Possessions

by Holder, Nancy

  I whimpered.

  Answer the phone. Answer the phone. It’s Troy. Get help.

  It rolled again.

  My eyes darted left, right. I tried to judge the distance on either side of the chair, to see if I could get around it and out the door. But what if it turned? What if it came after me?

  It only moved because the floor is warped, I told myself.

  It inched forward.

  I lost it, completely. I didn’t think I was going to, but I did. Mindlessly, I staggered backwards; my heels hit the broken section of wall and I stepped in—

  What are you doing?

  The wheelchair squealed and rolled another inch. And I saw something on the floor, a weathered piece of newspaper in all the trash and mouse droppings. There were faces . . . faces I recognized, from the mantel downstairs. The headlines swam before me as I shined the light of my phone toward it to read:DECEMBER 20, 1889

  MARLWOOD REFORMATORY FIRE

  SEVEN GIRLS DECLARED DEAD

  Belle Johnson, an inmate at Marlwood Reformatory for Young Women, and six others were the victims of a terrible accident on the grounds of the reformatory owned by Edwin Marlwood. . . .

  A fire.

  We’ ll roast her alive. Number Seven. Belle Johnson and six others. Who was Number Seven? It was Julie, right?

  As I stared at the clipping, trying to make sense of it all, the wheelchair began to roll. I tried to scream; I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but mindlessly run.

  Down the passageway.

  It wants you to go into the tunnel; it wants to trap you and run you down—

  “Help,” I whispered, but my voice was bone-dry. I fled, through cobwebs and fragments of rusted metal dangling from the ceiling. There were hooks along the walls, sticking outward in the dark—

  My foot connected with an object on the floor and I kicked it out of my way. I bounced to the left and thrust out my arm to keep my balance. Pain sheared through me like a poker as one of the hooks sliced my palm.

  I ran; the floor canted down sharply and I nearly fell over my own feet as I ran. I kept going, registering that the phone was vibrating. I put it to my ear and yelled, “Help!” but no one answered. No one was there.

  The passageway wound down, down, like an exit in a parking structure. I was so scared I couldn’t stop, and my feet went faster than my body; I couldn’t slow down and I didn’t know where I was going.

  Like Alice in the rabbit hole I went down, down . . .

  . . . And my cell phone went flying. It rolled away like a fireworks pinwheel and hit the wall, the faceplate casting a beam . . .

  . . . Over an image that hovered in my way. It was completely white, the figure of a girl shorter than me, in a long buttoned-up nightgown, with black hair trailing over her shoulders. Her eyes were black; her mouth was a black hole. It was the face.

  She looked like she was reflected on the wall, in the light cast by my phone. But she was moving. And I was still tumbling forward. She held out her arms as I tried to stop from colliding with her, tried to scream, but it came out as a cross between a grunt and a sob; I was about to make impact.

  From head to toe, I gasped as ice water engulfed me, knocking the breath out of me, making me go blind. The shock paralyzed me, and I began to flail. Where was I? What was happening—?

  Then I was on my hands and knees, gasping, panting, weeping.

  I smelled smoke, thick and acrid; my skin prickled. My face was on fire.

  “Tie her down,” said a voice in my head. A voice I didn’t understand.

  Wedged between my palm and the filthy brick floor, my phone vibrated. Whirling around on my knees, I grabbed it with shaking hands.

  It was Troy.

  “Hello?” I sobbed, putting the phone to my ear. “Troy! Help me!” But I had missed the call. I pressed redial and willed the phone to ring.

  Cold hands rested on my shoulders, burning like dry ice. As I panted, they moved to my upper arms and helped me up. I whimpered again; then my head fell back and I almost fainted as something slid into me through my back, centering inside my body, as if I were a cocoon.

  “Oh my God,” I said, weeping. “Please.”

  And a voice inside my head . . . inside my head . . . echoed, Please. Help me, please.

  Cold air wafted against my face. Something moved my feet as if I were a doll, a puppet . . . moving stick-legged, I staggered through the frosty air . . . and out into the night. The night: the cold, whispering sky, the hard, black surface of the lake. Trees huddling together, making their plans.

  And me, tears freezing on my cheeks. My lips were chapped and my head ached as if I had eaten half a gallon of ice cream by pushing it up my nose.

  I lost time.

  When I came back to myself, I was staggering along the lake. My boots were covered with mud and my pajama bottoms were sopping. My hands stung; they were covered with tiny cuts. I shambled past the boulders and saw the NO TRESPASSING sign, and a Lakewood rowboat tied up to it. I blinked rapidly, trying to remember how I’d gotten out there. The wind caught my hair and ruffled it.

  I was crying, and panting; why was I—?

  I saw the white shape bobbing half in the lake, half on shore, about twenty feet past the sign. I saw a shadow stretch across the shape, and I began screaming because I knew it wasn’t a shape. I knew exactly what it was. And I knew the shadow was Troy.

  He turned and focused his flashlight on the shape in the lake as I screamed and screamed and ran toward him. He caught me, hard, and I kept screaming.

  “Lindsay,” he cried. “Oh my God.”

  We both stared at Kiyoko.

  Washed up from the icy lake.

  Dead.

  December: The Trap

  “The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.”

  —William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

  “For among my people are found wicked men: they lay wait, as he that setteth snares; they set a trap, they catch men.”

  —Jeremiah 5:26

  thirty

  possessions: me

  nothing. i feel like i’ve lost everything, including my

  mind.

  nothing

  nothing

  memories

  nightmares

  something has hold of me; something is so wrong; i’m so

  scared.

  haunted by: the sight of Kiyoko’s body. her eyes. her hair

  was frozen.

  mood: terrified

  listening to: lies. Mandy said, “i would give everything

  i have in this world if it would bring Kiyoko back

  again.”

  possessions: them

  oh.

  my.

  God.

  haunted by: her death? will they stop now? do they see now

  what a horrible game they’re playing?

  mood: crazed

  listening to: things I cannot hear

  possessions: Mandy

  all the answers

  haunted by: she is doing the haunting.

  mood: every mood; she’s like a shattered mirror.

  listening to: demons?

  They life-flighted Kiyoko’s body out of Marlwood. She was still fully dressed in warm clothing, carrying her purse. Her cell phone was missing. I heard that blocks of ice chipped off as they loaded her into the stretcher. She had fallen into the lake, and possibly frozen to death before she actually drowned. We were unclear on the details. All we knew for sure was that she was dead. I remembered with pain what a terrible swimmer she’d been. Why would she have gone anywhere near the lake, let alone in it?

  She knew what was happening. She was trying to escape.

  All through that horrible night, Mandy sobbed and played some weird Eurotrash music that never let up with the pounding beat. Ms. Meyerson didn’t say a word, didn’t tell her to turn it down. Between songs, I heard her in the bathroom, throwing up. The other Jessel girls cried, too, and their tears see
med so real I began to doubt myself. I had lost time. I came to wandering along the lake.

  Had I dreamed what I thought I’d seen in the turret room? It was locked. It was always locked.

  December 4

  Dawn came. Phone calls. Ms. Meyerson announced that Dr. Ehrlenbach was coming to see us with some police officials and Dr. Melton, our school counselor. She told us not to talk to the media if anyone got through on the phone.

  “Are you . . . okay?” Ida asked me. Claire, Leslie, and April gathered behind her, looking afraid of me. Their eyes were wide, their smiles . . . careful. It was obvious to me that Mandy had told everyone about my breakdown. Unless Julie had. But everyone knew, and they were treating me like someone who might explode into babbling hysterics at any moment.

  “You found her,” Claire said. She trailed off, as if she wanted me to give them details. Tell them what Kiyoko had looked like. I would never do that, ever.

  “It must have been a nightmare.” Sangeeta added, drifting past me, as we gathered in the living room for our meeting with Dr. Ehrlenbach.

  “We’re all shaken,” Ms. Krige said, passing out tea and hot chocolate, offering some to the police captain of San Covino—we were under their jurisdiction—and Dr. Melton, who kept looking at me.

  “It was a terrible, unfortunate accident,” Dr. Ehrlenbach agreed. I had the feeling she was teaching us the official school explanation that we were to recite whenever possible, to keep from getting sued or losing students.

  “Dr. Ehrlenbach,” I said.

  Heads swiveled toward me. Mandy gave me a long, measured look. Dr. Melton looked alert.

  I wanted to shout, “Why didn’t you take better care of her? You saw her every day. You saw how skinny and scared she was.” But I knew I couldn’t look crazy. Or sound crazy. I hadn’t had any sleep and I was a mess.

  “Yes, Lindsay?” she asked with chilly calm.

  I shook my head. “Nothing, sorry.”

  Mandy kept staring at me.

  I didn’t make it up. I didn’t imagine it.

  But I lost time. What if I had something to do with her death?

  Dr. Melton sipped his tea.

  By midafternoon, the Jessel landline service was restored, and I used it to call Troy. The power had been restored at Grose and everyone was busily packing to go back. For a few minutes, I had the kitchen to myself.

  “Lindsay, what’s going on over there?” he asked. “I was so worried about you I rowed over. And then I found . . . ” His voice trailed off. “For a second, I thought it was you.”

  I started to cry. I wanted him. Needed him. What could I tell him? What should I tell him?

  “We need to meet. We need to talk. I have to see you.”

  “Me . . . me, too,” I said.

  “I’ll row over as soon as I can.”

  “Okay.”

  I hung up. Walked out of the kitchen.

  My heart turned to ice. Mandy was halfway down the stairs, glaring at me. I should have told Troy not to come.

  “They’re going to let Miles come home,” she said. “Our family should be together . . . now . . . now that I’m . . . she . . . ” Her face broke, and she threw her head back; she began to wail like an animal. “Oh, God, Kiyoko, Oh, God!”

  I licked my lips and went out the front door. I sagged against the porch and cried.

  It was freezing on the porch. After a while, I went back inside. Mandy was nowhere to be seen . . . or heard. The coast was clear.

  I hurried into Alis and Sangeeta’s room and put my few things back in my overnight bag. Rose poked her head in, saw that I was alone, and bustled in. I tried not to show my fear.

  “Oh, my God, this is horrible,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

  “Rose,” I began. I wanted to make her talk to me, tell me what was going on. She looked at me, her face blotchy from weeping. “I went up to check the attic. To see how my camouflage job is holding up. The door’s locked.”

  My mouth dropped open. “I . . . I . . . ” I couldn’t speak. Did she remember what had happened? Had she really been in the turret room with them?

  She sniffled. “No one’s going to care about that now,” she said, sobbing.

  “Rose,” I said. “Mandy—”

  “We were wrong about her,” Rose cut in. “Okay, she’s crazy in love with her own brother, but she’s not big D dangerous. Her heart is broken. Poor Mandy.”

  I knew then that I really couldn’t trust her. I had no one to talk to.

  Except Troy.

  The Jessel girls lined up to wave goodbye to us. I studied each one in turn: Alis, Sangeeta, Lara, Mandy. Rose, too, although she was going back to her own dorm. Mandy, as she made Caspi kiss Julie’s cheek, then placed him in Julie’s arms.

  No skulls, no eye sockets.

  No evil secrets, no plots?

  The snow poured down on us. I called Troy on our landline. No more worrying about cell phone coverage. I was past that. He hadn’t been able to leave Lakewood—the windy road between Lakewood and Marlwood was shut down, and the lake was too dangerous.

  “I’m going to break up with her,” he promised. “I’ll do it as soon as I can, Lindsay, but I should do it face-to-face.”

  “Please, wait.” I held on tightly to the phone. “Wait for the break.” I couldn’t tell him why. I was so very afraid. What would she do to him if he dumped her? What would she do to me?

  Or to Number Seven?

  “But . . . ”

  “Please.”

  “Okay.” He took a breath. “But I’ll try to get there soon. If I can’t drive over, I’ll get a boat as soon as I can.”

  “Don’t row,” I begged him. “Please, Troy.” And then I cried some more.

  “It’s okay, Lindsay. It’s going to be okay,” he promised.

  But I didn’t see him. He didn’t come. I waited, watched. Some mornings, I woke up panting, dreaming that he had rowed out on the lake, and the wind had pushed his boat over on its side; he tumbled out and sank.

  Down.

  Down.

  Down.

  “God,” I would whisper, jerking awake. I would stare at the head, and Julie, sleeping. I would wonder what Troy would think, if he knew what I knew. If he knew about my breakdown. Mandy must have told him. I hoped she had; because if she had, it must not matter to him. And if she hadn’t, I would have to.

  thirty-one

  The days went by in an awful blur of grief counsel ing and study sessions. Most teachers had given their students permission to take finals at the beginning of next semester, after a mourning period. Some classes were held; some were cancelled. Some people attended; some stayed in their rooms, staring out the window at the bleak weather, the dancing firs in the cold wind.

  I told Julie what had happened—or rather, what I thought might have happened. She would have none of it. None. She didn’t want to hear it, much less discuss it. As the days froze together, one after the other, and nothing more happened, the lack of drama seemed to confirm her suspicions that my reality was not the same as hers.

  “They’ve just been waiting for a good time,” I said. But over a week had gone by, and nothing else bad had happened. Kiyoko was gone. Everyone was in shock. But there had been no further plots. Maybe Kiyoko had been Number Seven. Or maybe I really had lost it completely.

  And the face? I stopped looking in windows and mirrors. I couldn’t have told anyone if it was there or not.

  Dr. Ehrlenbach had decreed that we would indeed follow through with our Midwinter celebration. She said the dinner and bonfire would be a way to lift the school’s spirits. Ha, spirits. I wondered what Ehrlen-stein wouldn’t do to bury the nasty secrets of this place, to make it seem like everything was normal, when it was anything but.

  December 16

  It was the last day of term and we were preparing for our formal dinner. Julie said to me, “Well, time is up. We’re going home for break.” She gave me a look and picked up Caspi. H
er long red plaid skirt reached the tips of her black boots. Her white ruffled blouse completed her outfit for our formal dinner—Midwinter. It was the last meal we would share as a school before the end of the term. A lot of girls were leaving tonight, since another possible snowstorm was predicted. Julie was one of those. Others would skip breakfast, and eat on the road with their parents.

  All our things were packed. I had put out some jeans for the bonfire tonight and some sweats and my mom’s sweatshirt for the trip back. I was wearing my long black skirt, a black turtleneck sweater, with my wild hair wound up in a knot. I had on some eye shadow and earrings, too. Tonight I was going to see Troy.

  “Promise me you’ll see your therapist back home,” she continued.

  I was pacing. “Julie, I know what I saw. What I heard. They wanted to . . . kill someone. I’m sure of it. What if it was Kiyoko? What if you’re next? They said they were looking for Number Seven. There used to be seven of you in the clique, until Kiyoko died. Is that just a coincidence?”

  “No,” she said, “because none of that happened. It was a dream. Or . . . or you’re . . . ” She looked down.

  “Julie, there are things about the history of this school that you and I don’t fully understand. Frightening things that happened years ago, and bad things are happening now, too. Don’t you see?”

  “You mean like, evil spirits possessing Mandy and my friends?” She raised a single brow. “And they want to kill someone named Number Seven because then they will go to heaven?”

  My friends.

  I stopped walking. “I don’t know about the heaven part. They’ll be able to move on. I know it sounds crazy—”

  “It sounds insane.” Julie snapped. Then she softened, blowing her bangs out of her face as she cradled Caspi against her chest. “I didn’t think you would be so . . . ” She played with the unicorn’s eyelashes. “It’s like a bad movie, Linz, you trying so hard to make me stay your best friend. It’s scary.”