The Dead End

by Mimi McCoy

  At the words hide-and-seek, a small gasp escaped Casey’s lips. Was that why she’d been dreaming about the game?

  “Are you all right?” Mr. Anderson glanced over at her from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

  “Yes, sorry,” Casey said. “Please go on.”

  “Millie wanted to be It,” Mr. Anderson told them. “But we wouldn’t let her. I wouldn’t let her. Millie had an uncanny way of knowing certain things that nobody else could know. I don’t know how. But that day I told the other kids that I thought it would be unfair. So we made Anna Henriksson It instead. She was only about six years old at the time.”

  “Anna Henriksson is my grandmother,” Erik told him.

  Mr. Anderson nodded and looked down at his hands. Casey and Erik waited for him to continue.

  “Well, Anna counted to twenty and we all hid. Anna wasn’t much good at finding anyone, being so young, but eventually we all turned up — except Millie. We didn’t think much of it at first. We assumed she was just trying to win the game. She could be stubborn that way.

  “But then it was getting on toward dark, and she was still missing. We walked all over the property, calling her name. By now her folks were real worried. They called the sheriff over in Lincoln, and he put together a search party with hound dogs and everything. They combed the woods, but they never found her.”

  Casey tried to swallow and realized her mouth was dry. Her heart had started to beat faster.

  “A week or so passed,” Mr. Anderson went on. “One day Millie’s mother went up in the attic to look for something. She opened a trunk … and there was Millie, all curled up like she was asleep. She’d hidden in there during our game. The lid closed tight on her, and she suffocated. She probably died while we were all out looking for her.”

  Casey covered her mouth with her hands. Erik looked down at his lap.

  “Her funeral was the day before school started. She would have been in the eighth grade.” Mr. Anderson paused and cleared his throat before he went on. “After that, we didn’t see much of Millie’s parents. I heard Mr. Hughes wanted to go back to Manchester, where they’d come from. But Millie’s mother wouldn’t leave the house. She claimed Millie was still there, and she didn’t want to leave her behind. I suspect she was mad with grief.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine what it would do to a parent, finding your child like that.”

  “Did you ever talk to them? Her parents?” Erik asked Mr. Anderson.

  “We kids never spoke of it again to anyone,” the man replied. “I think we all felt somewhat responsible. Anna Henriksson took it especially hard. She was just a little girl when it happened. She looked up to Millie. I think she felt that if she’d looked harder, she could have found her.”

  “But it wasn’t Gran’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Erik said. “It was just an accident.”

  “I know. But …” Mr. Anderson spread his hands. “Sometimes things happen in your life that you wish you could go back and change. I can’t help but think, if only we hadn’t played hide-and-seek. If only I’d let her be It like she wanted, she might still be alive.”

  Slumped in his easy chair, Mr. Anderson looked small and frail. It was hard for Casey to imagine him as the smug, confident boy Millie had described in her diary.

  “She looked a lot like you, you know,” Mr. Anderson told her. “I’ll see if I can find our class picture.”

  He got up stiffly and shuffled out of the room. After several minutes, he came back holding a black-and-white photograph. He handed it to Casey.

  “This was taken the school year before she died,” he said. “Millie is in the first row. The third one from the left.”

  The children were lined up in three rows. The girls wore dresses with little round collars, and the boys had on white shirts and ties, but otherwise they could have been Casey’s schoolmates. Casey studied Millie’s smiling face. The photo was faded, but she could tell that they had the same wavy black hair, the same stubborn mouth, the same dark, curious eyes.

  “The first time I saw you, I thought I was looking at a ghost,” Mr. Anderson said. “And then I heard you were living at the house on Drury Road….”

  Casey nodded. So that was why he had seemed so surprised and frightened.

  She gave the picture back to him. “I think I have something that belongs to you.” Reaching into her pocket, Casey pulled out the green-and-white marble. She placed it in his hand.

  He looked at it for a long time. When he raised his eyes, Casey saw that they were damp. “She won this from me,” he told Casey. “At the time, I thought she cheated.”

  “I know,” Casey said. “She wrote about that, too.”

  The old man handed the marble back to her. “You keep it. I think Millie would want you to have it.”

  “Thank you,” Casey said. “And thank you for telling us about Millie.”

  “Did you find out what you wanted to know?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Casey said. She had her answer, though she wasn’t sure she was glad.

  “Good. Well, feel free to visit anytime,” he said. “I don’t get many visitors these days.”

  “We will,” Erik promised.

  Casey and Erik got up to leave. At the door, Casey remembered something. “One more thing,” she said to Mr. Anderson. “Do you know anything about a fire at Millie’s old house?”

  Mr. Anderson frowned. “A fire? No, I would have remembered that. There’s never been a fire on Drury Road.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Casey and Erik made their way home slowly, walking their bikes so that they could talk.

  “Poor Gran,” Erik said. “That’s why she never wanted us to talk about that old house. She probably felt sad about Millie her whole life, but she never said a word about it.”

  “Poor Millie. What a horrible way to die.” Casey shuddered. “She dreamed about it, you know,” she told Erik. “She dreamed she was in a dark place, calling for her parents. But she didn’t know what it meant.”

  “That’s horrible,” Erik agreed. “But at least now you know you’re safe. What happened to Millie was an accident. It won’t happen again. It won’t happen to you.”

  But how can I be sure of that? Casey thought. Obviously, she wouldn’t go climbing into any old trunks — that was a no-brainer. But how did she know something else, something just as bad, wouldn’t happen to her? She could go skipping down the lane and cut her foot on a rusty nail. Or she could be eating a simple, healthy dinner and suddenly choke to death on a chicken bone.

  It hadn’t been a ghost that killed Millie; it had been a simple game of hide-and-seek, and in a way that scared Casey even more. It didn’t matter whether you took chances or not, she thought. Nothing was safe. You could hardly live for the fear of dying.

  Casey didn’t know how to explain all this to Erik. Instead, she said, “But that still doesn’t explain what’s been happening in the house — the broken vase and the cabinet that almost fell on me. Those weren’t just accidents.”

  “Maybe it was Millie,” he suggested. “You heard what Mr. Anderson said. Millie’s mother thought she still lived in the house. Maybe she really did — or her spirit did, anyway.”

  Casey frowned. “But why would she do all those things? Why would she try to hurt us or scare us?”

  “She could be angry,” Erik replied. “Maybe she’s jealous that you’re alive and she’s not.”

  Casey wondered if that could be true. Had Millie been behind all the frightening things that had happened?

  It’s hard to believe, she thought. She felt so much like my friend.

  They had reached the dead-end sign. Casey and Erik both stopped and stared at the two words. They had suddenly taken on a new meaning.

  Finally, Erik turned to Casey. She thought he was going to say good-bye. Instead, to her astonishment, he hugged her.

  Casey was so surprised that it took her a moment to hug him back. When she finally did, she found she didn’t want to let go.

&
nbsp; “Are you going to be okay?” he asked when he released her.

  “I don’t know … I — I think so,” Casey stuttered, feeling a little dazzled.

  “I have to go home now,” Erik told her. “But maybe I could come by tomorrow? To hang out, and, you know, keep the ghosts away?”

  Casey smiled, feeling pleased and shy all at once. “That would be great.”

  Erik nodded. “Okay. See you then.”

  “See you.”

  He got on his bike and pedaled back down the road. Casey turned and walked slowly toward home, marveling at the strangeness of life. Sometimes, she thought, the things that started out frightening were the things that felt safest after all.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  For the rest of the afternoon, Casey felt a confusing mix of emotions. She felt sad and sickened whenever she thought about Millie and the terrible way she’d died. But thoughts of Erik kept creeping into her mind, pushing out the sadness. Each time she remembered hugging him, she felt a little thrill.

  For the first time since she’d come to Stillness, Casey found herself looking forward to something. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

  By evening, she was still thinking about Erik. “I’m going nuts,” Casey laughed at herself as she climbed into bed. “I’d better watch out or I’ll dream about him, too.”

  But she didn’t dream about Erik. That night, for the first time, Casey dreamed of Millie’s fire. She smelled the harsh, acrid smoke and heard the ferocious crackling. It was just as Millie had described it in her diary. Casey even dreamed that she could hear Millie herself. She was shouting at Casey, Get up! Get up! Get up!

  Casey opened her eyes. There was light outside her window, but it didn’t look like sunrise. The air in her room smelled bitter. Casey sucked in a breath and started to choke.

  She squeezed her eyes shut again. “It’s just a dream,” she told herself, digging her fingernails into her palms. “Wake up! Wake up!”

  A loud crash made her jerk upright. Her room was awash in glowing light. Looking out the window, Casey could see that the porch, a floor beneath her, was on fire. Part of it had collapsed, sending orange flames shooting toward the sky.

  She leaped up from the bed. Dream or not, she thought, I have to get out of here.

  Smoke hung like a blanket over the room. It stung her eyes, blinding her. Casey moved forward slowly, arms outstretched, yelping as she tripped over a pair of sneakers she’d left in the middle of the floor.

  At last she felt the edge of the door beneath her fingertips. It felt warm, and Casey knew the fire must be close. But she had to open it. The door was her only way out.

  Using her T-shirt to protect her hand, Casey grasped the doorknob and pulled open the door. A wave of blistering heat washed over her.

  The corridor was filled with flames. Beyond it, she could see more flames climbing up the stairs.

  “Mom!” Casey screamed. “Dad!”

  There was no answer. All she heard was the roar of the fire. She didn’t know if her parents were trapped on the other side of the blaze, or if they’d somehow made it out of the house.

  “Mom! Dad! Are you there? Help me!”

  Bits of ash swirled around Casey’s head like a blizzard. The flames reached toward her, hungry for the air in her room.

  Casey slammed the door against them, and backed away. “Help me!” she screamed again, even though she knew no one could hear her.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move. Casey spun around and came face-to-face with her reflection in the dressing table mirror. Through a haze of smoke and tears, she caught a glimpse of tangled black hair, a soot-smudged face. Her dark eyes were wide with terror.

  Casey had a sickening sense of déjà vu. Then she realized why.

  I read this, she thought. This was in Millie’s journal. She saw it all, every detail.

  But Millie had misunderstood one thing. The girl she had seen in the mirror, the one who’d been trapped in the fire — it wasn’t Millie, after all. It was Casey.

  The wallpaper around the door had started to blister, the printed ferns twisting and curling from the heat. Soon, Casey knew, the wall itself would be on fire. Then it would be only a matter of moments before the whole room was swallowed in flames.

  Casey could barely breathe now. Smoke filled the room. Vaguely, she remembered from lessons at school that you were supposed to get low in a fire. On her hands and knees, she crawled as far away from the door as possible. When her hand struck a wall, she huddled against it.

  From beyond the door there came a crash that made the floor shudder. Casey guessed it was the staircase giving way. She hoped at least her parents had made it out in time.

  I’m going to die here, Casey thought. Dimly, she wondered if Millie had had the same thought before she died.

  As she sat there with her head tucked into the crook of her elbow, Casey felt a hand grasp hers; solid, real fingers laced through her own. Someone was pulling her to her feet.

  Mom? Casey thought. But it wasn’t her mother’s hand. Through her tears, Casey could barely make out the figure of a girl. The hand grasping hers felt small and strong.

  Casey allowed herself to be pulled upward, toward the small far window, the one that had never opened.

  The window! Casey thought. And suddenly, she realized there was still a way out.

  Just then, the fingers holding her let go. Casey reached out blindly, desperate for the return of that reassuring grip. But her fingers brushed against nothing. There was no one there.

  But now she was on her feet and she knew she had a chance to save herself. She grabbed the bedside lamp and broke the window on the second try. Suddenly, she could hear her parents. They were somewhere on the ground, screaming in voices she’d never heard before. Voices full of panic.

  Casey used the base of the lamp to knock the rest of the glass away from the frame and managed to get one leg out the window. The fire lit up the area bright as day, and she could see the ground clearly, a scraggly patch of dirt and weeds. It lurched before her eyes, and her heart seized up with fear.

  “I can’t do it!” she cried.

  Yes you can, a voice said clearly. It came not from the room, but from somewhere within her mind, and Casey recognized it at once. It was the voice from her dreams. Millie’s voice.

  Behind Casey, there was a roar. The fire had eaten away the door and was spreading across the wall of her room.

  Now, go! the voice said.

  Casey looked down at the ground again. It seemed to swim in the smoky haze. She closed her eyes against the sight. As she swung the other leg over the windowsill, Casey cried out, “Ready or not, here I come!”

  Then she jumped.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  By the time the fire trucks arrived, most of the house had been destroyed. After they’d put it out, the firefighters guessed that the fire had started in the kitchen, then spread quickly to the dining room and up the stairs.

  “An old wooden house like this is a tinderbox,” the head fireman told Casey’s parents. “You’re lucky we had that storm the night before. If the wood had been dry, the fire would have spread even faster.”

  Casey shivered at the thought. Any faster and she wouldn’t have made it out.

  She leaned back against the side of the fire truck, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Not long after the fire trucks had shown up, Erik and his mother and the twins had arrived with blankets and thermoses of coffee. Erik was the one who’d called the fire department. He’d spotted the blaze over the tops of the trees.

  “Do you have any idea how it started?” Casey’s dad asked. He was still in his pajamas, wrapped in a plaid blanket. In one hand, he held a thermos lid full of coffee, which he seemed to have forgotten about. He hadn’t taken a single sip.

  “Hard to say. Often in these old places the problem is electrical,” the fireman said. “They’ve got old, frayed wires, sometimes with nothing but some rotten cloth for insu
lation. You plug in a few modern appliances — computers, coffeemakers, and whatnot — and, well, the worn-out wires just can’t take the heat, if you pardon the expression.”

  “You think that’s what it was, then? An electrical fire?” asked Casey’s mother, who looked pale and shaken. She had both hands wrapped around a cup of coffee as if holding on to it for dear life.

  “Could be,” the fireman said. “Often there are clues. Lightbulbs flickering. Things shorting out. You folks have anything like that?”

  Casey’s father nodded. “We did have some flickering lights.”

  “Well, then,” said the fireman. “Anyway, I expect the insurance company will do a full investigation. You had insurance on this place, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Casey’s mother. “Thank goodness for that.”

  The fireman looked back toward the charred remains of the house, and Casey followed his gaze. The front portion was still standing. But the porch, the kitchen, Casey’s room, and most of the attic were gone.

  “Darn shame,” the fireman said, shaking his head. “What I don’t understand is living all the way out here without a phone. You’re lucky this boy happened to see the fire, and had the presence of mind to call us.” He patted Erik’s shoulder with a gloved hand.

  Erik just nodded, accepting the praise but not relishing it. As Casey’s parents and the fireman continued to talk, Erik moved over to Casey’s side. “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “I’m okay,” she said. The firemen had bandaged her sprained ankle and one of her hands, which she’d cut climbing through the broken window. Her eyes burned fiercely and her lungs still ached from the smoke. But she was alive.

  Erik took Casey’s good hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Casey was startled. What was he thinking, holding her hand right in front of their parents?!

  She started to pull away. Then she stopped. Erik’s words from their afternoon at the stream suddenly echoed in her head: What’s the worst that could happen?