by R. L. Stine
Jonathan sighed and took her hand.
It was dark inside the cottage. Jonathan’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness.
Abigail clutched Jonathan’s sleeve. They stood frozen in the doorway.
Then Abigail whispered, “Go get the shovel.”
Jonathan stepped carefully across the room. He opened a cupboard beside the back door of the cottage.
Inside the cupboard, something gleamed white with two dark and empty eye sockets glaring out.
A skeleton.
Jonathan leapt back. Abigail screamed.
The skeleton shifted. It toppled out of the closet and clattered to the floor.
Jonathan leaned over it, panting, trying to slow the frantic beating of his heart.
Then he started backing away.
“Wait!” Abigail whispered. “I see a shovel in the cupboard.”
Jonathan forced himself to glance back into the cupboard. He saw the shovel. But he did not want to get it.
“GeI it!” demanded Abigail. She gave him a shove.
He stepped carefully around the clutter of bones on the floor—all that remained of the skeleton. Then, holding his breath, he snatched the shovel and ran out of the house.
He was glad to be back outside in the bright sunlight. He followed Abigail to the tree and dug a little hole. Then he laid the puppy’s bones in the grave. Abigail stood beside him with a branch in her hand.
“Dominatio per malum,” she chanted solemnly, waving the branch over the puppy’s grave.
“What does that mean?” Jonathan asked.
“I do not know,” said Abigail. “Those are the words on that sparkly thing Papa wears around his neck.”
Jonathan knew the words, too. The silver pendant with four blue stones had always fascinated him. He had once asked his father what the words meant, but Ezra refused to tell him.
Squinting against the bright sunlight, Jonathan covered the bones with dirt. Then Abigail planted the branch in the ground as a marker.
They were late for supper that evening. Ezra was already seated at the table with his usual preoccupied expression. Jonathan entered the kitchen first, and Ezra barked at him, “Where have you been?”
“Outside” was all Jonathan said.
Abigail came in next, and Ezra smiled. She went to him and gave him a kiss. He played with the blue ribbons on her cap.
“You are keeping an eye on your sister, I hope,” Ezra said to Jonathan.
“Yes, Papa,” Jonathan replied quietly. He revealed nothing about going into the village. He knew it would make his father angry. Abigail kept it a secret, too.
A few days later Jonathan saw Abigail skipping past the barn, heading for the road. Alarmed, he chased after her. “Where are you going?” he called.
“To the village,” she replied without stopping.
He took her hand and pulled her to a stop. “You cannot go,” he said sternly. “I am supposed to be watching you.”
“You can watch me in the village,” she replied impatiently.
Jonathan sighed and followed after her.
That day they found the skeletons of two small animals—possibly a cat and a chipmunk. Abigail insisted on burying them, too.
“I am going to come back as often as I can,” she told her brother as she stuck a branch in the ground by the tiny graves. “I will find all the poor dead animals and bury them all.”
The next time Abigail set out for the village, Jonathan didn’t try to stop her. He knew it was useless. He was getting used to the village and all its death, and didn’t even mind the awful silence so much anymore.
Then one day, when they were playing in Wickham, Abigail came across the remains of a little girl. The skeleton wore a rotting blue dress that once must have been pretty, and a cap like Abigail’s.
“I think we should bury her,” said Abigail. “She deserves a proper funeral as much as an animal does.”
“We will need a coffin,” Jonathan said. “We cannot bury a person in the dirt like a dog or a cat.”
“Yes,” agreed Abigail. “You go find a box, and I will look for a place to bury her.”
Jonathan crossed the village common and entered the tavern to search for a girl-size box. He found a wooden crate. It was a little short, but it would have to do.
He hoisted the crate onto his shoulder and carried it outside to Abigail. He didn’t see her by the meeting-house where he had left her.
“Abigail?” he called, immediately worried.
No answer.
After setting the crate on the ground, he walked down the road. He heard high-pitched giggling behind the village magistrate’s house.
Jonathan peered around the side of the house. He uttered a low cry of surprise when he spotted Abigail. She was playing with another little girl!
Jonathan stared at the little girl, startled to see another living person in Wickham. She was skinny, with long blond curls poking out from under her cap, and gray eyes. Where on earth had she come from? he wondered.
He started toward his sister. “Abigail—” he began.
At the sight of him, the other little girl darted behind a tree.
“You frightened her, Jonathan!” Abigail scolded. “No need to worry, Hester,” she called to her friend. “It is only my brother.”
But the little girl did not come out from behind the tree. “She must be afraid of boys,” Abigail said. She hurried behind the tree to look for the girl.
A second later Abigail reappeared, bewildered. “She is gone!” she told her brother. “She disappeared! And we were having so much fun together.”
“Abby—who is she?” asked Jonathan.
“She told me her name is Hester,” Abigail answered. “She is very nice.”
“Where does she live?”
Abigail shrugged. “She did not say. But I hope she comes back. It was so pleasant to have someone to play with.”
Jonathan wondered who this playmate could possibly be. Did she live in Wickham? Could there still be living people in the village?
What a mystery!
The next day, as Jonathan was digging a grave for a baby, Abigail had wandered off to find a stick for a marker. When Jonathan finished digging the hole, Abigail still had not returned.
She may be playing with her friend again, Jonathan thought. I think I will watch them for a few minutes and see what I can learn about that strange girl.
He crept over to the big house, but the girls were not there. He found them playing in the graveyard.
Ducking behind a grave slab, he leaned against the cold stone and spied on them.
Hester twirled around and laughed. She has a pretty, bell-like laugh, Jonathan thought. Just then Hester took Abigail’s hand, and the two girls wove a path through the gravestones.
Hester stopped before a hole in the ground. She reached down to tug at something in the hole. Up came the lid of a coffin.
Jonathan stood frozen, watching.
Hester stepped into the coffin and reached up for Abigail’s hand.
Abigail touched Hester’s hand.
With a firm jerk, Hester pulled Abigail into the coffin.
Chapter 6
“Abigail—no!” Jonathan shouted. He burst from his hiding place and ran to the grave.
I must get her out of there! he thought, his heart pounding. I must save her.
He stopped at the edge of the hole, stared down, and—
Abigail popped up out of the coffin, laughing.
Furious, Jonathan grabbed her arms and yanked his little sister out of the coffin. “Stop playing foolish games,” he scolded angrily. “We have to go home now.”
“But, Jonathan, Hester and I—”
Refusing to listen to her protests, he pulled her along behind him.
We must get away from here, he thought, forgetting the other girl.
Abigail dragged her feet and glanced back at Hester. “Why do we have to go home?” she asked. “I was having fun.”
; “We just do.” Jonathan didn’t want to admit the truth—he was afraid.
Afraid of what? Of a little girl?
He did not know. But he knew that something was not right.
“Jonathan, you and Abby must stay in today,” his mother said. “I need you both to watch Rachel for me.”
Abigail groaned. “I wish we could go back to the village,” she whispered to Jonathan. “I was looking forward to playing with Hester.”
But Jonathan was secretly relieved. He said nothing about it to Abigail, but he was determined not to go to Wickham anymore.
Hester pulled Abby into an open coffin, he remembered with a shudder. I must keep Abby away from her.
Jonathan and Abigail were playing with Rachel in front of the hearth, rolling a ball along the floor to her, when Ezra appeared.
“Hello, Papa,” said Abigail brightly.
Ezra flashed her a smile. “Would you like to go for a walk with me? I need a bit of air.”
“Mama asked me to watch Rachel today,” Abigail told him.
“Jonathan can watch Rachel,” said Ezra. “Come along with me. I like your company.”
Abigail jumped up and went outside with her father. Feeling a little hurt, Jonathan watched them through the window.
He gasped when he saw her.
Hester.
Jonathan saw her run up to Abigail and Ezra. Curious, Jonathan picked up Rachel and hurried outside to see what would happen.
He could see the surprise on his father’s face as Abigail introduced Hester to him.
“Where do you live, Hester?” Ezra asked.
“Nearby,” Hester replied shyly.
“And who are your parents?” Ezra demanded.
“Mama and Papa,” answered the blond little girl.
Ezra pointed in the direction of the farmhouses a few miles down the road. “So you live there?”
“She is a good girl, Papa,” Abigail interrupted, her eyes shining. She was clearly happy to have a playmate.
Hester turned her sparkling gray eyes on Ezra and asked, “Can Abigail come to my house?”
Abigail tugged at his sleeve. “Please, Papa,” she begged. “Please?”
Jonathan stepped forward. “Do not let her go, Papa,” he said.
Ezra turned sharply to his son. “Why not?”
Jonathan glanced uneasily at Hester and Abigail. “I cannot say, Papa. I just know you must not let her go.”
“Please let me go with Hester,” Abigail said. “It is so good to have a friend.” Tears were forming in her eyes.
Ezra gazed lovingly at his daughter. Jonathan knew his father could deny Abigail nothing. He knew what would happen next.
“All right, Abigail. You may go.”
“Papa,” urged Jonathan, “let me go with her.”
“No,” Ezra said firmly. “You will stay here. Someone must watch the baby.”
“But, Papa—”
“You heard me, Jonathan,” Ezra said, his temper rising. “You are too old to play with little girls. You will stay here.”
He turned to Abigail and added, “Run along, but be home for supper.”
“I will!” Abigail called back happily. She ran off with Hester, the blue ribbons on her cap flying behind her.
Jonathan stared after his sister, watching her until they disappeared over the hill.
“Jonathan, your mother is calling you,” said Ezra. “Do you not hear?”
“Yes, Papa,” said Jonathan. He carried Rachel inside to his mother.
The sun had gone down, and Abigail had not returned home.
“Supper is ready, Jonathan,” his mother said. “I will take Rachel now.”
She picked up the baby and put her into the wooden high chair. Jonathan took his place at the table, gazing at the darkening sky beyond the window.
Supper, and still Abby is not home, he thought anxiously.
His mother took a pot of chicken stew off the fire and called Ezra to the kitchen. Jonathan could see that his father was worried, too. Deep lines furrowed Ezra’s brow, and his eyes were dark and troubled. But Jonathan did not dare say a word.
Jane Fier went to the door and called, “Abigail! Supper!”
There was no response.
“Where is that girl?” Jane wondered aloud.
“She went off to play with a friend,” Ezra said quietly. “I expect she will be back soon.”
“A friend?” said Jane. “What friend?”
“A little girl,” Ezra answered. He looked uncomfortable. “A sweet girl. She lives nearby.”
Jane glanced at Jonathan. He knew she wanted him to explain to her, but he said nothing. He knew his mother was frightened, too, but she tried to hide it. “The stew is getting cold,” she said stiffly. “We shall have to start without her.”
She dished out the chicken stew. The family began to eat. No one spoke.
Beyond the window the sky darkened. Still no sign of Abigail.
Jonathan glanced up, and his mother met his eyes. He turned to Ezra, who was carefully cutting the bits of chicken into smaller and smaller pieces, but not eating a single one.
Jane Fier suddenly stood up. “Ezra, I am worried,” she said. “What could be keeping her?”
Ezra stared out at the black sky. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood up.
“I am going to look for her,” he said.
“Let me go with you, Papa,” Jonathan asked.
“No!” Ezra snapped. “Stay with your mother and sister.”
He threw on his hat. Then he took the lamp from its hook by the fireplace, lit it with a twig, and walked out into the darkness.
I must go with him, Jonathan thought desperately. He does not know where to search. Only I do.
He decided to follow Ezra.
“I do not want to leave you alone, Mama,” he said. ‘But Papa needs my help.”
Jane nodded and said, “Go with him.”
Jonathan slipped outside, following a few paces behind the glow of his father’s lantern. The evening iky was purple, growing darker every second. A crescent moon hovered over the horizon.
“Abigail!” Ezra called. “Abigail!” He began to walk town the road toward the other farmhouses, away Tom Wickham.
He is going the wrong way, Jonathan thought in frustration. But then he saw his father stop and stand still, as if he were listening to something. Jonathan istened, too.
There was a soft, sweet sound. Laughter. A little girl’s laughter.
Where was it coming from?
Ezra turned in confused circles. The laughter teemed to float on the air from all directions at once.
The voice giggled again. Now it sounded as if it came from the village.
Ezra walked toward it, following the sound.
Jonathan trailed his father into the village. He had never seen it at night before. It felt emptier than ever. Ezra’s lantern cast eerie shadows on the trees and houses. The shadows made the houses seem to move md breathe.
“Abigail!” Ezra called again, then stopped and istened.
The little laugh chimed on the wind.
“Is that you, Abigail?” Ezra called out. “Where are you?”
The laugh came again, a little louder, like the tinkling of sleigh bells.
That is not Abigail, Jonathan thought. His father seemed to realize it, too.
“Who are you?” Ezra cried. “Show yourself to me!”
The only response was another girlish giggle. Ezra moved toward it, with Jonathan right behind him.
Staying far enough behind not to be seen, Jonathan followed his father to the graveyard. Ezra stumbled among the crooked gravestones, the little laugh teasing him, taunting him, leading him farther into the maze of headstones.
The lantern flashed a ghoulish yellow light on the gray markers. “Abigail!” Ezra cried, his voice cracking now. “Please come out!”
Ezra stopped again to listen, but this time there was no laughter.
Jonathan crept up closer and stoo
d right behind his father. Ezra did not notice.
Ezra was standing at the foot of a grave. He held the lantern out so it illuminated the name on the marker.
It read, “Hester Goode.”
Jonathan could hear Ezra gasp.
Goode? Did the marker really say “Hester Goode?”
Then a light breeze blew, and on the breeze came the sound of a voice.
Not laughter this time, but words. Words spoken in the same girlish voice that had led them to this spot.
“Can Abigail come to my house?”
Hester!
Hester’s grave. Hester was not living, Jonathan realized to his horror.
Hester was dead.
But still she called.
“Can Abigail come to my house?”
Still she called. Called from the grave.
Abby’s little playmate, giggling and calling from the grave.
“Can Abigail come to my house?”
Slowly Ezra moved the lantern to the right.
His hand trembled. He nearly dropped the lantern as it cast its light on another grave.
Freshly dug.
With a new headstone.
The light fell across the inscription on the gray stone.
It read: “Abigail Fier.”
“No!” Ezra tossed back his head and howled.
The lantern slid from his hand and rolled into the dirt.
Ezra dropped to his knees, still howling. “Abigail! Abigail!” he cried over and over, clawing at the dirt, trying to dig her up.
Shuddering in terror, Jonathan bent over his father, reached for his father’s heaving shoulders, tried to stop his father’s mournful cries.
Ezra pushed him roughly away.
The breeze blew again, and with it came the laughter. And the taunting request: “Can Abigail come to my house?”
Uttering animal cries, Ezra tore at the dirt with his fingers. Desperate, Jonathan began to dig, too. Ezra made no move to stop him now.
It was a shallow grave. Jonathan’s fingers soon touched the smooth, polished wood of a coffin.
“No!” Ezra shrieked. “No! Please—No!” With a grunt he shoved Jonathan out of the way and tore open the lid of the coffin.
There lay little Abigail, her eyes closed, her lips white, her face a pale, bluish mask.
She was dead.
“Curse them! Curse them!” Ezra screamed. “The Goodes will pay! They will burn again!”