The Swallow

by Charis Cotter

  Weird. Very weird. I wandered past the displays and thought how small everything looked now compared to when I was little and had a hard time reaching the top shelf.

  Now I could hear voices coming from the adults’ section. Maybe Mrs. Gardner had come back.

  I turned to head out and stopped short. The Horrors were standing in the doorway, staring at me.

  Rose

  The swallow was beautiful—its back a brilliant blue, its wings and tail feathers gray, a tiny band of yellow around its neck. It had been done in watercolors, with pale washes of different blues in the sky. There was no ground visible, just endless blue.

  Polly was right. Winnie was really good at this. Each feather was detailed and perfect. The swallow looked as though it could go on flying forever.

  I reached into the box and pulled out another drawing, this one in pencil, of baby swallows in the nest, all with their beaks open, hungry. The next drawing had the swallow flying high above an intricate country landscape—rolling hills, little houses, trees.

  Sitting in the quiet library, I went through the pictures one by one. They showed me a part of Winnie I had never imagined. I dug in the bottom of the box to see if there were any more. The newspaper clippings and the letters were there, and something else, right at the bottom, something heavy. A book.

  I pulled it out.

  “Do you like ghost stories?” said a voice behind me. I jumped up and the book and the drawings and the clippings and the box all fell in a heap on the floor.

  The librarian, Mrs. Gardner, was standing there. I don’t know where she came from. I hadn’t heard a thing.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve startled you,” she said. “Let me help.”

  We both got down on our knees and began picking up the mess.

  “What beautiful drawings,” she said, looking at the pictures. “Did you do these?”

  “No, I can’t draw at all. It was my—my aunt.”

  “Well, she’s very talented. Do you like birds? I’m sure I could find you some really interesting bird books. That’s a swallow, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” I scrambled to grab the clippings so she wouldn’t be able to read them.

  “Did you know swallows are a symbol of hope, all over the world?” she said, looking at another picture. “It’s because they always come back, often to the same nest, year after year. They’re a sign of spring.”

  “Mmmm,” I said. Mrs. Gardner was very friendly but I wanted to get away from her. In a minute she was going to notice how weird I was, and that familiar look was going to cross her face, and she was going to start treating me funny.

  “I … I should get going,” I said.

  “Don’t forget your ghost book,” said Mrs. Gardner with a smile, picking up the book I had pulled out of the box. It was Polly’s book, The Ghastly Ghost at My Gate. Polly must have scooped it up in the attic and put it in the box by mistake.

  “I guess you’ll need to check it out,” she said, flipping automatically to the back cover where the library pocket was.

  “Oh, my,” she said. “This is overdue.”

  She looked up at me suspiciously.

  “April 10?” she said. “That’s eight months overdue.”

  “Oh, uh, it’s not mine,” I said, knowing how lame that sounded. “It’s—it’s a friend’s book.”

  Mrs. Gardner’s friendliness was quickly turning to frost.

  “Let’s just check the records, shall we?” she said, her mouth set in a grim line.

  I trailed behind her to the desk. Even her back looked cross. Librarians really hate it when your books are overdue. Polly was going to have to pay a big fine.

  There was still no one around. I’d never seen the library so deserted.

  Mrs. Gardner hauled out a drawer under the counter and started flipping through some cards that were arranged in rows.

  “Faraday, Faraday,” she murmured to herself. “Now why does that name ring a bell? Aha, here it is.”

  She held it up.

  “Show me your library card, please,” she said.

  “I don’t have it,” I replied. “It’s at home.”

  She gave me another stern look. “You came to the library without your card?”

  Now she was really giving me the once-over, taking in my cloak and my wild hair.

  “I didn’t know I was coming here …” I faltered.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

  “I … uh … I had the day off today.”

  She didn’t look convinced. She peered at me.

  “Wait a minute. I know you. Didn’t I meet you last summer, with your mother, when you moved into the area?”

  “Yes,” I mumbled.

  “And you’ve been in a few times since—”

  “Yes,” I mumbled again. I just wanted to get out of there.

  “But if you moved here in the summer, why do you have a book that was due in April?”

  “I told you. It’s my friend’s book. It got into my box by mistake.”

  “What’s your friend’s name?” asked Mrs. Gardner.

  “I need to go,” I said and scooted out the door.

  “HUNT POLLY”

  Polly

  “Polly,” said Mark. “You need to come home.”

  “No, I don’t,” I said. “I’m meeting Rose here.

  Matthew shook his head.

  “No, she’s gone.”

  “Come with us, Polly,” said Mark. “Mum wants you home.”

  Matthew shot a look at him. I knew that look.

  “You just made that up, Mark,” I said.

  Mark turned on Matthew.

  “What did you do that for, Matt? I nearly had her.”

  “Sorry,” said Matt. “Didn’t mean to.”

  “What do you mean, you ‘nearly had’ me? Why are you following me around? Are you playing some kind of ‘Hunt Polly’ game? Are you trying to capture me? You gotta be kidding, right?”

  I walked towards them. They backed out the door.

  “Just come,” said Mark. “You don’t need the Ghost Girl. You can play with us.”

  “You guys are just kids. I don’t want to play with you. And anyway, Rose is not the Ghost Girl. She just looks a bit like her, that’s all.”

  I followed them out into the adults’ section. It was still deserted. But I could hear the distant voices, as if they were coming from behind closed doors somewhere.

  “Do you guys know what’s going on? Why the lights are out and there’s nobody here?”

  They exchanged one of those twin looks again.

  “You can’t see anyone?” said Matthew.

  “There’s no one to see. Why isn’t Mrs. Gardner here?”

  Mark’s eyes swiveled over to the librarian’s desk and then back to me. Matthew gave him a little dig in the ribs.

  “Never mind her,” said Mark. “Come on home, Polly. Ghost Girl isn’t here.”

  “Oh, all right,” I said and followed them out the door.

  Rose

  I ran till I was about a block away from the library and then slowed to a walk. I shouldn’t have taken off like that. It wouldn’t make any difference. Mrs. Gardner would find out it was Polly’s book as soon as she matched up the numbers in her card catalog. Then she’d call Polly’s mother, and probably my mother too, and we’d be in more trouble than ever.

  I hurried along Parliament Street, clutching the box under my cloak. It was getting dark already. I couldn’t think where Polly could be, unless she had to stay after school for some reason.

  As I walked through the dim gray streets I thought about Winnie and her swallow, and the way she’d looked on the bridge the night before, and my grandfather’s ghost, sitting in his study, begging me to help her. And my father, with that lost little boy inside of him, watching his sister fall off the bridge, over and over again.

  Maybe … maybe I could give him Winnie’s message. What if she was right, and I could put an end to
all the ghosts in that house, and my father’s misery? But would he believe me?

  People brushed past me in the dusk. Everyone was in a hurry and no one paid any attention to me, as usual.

  I was invisible.

  FOOTSTEPS

  Polly

  I never walk with the twins. When we leave for school, they’re either ahead of me or behind me. They ignore me and I ignore them. Unless they want to torment me about something.

  But this time they stuck to me like glue, all the way home, one on each side of me. I guess it was part of this “Hunt Polly” game they were playing. When we got to the cemetery, I started to slow down, hoping to see some ghosts, but they each grabbed one of my arms and started to hurry me along the street, almost running.

  “Stop it!” I said, trying to break free, but they wouldn’t let go. They kept looking over their shoulders at the cemetery and acting kind of nervous.

  “What is wrong with you guys?” I said, still trying to pull away. “What are you scared of? Ghosts?”

  I was kidding, but they looked even more nervous, and Matthew said, “Yes,” in a small voice.

  Mark gave him a dirty look.

  “Wait a minute, you guys can see ghosts?” I said, finally shaking my arms free.

  “Yes,” said Matthew. “That’s how we can see the Ghost Girl. No one else can see her. Except you.”

  “Come on,” said Mark, grabbing my arm again. “Let’s get out of here. They’re coming, Polly.”

  I stopped and peered through the iron railings. “I don’t see anything.”

  “No, Polly!” said Mark. “They’re dangerous. Please. Come on.”

  They both looked so scared that I stopped struggling and let them rush me along. We turned the corner to our street and slowed down.

  “What do you mean, no one else sees Rose?” I asked.

  They exchanged a twin look.

  “Have you ever seen her talking to anyone else?” said Mark.

  “Well … no … except Kendrick. I’ve heard her talking to Kendrick. Their housekeeper.”

  “What housekeeper?” said Matthew.

  “You know, that old lady who’s lived there forever,” I said.

  “She died,” said Mark.

  “Last spring,” said Matthew.

  Rose

  As I turned down the last block to our street, I heard footsteps behind me.

  I glanced over my shoulder. The light was so dim, I could barely make out the tall, dark figure that was approaching, moving much faster than me and quickly catching up.

  I stepped behind a tree and hid, holding my breath.

  The figure stopped just before it reached my tree. It stood there for a moment. Then it spoke.

  “Rosie,” it said in a broken voice. My father’s voice.

  What was he doing here? I thought he was in Montreal.

  I peeked out around the other side of the tree. His face was illuminated by a streetlight. He looked tired, and his shoulders were slumped, as if he were carrying a great weight.

  “Winnie,” he said and covered his face with his hands.

  I moved carefully back into the shadows.

  THE WITCH

  Polly

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Which old lady are you talking about? You must be thinking of Rose’s grandmother. She died last spring. Kendrick is the housekeeper. She’s always coming in and out carrying groceries.”

  Another twin look.

  “Oh, that one,” said Matthew. “She’s scary. She comes out and yells at us if we even put one foot inside their backyard.”

  “Well,” I said, “she may be scary, but she’s not a ghost, and I’ve heard Rose talking to her, so that proves that—”

  “That proves nothing, Polly,” said Mark. “That old lady could be a witch, and witches can see ghosts!”

  “She’s a witch for sure,” said Matthew. “Look at her eyes sometime. They’re all small and beady, and I bet she puts spells on people who go in her backyard and—”

  “Stop!” I cried. “Enough with the witches! Rose is my friend and she won’t hurt me, ghost or no ghost.”

  “She is definitely a ghost,” said Mark stubbornly. “We see her sitting at the back window for hours, just staring out. And no one ever sees her or speaks to her, except you and us. She’s invisible.”

  “And if you see her talking to someone, it must be someone who can see ghosts,” piped up Matthew.

  “Like us,” said Mark.

  I stared at them. “How long have you two been able to see ghosts? How come you never told me?”

  Another twin look.

  “A while,” said Matt. “Just a while. We don’t like ghosts like you do. We don’t wanna see them, do we, Mark?”

  “No,” said Mark carefully.

  We’d reached our house.

  “I think I’ll just go call on Rose,” I said. “Ghost Girl or not, she was supposed to meet me and I want to see if she’s all right.”

  “NO!” said both of the boys. “You’ve got to stay away from her, Polly!”

  Just then my mother stuck her head out the front door.

  “There you are! Where have you two boys been? I told you to come straight home from school. You’ve got Cubs in fifteen minutes. We can just make it if we leave now.”

  “But, Mum—” whined Matt.

  “We can’t—” said Mark.

  “In here, right now, no arguments,” she said firmly. “And I’d like you to tell me what happened to the chocolate cake I left on the counter.”

  “Cake?” said Matthew, looking at his brother. “What cake?”

  I laughed. Mark shot me a look as they headed up the stairs.

  “Stay away from her, Polly,” whispered Mark over his shoulder. “You don’t understand.”

  Rose

  I waited till I heard my father’s footsteps fade away and then started slowly after him. My stomach felt funny. Why had he said “Rosie” like that, as if it hurt him to say my name? And then “Winnie,” right after?

  I could see the lights of cars crossing the Bloor Viaduct through the bare trees. I bent my head so I wouldn’t have to look at them. The box seemed strangely warm and heavy in my arms.

  Polly’s house was dark. That was strange. It always seemed to be the center of various activities, day or night.

  I walked up my front steps and opened the door. The house was very still. Quiet. As if no one was home. The light in the hallway was dim, and deep shadows filled the corners. My head felt light, the way it had on the bridge the night before. I seemed to be floating across the hall, making no sound. It was as if I had no control over my body but was just moving along a path that was laid out before me. I put the box down on the hall table as I passed and then stopped in the doorway to my father’s study.

  My father was sitting slumped at his desk, staring blindly into space. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of his face, which was etched with lines of care and distress I had never seen there before.

  A movement behind him caught my eye. It was Winnie, stepping out of the shadows. She was wearing her long black dress with the white collar and staring at my father with that same hungry, longing look that I recognized from the eyes of every ghost I had ever seen. The look that always made me run.

  EMPTY

  Polly

  I glanced at Rose’s house. There was no sign of life. Where was she?

  I decided on a bold move and walked up her steps to ring the doorbell. If Kendrick answered it, I could say I was taking orders for Girl Guide cookies. And I could study her very carefully and try to figure out whether or not she was a witch.

  No one came. I knocked, hard.

  Still no answer.

  I tried the door. It was locked.

  I wandered back to my house. Nobody was home. Mum must have taken the twins to Cubs, but I had no idea where everyone else was.

  An empty house, twice in one day. Unbelievable! I sat myself down by the window in the sitting room where I cou
ld watch for Rose coming home. It was pretty dark out there, but a streetlight cast a small pool of light on the sidewalk.

  It was nice to just sit there in the quiet house, with nobody bothering me. I didn’t have to hide away to be alone. I had the whole house to be alone in.

  Rose

  Winnie raised her head and our eyes met.

  It was just like on the bridge: I could have been looking into a mirror. Winnie reflected everything I was—lonely, weird, angry—but hungry more than anything else. A hungry ghost. Not hungry for food, like the Breakfast Ghost. Hungry for something else.

  I no longer had a choice. I took a deep breath. “I’ll do it,” I said.

  EGGS

  Polly

  My head hurt. It was like the ghost of a headache: a faint throbbing behind my eyes. It reminded me of something. I closed my eyes for a moment.

  Eggs. It reminded me of eggs.

  Rose

  My father looked up at the sound of my voice.

  “Rosie?” he said, frowning. “Is that you?” He peered at me.

  The desk lamp made a little island of light around him, but the rest of the room was in shadows.

  “Winnie?” he whispered. “Rose?” He passed his hand over his forehead. “For a moment I thought …”

  Now even he couldn’t tell the difference.

  I stood in front of him, the box held tight to my chest. I felt like I did when I was little, before I learned how to talk. I opened my mouth but no sound came.

  My father waited, looking at me.

  I felt as if I was standing at the edge of a cliff and my father was far away, on the other side of the gulf. How was I going to get to him, except by jumping?

  THE MESSAGE

  Polly

  That stupid fight with my father, about the eggs. Or the lack of eggs, to be precise. That was the day I had the headache, the day I met Rose. It seemed so long ago now.

  I sighed. The circle of light on the sidewalk was empty. No Rose.

  The ghost of the headache was getting stronger. And now my stomach felt sick. Another echo: the day I had that awful headache, my stomach was upset too.