A mournful cry floated from the trees, stopping Martha in her tracks. Only an owl, she told herself firmly — keep moving…. But the yard was alive with foggy shapes, and the house rose like a giant tomb against the night.
“Conor!” She was behind the house now, but there were no lights. The porch lay deep in blackness, and the wind was a muffled roar, carrying away her cries. She craned her neck, trying to pick out the bathroom window — the small one — there — right next to the window of her own empty room….
Her own empty room….
Except it wasn’t empty.
As Martha’s eyes widened in mute horror, she saw a pale light pass over the ceiling, throwing grotesque shadows on the walls….
A pale light that flickered as it moved … then stopped … moved … stopped … as if it were lost….
As if it were searching….
“You’re dead, Elizabeth … trick or treat….”
And Martha’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling her scream, as a silhouette slowly materialized out of those deep black shadows in her room….
As a silhouette took shape in the window above … uncoiling and lengthening up the flickering wall….
A person … suspended there….
Watching her.
Chapter 8
“Conor!”
Martha beat her fists so hard against the front door that the whole porch shook. Almost at once a light came on and as Conor let her in, Martha fell on him, her eyes wild.
“Conor, there’s someone in my room! Call the police! Hurry!” She hurtled past him, only to stop again, spinning around in horror. “What’s the matter with you — someone’s up there! I can’t go by myself!”
Looking totally baffled, Conor went obediently up the stairs and straight to Martha’s bedroom. As she huddled outside in the hall he turned on her light and checked the closet, then stood in the middle of her floor, looking around.
“There’s nothing here.”
“There was something here. Someone here. Conor, I saw them, I really —” She was still in the hallway, afraid to walk through the door, and Conor came out again, eyeing her curiously. “I didn’t have my key, and you wouldn’t let me in, so I went around to the back to see if you were in the bathroom, and there was this light in my room, and someone was at the window —” She crossed to the window then and looked out, searching the shadowy lawn below. “He was here — right here — looking out and —” She wheeled around and faced Conor, who was watching her in silence. “Why wouldn’t you let me in?” she asked tightly.
His face was unreadable, not even a sign of denial. He just stood there, his deep blue eyes full on hers. After a long moment his shoulders stirred slightly. “Martha … maybe we’d better talk about this in the morning after —”
“After what? After you have another chance to scare me to death?” The scarecrow … the graveyard … the fire…. “Why are you looking at me like that!”
“Excuse me,” said Conor. “I’ll see you tomorrow when your sanity comes back.”
Martha felt dangerously close to tears, but Conor’s face hadn’t changed. “You knew I didn’t have a house key tonight and you figured I’d try the back door and you stood up here and watched me —”
“Watched you do what?” This time his mouth twitched, but not in amusement — more in a battle for patience.
Martha stepped away from him, her mind racing. Could there be another phone line in the house that I don’t even know about? “I think —” Her mind faltered and went blank. I don’t even know what I’m thinking anymore, I’m not even thinking at all —
“It could have been clouds breaking. It could have been me turning on the hall lights.” Conor sighed. “It could have been lots of things. I’ll sleep in here tonight. You take my room.” When Martha shook her head he hesitated … shrugged. “Okay, then, Martha, do what you want.”
She let him get to the other end of the hall before she finally spoke. “I changed my mind.”
He didn’t seem the least bit surprised. He waited while she grabbed her things, and then he held his door open for her, making a mock bow as she went inside. She slammed the door behind her and stood looking at his bed, his books scattered carelessly around, his shirt draped over the back of a chair. She felt so strange being here in his room … even stranger climbing into his bed. For a long, long while she lay there. And when she finally dreamed, she ran and ran through the black maze of the house, pursued by a shadow with no face.
Martha overslept the next morning and, going to school, she was so busy cramming for a test she’d forgotten about that she didn’t have time for suspicions about Conor. She failed the test, but her spirits lifted a little when she saw Wynn waiting by her locker at lunch.
“You look tragic,” Wynn said tactfully. “Wanna go for a walk?”
“I feel tragic. I’m working on flunking my junior year.” Wynn looked properly sympathetic, and Martha went on. “What do you think of Conor? I mean, really?”
“I think I’d like him to carry me off and love me forever. Why? Is it that obvious?”
They stared at each other, then burst into laughter, heading outside into the cold.
“Oh, I’m just not good with boys,” Wynn groaned.
“Don’t be silly! When you walk down the halls they all say hello to you — they all knew you at that pizza place.”
“They know me, but they never ask me out. I’d rather be a stranger and have a date once in a while.”
Martha turned up her collar and kept pace beside her friend. “I am a stranger, and it hasn’t done me a bit of good. Not that I’m looking,” Martha added hastily. “And I’d love to introduce you to Conor, only —” She broke off, frowning. How could she share her suspicions about Conor when Blake had asked her not to mention the house to Wynn?
“Only I’m too nervous,” Wynn said innocently. “Martha, you’re sweet to offer, and who wouldn’t want to know Conor better —” She dropped her eyes, then cast Martha a troubled look. “Number one, I don’t want you to think you’re my friend just because of Conor.”
Martha looked surprised. “I don’t. I never thought to think that.”
Wynn nodded, relieved. “Good. Some girls would, though. But I’m not like that. Friends are … important to me.”
An ache went through Martha’s heart as Wynn turned her face away. For one moment she wrestled with the idea of admitting that she knew about Elizabeth Bedford, but luckily Wynn saved her.
“Martha, my best friend died last year. You might have heard about it, ’cause the town’s full of stories. Except nobody really talks to me about it ’cause they don’t want to upset me. Only I wish they would talk to me about it, ’cause the truth is — well … I don’t remember.”
Martha stopped, only half conscious that the wind was whipping her hair around her face. She pulled a strand from the corner of her mouth and thought how sad Wynn’s eyes looked as she stared back at her.
“I don’t,” Wynn said again. “I wish I did, but I don’t remember a lot.” She started walking again, and Martha’s legs moved mechanically, trying to keep up. “They sent me to doctors, you know … and one even hypnotized me. But I still can’t remember much about that night. People say I found my friend Elizabeth and that … that someone had killed her….” She tucked her arms around herself, and her face was plaintive, like a little girl. “But, Martha, I really can’t remember. I remember … terrible … horrible fear. And the long dark.”
Martha was interested. “What’s that? The long dark?”
But Wynn gave an irritated shrug. “Just … dark. Darkness that went on and on forever.”
Martha thought a moment, picturing the house, the dark shadows, the dark corners, the dark secrets….
“You can’t imagine how awful it is.” Wynn drew a shaky breath. “Trying so hard … but just … nothing comes.”
They turned off the school grounds and headed up Main Street, past rows of old-fashioned shops. Wynn’s
face was still troubled, but as she glanced over at Martha again, a slow smile began to replace the pain.
“That’s why I acted funny yesterday when we came to pick you up at your house. I just haven’t been back there for such a long time. But I worried and worried about it — I … I didn’t want you to think it was you or anything —”
Martha reached over and gave her a hug. “I didn’t think that. And thanks for telling me.” For a second Wynn looked like she might cry, and Martha added quickly, “We don’t ever have to talk about it. You don’t ever have to come.”
But to her surprise Wynn shook her head. “No, that’s just it. I want to talk about it. I need to. And I want to come to your house, too — I just … have to get up my nerve.”
“Whenever you want, it’s okay.” And then you can tell me if the house is really evil … or if Conor’s trying to drive me out of my mind. There were so many questions Martha was dying to ask, but instead she said, “I’ve never been to this part of town before.”
Wynn seemed ready to change the subject. “It’s the original downtown — take my word for it, nothing’s any different than it was when we were kids. In fact, it’s probably the same as it was a hundred years ago.” Wynn gave her a glance that was almost apologetic. “I’ll bet you feel so trapped here, after Chicago. I’ll bet you had millions of things to do back there.”
Martha thought a moment, smiling. “There were lots of places to go. Now that I’m gone, I wish I’d done more. But what do you do here? You know, for fun?”
“Well, you saw the pizza place — everyone either hangs out there or this other place called Marty’s — it’s right at the edge of town, and they have a band.”
“Ooh, I love music —”
“You wouldn’t like this. They’re not very good, and they never learn any new songs. I mean, after they play the same old stuff three times in a row, it gets boring.”
Martha laughed. “Okay, forget Marty’s. What else?”
“Clubs at school. And school dances. Sports, naturally. And church.” Wynn made a face. “It’s really — really — the pits.” She glanced towards a storefront window and suddenly pulled Martha over to the display. “Oh, look — don’t you love that sweater?”
“It’d look great on you — go try it on.” Martha tugged on her arm, but Wynn held back.
“No — I’d only get depressed.”
“Depressed! Why?”
Wynn shook her head. “If you were as shapeless as me, you’d never ask that question.”
“You? Look at me — I have —” Martha pinched at her own ribs — “lots of extra insulation.”
“You do not! You have a great shape!”
“Lumpy —”
“All in the right places. Listen — I still remember a few years back — when everyone was getting measured in gym class? Afterwards I found out my chest and Blake’s were the same!”
“You’re kidding!” Martha couldn’t help herself; she doubled over with laughter while Wynn looked on helplessly.
“Would I kid about something like that? I’ll never get over it as long as I live.”
They both started laughing then, harder than ever, and after several moments Wynn finally caught her breath.
“Oh, well … not that there’s anyone around here to impress, anyway. You just can’t get too excited about guys you’ve known since kindergarten. No mystique.”
Martha straightened up slowly, holding her aching sides. “I guess I never thought about that — there were always new kids coming and going where I lived.”
Wynn studied her with a smile that was almost shy. “I’ll bet you had lots of boyfriends, didn’t you?”
They were walking again, side by side, and Martha looked up at the gray sky, sudden memories making her frown.
“A couple. God, I was stupid, though.”
“What do you mean?”
Martha cast Wynn a sidelong glance, kicking at some crumpled paper on the sidewalk. The wind caught it and it flew crazily through the air, snagging at last at the foot of a fire hydrant.
“There was this one guy who really liked me. And he was nice, too — and cute — and … well … my dad thought he was wonderful and was thrilled we were going out.”
Wynn nodded as if she knew what was coming.
“But I liked this other guy more … he was so cool and so handsome” — Martha gave a guilty laugh — “and he was such a jerk.”
Wynn stopped and turned so abruptly that Martha ran into her.
“That’s what people said about Dennis, too.” Her eyes were wide and serious. “That’s just like Dennis and Elizabeth.”
Startled, Martha watched Wynn walk away, then took a deep breath and hurried after her.
“Wynn!”
The girl stopped, shoulders rigid, hands clenched at her sides. As Martha slowed down, Wynn suddenly whirled to face her.
“They’re wrong, you know. All of them.”
Martha stared at her, mind racing. “About what?”
“About Dennis. Oh, he could be a real jerk sometimes, and he was always getting into some kind of trouble — and everyone thinks he killed Elizabeth — but he didn’t. He couldn’t have. He loved her.” Wynn’s face was almost pleading, and Martha reached out for her.
“I … Conor heard they broke up,” she said. “That Dennis was kind of upset about it.”
“Yes.” Wynn was nodding, her eyes closed tight, her voice suddenly sad. “Yes, that’s true — they did break up and he wanted her back, but she didn’t want to go back with him. He was jealous, that’s all, just ’cause she was with somebody else and not him — but he never would have done something so awful —”
“Wait a minute,” Martha interrupted. “After they broke up, she had a new boyfriend?”
“She went with Blake,” Wynn said quietly. And then, seeing the look on Martha’s face, “He never talks about it. He keeps everything in. And when you came and moved into her house — it really shook everyone up. Not just Blake and me, but … well … everybody.”
Martha was staring at her, Wynn’s words reaching her as from a long way off. “Wynn … what are you talking about?”
“She was small like you … and her hair was blonde. Even about the same length.” Wynn’s face was sad and apologetic, and Martha felt herself going cold. “Even the things you and I laugh about — and you’re such a nice person, Martha…. You’re just so much like her. You remind me so much of Elizabeth.”
Chapter 9
That night it started to rain in earnest.
And Martha dreamed she was Elizabeth Bedford.
She’d drifted off restlessly, lulled by the dull thudding of rain against the windowpane, yet once sleep took over she lay there with the strangest sensation of wakefulness … as if part of herself were trapped inside her mind while the other part waited in the terror of reality.
She dreamed she was dying.
She felt each stab of the knife going through her, and everywhere she turned there were blood-spattered walls — and her killer was real, but she couldn’t see his face because he was wearing a mask….
Yet she knew him.
In her absolute terror she knew him, and knew she had trusted him with her life.
In the depths of her dream she screamed — screamed — and suddenly it was real; suddenly someone was holding her and she was safe at last in a pair of strong, steady arms.
“Martha, it’s only a dream. You’re okay.”
And Conor was there, and his arms were around her, and the light spilling in from the hall was safe and real….
“I’m dead,” Martha whispered, and she began to cry, and Conor held her tighter and rocked her.
“No. It was only a nightmare. Go back to sleep.”
“I’m scared,” Martha said, but her voice was muffled against his bare shoulder, and sleep was a deep, deep sea, pulling her down.
“Then I’ll stay,” Conor said, far, far away, and she sank into stillness at last.
“I’m never going to school again,” she announced.
Conor lowered one corner of the paper, raised an eyebrow, disappeared behind the financial section once more.
“I’m not,” she repeated sullenly. “I can’t face anyone ever again.”
“I thought we got all this straightened out yesterday. You’ve been facing them all this time, Martha. Nothing’s different.”
“It’s different,” she insisted. “I look like a dead girl.”
“You just need sleep.”
“Conor, this isn’t funny! I look like Elizabeth Bedford —”
“That’s not what you told me Wynn said — she didn’t say you look like her, she said you remind her of —”
“No wonder everyone’s been staring at me. No wonder I feel like such a freak.”
“They’re staring at you because you’re new and you never talk to anyone.”
“I live in her house, and I look like her, too!” Martha caught her breath sharply. “Did I have a nightmare last night?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, no.” Martha covered her face with her hands. So Conor had been there. She’d never be able to face him again.
“You can come out,” Conor said. “I won’t look at you if you don’t want me to.” He sounded like he was trying not to laugh, and Martha pointedly ignored him.
“I’m not staying in Elizabeth’s room,” she said.
“Then if we’re going to switch permanently, I need to move my things.”
“Don’t you realize how serious this is? I feel … doomed.”
Her voice dropped dramatically, and Conor laid the paper down.
“You’re scaring yourself. You know that, don’t you?”
Martha hesitated … gave a guilty nod. “But don’t you think the coincidences are just too … too weird? Blake said Elizabeth was being … well … harrassed and….” She trailed off, frowning down at the untouched bowl of cornflakes Conor had had waiting for her.
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