The Dead End

by Mimi McCoy

  “There’s no one there. Everything is locked,” he said when he came back.

  “I heard something,” Casey insisted.

  “Casey, I promise you everything is fine,” her father said. “Now, why don’t you go back to bed? It’s very late.”

  “But —”

  “Casey, please. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  Casey went back to her own room. She got into bed and pulled the covers over her head. She was shaking.

  Her father was wrong. Everything was not fine. They could lock all the doors and bolt all the windows and it still wouldn’t help. Because she was sure that the knocking had come from inside the house.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Casey awoke the next morning feeling tired and cranky. In the bright morning light, her fears from the night before seemed like a dream.

  The cut on her hand was throbbing. In the bathroom, Casey checked it. It was swollen and crusted with dark blood, but it didn’t look infected. She rinsed it and changed the bandages, then went down to the kitchen.

  As she was eating a bowl of cereal, her mother bustled through the kitchen, carrying a bucket full of paintbrushes.

  “We’re painting the dining room today,” she told Casey brightly. “Want to help? It’ll be fun!”

  Casey looked at her mother’s paint-splattered T-shirt. The collar was already ringed with sweat. There’s no doubt about it, she thought. Mom’s Fun-o-meter has gone completely haywire. “No thanks,” she said.

  “How’s your hand?” her mother asked.

  Casey shrugged. “I’ll live.”

  “Put a little salve on it so it doesn’t get infected,” her mother instructed. She frowned a little and added, “Why don’t you get out of the house today? It would probably do you some good.” Picking up her brushes, she left the room.

  Casey finished her breakfast and rinsed her bowl in the sink. It was still early, but she could already feel sweat trickling down her back. She could tell it was going to be another scorching day.

  Casey stepped onto the porch, wondering what she should do. She considered going down to the gas station to call Jillian, but the thought of riding her bike through the heat was unbearable.

  Anyway, Jillian’s probably busy, Casey told herself. She thought longingly of Manhattan, with its cool museums and air-conditioned movie theaters. Lucky Jillian.

  On the porch swing, Casey spotted Millie’s diary, where she’d left it the night before. She sat down and picked it up. Rocking herself gently on the swing, she opened to a random page.

  June 10

  Dearest friend,

  I had another bad dream last night. I dreamed there was a fire. The smoke was so thick I couldn’t breathe. I wanted so much to run away. But all I could do was stand there and yell, “Get up! Get up! Get up!”

  That was the same dream she had before, Casey thought. She turned the page and read:

  June 11

  Dearest friend,

  Another fire dream. This time I saw that it was our house burning. The flames climbed as high as the treetops. The heat felt like an oven. I saw the stairway collapse. But I couldn’t find Mama and Papa. I looked and looked, but I couldn’t find them anywhere.

  These dreams always frighten me. But not as much as what happened tonight. I was lighting the candles for dinner when the candlesticks started to shake. They quivered in their holders as if they were alive. I dropped the matches and screamed for Papa. But by the time he came, they had stopped.

  Despite the hot day, Casey felt a cold chill go down her spine. She turned quickly ahead, scanning the pages, until she came to this entry in the diary:

  Dearest friend,

  Something very strange happened today. I don’t know what to make of it. I was in the kitchen, embroidering a handkerchief for my hope chest. I was in a bad mood because I hate embroidery, but Mama says I have to do it.

  Mama was around the side of the house, hanging the washing on the line. Suddenly, she hollered out, “Millie, stop that!”

  “Stop what?” I hollered back.

  “Stop fiddling with the radio!” she yelled.

  “I’m not anywhere near the radio!” I yelled back. But I went into the sitting room to see what she meant. The radio was on so loud I had to cover my ears. But that wasn’t all. It was tuning in and out all by itself, as if an invisible hand were turning the knobs.

  I ran out of the room and yelled to Mama, but by the time she came the radio was quiet. I know Mama doesn’t believe me. She thinks it is all my imagination….

  Casey shut the book and let it fall to the porch floor. She didn’t want to read any more. Her hands were shaking and she had a funny feeling in her stomach. She felt as if she’d stumbled into one of Jaycee Woodard’s spooky stories. Only this time, the main character was herself.

  Casey looked across the field to the shady woods. Suddenly, she needed to get away from the house. She felt like she was suffocating there.

  Casey stood and called out to her parents, “I’m going for a walk!”

  “Have fun!” her mother yelled through the window.

  Casey crossed the lawn quickly and set off down the road. The sun beat down on the top of her head. The droning sound of some insect filled the air like a monotonous, pulsing soundtrack.

  Casey was relieved when she reached the dead-end sign and the shade of the trees. The farther Casey got from the house, the more she relaxed. She felt something loosen in her chest, like a knot unwinding.

  As she walked, Casey started to notice things around her. She spotted something in the grass that looked like a golf ball, but turned out to be a mushroom that crumpled when she touched it. There were pretty blue flowers growing by the side of the road. She picked one and put it behind her ear. It made her feel a little better.

  When she came to a mailbox marked GREER, Casey paused, wondering why the name sounded familiar. Then she remembered that was the tuna-casserole boy’s name. Erik Greer.

  Casey felt a little flutter in her stomach. She peered between the trees, and caught a glimpse of a green house with a tan car parked out front. There was no sign of life.

  Across the road from Erik’s house, there was a narrower track leading between the trees. Casey could tell it wasn’t a driveway, because there was no mailbox in front and she couldn’t see a house nearby. She decided to follow it.

  As she walked, her thoughts returned to Millie’s diary. Casey couldn’t deny that strange things had been happening to her ever since she had arrived at the house on Drury Road. Her parents said it was her imagination. But was it just coincidence that Millie had “imagined” the same things decades before?

  The sound of running water made Casey look up. She had come to a wide woodland stream. Lost in her thoughts, she had somehow wandered off the trail.

  Casey turned back to find the trail, but it wasn’t there. All she saw were trees, in every direction.

  Casey spun around, trying to figure out which way she’d come. How could I be so stupid? she thought with rising panic. I wasn’t watching where I was going, and now I’m lost! And Mom and Dad won’t even think to look for me until dark. I’ll be lost in the woods in the dark!

  A twig snapped somewhere nearby. Casey’s stomach clenched with fear. There are wild animals in the woods, she thought. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? There could be a mountain lion … or a bear! A bear that was stalking her!

  Leaves rustled. Casey looked around wildly for a place to hide. But it was too late for that. She was trying to remember what you were supposed to do if you saw a bear (Run? Stop, drop, and roll?) when she spotted a large shape coming through the trees.

  Casey covered her face and screamed. She heard a crash of leaves, followed by a low curse. Something about the voice was familiar….

  “Erik?” Casey said, peeking through her hands.

  She followed the thrashing noises and found him lying on his back, tangled up in a bush. He frowned up at her. “Why do you scream every time y
ou see me? Am I really that scary?”

  “I thought you were a bear,” Casey admitted. She glanced around just to be sure that a bear hadn’t been following Erik. “I’m scared of bears.”

  “Well, nothing to worry about now. If there were any bears nearby, you’ve probably scared them all to death.” When Casey didn’t reply, he added, “Are you going to help me up or what?”

  Casey grasped his hand and pulled him out of the bush. There were leaves stuck to his shirt, and his bare arms were covered with little red scratches. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I always come down here when it’s hot. The stream is the only place to cool off,” Erik said, brushing at the leaves on his shirt.

  “There’s one in your hair,” Casey said, pulling it out.

  “Thanks. So, what are you doing here?” he asked.

  Casey suddenly remembered her problem. “I’m lost!” she told him. “Thank goodness you showed up. Do you have any idea how to get back to the trail?”

  Erik stared at her. Then a smile crept across his face. “It’s about ten feet that way. You can’t miss it,” he said, pointing in the direction he had come.

  Casey could tell he was laughing at her again. She straightened her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said coldly with as much dignity as she could muster. “Have fun at your stream.” She started toward the trail.

  “Wait,” Erik said, chasing after her. “You can’t go yet.”

  Casey stopped. “Why not?” “You’ll, uh … miss the regatta!” “The what?”

  “The regatta. You know, like a boat race,” Erik said.

  Casey looked back at the stream, confused. It didn’t seem deep enough for any kind of boat.

  Erik was bent over, searching for something on the ground. “Find a stick,” he told her.

  She didn’t have a clue what he was up to, but she picked up a long stick. “You mean, like this?”

  “Ah,” Erik said, nodding. “A classic schooner. Me, I tend to prefer a skiff.” He held up a much smaller twig. “We’re going to race them,” he told Casey. “That log is the starting point. We’ll go all the way to the bend in the stream. Ready?”

  “I guess,” Casey said. It seemed a little silly to her. But why not? she thought. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do.

  They took their sticks over to the half-submerged log. “On your mark,” said Erik. “Get set…. Go!”

  They both dropped the sticks into the water. At once, the current carried them away. Erik ran alongside the stream, shouting encouragement to his stick. Casey ran after him, laughing and shouting, too.

  “Come on, come on! To the right! Watch out for that log!” Erik yelled.

  “Go, go, go, go … no, no!” Casey hollered as her stick headed toward a tangle of roots.

  As she nudged it free, Erik’s stick got caught on a rock. He threw pebbles at it to knock it loose.

  “Ha-ha!” Casey shouted. “I’m winning!”

  “The race isn’t over yet!” Erik warned as his boat sped after hers.

  In the end, Erik won by a small margin, but Casey was laughing too much to care. “So is this what people do for fun in Stillness?” she asked him.

  Erik shrugged. “Not everyone. I guess it probably seems boring to you. What do you do for fun … wherever it is you’re from?”

  “New York,” Casey replied. “I hang out with my friends. My best friend, Jillian, mostly. We go shopping and listen to music, that kind of stuff. We had all these great plans for this summer, before I found out I was coming here.” Casey wasn’t sure why she was telling Erik this, but it felt good to talk to someone.

  “What kind of plans?” he asked.

  “Like going to Six Flags and to the beach.” Casey decided to leave out the part about finding boyfriends. “Anyway, Jillian’s been doing all that stuff without me. So at least one of us is having a good summer.” She sighed.

  “Beach,” Erik said with a dismissive wave. “Who needs the beach when you can have your own private island?”

  “What do you mean?” Casey asked.

  He smiled. “Follow me.”

  Erik led the way around a little bend in the stream. “There,” he said, pointing.

  A large, mossy boulder jutted up like an island in the middle of the stream. Part of its top had broken away, forming a sort of bench. It looked like a perfect place to sit. “See? My own private island,” said Erik.

  “Cool! But how do you get out there?” Casey asked. The stream was at least two feet deep and flowing fast.

  Erik went to the water’s edge and stepped out onto a dry rock poking up from the surface. With light hops, he skipped from rock to rock in the stream, until he had reached the boulder. He looked back at Casey. “Come on.”

  Casey hesitantly stepped onto the first rock. Holding her arms out for balance, she took another small step forward.

  “Now there,” said Erik, pointing to a bit of dry rock peeking up from the water.

  Casey reached for it. It wobbled beneath her foot, and she gasped.

  “It’s okay,” said Erik. “Just go fast.”

  The next rock was wide, but it was far away and it looked slippery. Casey glanced down at the water rushing around her feet. “I can’t do it.”

  “Yes you can,” said Erik. “Two more steps, and you’re there.”

  Casey tried to step forward, but her legs seemed to be frozen. She hovered there for a long moment. “I’m scared,” she said finally.

  Erik leaned forward and held out his hand. It was just out of Casey’s reach. “Come on,” he said. “What’s the worst thing that can happen?”

  Casey thought about that. “I’ll get wet.”

  “Exactly,” he said.

  Casey took a deep breath. Mustering all her courage, she leaped onto the slippery rock. Her foot started to slide. But a second later, Erik’s hand was grasping hers and he was pulling her onto the island.

  “Not too bad for a city girl,” he said.

  Casey made a face.

  They settled onto the mossy bench, leaning their backs against the cool stone. Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the trees overhead, dappling their legs.

  For a while they just sat listening to the water. Casey was surprised at how nice it felt. Boys usually made her nervous.

  Eventually, Erik turned to her and asked, “What happened to your hand?”

  Casey looked down at the bandage. Instead of answering, she said, “What do you know about our house?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s something weird about it, isn’t there?”

  Erik didn’t answer at first. He picked up a twig and began to peel off the bark. He looked like he was considering what to say. “Some folks think that place is haunted,” he told her finally.

  A shiver went down Casey’s spine. She’d had the exact same thought, but it was scarier to hear someone say it out loud. “What have you heard?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

  “Spooky stories. Weird noises. Voices calling for help. I heard about some kids who broke in one time. Maybe they were hoping they could steal some stuff, or maybe it was a dare. All I know is, they got real scared. They didn’t last twenty minutes in there.”

  And I’m living there, Casey thought with a shudder. “How come you didn’t want to tell me?”

  “I guess I didn’t want to scare you.” Erik glanced sideways at her. “You are kinda jumpy.”

  “I am not!” Casey exclaimed. “Okay. Well, maybe just a little,” she admitted when he gave her a look.

  “Anyway, I don’t really believe all those stories,” he told her. “My gran always said it was a lot of claptrap. She’d get real mad about it, too. If my friends or me ever started telling stories about that place, she’d tell us to hush up. And she ought to know. She’s lived around here her whole life.”

  Casey remembered how Erik had backed away when her mother had invited him in. “So if you don’t believe any of it, how
come you wouldn’t come inside?” she teased.

  Erik looked at Casey curiously. “What about you? Do you believe it?”

  Casey hesitated. He’d laughed at her before. What if he laughed at her now? At the same time, she felt desperate to talk to someone.

  “I get a weird feeling,” she admitted. “Like … like something is there, some presence. Then the other night, out of nowhere, this vase shattered. That’s how I cut my hand.” She fiddled with the bandage. “And last night I heard someone knocking.

  Weird, huh?”

  She glanced quickly at Erik and was relieved to see that he wasn’t smiling.

  “What do your parents say?” he asked.

  “They don’t say anything. Half the time, they don’t even notice. They think I’m imagining things.”

  “That’s tough.” Erik threw the twig into the water and watched it float away downstream. “If there is a ghost, what kind of ghost do you think it is?” he wondered.

  What kind of question was that? “A scary one, obviously,” Casey said.

  “I mean, is it a lost soul?” Erik mused. “Or a wandering spirit … or a demon from hell? Just kidding,” he added quickly when Casey turned pale. “It’s probably not a demon from hell.”

  “I sure hope not!”

  “Anyway, there are lots of kinds of ghosts. Did you know that some people think poltergeists might actually be a form of psychic activity?” Erik turned to Casey, his eyes bright with sudden interest. “Do you think you might be psychic?”

  “I — I don’t know,” Casey stuttered, surprised at this conversation twist.

  Erik tucked a hand behind his back. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Three,” Casey guessed.

  “Nope. One. What’s my favorite color?”

  Casey squinted thoughtfully. “Blue?”

  “Orange. What’s my mother’s maiden name?”

  “Er … Smith?”