Unearthly Things

by Michelle Gagnon

  And Bessie, the mutilated doll that had been buried at the bottom of a box, sat on top of the pyramid. She stared at me with those gaping, bleeding eye sockets.

  I was too startled to scream. I stared at the rearrangement, trying to make sense of it.

  When a voice behind me said, “Good. I was hoping you’d still be up,” I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  Whipping around, I discovered John standing in my doorway. He was wearing dark jeans, a button-down shirt, and a cocky grin. “Did you do this?” I demanded.

  “Do what?” he asked. “Oh, you redecorated. Kind of creepy, but I like it.”

  I glared at him, trying to determine if he was messing with me. Showing up like this was too much of a coincidence. Aside from the day he’d arrived, I hadn’t even seen him in this wing of the house. But why would he mess with my furniture? Why would anyone?

  “Ice cream, huh?” John said brightly. “Can I have some?”

  He exuded wide-eyed innocence; again, I was struck by how much he resembled Nicholas. I made an exasperated noise and asked, “What do you want?”

  “Nothing,” he said, holding up both hands. “Just coming to hang out.”

  “Well, I’m busy.” Kaila had to be wondering what was taking so long. A dollop of ice cream escaped the top of the container and slid over my hand. I switched hands and licked it off, then caught John staring at me. I grimaced at him.

  “Seriously, I’ve got to call my friend back.”

  “Suit yourself,” John said, tucking his hands back in his pockets. “Later.”

  After he was gone, I stared at the door for a few beats. Then I shut it and turned the bolt. Cutting a wide swath around the stacked boxes, I made my way to the bed and woke up my laptop. There were five missed Skype calls. I sighed and hit the button to call her back.

  “Well, that took forever,” Kaila grumbled.

  “Long story,” I said, debating how much to tell her. Her face looked red, her eyes raw. I sighed and said, “One sec.”

  Ignoring the string of complaints issuing through the speakers, I pushed back off the bed and walked to the pile. I carefully reached for Bessie, then held the doll like it was contaminated. Opening the bottom drawer of my bureau, I dropped her inside, then slammed it shut with my foot.

  “All right,” I said, feeling moderately better as I settled back down. Raising a dripping spoonful of ice cream toward the camera, I said, “Cheers.”

  Chapter IX

  “I wonder with what feelings you came to me tonight,” she said, when she had examined me a while. “I wonder what thoughts are busy in your heart during all the hours you sit in yonder room with the fine people flitting before you like shapes in a magic lantern.”

  “Ugh,” Georgina said, putting a hand on her stomach. “I’m getting so disgustingly fat.”

  I didn’t bother acknowledging the comment; Georgina calling herself “fat” was like a butterfly describing itself as hideous. We were lounging in the fitting room of an upscale boutique. It was nearly the size of my new bedroom, and almost as elaborately furnished. A family of five could live relatively comfortably in the space between the mirrors and the chaise.

  “No more carbs,” she said decisively.

  “Does that include booze?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Georgina cast a sideways glance at me. “Champagne hardly has any, anyway.”

  “Right,” I agreed, lounging back on the chaise. In a weird way, Georgina was growing on me. At least with her, you knew what you were getting: namely, lots of navel-gazing. As long as you were willing to serve as an appreciative audience, she was delighted to be your friend. She still avoided me at school, but I was fine with that, too. I had no interest in joining the posse of mean girls who stalked the halls with her.

  “So did you find anything?” she asked, with at best mild interest.

  “I haven’t really looked.” A glance at the price tags had nearly made my heart stop. Even though Richard was paying, it just seemed wrong to waste that much money on a few lengths of taffeta and silk.

  Besides, I’m busy, I thought with a smile, sending another text to Daniel.

  They actually offered us champagne.

  So u r drunk?

  Please

  I wrote, sipping more water from my crystal flute.

  I think the water is actually baby tears, though.

  Ha! How about Georgina?

  On her third glass.

  Awesome. Can I come by l8r?

  I paused. As far as I knew I was allowed to invite friends over, but it felt like a really bad idea. Plus, even though we were able to joke about Georgina now, the thought of them under the same roof still made me twitchy. Not that I wanted to admit that to Daniel, at least not outright. So I typed,

  Not too scared of bouncing rubber balls?

  Terrified. But I want 2 c the freaky doll.

  He attached a photo of Chucky from the horror movies. In spite of myself, I smiled.

  “Who are you texting?”

  I looked up guiltily. This was the longest I’d seen Georgina go without a phone in her hand; as soon as they started surgically implanting them, she’d be first in line. “No one.”

  “You don’t look like you’re texting no one,” she observed archly. Breaking into a wicked smile, she asked, “All right, what’s his name?”

  My stomach clenched. All things considered, I’d rather not tell her yet. “Someone from home,” I finally said.

  “Oh.” Georgina swiveled back around; apparently if it wasn’t someone she knew, it wasn’t gossip-worthy. “Hey, do you think a tiara would be too much with this?”

  I eyed the gown. It was long and white with a three-foot train. Low cut in the back, high-necked in the front. Stunning.

  “Kate Middleton could’ve gotten married in that gown,” I observed. “So, yeah, I think a tiara works.”

  “It was made by the same designer,” Georgina said, tilting her head to catch her reflection from the side. “But this one’s a little sexier, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely.” Three dots indicated that another text was coming through.

  Come 2 a party then? @8?

  I bit my lip. It was already nearly six o’clock. “Hey, are we all eating together tonight?”

  “Why?” Georgina asked, eyeing me again. “Do you have a date?”

  “Helen wants to grab dinner,” I lied.

  Georgina made the noise that expressed her general displeasure with anything Helen-related. “There’s a benefit at the Hermès store tonight. So no family dinner.”

  “I can’t even begin to pick apart all the things that are wrong with that sentence,” I muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Without warning, Marion swept into the room. “Girls,” she said, the same way another person might say, “Slugs.”

  Georgina broke into a wide, fake smile and executed a small twirl. “What do you think, Mother?”

  Marion’s lips pursed, and she gingerly cupped her chin with long, manicured fingers. “Still too tight. And that low back makes you look like a prostitute.”

  Georgina’s mouth tightened. She drew her shoulders back and said, “Well, I like it. And we already had this fight.”

  “Yes, we did,” Marion acknowledged dryly. “And I believe that in the end, we agreed to have Mrs. Fitzsimmons incorporate some lace.”

  “But that’ll ruin it!” Georgina wailed.

  I sat perfectly still.

  “It’s not me, Georgina,” Marion said. “When your father sees this—”

  Georgina made a noise and flounced across the room, throwing herself onto the chaise. I hurriedly shifted to make room. Marion’s eyes narrowed, as if she’d just noticed me sitting there.

  “And you,”
she said, with distaste. “What will you be wearing?”

  I stammered, “Um, I haven’t really had a chance to look yet.”

  “Really, Jane. We don’t have all day.” Marion clapped her hands twice, and a chic salesgirl scurried in.

  Without looking at her, Marion said, “I need to find something for her, too.”

  They both scrutinized me. The salesgirl donned a helpless expression, as if she’d just been handed a lost cause. “In white?”

  “No,” Marion scoffed, as if the very suggestion was absurd. “She won’t be coming out this year. Any color will do.”

  The salesgirl fled back into the store. My phone buzzed, and Marion’s attention snapped back to me. I didn’t dare glance down at the screen. As she continued the death glare, I sipped water, desperate to ease my dry mouth.

  The salesgirl rushed back in, holding a tier of dresses that reached nearly to her chin. Her hands shook as she hung them on the rack. Marion was a regular, clearly.

  The girl was still disentangling the dresses when Marion started sorting through them. She grabbed each dress and yanked it left; the sound of hangers scraping the bar was sharp and staccato. “No, no, no . . .” she muttered, jerking them aside one by one.

  The salesgirl finished hanging the last dress and stood back, hands clasped protectively in front of her.

  “She can pick her own dress, Mother,” Georgina said with irritation. “I mean, seriously.”

  Marion ignored her. I tried to fight a mounting sense of dread. I hadn’t seen any ugly dresses in the store, but then, I hadn’t really been paying attention; I’d been too focused on my texts. If there was one, I had no doubt Marion would find it.

  “Uh, would you like some help?” I offered weakly.

  But she was already whipping a hanger off the rack. “This one,” she said decisively.

  The dress was simple but elegant. A long length of scarlet with thin spaghetti straps, a crisscrossed bodice, and a flowing skirt. It was pretty much the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. “Really?”

  Marion’s eyebrow lifted a fraction of an inch. “Put it on behind the curtain.”

  Meekly, I crossed the room and took the dress from her. I undressed fast behind the privacy screen, nearly toppling over as I removed my shoes. After a moment of confusion, I figured out the complicated straps and managed to get the dress over my head, squirming slightly until it slid over my hips. The salesgirl appeared on cue to zip it up.

  It was too long, but then I was barefoot; this was obviously another dress that would require towering heels. I suddenly understood what they meant about something fitting like a glove. That’s what this felt like: a second skin that had been crafted for me and me alone.

  I stepped out from behind the curtain.

  Marion’s expression didn’t change, but Georgina’s jaw dropped.

  “Holy crap,” she said. “You look amazing. Now I want to wear red!”

  As I slowly approached the mirror, the salesgirl unobtrusively helped with the train so I wouldn’t stumble. I barely recognized myself. The color made my skin shimmer. My hair shone jet black against the crimson, and the wrap of the bodice emphasized my slight curves. I actually look like a Bond girl, I thought.

  “Excellent choice,” the salesgirl said approvingly.

  Marion threw her a withering look and said, “It needs to be hemmed. Please send Mrs. Fitzsimmons back in.”

  Looking equal parts contrite and relieved, the salesgirl left.

  “Thank you, Marion,” I said with genuine gratitude. “This is perfect.”

  Unless I was mistaken, her eyes softened slightly. But all she said was, “I hope this won’t take long. We have plans this evening.”

  Georgina changed back into her uniform while Mrs. Fitzsimmons buzzed around my feet, periodically sticking me with pins. She wasn’t gentle, but she was quick; within five minutes, we were done. I actually experienced a small pang of regret as I pulled my hideous uniform back on.

  When I came back around the screen, Marion was gone.

  Georgina stood rigidly by the doorway, arms crossed over her chest and an expression of pure rage on her face.

  “Hey,” I said cautiously. “Is your mom—”

  She threw my phone at me; I lunged, catching it right before it hit the floor. “Daniel Fairfax,” she spat accusingly.

  I gulped. “Georgina, listen—”

  “How could you?” she demanded, her face going as scarlet as my dress. “You little bitch!”

  “But, I didn’t know that you’d dated. I just found out—”

  “Don’t you dare deny it,” she growled, a crazed glint in her eyes.

  I shrank back. Definitely her father’s daughter, I thought—from zero to rage in less than a minute. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would be such a big deal.”

  That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Georgina drew herself up, like a cobra poised to strike. She glared down the length of her perfect nose at me and hissed, “I will ruin you. Just wait. From now on, your life will be a living hell.”

  She whirled around and stalked out of the room.

  It took a few seconds to get my breathing under control. The phone felt abnormally heavy in my hand. I hit the on button, and saw what had set her off:

  DANIEL FAIRFAX: awesome, sweetheart. C u soon xo.

  “Crap.” Even though I murmured it, the word seemed to echo off the walls. “Why isn’t anything ever easy here?”

  I nearly bowled over Alma as I charged out of my bedroom and into the gloom. I don’t know if the Rochesters were closet environmentalists, or if they just preferred a creepy atmosphere, but the hall lights were never turned on.

  Hand to my chest, I gasped, “Alma, you scared me.”

  She blinked, her face as inscrutable as ever. “I wait for you,” she accused, as if we’d had a date or something.

  I checked my phone: it was a quarter past eight, I was already late. It wasn’t totally my fault, though. I’d come home to discover that my clothing had been tossed all over the room again. A shirt had been shredded, too. Luckily it wasn’t one of my favorites, but it renewed my resolve to get a better lock installed ASAP—and to have another chat with Nicholas.

  I ran a hand through my hair, still wet from the shower. “Do you need something, Alma? Because I’m in kind of a hurry.”

  “Here.” Alma thrust something at me. I squinted down at it. It was a small leather pouch, tied closed with a long red string. Just like the one Nicholas wore.

  “Oh,” I said doubtfully. Like I wasn’t having enough trouble fitting in without wearing the world’s ugliest necklace. “Thanks, but I really don’t—”

  “You take!” she insisted as I tried to hand it back. “Keep on neck.”

  “Right,” I said. There wasn’t time to argue; I just needed her to get out of my way. “Okay, thanks.”

  I started to tuck it in my pocket. Alma shook her head so vigorously it knocked her wig askew; I had to resist the urge to reach out and straighten it for her. “Neck!”

  Resistance was clearly futile. Rolling my eyes, I slipped it over my head, wincing as I caught a whiff. “Ugh. What’s in this, anyway?”

  “It keep you safe,” she said. As if to underscore the point, Alma tapped it, releasing a foul-smelling cloud.

  I nearly gagged as the particles drifted up my nasal cavity. “Thanks again,” I wheezed. “Gotta go!”

  I felt Alma’s eyes on me as I trotted down the hall. I took the stairs two at a time and bolted outside, pausing briefly on the front stoop to yank the disgusting thing off. I held it up to the overhead light: there were strange characters carved in the leather.

  “Thanks, but no thanks, Alma,” I muttered, chucking the bag into the hedge. “I’ve got enough crazy in my life already.”

  “You should’ve kept it,” Daniel sa
id.

  “You didn’t smell it,” I replied, my nose wrinkling up at the memory. “Trust me, no one would’ve wanted to come within ten feet of me.”

  “Maybe that was the point,” Helen said.

  “Exactly,” Daniel agreed. “Ghost-repellent.”

  “Everyone-repellant, more like,” I scoffed, taking another sip of soda. From the look of things, the three of us were the only ones not drinking. Most of the crowd was huddled around the liquor table in the kitchen, leaving the “conservatory” largely to us. And yes, it was an actual conservatory, filled with towering palms and a baby grand that was currently seeing more use as a cup holder.

  I wasn’t clear on who was hosting this party, but their house was nearly as impressive as the Rochesters’. The decor was modern, though, with a preponderance of white: white sofas, white drapes, white carpeting. Judging by the amount of beer and red wine sloshing out of plastic cups, it wouldn’t stay that way for long. The teen who lived here was either really brave or incredibly stupid; I could imagine my parents’ reaction if I’d ever thrown a party like this.

  A twinge at the thought, but just a small one. The grief was lessening, becoming more manageable every day. And the rush of memories had slowed, too. Which was probably good, although it felt disconcertingly like a betrayal.

  “I should get going,” Helen said, frowning at two guys who were play-wrestling in the opposite corner.

  “Not yet!” I protested. “It’s still so early!”

  Helen was scanning the room nervously, like a deer surrounded by camo-clad hunters. Bringing her might’ve been a mistake, but I’d thought it would be nice for her to deal with real live people for a change. Daniel was being very sweet, keeping the conversation going with lots of funny anecdotes about the other people at the party. But we weren’t exactly mingling.

  A girl I’d never seen before—blonde and tall and pretty—suddenly stumbled over to us and draped an arm across Daniel’s shoulder, slurring, “Danny Fairfax. I’ve missed you, baby.”