The Dead End

by Mimi McCoy

  Two kids gaped at her like she’d flown up in a spaceship. Then one of them leaped up and ran around the side of the house. The other remained, warily watching Casey as if she might try to make off with a tricycle or something.

  A moment later, Erik came around the side of the house. Casey felt her heart do a little jump.

  “Hey!” he said when he saw Casey. He sounded surprised. “What’s up?”

  “I was just riding by. I thought you might be home,” Casey told him. For a second she wasn’t sure what to say. She glanced down at the little kid, who was still regarding her suspiciously. “Are these your, uh …” Casey trailed off, unsure if they were boys or girls.

  “Sisters,” Erik filled in quickly. “This is Bridget and that’s Bee, short for Beatrice. Don’t worry if you can’t tell them apart. Almost no one can. They’re identical.”

  The twin closest to him tugged his hand, and when he leaned down, she whispered in his ear. Erik glanced at Casey and laughed.

  “What?” asked Casey.

  “She says you’re pretty,” Erik told her. He smiled and added, “She wants to know if you’re my girlfriend.”

  Casey blushed, and Erik laughed again. “You want to come in?” he asked. “Sure,” Casey said.

  “You, too,” Erik told the twins. “You can’t be outside alone.”

  Erik led the way into the house. In the living room, there were children’s toys strewn everywhere, and Casey heard the TV going in another room. The whole place was messy in a comfortable way. Casey liked it much better than her own house.

  Erik shooed the twins into the room with the TV. “Come meet my mom,” he said to Casey.

  Casey followed him into the kitchen. A woman was sitting at the table, surrounded by pieces of paper. She had blond hair pulled back in a bun and pale gray eyes like Erik’s.

  “Mom, this is Casey Slater,” Erik said. “She just moved into the house at the end of the lane.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Casey said politely. “Thank you for the casserole.”

  The woman gave her a tired smile. “I’m glad you liked it. It’s as easy to make two as it is to make one.”

  “It was delicious,” Casey fibbed.

  Erik’s mother nodded. “Nice to meet you, Casey,” she said, and turned back to her papers.

  Erik got two cans of soda from the refrigerator and led the way into the living room. He cleared some stuffed animals off the couch, and they sat down.

  “Mom’s a little distracted. She’s always like that on bill day,” Erik said. He popped open his soda can. “So what’s up?”

  “I didn’t come over just because I was riding by,” Casey confessed. “I wanted to talk to you. There’ve been more weird things happening. At my house.”

  Erik’s expression grew serious. He waited for Casey to go on.

  She told him about the past week — the crying in the attic, the doors slamming, and things falling. Then she told him about Millie’s journal. It took a long time to explain, and sometimes the things she said sounded crazy, even to her own ears. But Erik listened without interrupting, a little frown of concentration on his face.

  “For a while I thought maybe my parents were right. Maybe it was all in my head,” Casey told him. “But I don’t think that’s true anymore. Things have been happening to me just the same as they did to Millie. And then when I came to the end of her diary …” She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

  Erik finished it for her. “You’re afraid that whatever happened to Millie could happen to you, too.”

  Casey nodded, relieved that Erik didn’t think she was nuts.

  “But you don’t know that anything happened to her,” Erik pointed out. “She could have just lost her diary or moved or something.”

  “I know,” Casey admitted. “But … I just have a feeling something bad happened.”

  From another room, a shrill voice suddenly called out, “Charles!” Casey jumped, startled.

  “That’s my gran,” said Erik, getting to his feet. “I’d better go see what she wants. You can come, if you want.”

  Casey got up and followed Erik to the TV room. She was surprised to see an old woman sitting in a chair by the window. Casey hadn’t noticed her before. The woman had a pale face and a down-turned mouth, and at once Casey recognized her as the face she’d seen in the window that day. The woman’s lap was covered with a blue crocheted blanket. She stared vacantly at the TV, where the twins were watching cartoons.

  “She might seem a little confused,” Erik warned Casey. “Gran’s memory’s not so good anymore.” He went over to the old woman and gently touched her shoulder. She looked up, startled.

  “Hey, Gran. It’s me,” he said.

  She blinked at him. “Charles?”

  “No, Erik. Your grandson,” he said patiently. “I have someone I want you to meet. This is my friend Casey.”

  Gran’s gaze slid past Erik. When she saw Casey, her expression brightened. “You’re back!” she exclaimed.

  “I’m sorry,” Casey told her. “You must be mistaken. I’ve never been here be —”

  “You’re back!” Gran insisted, her voice girlish and lilting. She looked into Casey’s face, her eyes shining. “I’ve missed you so much, Millie.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Casey stared at the old woman in horror. “Why did you call me Millie?”

  “No, Gran,” Erik said. “Her name is Casey. My friend Casey.”

  Gran didn’t seem to hear him. She reached out and grasped Casey’s hand in her bony one. “I’m so happy to see you, Millie. I looked for you everywhere. We all looked for you.”

  Casey felt the urge to wrench her hand away, but she resisted it. Erik’s grandmother knew something about Millie, and this might be Casey’s only chance to find out.

  “What do you know?” she asked urgently. “Do you know what happened to Millie?”

  The old woman stared at her. Then she dropped Casey’s hand. “It’s not my fault,” she said.

  “What do you mean? What’s not your fault?” Casey pressed.

  Gran looked back and forth between Erik and Casey. In a second, her eyes clouded with anger. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice suddenly harsh. “Charles, who is this? What is she doing in my house?”

  She was almost shouting. The twins turned from the TV to stare.

  “I’m Casey,” Casey told her. “Erik’s friend Casey. I need to know what happened to Millie.”

  “Get out of my house!”

  “It’s no use.” Erik put a hand on Casey’s arm and pulled her away. “She can’t remember anything.”

  Gran’s lips worked soundlessly. She was trembling, but whether from anger or fear Casey wasn’t sure. Erik poured his grandmother a glass of water from a pitcher on a side table. Then he and Casey quietly left the room.

  “I’m sorry,” Casey said when they were out in the hall. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

  “It’s okay,” Erik said. “She gets confused really easily. She calls me Charles — that was one of her brothers’ names. The twins, too. Sometimes she even forgets who my mom is.”

  “But she knew Millie,” Casey said. “She acted like they were old friends.”

  “It sure seemed that way,” Erik agreed.

  The wheels in Casey’s mind were turning. Something Erik said had sounded familiar. “Your grandmother had brothers?”

  “Four of them,” Erik replied. “Why?”

  “What were their names?” Casey asked, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

  “Well, one was Charles, of course. And the others were Peter, Alfred, and John — Johan, that is.”

  Casey nodded slowly. “And your grandmother’s name is Anna. Anna Henriksson.”

  Erik’s mouth fell open. “How did you know that?”

  “Millie’s diary,” Casey told him. “She wrote about the Henrikssons. They were her closest neighbors.” She could picture their names in Millie’s handwriting, just as cl
early as if the diary were in front of her.

  Erik exhaled with relief. “For a second there, I thought you really were psychic.”

  “But do you see what this means?” Casey said. “Your grandmother and her brothers knew Millie, which means they may know what happened to her!”

  “There’s just one problem,” Erik said. “Gran doesn’t remember anything. And all her brothers are dead.”

  Casey chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Then there must be someone else,” she said at last. “There were a lot of children at that party. There must be someone alive who can still remember it.”

  It had gotten darker in the living room, and Erik switched a lamp on.

  “Jeez!” cried Casey, leaping up from the couch. “I didn’t realize how late it was. I’d better get home or my mom will freak.”

  Erik walked Casey to the door. “Tomorrow we’ll go through the journal and look for clues,” he promised. He glanced out at the dusk. A stiff wind had come up and was bending the tops of the trees. “Are you going to be okay riding home?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Casey said. “See you tomorrow.”

  Outside, she was surprised at how much the temperature had dropped. It had been warm when she left her house, but she was suddenly freezing in her shorts and T-shirt. She battled a headwind all the way back, and was chilled to the bone by the time she got home.

  Her mother was in the kitchen when Casey came through the back door. “I was starting to get worried about you,” she said. “Where have you been?”

  “I ran into Erik,” Casey told her. “You know, the boy with the tuna casserole.” She rubbed her bare arms. “Why is it so cold?”

  “There must be a storm coming in,” her mother replied. “Your dad’s got a fire going in the living room. Why don’t you run in there and warm up? Dinner should be ready soon.”

  Casey hurried into the living room. Her dad was standing there with his hands on his hips, looking proudly at the fire blazing in the fireplace.

  “I had a heck of a time getting it started,” he told Casey. “Smoke kept pouring into the room, even though the flue was open. Whatever the problem was, it’s fixed itself now. Come get warmed up. I’m going to go help Mom with dinner.”

  Casey stretched out gratefully on the rug in front of the fireplace. She wanted to think more about Erik’s gran. What had she meant when she said, “It’s not my fault”? Casey wondered.

  But after the excitement of the day and her cold ride home, Casey was deeply tired. The smell of food cooking soothed her, and the heat from the fire made her sleepy. Before she knew it, her eyes had closed.

  Casey couldn’t have said how long she was asleep. She woke to a jarring crash.

  Casey sat up with a gasp. The room seemed to be in shambles. Books and broken glass were everywhere. It took Casey a moment to put together what had happened. A heavy old china cabinet where Casey’s parents had been storing their tools and home improvement books had toppled over, landing just inches from where Casey was lying.

  Her parents came rushing into the room. “Casey, what happened?” her father exclaimed.

  Casey knew what had happened. But she also knew her parents wouldn’t believe her. “I don’t know. The cabinet fell,” she told them.

  “There’s no way that cabinet could have just fallen over,” her father said. “It’s got to weigh more than a hundred pounds.” He looked at Casey, still sitting on the rug, and she could see him calculating that she was not strong enough to move it herself. For the first time she saw a flicker of doubt and confusion in his eyes.

  Her mother looked shaken as she helped Casey up. “It’s not safe,” she murmured. “You could have been killed.”

  An unused can of paint had been crushed beneath the cabinet, and now a crimson puddle seeped across the floor. Casey stared at it in horror. That could have been me, she thought. Now more than ever she knew she needed to find out what happened to Millie. Her own life depended on it!

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  That night, the wind blew in a storm. Rain lashed against Casey’s window, and outside the trees rustled and swayed. Every rattling windowpane or creak of the house sounded like the ghost coming for her.

  The storm finally died out sometime around dawn. When the sun started to rise, Casey got out of bed, feeling tired and shaky. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, not bothering to comb her hair. She wrote her parents a note and left it on the kitchen table. Then she slipped out the back door.

  Wispy clouds, red with dawn, trailed across the sky. The storm had broken the heat wave, and the air felt cool and clean.

  Casey had been worried that she would have to wait around outside Erik’s house until someone woke up. So she was surprised to see him waiting for her on the front steps.

  “You don’t look so great,” Erik greeted her.

  Casey gave him a half smile. “Good morning to you, too.” She sat down next to him on the steps, and pulled Millie’s diary out of the front pocket of her sweatshirt.

  “So what exactly are we looking for?” Erik asked.

  “I thought we should start with the names of the kids from Millie’s party. Maybe you’ll recognize one of them,” Casey said. “If we can find them, they might be able to tell us something.”

  She turned to Millie’s last entry, and began to read the list of names. “ ‘Edie Finney, Grace Evanston, Pearl Miller, the Avery girls —’”

  “There’s a Mrs. Avery at my school,” Erik interrupted. “She teaches eighth grade English.”

  “Is she old?” asked Casey.

  “Pretty old,” Erik said. “At least forty.”

  Casey rolled her eyes. “Erik, if she’s forty, she wouldn’t even have been born yet in 1939. We’re looking for someone your gran’s age, at least.”

  “Oh,” said Erik. “Right.”

  Casey went back to her list. “ ‘Baby Jackie’ — I guess he was an Avery, too — Nathan and Rose Hopkins, George Archer, Gretchen Forsyth, and the Henrikssons — Johan, Peter, Alf, Charles, and Anna.’ Oh, and then there’s this boy, Gunner Anderson. He was in her diary a lot.”

  “Anderson,” Erik murmured. He had plucked a long piece of grass and was chewing the end thoughtfully. “There’s a Mr. Anderson who lives closer in toward town.”

  “Is he old?”

  Erik nodded. “Stingy, too. I mowed his lawn for him once. It took all afternoon, and he only paid me two dollars.”

  Casey closed the diary and stood up. “Let’s try him. At least it’s a start.”

  Mr. Anderson lived in a small white house, close to the end of Main Street. Casey and Erik left their bikes at the edge of the yard, and started up his walkway.

  “I guess word got around that he doesn’t pay for yard work,” Erik said, eyeing the overgrown lawn.

  At the door, Casey reached for the doorbell, then hesitated. “Do you think it’s too early?” she asked Erik. It wasn’t even seven thirty yet.

  “Doubt it,” said Erik. “If he’s anything like Gran, he was up at the crack of dawn.”

  Casey took a deep breath and rang the bell.

  They heard shuffling inside. After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened a crack. A man’s face peeked out around the door chain. “Yes? What is it?” he asked gruffly.

  Casey stared. It was the man from the grocery store. The one who had seemed so frightened of her.

  Erik stepped forward. “Hi, Mr. Anderson. You remember me? Erik Greer? I mowed your lawn once.”

  Mr. Anderson didn’t reply. His gaze slid past Erik to Casey, and in his eyes Casey saw a flicker of fear. Why does he seem so afraid of me? she wondered.

  “This is my friend Casey,” Erik continued. “Casey Slater. She just moved to town.”

  Casey gave Mr. Anderson what she hoped was a friendly, reassuring smile. “We were hoping we could talk to you.”

  “About what?” he asked.

  “Millie Hughes. She used to live in the house at the end of Drury Road. We wondered if
you knew her.”

  There was a pause; then the door closed in their faces.

  Is that it? Casey thought, her heart sinking. But a second later, she heard the scrape of the chain being undone. The door opened wide, revealing Mr. Anderson. He was dressed in pressed pants, a button-down sweater, and a pair of worn brown slippers.

  “Your name’s Casey, is it?” he asked her. She nodded.

  Mr. Anderson gave her a long look. “Well, Casey,” he said at last. “Why don’t you and Erik come in and tell me why you want to know about Millie.”

  Despite its neglected lawn, the inside of Mr. Anderson’s house was neat and tidy. Casey and Erik sat on the couch, while Mr. Anderson poured them cups of tea from a chipped teapot.

  “So you knew Millie?” Casey asked, sipping the hot liquid.

  “Yes, I did.” Mr. Anderson sat back in an easy chair. “We lived near each other on Drury Road a long, long time ago. How do you know about Millie, may I ask?”

  “I found her diary. And I read … some of it,” Casey fibbed. She wondered if he would think it was wrong. “She mentioned you.”

  Mr. Anderson raised his eyebrows. “Did she?

  What did she say?”

  “Well …” Casey glanced at Erik. “… she said you thought too highly of yourself. But I think she liked you,” she added quickly.

  The old man chuckled, but it sounded sad. “She was right. I did think too highly of myself. Millie was quite a girl,” he told them. “Sharp as a whip. You couldn’t get a thing past her.”

  “Can you tell us what happened to her?” Erik asked.

  Mr. Anderson was silent. Finally, he said, “Are you sure you want to know? It’s not a very nice story.”

  “We want to know,” Erik said. Casey nodded.

  “There was a party at Millie’s,” Mr. Anderson said. “Just about all the children we knew were invited. It was going to be the event of the summer.”

  “Millie wrote about it in her diary,” Casey told him. “She was really excited. She couldn’t wait for it to start.”

  Mr. Anderson nodded. “Everyone was excited. After the cake, there were lots of games planned. Tag and that sort of thing. But it was raining, so we couldn’t go outside. We decided to play a game of hide-and-seek instead,” he said.