The Haunting

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  Down in the bottom of the bag, I hid the bag of gris-gris. I felt a strange, prickly feeling as I remembered Ava Phipps wondering how long the gris-gris’s power would work. Long enough, I hoped.

  When I’d finished packing I returned to Poe’s stories. I made good time through the rest of “The Tell-Tale Heart,” and wrote,

  A madman murders and dismembers an old man because he doesn’t like one of his eyes, but he keeps thinking he hears the old man’s heart beating under the floorboards of his bedroom so he confesses to the police.

  How is any of this horror stuff going to help me understand the evil in Graymoss? I wondered. But I realized that the evil was a horror in itself, so maybe there was a connection I hadn’t discovered yet.

  Mom tapped at my door and called, “Good night, Lia. Don’t stay up reading too late.” That was what she always said.

  “I won’t,” I called back. That was what I always answered.

  In a few moments the house was silent, and I kept reading and writing one-sentence plots. A little after midnight I finished—thank goodness. I read over what I’d just written.

  “The Purloined Letter”—Auguste Dupin discovers the hiding place of a stolen letter and brings about the political downfall of the thief.

  “The Black Cat”—a man tortures and kills his cat, then makes a home for another cat, which is really the spirit of the first cat, but before he can go down in the basement to kill the cat again, the man’s wife intervenes so he murders her, but the cat gets its revenge and the man is caught by the police.

  The sentence was too long, but I shrugged. A lot went on in that horror story.

  “The Pit and the Pendulum”—A man in Toledo, Spain, is tortured in a gruesome prison cell but just before he gives in to death he is rescued by the French army.

  “The Fall of the House of Usher”—The narrator visits a friend, Roderick Usher, who lives in a gloomy old house, and while he is there Usher’s sister Madeline dies and is put into a locked coffin in a basement vault, but at night all sorts of horrible noises are heard and scary things happen until finally Madeline, who wasn’t dead after all, breaks out of her coffin and appears to Roderick, who dies just before the house is torn apart by a whirlwind.

  I stopped writing and studied that extra-long sentence. Jolie would have had something to say about that, but I couldn’t help it. I sat thinking about the story, which made me uncomfortable. There were so many scary descriptions of sounds and winds and footsteps and unearthly things, it reminded me of Graymoss at night.

  I carefully went over the story descriptions, one by one, seeing if any of the others applied in even the smallest way to Graymoss.

  I crossed out “The Gold Bug,” since there was no pirate treasure in Graymoss. “The Oval Portrait” didn’t fit because I hadn’t seen a portrait of anybody at all at Graymoss and Charlotte hadn’t mentioned one. “The Black Cat” didn’t help, because there had been no mention of the Blevinses owning a cat, so I crossed it out, too, along with “The Pit and the Pendulum” and “The Purloined Letter.” I didn’t see how “The Tell-Tale Heart” would fit, or “The Masque of the Red Death.” They took place inside houses, but that was the only link.

  That left “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” “The Cask of Amontillado,” and “The Fall of the House of Usher.”

  I waited for inspiration to strike, but it didn’t. My eyes hurt, my fingers ached, and I couldn’t stop yawning.

  Disappointed that I hadn’t found some important key that would solve the problem, I put down the book, turned out the light, and slid down in bed, ready to sleep.

  Only I didn’t sleep. Charlotte’s grandfather had tried to give her a message through Poe’s stories. She didn’t know what the message was, and neither did I. My mind was a jumble of hideous corpses who’d been throttled, and screaming cats that had been knifed, and locked doors that were thrown open, and bricked-up walls, and detached hearts that kept beating. How could any of this lead to the truth about Graymoss? Which story held the clue?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  We arrived at Grandma’s house at noon, just in time for dinner. Grandma had always followed the old custom of a big Sunday dinner at midday with a supper of leftovers in the evening. She did herself proud with a huge pot roast simmered with red potatoes, carrots, celery, and onions. There were two kinds of salads and beaten biscuits.

  I had dumped my bag on the middle of the bed in her guest room, and I sat quietly eating and listening as she went over and over proud memories of her mother.

  When we had finished a dessert of homemade lemon ice cream, Grandma gave Mom and me each a small box. “Mother wasn’t interested in jewelry, so she didn’t own much,” she said. “However, I’d like the two of you to enjoy the pieces that meant the most to her.”

  Mom opened her box and exclaimed with delight over a delicate gold pin and ring set with amethysts. My gift was a pair of small pearl stud earrings, which I loved. I put them on and thanked Grandma.

  “When you wear them I hope you’ll remember your great-grandmother as an outstanding role model. Sarah Langley was a courageous woman who was not afraid to tackle problems and conquer them,” Grandma said to me. In my mind the banner with the embroidered names of Women Who Are Exceptionally Brave appeared in full color over Grandma’s head.

  I hoped she wouldn’t start in on how I wasn’t like a single one of the women in the family, so quiet and shy with my nose always in a book.

  I braced myself, just in case, but Mom suddenly pushed back her chair and began clearing the table. “Derek and I have to get back,” she said. “I’ve got a stack of paperwork to finish before I return to work tomorrow. In fact, I may just stop off at the office and see how much work has piled up while I was in California.”

  Grandma looked disappointed. “About Graymoss—I had hoped to hear about your visit there,” she began, and I realized that was really what she wanted to talk about.

  “There’s really nothing to tell,” Mom said. Before she disappeared into the kitchen with a stack of plates, she added, “We’ve hired an engineering firm to check out the structure on Friday. We won’t know what we’ll be doing with the house until then.”

  “On her deathbed Mother warned Lia that—”

  Mom wasn’t about to let Grandma finish what she had to say about Graymoss. Somehow I found myself volunteering to put the dishes in the dishwasher so that Mom and Dad could leave.

  “See you on Friday, honey,” Mom said. She and Dad kissed me goodbye and left.

  Grandma didn’t come back to the kitchen until I had almost finished. She leaned against the sink and fixed me with such a steady gaze that I felt like a bug on a slide in science class. “You were with your parents when they visited Graymoss, weren’t you, Lia?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “Tell me what you found there. Tell me everything.”

  I don’t know where I got the sudden burst of courage. Maybe it came from wearing the remarkable Sarah Langley’s earrings. Maybe it was just because I was so eager to find out everything I could about Graymoss. I stared directly back into Grandma’s eyes and said, “I’ll tell, if you will.”

  “What?” Grandma looked amazed.

  I took a deep breath and said, “You wouldn’t tell Mom and me everything that happened to you at Graymoss, and I want to know, so I’ll tell you what happened to me if you tell me what happened to you.”

  Grandma examined me as though I were someone she hadn’t met before. I could tell she was thinking hard. “Very well,” she said. “You first.”

  I was on a roll and enjoying my sudden burst of power. “No, Grandma,” I said. “You first. I asked you my question back when we were in San Francisco.”

  Grandma sighed. “I guess that’s fair,” she said, and handed me a towel to dry my hands. “Let’s go into the living room, where we can be comfortable.”

  The telephone interrupted us.

  Grandma picked up the kitchen extension. As she listened,
worry wrinkles spread across her forehead and around her eyes. “Yes,” she said, and then, “Oh, dear. No, you won’t be able to reach them for the next few hours. Yes, I’ll come.”

  My chest hurt, and I found it hard to breathe. As Grandma hung up the receiver I blurted out, “Mom and Dad are all right, aren’t they? What happened?”

  “They’re fine. That call wasn’t about your parents,” Grandma said, but the worry lines didn’t go away.

  “Then what’s the matter? Who called you?”

  I could see Grandma making an effort to pull herself together. “It was a sheriff in Bogue Parish,” she said. “According to the sheriff, Charlie Boudreau went to Graymoss this afternoon and discovered that the summer kitchen had completely collapsed.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “That’s no big deal,” I said. “Dad was planning to tear it down anyway.”

  “Please allow me to finish,” Grandma said sternly. “Charlie noticed a leg sticking out of all that rubble, so he pulled away the boards as fast as he could. Lying there was a man named Raymond Merle.”

  I gasped. “He was dead?”

  “No. He’s alive but unconscious. Fortunately, the doctors in the hospital here in Baton Rouge, where the ambulance took him, told the sheriff it was more than likely Mr. Merle would pull through.” She paused. “The sheriff couldn’t reach your parents, as the owners of the property, so I told him I’d meet him at Graymoss and give him whatever information he needs.”

  “I’m going, too,” I told Grandma.

  I expected her to argue, but she looked relieved. “We can compare stories on the ride,” she said. “My story doesn’t take long to tell.”

  “Neither does mine,” I said. “Wait for me. I’ll be right back.”

  I tore upstairs to get my gris-gris, but I stopped short, gasping, as I saw that my canvas bag was gone. I ran back to the top of the stairs and yelled, “Grandma! What happened to my things?”

  She appeared below me. “I don’t hold with living out of suitcases and leaving clothes draped all over chairs and the floor, the way you did the last time you were here, so I unpacked for you and put your clothes in the emptied dresser drawers. The dress is on a hanger in the closet.”

  A chill trickled from the back of my neck all the way down to my toes. “Where’s my bag?” I asked. “Where did you put it?”

  “On the floor of the closet.” She sighed. “Lia, I know voodoo symbols when I see them. They’re totally meaningless in themselves, but they can cause great damage to those who believe in them. People have actually taken to their beds and died because enemies have left voodoo charms of death at their doors.”

  “My gris-gris isn’t bad voodoo,” I explained. “The woman who sold it to me said it would protect me from the evil in Graymoss.”

  “Nonsense. Voodoo won’t protect you against anything,” Grandma said.

  “But it will!” I shouted. “When we were in the house and I held on to the gris-gris, nothing happened. But when I let go of it I saw the invisible body on the bed!”

  Grandma paled. She reached out and clutched the knob on the foot of the stair railing. She wavered for a moment, as though she were trying to steady herself. Finally she gulped and said, “Forget the voodoo, Lia. I told the sheriff’s deputy we’d come right away. Let’s go.”

  I backed away from the railing and tried to think. Grandma hadn’t gone out to the garage, where she kept her trash can, so she’d probably thrown the gris-gris in her own wastepaper basket. I fastened my waist pack, rummaged through the basket, and found the gris-gris at the bottom, wrapped in a tissue. With her X-ray eyes Grandma would probably spot the gris-gris if I wore it under my shirt, so I dropped it into my waist pack next to my flashlight.

  A few minutes later we were on the road into Bogue City. Grandma said, “Years ago, when your grandfather and I moved to Baton Rouge, Mother asked me to keep an occasional eye on Graymoss. I would have done so. I had every intention of fulfilling her request, but …”

  “What did you see when you were in the house?” I asked.

  “I had been conversing with Charlie Boudreau when a storm came up,” she said. “Charlie hurried to his truck and drove home, but I didn’t want to drive back to Baton Rouge in a downpour, so I decided to wait out the storm inside the house.” She paused. “In spite of Charlie’s warning.”

  “What did he say?” I asked.

  “He told me to remember what was written in Charlotte’s diary and said he wouldn’t be caught dead at Graymoss after dark.”

  Grandma didn’t speak for a few moments, and I realized I had been holding my breath, so I let it out in a whoosh.

  “But you stayed there anyway? And it got dark?”

  “Yes. While I was there darkness fell.” She shuddered and said, “I don’t like to remember what happened. I can’t bear to think about it.”

  “Tell me!” I cried out impatiently.

  “I would if I could,” Grandma said. “I don’t really know. It seems there were sounds and whispered words and—”

  “What words? What did the voices say?”

  Grandma shook her head. “I didn’t try to make the words out. I couldn’t. I was standing by the window, watching the lightning flash, when I thought I felt something touch my cheek.”

  When she didn’t go on, I asked, “And then what?”

  Grandma cleared her throat, but it still sounded raspy. “And then I fainted,” she said. “I came to and the storm had passed. I picked myself up off that dusty floor, ran outside as fast as I could, and drove away.”

  Grandma was strictly a keep-your-eyes-on-the-road kind of driver, so it surprised me when she turned to look at me. “You needn’t repeat that part to your parents,” she said. “Goodness knows, I was terribly embarrassed to tell my own mother I had been so frightened I had fainted, as if I didn’t have a good, sensible brain in my head. But I did tell her. I had to tell her, because I thought of what a waste it was to keep up a house that no one could live in, just because an ancestor back in Civil War times had insisted on it.”

  “Great-grandmother Sarah said you wanted to destroy the house.”

  “I did indeed. I still do.”

  We pulled up to the gate on the drive leading to Graymoss. I didn’t have to get out to open the gate because it was already open wide. Grandma drove down the road, and as we approached the house I saw a car from the sheriff’s department parked next to Charlie’s pickup truck.

  A heavyset, graying man in uniform walked over and introduced himself as Sheriff Lee Fuller.

  “How is Mr. Merle?” Grandma asked.

  “Some better,” Sheriff Fuller said. “He’s conscious now, but with a bad headache.”

  “Did he tell you what happened?”

  “They’ve got him doped up some for the pain. He broke an arm, too, by the way. He’s not sayin’ too much right now—just that somethin’ pushed him.”

  “Do you mean someone?”

  “Nope. Ray said somethin’ pushed him. You know how spooked everyone is about this place, especially at night.”

  “Ghosts don’t push people,” Grandma said.

  “I’ve got some forms to fill out. You can help me with ’em,” Sheriff Fuller said, and walked toward his car. In a low voice I said to Grandma, “What about Charlotte’s cousin Lydia, who got pushed on the stairs?”

  Grandma frowned. “Was that in the diary? I don’t seem to remember it.”

  “A copy of the diary is in the historical museum here,” I said, delighted that I had a good excuse to visit it. “Let’s stop by and read what Charlotte said.”

  Sheriff Fuller returned with a clipboard and pen. “I need the full name and address of the rightful owner of this property, since Ray was on the property at the time the accident happened.”

  Grandma’s eyes blazed. “He was trespassing on private property!” she snapped. “He had no business being here.”

  I suddenly realized what Sheriff Fuller had said earlier. “You told us Mr. Me
rle was here at night.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s one of the questions I’m fixin’ to ask him, when he’s able to answer,” Sheriff Fuller said.

  I was puzzled as to why Mr. Merle had come to Graymoss at night—and especially last night, after Mom and Dad had sent him away. If Mom had come back, as I had first wanted her to do, she would have been furious to have Mr. Merle as a late-night visitor.

  As I glanced toward the house I felt uncomfortable, as though something about the house itself were tied in to Mr. Merle’s accident and I needed to find out what it was. I hadn’t a clue. I waited until Grandma had finished with the sheriff and then asked, “Have you looked inside the house?”

  Sheriff Fuller looked surprised. “No need,” he said. “The accident happened outside.”

  “Mr. Merle didn’t belong here in the first place—especially at night,” I said. “We should find out if he had been inside the house, too.”

  “Are you saying, in case he broke in?” Sheriff Fuller asked.

  Grandma looked a little pale. “I don’t see any need to go inside the house—” she began, but I interrupted.

  “It’s important,” I said. “Mom and Dad would want us to. What if Mr. Merle gets any ideas about suing for injuries?”

  Grandma looked a little nervous, but she was the one who had brought up trespassing, so she nodded agreement.

  “I’ve never been inside the place,” Sheriff Fuller said hesitantly. “I mean, I’ve heard … everybody’s heard that …”

  “If Mr. Merle does sue us, you may be called as a witness,” I told him. “You’ll be asked how you investigated the accident.”

  “I’ll get the keys from Charlie,” Sheriff Fuller said.

  We all followed Charlie, who unlocked the front door but insisted on staying outside.

  “Tell us about the people who died of fright at Graymoss,” I said to the sheriff.