking, scratching, biting. It was like holding a wild animal.
“Auntie!” she screamed. “Auntie!”
But the old woman was too busy to notice what was happening. Or maybe she didn’t care about my sister now that she had a new servant. She caught the creature and slapped its face hard.
“Bad girl,” she screamed, and shook it until its bones rattled and its head bobbed. “Look what you done!”
Once Erica and I were outside, I held her still, forced her arms into the jacket’s sleeves, and zipped up the front. I jammed the hat on her head, but she kicked so hard I couldn’t get the boots on her feet. Abandoning them, I snatched up my backpack and dragged my sister toward the trail.
“Auntie, Auntie!” she shrieked.
“What’s wrong with you?” I shook her. “We’ve got to get away from here.”
“Leave me be. I don’t want to go anywhere!”
“I’m your brother. I’ve come to take you home.”
“Liar! You ain’t my brother. I don’t have no brother. I got no one save for Auntie—no home but here!” Erica thrashed and flailed and kicked. “Let me go! Let me go!”
I held her tight and kept going, stumbling through the snow. Behind us, I heard a sort of grunting, squealing, growling sound. I looked back and saw Bloody Bones come out of the trees. The moon shone on his bald head and cast his shadow across the snow. His ragged clothes fluttered in the wind. I saw his bones and his claws and his sharp teeth.
Even though Erica slowed me down, I ran and jumped over the snow, going as fast as I could. Bloody Bones wasn’t going to stop me from bringing my sister home and making things right again.
Behind us, the cabin door opened, and Old Auntie screamed, “Get them, dear boy, bring them back to me!”
“No, Auntie,” Erica cried. “Don’t sic him on me! I’ll work hard, I’ll do things right, I promise!”
Still struggling to keep hold of my sister, I slipped and slid down the trail, trying to keep us from falling. The wind blew us toward the edge of the drop-off, roots and stones rose up to trip us, but I kept going, forcing Erica to keep up with me.
Bloody Bones crashed through the snow behind us, gaining on us with every step. I imagined his breath as foul as death itself, his sharp claws squeezing around my throat, his eyeless skull looming over me in the moonlight.
“Don’t let them get away!” Old Auntie’s voice mingled with the wind shrieking through the trees. “Stop them—the
y’ll bring us both to ruin.”
Bloody Bones snuffled and snorted. His bones rattled. He was gaining on us. I felt him grab at my jacket and miss. I tried to run faster, but a stone turned under my foot, and I fell. I lost my grip on Erica and lay stunned.
Above me stood Bloody Bones. While I lay in the snow staring up at him, he threw back his head and snorted. Then he bent down and pulled me to my feet. His bear claws sank into my shoulders. His face was so close I could see his tusks and his panther fangs and his empty eye sockets. The stink of him made me gag.
His bones rattled as he lifted me above his head. He was going to throw me off the cliff.
Just as he tensed to hurl me into the valley, I heard the crack of something hard hit Bloody Bones. He staggered backward, away from the edge of the cliff, and lost his hold on me. One leg collapsed, and he fell with a clatter of bones.
As he struggled to stand, another rock hit him. This one broke his arm clean off. The shattered bones dropped into the snow. Howling with anger, Bloody Bones lunged toward me, his one arm outstretched to push me to my death, his right leg useless.
Without thinking of anything but surviving, I dodged away from him. Unable to stop in time, Bloody Bones plunged over the edge of the cliff, screaming as he bounced from rock to rock, his bones flying apart and scattering as he went. In seconds, he was gone, leaving only the echo of his scream.
Auntie hobbled down the trail toward us. “My boy, my dear boy!” she screamed, her face and voice filled with rage and sorrow. “What have you done, you miserable, wicked creature?”
I backed away, but it wasn’t me the conjure woman was speaking to. Erica stood behind me. Pale and trembling, she held a rock in each hand.
Old Auntie flung a string of strange words at both of us, but the wind turned them back on her. Raising her hands as if to fend off what she’d said, she began backing slowly up the trail.
“What will I do now without my dear boy?” she cried.
With each step she took, the wind blew harder and her shadow grew fainter, her body less solid. By the time she vanished into the woods, she was almost transparent.
Took: A Ghost Story Page 13