The Looking Glass

by Jessica Arnold

Tony looked equally confused.

  “People who really die don’t become ghosts.” She didn’t know how she knew this, didn’t know where this was coming from, but she felt it was important. She remembered from somewhere a world of white mist and mirrors and voices that she didn’t recognize. “People who die move on. To be a real ghost, you would have to be trapped somehow.”

  “Like you—you’re trapped. But you said you aren’t a ghost.”

  “I have direction. I just don’t know which way I’m headed.”

  George immediately started trying to steer the conversation out of these dangerous waters. He probably hadn’t planned on having his ghost discredit his entire field of research.

  “Yes, fascinating. And moving on … can you tell our viewers anything about death?”

  “I’m not dead.”

  “She’s not dead.”

  George brushed them off, looking flustered. “I mean, were you to speculate, based on your experiences as a … not-dead person, is there anything you would care to tell the world?”

  And Alice did have something to say. The moment the question began to sink in, the moment she began to think about it, answers started emerging out of nowhere—winking from dark corners, from memories that she could not recall.

  “I don’t think that you go away … when you die. You just, you know … ” But they didn’t know; she had to tell them somehow. “It’s like waking up, I think. It’s like the first day of school. It’s like your past and present and future are staring you in the face, mirrors on white walls that disappear when you get too close to them. And when you reach out you can touch any moment because they’re all inside of you—all time, in here,” she pointed at her heart, “inside.”

  There was complete silence. Not even a bird. Not even a rustle.

  “But I don’t know that,” she said meekly.

  She wondered how she knew that.

  The blinking red light flashed quickly three times, then was solid, then turned off. The night was silent.

  “I guess that’s it,” said Tony. He glared at the dead camera, then at his dad.

  “But … but … ” George protested, still staring at Alice as though mesmerized.

  “Dad, that should be plenty of footage. Think about it—you’ve always wanted a spirit on film. Now you have one. Isn’t a few minutes better than nothing at all?”

  Alice nodded, though no one was looking to her for an opinion. Now that her unexplained moment of understanding had passed, she wondered why she had let George convince her to speak about this in the first place. Death was not something she wanted to even think about, much less lecture on. She could feel it hanging over her like a dark storm cloud, and the only thing she could think to do was stare in the other direction.

  “We promised to help her. You promised. Let’s help her now.”

  George stroked his video camera absentmindedly.

  “I guess … it will be enough.”

  “We can’t let her die.” Tony gave his father a meaningful look and George looked up in surprise.

  “Oh,” he said, and it was clear the thought had not occurred to him. “Of course not. Absolutely not.”

  Warmth—sweet, strong—heated her from ears to fingertips. Though she had never felt any particular love for George, a growing affection for him filled her now. She had help, at least. All she needed now was a little more time.

  Would there ever be enough time?

  “Tell us everything you learned from the diary,” Tony was saying, “and between the three of us we’ll figure it out. It’ll be fine—you’ll see.”

  So she began to tell them, as quickly as she could, about how Elizabeth had cursed the house, how she had tried to kill her own sister, how she had killed her father, how she had died. And the riddle—the hate. It was so simple and yet so terribly impossible.

  “How can I possibly know what Elizabeth hated?” Alice moaned. “I mean, I know she hated—”

  “You!”

  Alice jumped and Tony hurried to her side; he grabbed her shoulder. Still at his cameras, George froze. The hotel manager marched across the lawn, staring at George. Alice, frozen, couldn’t be sure if he had seen her. She wished she were more invisible than she already was.

  “You!” he repeated, pointing a finger at George. “I thought I might find you here. Well, you’ll have to clear all this stuff away by tomorrow morning. I’ve hired my own lawyer. He’s coming to examine the signs around the pool tomorrow morning and I thought I should check to see if you had left anything out here. Sure enough—”

  He saw Alice.

  He stopped so suddenly, he nearly fell over his own feet.

  “What … Wha … y—you … ”

  His jaw hung open rather stupidly as half-formed words tumbled out of his mouth. His small brown eyes bugged out in the oddest way; he looked a lot like a bullfrog, Alice thought. It would have all been very funny had it not been so terrible.

  For a moment, the four stood frozen, scattered around the pool like lawn statues. Tony was gripping Alice’s shoulder so tightly that she could feel his nails digging into her skin. George had his hand on the video camera. The hotel manager’s cheeks were white.

  The manager turned and sprinted back toward the hotel.

  “No! Stop!” George yelled, hurrying after him. Tony jumped up and ran after his father. Alice dropped the towel and hurried to catch up to Tony.

  “I don’t know what kind of prank you three are trying to pull,” the hotel manager yelled as he ran. “I don’t know if you’re trying to fake a ghost story or what, but I swear the police are going to find out about it.”

  “But it’s not fake!” George said in a breathless yell. “She really is a ghost!”

  The hotel manager had reached the door now and he whipped it open.

  “Ghosts don’t exist!” he yelled as he dashed inside. “But that girl does and she’s trying to ruin my life!”

  He slammed the door shut just as Tony was about to barrel inside. Tony screeched to a halt in front of it and yanked on the knob, but the manager had locked it. George stopped at Tony’s side, breathless, and Alice darted up right behind him.

  “Go,” said George, turning on the two of them. “Quickly now, while there’s still time.”

  Tony looked, dumbfounded, at his father. “He’s calling the police,” he said, as though this were something new.

  “He’ll be back. Do you really think that he’s going to let her out of his sight for one minute? The minute he gets off that phone, he’ll come right back out here—he doesn’t trust any of us. He’ll try to make sure she stays put. He’ll threaten us if he has to.”

  “But I need—” Alice began.

  George cut her off. “I know. You need quiet. You need to talk and not be disturbed. You don’t have the time for this, so go! I’ll keep the manager occupied. I can buy you time.”

  “But he’ll be furious,” said Tony. “When he sees Alice is missing—”

  “Go,” George repeated, more insistently this time. He took a quick step forward, brushing his hair off of his sweaty forehead, gesturing toward the trees at the end of the hotel property. It was oddly quiet in the yard now, without the hotel manager’s screaming. Alice thought it might have been peaceful if her heart hadn’t been pounding, if every nerve in her body hadn’t felt suddenly wired.

  “Dad,” said Tony, and he moved closer to Alice. His hand brushed her back. “What are we going to do? If the police come … if they find her … ”

  He didn’t have to complete the sentence. There would be confusion—panic, even. And even if she were seen, even if her parents heard that she’d been spotted, would they believe it? Or would they pull the plug even sooner, just to end the torment of having their daughter’s life dangled in front of them when they knew there was no hope?

  And when she disappeared tonight, as she knew now that she would, what would happen then? It was her last night alive, her last chance. If she went back to the shadow house h
aving learned nothing new, without a single idea, what then? She would die. That’s what would happen.

  Her breath came in short gasps.

  “You want to know what you’re going to do?” said George harshly. He grabbed Alice’s hand. “You’re going to take her and you’re going to run. Try to help her while you still can.”

  Alice looked back and forth between them. George talked about her as though she weren’t even there. And for some strange reason, she herself hardly felt that she existed. She couldn’t say a word, couldn’t force anything out of her lips.

  “But what about you?” asked Tony, taking Alice’s hand. “You could help—you should come.”

  “And have the manager hunt us all down like dogs? Someone needs to hold him off. I’m staying, Tony. And you need to go.”

  Alice thought she heard the sound of running feet inside the hotel. Her hand tightened around Tony’s and he looked over his shoulder at the closed door.

  The footsteps came nearer—quick—a sharp patter.

  Tony went then, dragging Alice along with him, but he kept looking back at his dad as he ran. Alice hurried to keep up with him; the pull of his arm on hers was the only thing that kept her moving forward. She was exhausted, winded, and the farther she went from the hotel, the worse the sensation became. It was strange that she should be so tired when every part of her was burning with adrenaline and all she wanted was to get away from this place. Now that she was actually doing it, she couldn’t find the energy to move forward.

  It was when they reached the trees at the edge of the yard that she noticed it—the burning sensation in her fingertips. It spread quickly, with every tree she passed, every step she took, running up her hands and her arms, coursing through her like a ton of glass shards, cutting her, hurting her. By the time they reached the fence, the pain was almost unbearable, and the moment Tony let go of her hand to jump over the low brick wall, she collapsed on the grass, hugging her knees to her chest, gasping for air, willing it to stop, wanting anything that would end the pain.

  “Alice! We have to run!” Tony reached a hand over the wall, his voice an urgent whisper. And Alice willed her hand to reach up and grab his, but nothing happened. A moan escaped her lips. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She was panicking now and the only thought in her mind was to get back to the hotel. The idea took hold of her with surprising force—back to the hotel. Once she was back at the hotel, the pain would go away. She knew it. She just had to get back. Alice began to crawl toward the hotel, almost without her own consent. It was as though her body had taken over.

  But Tony didn’t understand. He leapt back over the fence.

  “Alice, we have to go now. We need to get just a little farther away,” he said, eyeing her with a worried frown. And she couldn’t explain to him what was wrong because she had to get back there, back to the place where the pain would end.

  Then there was an arm under her, around her, lifting her. Carrying her to the fence. She couldn’t stop him and every inch he moved the pain spun to an even higher pitch, and she couldn’t believe that she could hurt so much, that inside her there was the ability to feel so much pain.

  “No!” she heard herself scream. “Please, no!”

  She was struggling, fighting him, and he couldn’t hold her now. She fell out of his arms, landing with a dull thump, sinking into the dirt, the grass. She felt him lean over her and then there was a kind of fuzziness all around her—her vision was blurry, and his voice came to her as if through a long, dark tunnel.

  Alice?

  Alice.

  When she woke again, the pain was gone.

  “Shh.” Tony’s hand pressed against her lips as she stirred feebly. Her vision gradually came into focus. Tony’s face looked down at her, framed by trees. She pushed herself up and saw that she was sitting in the darkness behind a bush. Through the leaves she could see the pool dimly, where the hotel manager was screaming at George, waving his arms in the air as if he were hailing an airplane. His voice was distant.

  “You’ve only been out for a few minutes,” whispered Tony. “I think it had something to do with the hotel—you couldn’t cross over the fence. I carried you back here.”

  “But we have to get away. I … I have to get away … ”

  “Right now we have to stay quiet.”

  Her arm was pressed against his; she leaned on him heavily. Although the pain was gone, the exhaustion remained, and she hardly felt strong enough to hold herself upright. She glanced over her shoulder at the low brick wall in the distance and wondered for a brief moment whether she ought to try jumping it again. Now that the pain wasn’t so absorbing, she even thought she could make it. Maybe. She could push through it.

  But as she moved to stand, the weakness in her arms was so overwhelming that she gave up the idea at once. She was as good as trapped here on the grass.

  “You were videotaping something,” the manager was yelling. Alice could just see the back of his dark red shirt. George was standing next to the tripod, his hand on the camera. “It was her, wasn’t it? You got her on film.”

  “These are infrared cameras,” George said, with just enough irritation in his voice to make it sound nearly believable. “They don’t pick up anything but heat signatures.”

  “Do you think I’m an idiot? That’s the same video camera I got my wife for Christmas years ago.”

  “Your wife wanted an infrared camera?” asked George, clinging gallantly to his lie.

  The hotel manager made a sound like an angry horse and reached for the video recorder. Instead of trying to stop him, George stood back and let him grab the thing.

  “‘Infrared camera,’” the hotel manager scoffed. “This is a video camera—an ancient one too. Worthless piece of crap. Still uses tape. Couldn’t afford to spring for digital, huh? Ghost business really must not be going well. Is that why you decided to invent a haunting? To get in the headlines at last? Well, the game’s up now. When the police get here and I show them the tape, then they’ll see that the girl’s alive, that this is all some kind of hoax, that—”

  He stopped. He was looking down at the camera in his hands. His shoulders were nearly to his ears, and his whole back seemed to arch, like an elongated letter c with a little hunch at the top.

  “Where is it?” he said, the rumble of barely suppressed rage making his voice sound gravelly.

  George stood with his hands behind his back. “I like tape. It’s more reliable. You can touch a tape, feel it with your fingers. Digital recording is a mystery—just numbers stored in a case so tiny you have to believe it’s there. But tape … tape is solid. I like things that are solid.”

  The manager threw the video camera to the ground. It hit with a crash, then bounced several feet. The view screen flew off and landed in the grass a few feet away.

  “What did you do with it?” he demanded, marching forward.

  George backed away toward the pool. “You would think a ghost chaser wouldn’t care much for solid things.” He spoke casually, and if Alice hadn’t been watching him for days now she wouldn’t have caught the hint of anxiety that told her he was far more nervous than he was letting on. “But that’s what ghost chasing is all about. People want to see ghosts because they’re looking for proof that when they die the world won’t melt away completely. They need to believe that there’s something solid there—something to hope for.”

  “You give it to me. Give me the tape!”

  George was on the very edge of the pool deck now, his heels hanging over the water. The hotel manager stopped a few feet in front of him and Alice could see his beet-red ears. George’s chest moved up and down in hurried little leaps; his tongue ran across his upper lip.

  He was holding something behind his back—something square. He leaned back over the pool (Tony inhaled sharply) and Alice had just begun to realize what he was going to do when his fingers loosened and the tape fell like a small dark bird into the water.

  It landed with a s
urprisingly loud splash. It sank down a few inches, then came to rest on the surface, bobbing up and down as ripples pushed it toward the center of the pool.

  “No!” screamed the manager, running forward, shoving George to the side. He leapt into the pool (the splash was tremendous) and pulled the dripping tape out of the water.

  “No!” he said again, more quietly.

  He ran a finger across the edge of the tape, then, with a cry, he threw the tape as hard as he could.

  It fell onto the lawn, where it lay like a dead thing.

  Tony’s hand tightened around Alice’s and she looked up and saw the shock on his face. She was sure her own expression was similar.

  “Here,” said George, leaning down and offering the manager a hand. His eyes kept wandering to the ruined tape on the ground.

  The hotel manager just turned his back.

  “The police are coming. You’ll pay. You’ll pay.”

  George stood back up. “I already have,” he said.

  The manager slogged through the water toward the step, his wet shirt hanging heavily around his torso.

  Alice whispered; her voice was hoarse.

  “Why did he do it?”

  She wasn’t sure if George had acted for better or for worse. Wasn’t showing the world that ghosts were real what he had always wanted? Would it have been such a bad thing for the manager to show the tape to the police? Maybe it would have convinced her parents that she wasn’t dead … to wait for her … but—she realized almost at once—her parents would not believe even a video. They would call it a forgery. They would be angry, probably, that someone had gone to such lengths to torture them further.

  But George … the tape was his evidence. Surely it would have only helped his cause if the tape had been seen.

  “My dad used to tell me that when someone doesn’t want to believe something, you can’t make them. You can offer them as much evidence as you want, but if they shut their eyes and cover their ears, there’s nothing you can do about it.” Tony was very tense; Alice could feel the tightness in his arm as he put his hand to her back, supporting her.

  “But the videotape. I thought … I thought it would prove … ”