by R. L. Stine
Behind the foreman, Jane could see those huge stone wheels slowly, slowly turning.
And suddenly, she sensed the evil spirit’s plan.
“Run!” she shouted in the foreman’s face.
But barely any sound came out of her mouth.
Jane grabbed the mill foreman’s shirt with both hands.
She shoved him backward with all her might. Back toward the huge mill wheels.
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Then Jane dragged his head down, down toward the slowly grinding wheels.
The foreman screamed, a loud, desperate sound.
She pushed his head into the path of the giant stone wheels.
“Noooo!” he howled. He jerked his head back and forth, trying to escape.
But she was too strong.
The wheels seemed to pause for the tiniest fraction of an instant.
Then the foreman’s warm blood spattered across the front of Jane’s dress.
Jane felt the strange draining sensation again. She sank to her knees and began to vomit onto the grain-covered floor.
Inside her head, Sarah began to laugh.
♦ ♦ ♦
The next morning, Jane woke before dawn. She stretched and yawned.
The events of the day before flashed through her mind. Mrs. Teasedale’s bulging eyes. The perfect ring of red blood around her throat.
The foreman’s screams of terror.
Jane moaned. Could it get any worse than that?
Is that a challenge? the evil spirit asked. Get dressed. We have things to do.
Jane found a clean dress and quickly put it on. Then she hurried downstairs and into the kitchen.
Clara had put a huge pot of potatoes on the stove, ready to boil. But there was no sign of the maid herself. And Clara was usually up so early.
Then again, the sun had yet to rise.
Jane wandered out of the house.
Moments later, she found herself at the toolshed, though she could not remember deciding to go there.
Now what is Sarah doing? Jane wondered vaguely. She pulled a long-handled shovel down from its hooks on the shed wall.
Jane looked around and realized she now stood in the garden. She had no memory of leaving the toolshed. I blacked out, she realized.
She had no idea what Sarah had been using her body to do.
This must be how Sarah had killed Thomas, she thought.
Grief washed over her.
No, Jane told herself. She couldn’t get emotional now. She needed her strength to fight this evil spirit.
And I thought we were getting along better this morning, the evil spirit said.
Jane began to dig.
Why are we digging, Sarah? she asked.
You’ll see, Sarah replied.
Jane threw herself into the task. Shoving the metal point of the shovel hard into the dirt. Scooping up a pile of dirt and flinging it behind her.
A trickle of sweat ran down her cheek. Jane wiped it away. She needed to rest. Just for a few minutes.
Jane looked down into the hole. A pink earthworm squirmed at the bottom. She had disturbed the worm in its morning work, no doubt. Poor little creature.
Jane carefully placed the sharp edge of the shovel on the worm. She pressed down hard, neatly slicing the worm in two.
A familiar cackle sounded in her ears.
Leave me alone, Jane begged. You’ve had your pleasure. My life could not be more ruined than it is now. Go away and leave me to my misery. That would be the worst torture you could imagine.
I’m never leaving, the evil spirit answered. This is my life now.
Jane leaned on the shovel, letting the wooden handle hold her up.
She would go insane if Sarah stayed inside her. Who knew what hideous thing Sarah would make her do next.
Two murders! Two ghastly, senseless deaths. Two innocent people. Both killed in one single day!
Two murders? the evil spirit asked. You mean you really don’t remember? Oh, Jane, surely you can remember what you yourself have done with your own filthy little hands.
Remember? Jane thought, her heart suddenly racing.
Remember what?
Sarah shrieked with glee. Yesterday, after killing the mill foreman, you returned to the mansion—and your room.
Jane saw it now. Saw herself taking off the cloak that hid her bloodstained clothes.
Hiding the clothes in the back of one of her closets.
It would have worked, too. No one would have found the clothes in that closet, not for weeks.
But who should walk in at that moment and surprise her?
Clara, the maid.
Jane closed her eyes, trying to stop the images.
But the pictures were in her mind, flipping by like illustrations on the pages of some horrific book.
Young Clara. The expression of horror on her face. Red splotches forming on her pale cheeks, as if she had been slapped.
No, no. I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to remember!
The maid asked why you were covered in blood, the evil spirit told Jane. There was only one way to answer such a question.
Jane saw herself turn to the maid. “You want to see why my dress got so bloody?” she heard herself ask Clara. “Here, I’ll show you.”
She pulled out the knife she had taken from Mrs. Teasedale’s house.
So that’s what I’m doing, Jane suddenly realized.
I’m digging a grave for Clara.
Jane slowly turned.
Please let it all be a trick, a nightmare, she thought. Let Clara be alive.
But no. She saw Clara’s high-laced black shoes sticking out from beneath one of the hedges.
“Poor Clara,” Jane murmured.
She groaned as she struggled to pull Clara’s body over to the freshly dug grave.
They get so heavy when they’re dead, don’t they? the evil spirit asked sweetly.
Jane rolled Clara into the hole. The maid landed on her back.
Jane grabbed the shovel. She scooped up some dirt and tossed it into the grave. Covering Clara’s staring eyes.
She had almost finished filling in the grave when the constable arrived.
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“Mrs. Fear?”
She leaned on her shovel. She squinted. The sun was in her eyes. “Yes?” she answered in a husky voice.
“Constable Childs, ma’am.” The young man took off his cap and scratched his closely cropped head of blond curls. “You’re up early, aren’t you?”
“So are you,” Jane answered with a smile.
“That’s true. May I ask what you’re doing?”
“Gardening. What does it look like?” she asked harshly.
The constable shrugged. He peered at her closely.
He was a handsome young man. He had a cleft in his chin just like Thomas’s.
Maybe the constable should die as well!
No, no! Jane cried.
Oh, how she longed to tell him everything that was going on. Maybe he could help her.
But she didn’t have control of any part of her body.
“I dug a hole for a sapling I intend to plant here,” she said.
Please don’t believe it, Jane begged him silently.
The constable nodded. Apparently, he believed her.
“Mrs. Fear, I don’t know if you heard, but a horrible thing happened here in Shadyside yesterday,” the constable said.
“Oh?” Jane asked.
“You know, this is a small town, ma’am. We don’t get much trouble here. But when it comes, we get plenty. There were two murders in one day.”
Jane gasped. “No!”
“Yes, ma’am,” the constable answered.
Jane put a hand to her chest. “No one I know, I hope.”
“Perhaps we had better talk inside, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Fear,” the constable answered.
They crossed the wide lawn. Jane led the constable around the back, and into
the kitchen. “Perhaps I can offer you some tea,” Jane said with a sweet smile.
If he comes too close to the truth, Sarah will make me kill him, Jane realized.
And there was nothing she could do about it.
Nothing.
“Tea would be very nice. Thank you, Mrs. Fear,” the constable answered.
“Clara?” Jane called. “The maid,” she explained to the constable. “She’s usually up by now.” Jane called to Clara a few more times, then shrugged. “I will have to make it myself, I suppose.”
“Thank you, ma’am. If it’s not too much trouble,” the constable said.
“No trouble at all.” Jane put the kettle on the stove. Then she lit the fire under the big metal pot of potatoes and water that sat next to the kettle.
“You may want to sit down,” the constable suggested.
“All right.” Jane sat down. She folded her hands. She smiled politely, like a schoolchild waiting for a lecture from her teacher.
“Reginald Taft, the foreman at your husband’s mill was murdered. And so was Liza Teasedale,” the constable told her.
Tears stung her eyes. Tears for the suffering she had caused.
If the constable has any doubts left, the tears in your eyes will erase them, Sarah whispered.
But for once, Sarah was wrong.
The young constable kept asking questions.
Had she noticed anything out of the ordinary when she visited Mrs. Teasedale yesterday?
Wasn’t it kind of a strange coincidence that she had also visited the mill?
“I talked to your carriage driver,” he explained, looking down at his hands.
“Yes, I visited the mill. And yes, it is a most awful coincidence,” Jane agreed. She stood up and poured two cups of tea. She placed them on the table and sat back down.
The constable began to ask questions about the Fear family. About Thomas’s grandparents, Angelica and Simon. About the rumors that the family practiced the dark arts.
Jane could feel Sarah growing angrier and angrier.
The next thing she knew, she woke up in her own bed.
She had blacked out again. A horrible feeling of dread swept through her.
Oh, no …
Jane tiptoed down to the kitchen, terrified at what she might see inside.
Slowly, she pushed open the door. The smell of cooked meat filled her nose.
Several servants sat at the table, eating their breakfast. Jason was among them. He gave her a worried smile.
She nodded gravely.
There was no sign of the constable.
If only she could remember what had happened. She shuffled wearily to the table and sat down heavily.
The servants appeared surprised to find their mistress sitting at the table with them. “Shall I make you some tea, ma’am?” Jason offered.
Jane’s head jerked up.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.
She had made tea for the constable. She remembered that, but vaguely. She could see herself and the constable sitting at the table.
And after tea—what happened? She needed to remember.
“Are you all right?” Jason asked.
“Fine, fine. Tea would be lovely. Thank you,” Jane answered.
Perhaps the constable had finally grown tired of asking questions and left.
Now why didn’t she believe that?
Jason brought the tea back to the table and set it before her. She slowly stirred the dark liquid, letting the steam warm her face. Jason looked so very worried.
She tried to smile at him. “I’m sorry we weren’t able to go to a show together,” she said.
Jason blushed. Jane noticed the other servants exchanging glances.
That was stupid of me, she realized. No one knew he was her stepbrother. She had embarrassed him. The other servants probably thought that some odd and shocking romance was brewing between the recently widowed mistress and her young servant!
Jane pulled a piece of toast from a servant’s hand and gobbled it down. She cackled at the startled expression on his face.
“Not bad,” Jane said as she chewed.
Her gaze settled on the large pot of boiling potatoes on the stove. The food seemed to stick in Jane’s throat.
She shoved her chair backward so fast it fell over with a crash.
Her hand flew to her forehead.
The pain—so sharp!
And then the memories—
Flying past one after another—
“No! No!” Jane cried, covering her mouth. She shook her head, trying to make the horrifying pictures disappear. The horrifying pictures of what she had done to the constable.
Jason took her by the shoulders and guided her back into a chair.
But she ripped free. Her body bent double. “What have I done?” she screamed.
All the servants gathered around, watching her in horror. Not knowing what was wrong. Not knowing what she was seeing in her head.
“What is going on?” Jason demanded. “You must tell me. Let me help you.”
The lid on the large pot rattled as the contents cooked and bubbled.
Jane stared at it. Little wisps of steam escaped from under the dancing lid.
The delicious smell of meat grew stronger.
She began to gag.
For now she remembered everything.
Now she knew exactly what had become of Constable Childs.
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The constable is in that pot, Jane realized. I carved him up … like a turkey.
She ran out of the kitchen. She dashed up to her room and locked the door behind her.
“Let me in!” Jason cried. He pounded on the door.
“Go away!” Jane yelled. “Go away! Please, Jason. I’m all right, I promise. I just need to rest.”
A few moments later, Jane heard his footsteps moving away.
There is one more, Jane, Sarah told her. You cannot stay locked in your room. There is one more we must take care of.
No more! Jane shouted back.
But Sarah pulled her to the door.
One more, Jane. Just one more little murder and then we’re done, the evil spirit said.
Jane threw herself to the ground. She tried to crawl away from the door, every muscle straining with the terrible effort.
Sarah only laughed. Have you guessed who we’re going to kill next? Jason. Your stepbrother, Jason!
She could not let that happen.
He belonged to her past, her life before the horror.
He was more precious to her than anything in the world.
Jane gathered all her strength. She pulled herself to her feet, clawing the wallpaper with her bare hands. She backed away from the door.
“You won’t get me to do that.” She shouted the words out loud. “Never!”
She could feel Sarah pushing her, pushing her toward the door.
Jane grabbed onto her desk.
“No!” she screamed.
Sarah seemed to let go.
Could it be that simple?
Jane’s legs began to tremble.
She felt something gathering force inside her body.
She heard a distant hissing sound. Growing louder. Louder.
Jane sank to her knees. The thing that was inside her forced her lips open wide.
Green gas spewed out of her mouth.
It filled the room. The smell was like rotted flesh.
Jane choked and sputtered. The green gas kept pouring out of her.
She fell to her knees, coughing and shaking.
Then it was over.
Jane scrubbed her mouth with the hem of her skirt. Then she stared around the room. The green gas filled it from floor to ceiling, thick as fog.
Jane felt a drop of sweat run down her forehead.
Was it her imagination or was the room growing hot? She blinked as more sweat ran into her eyes, stinging her eyeballs.
And still the room grew hotter.
>
The green gas began to shimmer, like the air on a hot summer day.
The floor began to burn her knees. She leapt to her feet. But she could feel the floor burning through the soles of her shoes.
I have to get out of here, Jane thought. But she could not move.
The green gas quivered. It gathered in the center of the room, forming into one large cloud.
Dark holes formed in the cloud. Two holes side by side.
Eyes, Jane realized with horror. They began to glow a bright green.
Another hole formed in the cloud, and became a mouth.
The cloud swirled and shifted—forming a face.
The face of Sarah Burns. The face of Jane’s best friend.
“Sarah,” Jane breathed.
It was the first time Jane had seen Sarah since she died.
Jane began to cry. “Sarah … Sarah …”
The glowing green eyes flashed with fury.
Jane cried harder. “Even after all that’s happened, I love you, Sarah. And I miss you—”
“Silence!” the evil spirit roared.
“Oh, Sarah. We never should have done it,” Jane moaned. “It was madness. Thinking we could switch places. Look what we’ve done, Sarah! Look at all the pain we caused!”
“There will be more! More pain! And more and more and more!”
“No more,” Jane said, shaking her head and struggling for breath. “Let it end. Let us both die, Sarah. It’s enough.”
“More!”
“No, Sarah.”
Jane felt a tiny bit of strength gathering force inside her. “I won’t let you hurt anyone else, Sarah. It’s over.”
“You can’t stop me, Jane.” Tendrils of gas darted forward and licked Jane’s face—tearing at her skin with every touch. Burning her. “You can never stop me.”
Hands formed in the gas.
Jane couldn’t move. Couldn’t get away.
The hands reached out for Jane’s throat.
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Jane let out a piercing scream. Her mouth wide open in terror.
The green gas began to shoot back into her.
No!
She had to hold her mouth closed! She could not let Sarah reenter her body!
Jane tried to close her jaws, tried to clench her teeth. But the thick green gas was too powerful. It pushed her teeth apart.