by Norah Wilson
“About what?” Alex asked, hearing the sharpness in her own voice.
“About the Mansbridge Heller.” Brooke drew a breath. “Seth called his grandfather a crazy old coot for his obsession with something called the Mansbridge Heller. The old guy wanted to catch this dark ghost he always talked about. Claimed he’d seen it often. Of course, Seth and everyone else said the old bugger was senile. Well, almost everyone else.”
Alex felt her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. She’d heard of the Mansbridge Heller. Anyone who’d spent any length of time here knew about it. It was just another rural legend in this superstitious town—the local boogie man. A story to scare the new kids with during the annual hazing. An easy costume on Halloween. But some claimed to have actually seen the Heller—a black ghost, an empty shell, a shrieking she-devil that came up to steal your soul. And from what Connie had written... “Wait a minute!” Maryanne leapt to her feet. “Black ghost? Empty shell? Was that Connie?”
“It makes sense,” Alex said, having just come to the same conclusion. “If she were seen—”
“Yeah,” Maryanne interrupted. “But a shrieking she-devil that came to steal souls? Where the heck did that come from?”
Alex shrugged. “People need a way to explain the unexplainable. Their fears. Stories grow.”
“Yes,” agreed Brooke, almost too quietly to be heard. “And so do legends.”
“So our Connie is famous,” Maryanne said, sinking back onto her bed.
Alex bristled at the use of the phrase our Connie, but pushed her irritation down. “Look, do you want to hear more or what?”
“Sorry,” Brooke said. “Didn’t mean to sidetrack you. Read on.”
Alex turned to the diary again.
I wanted to see the Walker dogs. Well, one in particular.
Yes, I figured they would run away—that’s what every animal does when they see me. But Ira Walker had an ancient bloodhound, half-blind with cataracts and crippled with arthritis. Any other dog in that condition, Ira would have put down without even blinking, but this dog was his favorite. I thought maybe since she couldn’t see me, and if she couldn’t run, she couldn’t flee from me. And if she didn’t flee, maybe I could pet her. I wanted so badly to touch something warm and real. To know again a touch that wasn’t taking. Taking! Taking! A touch that wouldn’t hurt me. I didn’t know if I could do it. But I really wanted to try to pat the old dog.
I knew it wasn’t a good idea—someone could spot me! But I was willing to take the chance. I needed to do it.
“Poor Connie,” Maryanne said. “Can you imagine being that lonely?”
Alex opened her mouth to speak, but it was Brooke who answered the question. “Yeah, I can.” She shook her head. “But what a stupid risk she took!”
“More stupid than what you did last night?” Alex asked.
Brooke’s lips turned up in a grin. “That was just plain fun.”
Alex read on.
Her name was Sugar. I remembered her from years ago when my father used to take me with him to the Walker farm on grocery runs. That was before the bigger stores moved in and Dad’s little store went under, just months before his heart attack. I’d wait in the truck at most stops, but when we stopped in at the Walker farm, I always got out to pat Sugar. Ira is one of the best hunters around and his hunting dogs are known all over New Brunswick. Sugar was the best of them, in her day. And she was a good dog—so friendly. Whenever she saw me, she wagged her tail and I swear she grinned. I thought that maybe Sugar would remember me. Maybe she would know me, even this dark me.
The other dogs ran away as soon as they saw me. Well, most of them. There was one huge bloodhound chained up in the yard. He strained against his tether and gagged until his chain snapped and he raced away yelping. I headed to Sugar’s doghouse over by the horse barns. Even though they couldn’t see me, they knew I was there. The poor horses were frantic—I could hear their whinnies. The cows that had been left in the back pasture that night ran to the far end of the fence.
Sugar didn’t come out of her dog house. Sugar didn’t run. She couldn’t run. I could hear her whimpering. She was so frightened. But surely once she knew it was me—she’d be okay.
I crouched down at the front to her doghouse.
Sugar was pressed as tightly as she could be against the back wall of her house. She trembled and I could smell urine. I said, “There, there, Sugar,” as I reached, but I don’t think she could hear me.
So then I touched her!
Oh dear God in Heaven, I reached and touched that good dog! I’d thought my hand might go right through her as it did with other things. But I actually touched her graying fur, and I patted her back and I laughed and oh, I almost cried! It felt wonderful to connect with something good. So I crept closer until I could get my arms around her to hug her. I hugged Sugar close, sure she’d stop trembling then—that she’d realize somehow it was me. But instead, with an ungodly, frightened howl, she convulsed and died in my arms.
It was so horrible! I dropped the body, and backed out of there.
I had done this to her. I had killed Sugar. I had patted that sweet dog that used to be so glad to see me, and I had terrified her to death. I just held there with my head in my hands then, grieving. I didn’t think I could feel any worse than I did in that moment. Until I felt a hand close around my upper arm.
It was Ira Walker!
Ira’s eyes were round as the full moon above us. He was shaking as he held me, but not enough to let me go. I struggled, I struck him, but although he flinched, his grip only tightened.
He was confining me. Ira was forcing me to stay there. He was holding me down when I didn’t want to be held. I did not want him touching me. Claiming to own any part of my body! That had happened enough in my life! The rage welled up in me, and dear Lord, it was primal!
That’s when I screamed.
But the sound that came up from me was more than just a scream. I shrieked! It came from somewhere deep down inside. From everywhere inside, and it was no helpless cry! It was as if every bit of my dark being felt my desperation and exploded in it. But not just in desperation. I shrieked at Ira Walker with rage, pure and raw and powerful.
I threw my head back and it was as if all the pained voices in the world came up through me as I shrieked again. And I could feel it go into Ira—like a current! I could feel him go cold with it. I could feel the icy terror that rode through the man until he finally let go of my arm. Gasping, he fell to the ground there beside Sugar’s house, and I soared away.
Oh, the madness of it all! Oh my lonely, breaking heart!
Yes, that scream that came from me was terrifying. Yet—oh God forgive me—it was wonderful.
Alex closed the book, and neither Brooke nor Maryanne protested. In fact, they all sat in silence for several minutes.
“Oh, God, poor Connie!” It was Maryanne who broke the silence, and Alex could hear the unshed tears in her voice. “She just needed to touch a warm, loving body, but her touch killed that poor dog.”
“Yeah, and then Ira-freakin’-Walker grabbed her!” Brooke said. “But she shrieked him into letting her go. Ripped right into him!”
“I got no problem with that,” Alex said harshly. “He tried to hold her against her will.”
Brooke held up her hands, palms out. “Hey, no argument here. More power to her.”
They were silent for a few seconds again.
“So... I guess that must be what I did to Seth—shrieked him into letting me go.”
“Holy crap, he grabbed you?”
Alex had already come to that conclusion. But it was almost funny to watch Maryanne figure it out.
Maryanne’s brow furrowed. “But how did he even know you were there? The house was dark. Completely dark until—”
“I’m thinking Brooke decided that fake STD she saddled him with wasn’t punishment enough.” Alex lifted an eyebrow at Brooke. “Am I right?”
“He deserved it.” Brooke’s shrug
lacked its usual grace, her words not nearly as casual-sounding as she intended them to be. “And I only pulled his hair.”
“That’s when he grabbed you?” Maryanne was staring wide-eyed.
“Yeah, he grabbed my arm. That scream just... rose up. Scared the crap out of Seth. Did a pretty good job of scaring me.”
“Was it terrifying?” Maryanne voice was barely a whisper. “I mean, having that noise come out of you?”
Brooke nodded. “God, yes! But like Connie said, it was awesome too!”
“And so that’s how he saw us,” Alex grated. “Both Seth and Bryce saw at least you out there in the front yard when the light came on.”
Brooke squared her shoulders, her chin coming up. “Hey, Dumb and Dumber don’t know that they saw us. They think they saw the Mansbridge Heller! Some shrieking she-devil their senile grandfather talked about.”
“Don’t you get it?” Alex hissed. “We’re one in the same!”
Then she jumped—they all did—as a shrill scream rose from downstairs.
“What the hell was that?” Brooke was already on her feet.
But Alex didn’t answer. Nor did Maryanne. The three girls just bolted out the door and down the stairs of Harvell House toward the still-erupting scream from below.
Chapter 13
Casting Call
Brooke
Brooke beat the others to the foot of the stairs, but once there, she hesitated. Left or right? Where had the scream come from? In that moment of indecision, Alex shot right past her, heading in the direction of the front room. Brooke and Maryanne followed hard on her heels.
In the front room they found a trembling Kassidy being cross-examined by Mrs. Betts.
“I’m telling you, there’s something out there!” Kassidy said.
“Something?”
“Okay, someone! And he was looking in that window.” Kassidy pointed to the bow window. “He was looking straight at me! I’m sure of it. I saw him standing right there.”
Brooke rolled her eyes. Kassidy and her peeping Tom story again. Had someone finally gotten so tired of hearing it, they’d decided to fulfill her fears? Or maybe that should be fantasies. The girl did seem to want to be the focus of attention.
Mrs. Betts sighed. “Don’t you think this is getting a little old, Kassidy? This is the third time you’ve raised this type of alarm, yet we’ve never been able to find any evidence of anyone skulking around.”
“Well maybe if you actually went out there to look instead of standing in here accusing me of making up stories to gain attention, you might actually find some evidence!”
Brooke grinned. Way to go, Kassidy! Mrs. Betts’s face now resembled a thundercloud. Okay, that wasn’t too far off her normal expression, but it was still worth the price of admission.
Before Mrs. Betts could retort, the front door opened and Mr. C. W. Stanley stepped inside, followed quickly by John Smith.
“What’s all the ruckus in here, Mrs. Betts?” C. W. removed his trench coat. “I heard a female screaming from clear across the lawn.”
“My apologies, Mr. Stanley,” Betts said, rushing to take Mr. Stanley’s coat. “Miss Myers here imagined that she saw someone peering in through the bow window.”
Both men glanced at the large window, which looked out on the sidewalk side of the house, not the river side.
“I can assure you,” Mr. Stanley said, “that no one was stirring out there. At least not in front of that window. Mr. Smith and I would surely have had a good view of him, if we’d had an intruder. Isn’t that so, Mr. Smith?”
Smith solemnly agreed.
“But I saw something!” Kassidy protested. “I really did. And it was definitely looking in that window.”
Mr. Stanley smiled that smarmy smile. “Well, now, it must have been a goblin, then. I can’t imagine what else could have slipped by us, eh, Mr. Smith?”
“Yes sir, it would have to be a goblin to have gotten past us.”
Brooke rolled her eyes again. Could the old caretaker be any more subservient?
“Except it’s too early for that,” Mrs. Betts chimed in. “Halloween is still weeks away!”
Everyone chuckled.
Well, the adults did. Kassidy on the other hand, looked poised for a serious melt-down.
“I’m telling you, there was something there!” Her voice shook with fury. “You can laugh if you like, but it doesn’t change anything. I know what I saw!”
Kassidy turned and dashed out of the room. Maryanne had to dodge quickly to avoid being clipped as the other girl shot past. Alex, with a frown on her face, hurried after Kassidy.
Brooke snorted. “Well, that was interest—”
A knock sounded at the door, and Mrs. Betts, with an apology to Mr. Stanley, broke away to answer it. “What do you want, young man?” she said.
Young man? Brooke moved to see who the caller was. She recognized him—that gangly, geeky Ty Piper, from her Math class. For a second, she had a horrified flash that he’d come to see her, but then she remembered the HPV payback she’d laid on Seth. By now, it would have gotten around the whole town. No way was anyone going to come looking for her. Especially not this painfully shy specimen.
“I was hoping for a word with Maryanne Hemlock,” Ty said, sounding ridiculously formal. God, between Mr. Smith bowing and scraping to the Lord of the Manor and Ty’s gentleman caller routine, she felt like she’d fallen into one of her mother’s historical romance novels.
“This is a ladies’ residence.” Mrs. Betts drew herself up to her most intimidating. “If you’re expecting to be invited in, you are sadly mistaken.”
But Maryanne had already heard him and moved to stand by Mrs. Betts in the open doorway. “I’m right here, Ty. What can I do for you?”
He cast a nervous glance at Mrs. Betts. “Can you step outside?”
“No, she can’t,” came Mrs. Betts’ brusque reply. “We’re in the middle of something here. Just say your piece and be on your way.”
Brooke rolled her eyes. As if Ty couldn’t just step outside and phone or text Maryanne. Or catch her at school tomorrow. She fully expected him to do so, but then he turned to Maryanne.
“The Halloween dance,” he said. “You know, a week from Friday. Would you like to go with me?”
Brooke saw Maryanne’s answer instantly in the subtle hunching of her posture, and knew Ty wasn’t going to be pleased with it. Clearly Mrs. Betts saw it too. This was one suitor she wasn’t going to have to chase off. Nevertheless, the housemother aimed a frosty look at Ty and another at Maryanne. “Three minutes,” she said, then left the two of them there in the doorway to rejoin Mr. Stanley and Mr. Smith.
Brooke’s gaze swung back to Maryanne, who still hadn’t managed to stutter out an answer. She clearly didn’t want to go out with Ty—probably didn’t want to go out with anybody—but knowing Maryanne, she probably didn’t want to be hurtful, either. So Brooke bailed her out.
“Oh, Maryanne, you can’t go with someone else!” She rushed up to the other girl and laid a hand lightly on her back. “You promised me and Alex that we’d all go out together, just us girls. Remember? And we’ve already got our costumes figured out. You know it won’t work without you.”
Brooke literally felt Maryanne wilt with relief beneath her hand, but for Ty’s benefit, the other girl grimaced.
“She’s right,” Maryanne said. “I really can’t back out now. But thanks for asking.”
“Okay, how about this Friday night, then?”
Maryanne bit her lip.
Brooke did a mental shrug. She couldn’t help Maryanne with that. Couldn’t be expected to provide an out for every day of the week. Maryanne was just going to have to dish out the bad news.
“I’m sorry, Ty. I don’t think so. I just... I’m not... I mean... the whole dating scene... it’s been a tough year, and I’m just not into—”
“Forget it,” he said, angry slashes of color staining his cheeks. “Just forget it.” He left then, yanking the
door shut behind him. But not before both Brooke and Maryanne heard his muttered parting shot. “Bitch!”
Alex, who’d gone after Kassidy a few moments ago, rejoined them. “Was that Ty Piper?” Her eyes narrowed on Brooke. “And why did he just call you a bitch?”
Brooke shot Alex an indignant look. “What? You hear ‘bitch’ and naturally it has to be a reference to me, right?”
“Well, duh.”
Brooke dropped the indignant act. “Okay, so I am a bitch. But for your information, it was Maryanne he was slagging. Honest.”
Alex turned surprised eyes on Maryanne, who blushed. “Why?”
“I told him I didn’t want to go out with him.”
“And he didn’t take it kindly. Got it.”
“Hey, what’d Kassidy have to say for herself?” Brooke asked.
Alex sighed. “The usual. Everyone is watching her. These two juniors are following her at school, hoping for a crotch shot when she gets in Trevor Haynes’s car at lunch time and after school. And the vice-principal has the hots for her, and the cute guidance counselor keeps nagging her to make another appointment, not because he thinks she has problems but because he’s clearly in love with her.”
Maryanne shook her head. “Wow. Just... wow. That makes me feel so well-adjusted somehow.”
Brooke snorted. “God, Maryanne, when people look up well-adjusted in the dictionary, they see your name.”
Maryanne’s eyes shot wide as though in protest of that characterization, though why being called well-adjusted would offend anyone, Brooke couldn’t imagine. Or wait, maybe she could. Maybe it was like the way nice people hated being damned with that ‘nice’ label. Maryanne opened her mouth, but Brooke cut her off before she could claim hidden, dark depths or produce a troubled-teen membership card or something.
“Hey, I don’t mean that in a bad way. Well-adjusted is good! But point taken about Kassidy. Classic narcissist. When her supply runs low, she needs to generate some more attention.”