Unearthly Things

by Michelle Gagnon

  “Please don’t be angry with me, Janie,” Nicholas begged, grabbing my hand with his tiny ones. “I can’t stand having you mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad,” I reassured him, even though the way he said his sister’s name always sent a tremor down my spine. I cast about for a solution that wouldn’t involve barricading my door against him. “When we get back home, maybe you and I should have a talk with Eliza. If I make friends with her, she might not make you do stuff like that again. Does that sound okay?”

  Nicholas shrank back against the seat. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “She doesn’t like it when other people go in the attic.”

  Before I could suggest finding another place to talk to her, Alma’s head snapped up. “No attic!”

  My jaw dropped. That’s what got her attention? “Listen, Nicholas is really upset. He thinks his sister—”

  “You have bag?” Alma demanded, talking over me as if I wasn’t even there.

  Nicholas nodded and pulled something out from under his shirt. Seeing it, I frowned. It was a tiny pouch on a leather cord. “What’s that?”

  “It’s for protection,” Nicholas said solemnly. “If I wear it, Eliza is supposed to leave me alone.”

  “And does she?” I asked, keeping a steely gaze fixed on Alma. She had already settled back against the seat, her eyes firmly shut again.

  Nicholas nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes. But sometimes I forget to put it back on after my bath.” His face fell. “Like this morning. That’s why it’s my fault.”

  He looked utterly desolate. After a moment’s hesitation, I wrapped my arms around him. He’s just a confused kid, I reminded myself. Kissing the top of his head, I said, “It’s okay, Nicholas. It’s not your fault.”

  And it wasn’t, not really. Nicholas tucked his little head under my chin and sighed gratefully. “Thanks, Janie. And don’t worry. I won’t forget the pouch again.”

  “Wear pouch,” Alma muttered. “And no attic.”

  I glared at her over the top of his head, but her eyes remained closed. It was practically criminal, letting a grieving little boy think that if he didn’t wear a magic necklace, his dead sister would make him do terrible things. Did his parents know about this? Maybe they were unable to admit that Nicholas really needed help. Not that I was about to tell them; I could just imagine Marion’s reaction if I suggested hiring a shrink.

  I was at a loss, though, and way out of my depth.

  “Don’t worry, kiddo,” I said, trying to sound adult and reassuring. “We’ll figure it out.”

  Nicholas twitched in my arms. He’d fallen asleep.

  I cradled him as we drove the final half hour. We passed several vineyards, row after row of grapevines strapped to spindly posts. At a different time of year, when they were in bloom, it was probably beautiful. But in the stark wintry light, the barren, twisted vines looked menacing—like withered creatures trapped in perpetual agony. As the sun dropped below the hills, their shadows stretched long, grasping fingers toward the road. I held Nicholas a little tighter, grateful for the small, warm body in my lap.

  Chapter V

  At this moment a light gleamed on the wall. Was it, I asked myself, a ray from the moon penetrating some aperture in the blind? No; moonlight was still, and this stirred; while I gazed, it glided up to the ceiling and quivered over my head.

  “Is it Henry’s law?” I guessed.

  “Hess’s law. You keep getting those confused.” Helen made a face at me. “What’s with you today?”

  “Just tired.” I stifled another yawn. We were sitting in the library studying for tomorrow’s chemistry test, and the heat was cranked to about a hundred degrees. That, combined with the fact that I hadn’t clocked a full night’s sleep since moving into the Rochesters’ a month ago, made the temptation to put my head down on the desk nearly overwhelming. But if I failed this test, I was totally screwed.

  Helen scrutinized me. “You know that losing sleep takes years off your life, right?”

  “That’s helpful,” I groaned. “Something to obsess over tonight as I stare at the ceiling.”

  “Insomnia, huh?” she said. “My mom gets that sometimes. Have you tried melatonin?”

  “Doesn’t work,” I said. Which was true—I’d tried every herbal treatment on the market, but none of them was equipped to handle “strange noises coming from a forbidden section of the house.” In the end, they just left me feeling awake but groggy.

  Helen chewed on the end of her pen while she scanned the rest of her homework. Watching her, I debated sharing the real reason I wasn’t sleeping. But she’d probably think I was crazy, and I didn’t want to risk losing the only friend I had here. Aside from Daniel, I reminded myself.

  As if she’d read my mind, Helen asked, “So are you and Daniel still just surf buddies?”

  “Basically, yeah.” I rubbed at a pencil mark on the desk’s surface. “I can’t believe you two never met.”

  “Right, because I’m such a society girl,” she snorted. Seeing my expression, she added, “My parents and Blanche are into that sort of thing. I’d rather be LARPing. If they institute that at the next Symphony Ball, I’m totally in.”

  “I’d do pretty much anything to see Marion in a troll costume,” I grinned.

  Helen mused, “She’d make a halfway decent Miraak, actually.”

  “Right.” I’d learned that sometimes it was best to just pretend I knew what she was talking about. “Anyway, Daniel invited me to a bonfire on the beach this weekend. That sounds like a date, right?”

  Helen’s eyes danced. “Like I’d have a clue. The closest I’ve come to a date was flirting with an Orc in a Skyrim forum.”

  “Now that’s just sad,” I said.

  Helen issued an exaggerated sigh. “Yup, I’ll die a virgin for sure. And you’ll flunk chemistry. Guess we’re both doomed.” I swatted her arm, and she shied away, laughing.

  It was starting to feel like Daniel and I were never going to be anything more than friends, though. So far our “dates” had consisted of me yelling instructions as he tried to catch waves, followed by greasy diner food. He’d also text links to stuff he thought was funny. I knew this because he always wrote, “funny!,” “hilarious!,” or “:-P.”

  And that was pretty much it. Once he added, “xoD” below the link, and I spent the entire day obsessing over whether or not it actually meant anything.

  “A bonfire definitely sounds like a date,” Helen said, noticing my discomfort. She wagged a finger at me and added, “And I want to hear all about it, so call or text if you don’t get home too late.”

  “Okay, Mom,” I said thoughtlessly, and then swallowed hard. The grief still occasionally caught me unawares. All it took was a familiar song pouring out of a café or a TV rerun; even seeing a Hawaiian Airlines ad could reduce me to tears.

  I still hadn’t deleted my parents’ numbers from my phone; a few times, I’d actually dialed before realizing that no one on the other end would pick up. Sometimes I’d lay awake at night, going over old text threads.

  don’t forget to pick up milk on your way home from Kaila’s

  does that count toward my allowance?

  it counts toward you having a roof over your head

  love you too. Sheesh.

  love you always and forever xo

  No matter how mundane the texts were, reading them always made me dissolve in a puddle. I wish I’d said more, appreciated them more. I should have ended every single message with, I love you always and forever, too.

  Part of me was grateful for the fact that everything here was so unfamiliar. If I were living back on the island, with constant reminders everywhere, I’d probably have lost my mind by now.

  Helen’s eyes softened, but she didn’t say anything. She never gave me that pitying look; one of the many things I’d come to appreciate about her.


  “Only ten more minutes of study hall,” she observed. “So stop distracting me.”

  “Sure,” I said gratefully. “Chemistry. Henry’s Law.”

  “Hess’s—”

  “I know,” I said with a grin. “Just seeing if you were paying attention.”

  I squinted at myself in the mirror. Ugh. I looked like I was embarking on an arctic mission. Frustrated, I tugged off the black fleece jacket. Nights in San Francisco were cold; you couldn’t risk exposing bare skin. And it was hard to be a temptress when you were dressed like the Michelin Man.

  I bit my lip, weighing the options. Georgina had actually been going out of her way to be nice to me lately, at least when we weren’t at school. Maybe she’d lend me something that managed to be slinky and warm simultaneously.

  I set off for her bedroom. It was in the other wing of the house, down the hall from Richard and Marion’s room. Georgina had dragged me in there once to help her decide which pair of jeans made her look skinniest. Since the correct answer was “all of the above,” my stay was short-lived.

  As I rounded the corner, my steps slowed. Someone was talking loudly and angrily; it sounded like Marion. Who was in there with her? I really hoped they weren’t talking about me.

  I drew in a deep breath and plastered a smile on my face. Not that it would make a difference. Unlike Georgina, Marion was never pleased to see me. Listening to her strident tone, I was tempted to abandon my mission. I really needed an outfit though; maybe if I was quick and quiet, Marion wouldn’t notice me.

  Both bedroom doors were ajar. I approached Georgina’s room as silently as possible and peeped inside. No luck: the room was empty, the bedside lamp waging a futile battle against the wide pool of darkness surrounding it. Sighing, I started walking back down the hall; then the sound of my name stopped me in my tracks.

  So Marion was talking about me.

  I hesitated, then moved closer to hear what she was saying. Her voice rose and fell in a regular cadence. I realized with a jolt that she was actually alone and repeating the same phrase, over and over again. “She came back for him. We can’t let her have him. Janie is a bad girl, very, very bad. But we need the money. She came back for him . . .”

  I caught my breath as Marion suddenly moved into the doorframe. Seeing me, she stopped dead. Her face was cast in shadow, making it impossible to read her expression. Her hands hung by her sides. Her hair was mussed. Most startling of all, she was wearing a bathrobe; I’d never seen her in anything but a designer outfit before. Her shoulders rose and fell as if she was breathing heavily.

  “I-I was looking for Georgina,” I squeaked. Clearing my throat, I continued. “Um, have you seen her?”

  Marion didn’t respond; she just stood there. Something about her posture cued an alarm in me, like she was a predator poised to pounce. I took a step back. “I guess I’ll just find her later!” I chirped.

  Nothing. Marion was never friendly, but this was beyond strange, like she was sleepwalking or hypnotized. I backed away, the fake smile straining my cheeks. As soon as I rounded the corner, I bolted toward my room.

  The black fleece would have to suffice. No way I was going back to that wing of the house—not ever if I could help it.

  “Like what kind of noises?” Daniel asked curiously.

  “Really weird ones,” I said.

  We were walking down the beach, moving away from the bonfire. At a loss for something to say, I’d mentioned that I hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in almost a month. When he asked why, I’d admitted that something in the attic kept waking me up.

  It was a relief to finally have a receptive audience. The few times I’d tried to talk to the Rochesters about it, they’d shut me down. They obviously thought it was all in my head, and I hadn’t been able to prove them wrong. I’d tried to record the noises on my phone, but it was usually just a low hum, barely discernible. Occasionally I heard footsteps pattering back and forth: A raccoon, maybe? That would have explained some of the other noises, too. But when I’d asked about calling animal control, Marion had coldly informed me that would be absurd, since there was absolutely nothing up in the attic. And I had to admit, only an extremely brave or incredibly foolish animal would dare move into her home.

  But something was up there. I was sick and tired of laying awake listening to it. The sleep deprivation was killing me.

  “Weird how?” Daniel asked.

  “It sounds like a person humming, usually.” I repressed a shudder, remembering what had snapped me awake last night at 3 a.m. “Sometimes it sounds like nursery rhymes. You know, ‘Jack and Jill,’ ‘Ring Around the Rosie.’ That sort of thing. But just the tune, no words.”

  Daniel’s eyes sparked. “Cool.”

  “Cool? Seriously?” I grabbed his arm to stop him, irritated. “How, exactly, is that cool?”

  “It sounds like a ghost. How is that not cool?”

  “Trust me, it isn’t,” I muttered. “You don’t actually believe in that sort of thing, do you?”

  “What else could it be? Raccoons aren’t really known for their humming skills,” he said with a grin.

  I was starting to regret telling him. What if he thought I was going crazy, too? Hearing things didn’t exactly attest to my sanity. Determined to change the subject, I said dismissively, “It’s probably something totally normal and boring, like the kitchen radio coming up through the vents.”

  Daniel cocked his head to the side. “Who’s hanging out in the kitchen in the middle of the night?”

  “I don’t know. Someone,” I mumbled. I didn’t admit that I’d snuck downstairs last night to test that theory and found the kitchen deserted and dead silent. By the time I got back upstairs, the noises had stopped.

  I kept my head down and continued walking. “Well, you’re in luck,” Daniel said. “Because I happen to know a lot about ghosts.”

  “Seriously?” I raised an eyebrow.

  Holding a hand up like he was taking an oath, Daniel said, “I’m a horror movie junkie.”

  I groaned. “I hate horror movies.”

  “Too bad,” Daniel said blithely. “See, if you liked horror movies, you’d know exactly how to handle this.”

  “Really.” I crossed my arms over my chest. The bonfire had been reduced to a faint flicker of red in the distance. When Daniel suggested taking a walk, I’d let myself imagine all sorts of things: him sweeping me into his arms and kissing me, or at least holding my hand. Instead, we were talking about ghosts. Way to set the mood, Janie, I berated myself.

  Then again, I was exhausted; if Daniel really did have helpful suggestions, I’d love to hear them.

  “All right, then. The first rule of ghosts is figuring out who it is,” he said authoritatively.

  I felt a pang of guilt; even though I’d never met Eliza, it felt wrong to talk about her. Also, more than a little dangerous, like I might accidentally summon her. Ghosts aren’t real, I reminded myself. “A little girl died in the house about a year ago.”

  Daniel’s face grew somber. He pulled on my arm, turning me to face him. “You’re serious,” he said, examining me.

  I nodded, suddenly cold. “Eliza was Nicholas’s twin sister. He keeps claiming that she talks to him, and makes him do things.”

  He breathed out hard and ran a hand through his hair. “Wow. I thought you were kidding about this, but . . . it’s real, isn’t it?”

  “I wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t,” I mumbled. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I never met her,” he said quietly. “I didn’t even know Nicholas had a twin.”

  “Why would you know that?”

  “It’s a pretty small social circle,” Daniel said vaguely. Frowning, he added, “The Rochesters are a pretty big deal around here. I can’t understand why everyone isn’t talking about this.”

  “That is w
eird,” I agreed. I’d been here long enough to get a sense of the high society crowd that the Rochesters and Daniel’s family traveled in. It was a group that thrived on gossip, so why wasn’t this being discussed?

  Yet another mystery, I thought grimly. Growing up on an island where everyone knew each other’s business, this level of secrecy was completely foreign to me.

  “How did she die?” Daniel asked.

  I shrugged, shivering in the frigid ocean wind. “They didn’t tell me. And it feels weird to ask. They don’t really like talking about it.”

  That was an understatement. It was as if Eliza had never existed. No one but Nicholas ever mentioned her. There were no photos of her in the house, either. In fact, the only publicly displayed portrait was from Marion and Richard’s wedding. I’d assumed that since the others probably included Eliza, they’d been tucked away. “I guess I can ask Nicholas what happened to her.”

  “From what you’ve said, he’s having a hard enough time as it is,” Daniel stared out at the black ocean. “Poor kid.”

  “Yeah, he’s definitely taking it hard.” I hesitated, then added, “I’m pretty sure he’s sneaking into my room and messing with my things.”

  “That’s probably pretty innocent, though, right? I mean, I used to do that with my mom’s stuff,” Daniel said.

  “Maybe,” I grudgingly agreed. I still didn’t like it, though. One of my necklaces kept moving to different spots around the room, even though I made a point of memorizing where I’d left it. And just this past Tuesday I came home to find all my bureau drawers open. Nicholas claimed he didn’t do it, although it was hard to imagine anyone else rooting through my things.

  “There are a lot of rumors about the Rochesters,” Daniel mused, still gazing out over the waves. “I never believed most of them, but maybe they really are true.”

  “Like what?” I asked warily.