She felt one creeping up her arm and flicked it away with the flashlight, then switched the flashlight on. A circle of light appeared on the wall. And within that circle, Camille saw what looked like dollops of black raindrops streaming down, then scattering in all directions. Breathe, Camille thought. It’s going to be all right. For heaven’s sake, breathe!
She tilted the flashlight, directing its beam to the ground. The floor was in motion, an ocean of roaches, their stampeding legs emulating the sound of a retreating storm as they withdrew from the light. Camille opened her mouth in what looked like a scream. Push! Camille thought. It’s in there! Scream! Scream!
Nothing.
By then, the roaches had discovered the cot, something new to climb. Camille stood up and centered her feet, the left on top of the right, in the middle of the mattress, watching in horror as the little black monsters began their vertical climb up the metal legs, on a path to her toes. She redirected the light, hitting the leaders dead on, and something unexpected happened. The roaches held their position, avoiding the beam like it was a force field they could not cross. Aunt Rue said they only came out in the dark. If Camille could get to the light switch, which was a mere ten feet from the cot, maybe they’d retreat and go back to where they had come from. She had no choice but to try.
Camille knelt at the edge of the mattress, leveling the beam on the ground. Repelled by the light, the roaches scattered, clearing a path for her to follow. This was her chance. She set her feet on the cold hard ground and, with the flashlight trembling, slowly walked the trail, the roaches lining up on both sides of the beam, wiggling their antennae, watching, waiting for a single mistake so they could pounce. They must have numbered in the millions.
Camille made it to the switch as the roaches poured in behind her ankles. Click! The three overhead lights came on, and the roaches dispersed, scattering under furniture and into crevices. Camille watched them retreat for what felt like hours, when in reality it took only seconds. Soon the cellar floor was as it had been before they came. But returning to the cot was no longer a consideration. Camille needed to get out of the cellar; she’d sleep outside if she had to.
She made her way to a wooden staircase, fighting not to think about what would happen if the roaches got used to the light. Climbing two steps at a time, she reached the sunken trapdoor that would release her into the yard. Frantically, she pushed and pushed on the door. It was locked. And in that moment, Camille surmised the terrible truth—a truth too horrible yet somehow certain. Aunt Rue had locked her in from the outside.
Camille pounded at the wood slats with the flashlight, pounded until the flashlight broke to pieces. If only she could muster a scream. One good one ought to do it. Hisssssss was all she had.
She sat on the top step, rocking back and forth. Think, think, think. It would be dawn soon. Morning. Sunlight. She wouldn’t have long to wait. Surely someone would check on the pathetic little mute in the fruit cellar. If not for Camille’s sake, then for the sake of the uniforms she’d spent all night mending. All she had to do was wait it out. Remember to breathe.
Except…Except…
She actually saw it happen. The first hanging light, the one farthest away, flickered and died. Then came the stampede. The roach army was on the move again, holding position where the light ended. She had two lights remaining. But if they died, too…
Camille held vigil from the top step. The roach army did not move, and neither did she. Another twenty minutes passed before…before the next bulb, the one in the middle, went out. Once again, the roaches advanced, stopping just shy of the third and final circle of light, waiting patiently for their invitation to the dance.
Camille could not wait. She had to make it to the other side of the fruit cellar, where she’d seen a dumbwaiter in the wall, leading up to the kitchen. It was her best hope of escape.
Slowly she descended, one creaky step at a time. And just as she reached the middle of the stairs, the last bulb flickered out, shrouding the cellar in darkness. Camille’s foot missed the next step and she lost her balance, teetering, trying to hold on. She fell forward, tumbling and twisting down the stairs, before landing with a thud on the hard floor.
Camille was out cold. Alone. In the dark. From within the abyss, the chirping army approached.
When she finally came to, Camille felt a tingling sensation all over her body. She was covered, head to toe, with roaches. She opened her mouth and, for the first time in years, unleashed a bellowing scream. It was like sounding the dinner bell. Camille finally had an uncontested reason to use her voice again, so she screamed. She screamed for all to hear. She screamed and screamed again until all of Halloway House rattled. And as she let out her last scream, as if in response from Aunt Rue—and from the house itself—the roaches piled in.
It was later deemed an accident. There was no evidence of foul play. No evidence of a locked trapdoor. No evidence of roaches. The pathetic little mute girl must have slipped and fallen. It was the law of averages. Bad things happened everywhere, even at Halloway House.
Especially at Halloway House.
The old Victorian overlooking the crashing coastline of the Atlantic some fourteen miles north of Kennebunkport remains a popular destination today, despite the reports of people hearing screams coming from the cellar. Despite the rustling in the walls.
Despite the roaches.
The librarian closed his book, the last story completed. William turned to comfort the girl, but she was gone. “Camille. Where is she?”
“Why do you care? She’s merely a character in a story. Isn’t that right, Master William? Just like the others.”
William shook his head. “She was real. I felt her. I still can! What have you done with her?”
“Merely preserved her tale for generations to come.”
“What kind of a show are you running here, Arcane?”
“No show, Master William. Only tell.” He pointed to his books. “When the time comes, I would be delighted to share your tale.”
William shook his head. “And you? Is your story up there on one of these shelves, Mr. Arcane?”
The librarian unleashed an especially toothy grin. “Mine, I’m afraid, is a tale for another day.”
The librarian released the book, like one might release a dove, and William watched as it floated back to its space on the shelf. “How did you do that?”
“You studied magic. Perhaps you can tell me.”
“I can’t.” William rotated, trying to take it all in. “I can’t explain any of this.”
That pleased the librarian. “The world is unexplainable. We’re surrounded by the strange. The unknown. The often unimaginable. Yet you have deprived yourself of these wonders by choosing not to believe.”
“As a kid, I believed in everything.” His lip began to quiver. He might have cried had he not renounced the luxury. “It got taken from me. The magic. All of it. The same day she got taken.”
“Most unfortunate. It appears I have wasted your time.”
The bookshelf parted. It was time for William to leave. He started down the tunnel but stopped and turned. “What about Madame Leota?”
“What about her? You do not believe in spirits. Therefore, she is a fraud. A charlatan.” The librarian handed him a candle for light. “Mind your step, Master William.”
William wasn’t ready to leave. “You don’t understand. I be—” The bookshelf rumbled closed, cutting him off midsentence. He was alone in the corridor, the path leading back to the graveyard. If only he could have learned how Madame Leota communicated with the dead. Gong! The chime of a grandfather clock echoed from within the mansion. Gong! William was thinking about the stories. Gong! The fate of the characters. Gong! They were real. Gong! As real as his sister. Gong! Why couldn’t he say her name? Gong! The pain had been too great. Gong! Now everything was different. Gong! The magic was real. Gong! Spirits existed. Gong! The mansion confirmed it. Gong! It was midnight. Gong! With unbridled joy, he shou
ted to any who might be listening: “I believe! I believe!”
With a sudden urgency, William began to run, uncertain where he might end up but knowing full well his final destination would be wondrous, for that was the promise of the mansion itself. “I believe!” He ran through adjoining hallways. “I believe!” Announcing with a rekindled sense of wonder to the walls that breathed, the portraits that had eyes, the stairs that led to nowhere. To whomever and, more likely, whatever might be listening. “Do you hear me, spirits! I believe!”
William ran through the corridor, shouting for all the happy haunts to hear. “I believe!” He emerged into an unfamiliar setting. William looked around. He was still in the mansion, inside a medium’s parlor. A large crystal ball, filled with mist, was floating above a table. He approached and, for the first time, did not question what he saw. “Madame Leota.”
The mist inside the ball dissipated, forming a rim of wild blue hair. Then a face appeared, the visage of a handsome lady, surrounded by a phosphorescent glow. “I’ve been expecting you…Billy.”
William felt something tug at his heart. He hadn’t gone by Billy in ages. His sis had called him that; it was what everyone had called him, all those years before. “These days, I go by William.”
The globe settled down in the center of the table, and Madame Leota bade him into the circle. “You may sit.” William looked around. “Where? There’s no…”
A chair glided in from nowhere, settling behind William. A black raven was perched on the top rail. Caw! Caw! “I agree,” replied Madame Leota.
“I seek an audience with the dead,” William said. The raven was amused, as its cackle would indicate. It still came out sounding like Caw! Caw! Caw! “What’s so funny?”
“We assumed you hadn’t come all this way to play cards,” replied Madame Leota. Her complexion changed, her skin turning a luminous green. “It is one thing to seek the dead. Are you prepared to have the dead seek you?”
William gave a solemn nod. “I am.”
“Very well. State your purpose.”
William swallowed hard. That was a tough one. But he knew he had to answer. It was why he had come. “I seek forgiveness.” His voice cracked, and she could barely hear him say, “It’s my fault…she’s dead.”
Madame Leota’s face turned red. “Explain yourself!”
William’s eyes grew heavy. “It had to do with a pet, a guinea pig. You see, Chubs was mine and then he was hers, and…you’re not going to believe this next part.”
“I’m a floating head. Try me.”
“I see your point.” William went on to explain: “According to her friends, my sister made a wish she shouldn’t have made. They thought it cost her her life. But what they didn’t know was that I made one too. I made a terrible wish. That makes me responsible.” William waited for her to respond. “Well, doesn’t it?”
“You’ll have to ask her,” replied the world’s most gifted medium. “I require something personal.” He withdrew the item from his pocket: a bracelet with four charms representing each of his sister’s pets: a rabbit, a parrot, a goldfish, and a guinea pig.
“This was hers.”
“Set it down before me.” William did as he was told. “Now repeat after me.” Leota closed her eyes and spoke the words. Fair warning, foolish reader. The following spell is 100 percent authentic and has been known to call forth unwanted spirits, the kind that follow you home. Read aloud at your own risk.
Horntoads and lizards, fiddle and strum. Please answer the roll by beating a drum!
Harpies and furies, old friends and new! Blow on a horn so we’ll know that it’s you!
Serpents and spiders, tail of a rat. Call in the spirits wherever they’re at!
Rap on a table; it’s time to respond. Send us a message from somewhere beyond!
Goblins and ghoulies from last Halloween. Awaken the spirits with your tambourine!
Creepies and crawlies, toads in a pond. Let there be music from regions beyond!
Wizards and witches, wherever you dwell, give us a hint by ringing a bell!
The table rumbled and the bracelet floated into the air, charms clinking as it levitated above Leota. William watched the animals turn like a silver carousel. He thought he had seen every trick in the book, but this was different. This was real. “Is it her?” he asked. “Is she here?”
“No!” replied Madame Leota, clearly annoyed.
The bracelet was being tugged back and forth by opposing fields of energy. William watched as if it was an invisible tennis match. “The mischievous monsters have received your sympathetic vibrations and are beginning to materialize,” confirmed Madame Leota.
William didn’t know whether to laugh or scream as a pair of glowing figures appeared before him. He recognized the two specters having a tug-of-war with his sister’s jewelry. They were her pals, members of her storytelling club, the Fearsome Foursome. “I saw it first!” argued Noah, the chubby one.
“Not on your life!” responded Steve, the handsome one. “Unless you want a fatter lip!”
“I’d like to see you try!”
Steve threw a punch Noah’s way, and Noah didn’t bother to block it. The fist passed directly through his head, as if he was composed of mist. From there, the scuffle continued, forcing Madame Leota to intervene. The crystal ball floated between them. “That’s quite enough!” the medium bellowed, and the boys settled down at once. And if you’ve ever wondered what scares a ghost, now you know.
“Escort Billy to the grand ballroom. The direct route. No shortcuts through the attic.”
William felt invigorated, like a kid again. He’d waited so long for that day. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Begone!” Madame Leota yelled. Then, with a wink, she added, “You don’t want to miss the cake.” William turned from the crystal ball and followed the floating apparitions out of the séance circle.
The party was in the grand ballroom. There was a long banquet table, filled with see-through revelers. Ghostly couples were waltzing on the main floor, dancing eternity away, while directly outside, a hearse was dropping off “late arrivals.” Right away, William spotted the guest of honor from the balcony. His sister was twirling ten feet above the dance floor, lighter than air, along with Tim, an apparition in a baseball uniform, who would forever be her favorite partner. They were giggling as they spun, feeling a tickle where their bellies used to be.
As soon as the waltz ended, William ran down the long stairway, passing straight through a string of guests as if they weren’t there, though a few protested out of habit: “Hey! Live one! Watch where you’re going!”
He spotted her at the head of the banquet table. “Willa!” The guests became silent, and his sister turned her head, looking back, confused. “Don’t you know me?” he asked. At first, she didn’t. William wasn’t a kid anymore. Willa, on the other hand, hadn’t aged a day. “Sis, it’s me!”
“Billy?” She smiled, just the way he remembered, and for an instant she made her body whole again (don’t ask; it’s a ghost thing), just long enough to give her little brother a terrestrial hug. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to wish you a happy birthday. And to bring you a present. I missed you, Sis.” He held out the bracelet, which she recognized at once. “You never said good-bye,” he added as he placed it on her wrist.
“Most people never do.”
William bowed his head in shame. “Mostly, I came to apologize.”
“What for?”
“I was so mad at you, Will. That night I made a wish, too. I wished…well, I wished you wouldn’t be around anymore. And just like that, you weren’t.” He looked into her glowing eyes, still blue, still beautiful. And when Willa looked back, she laughed. Boy, did she laugh!
“You are such a jerkoid. Wishes like that don’t come true. What happened to me had nothing to do with you.” She touched his cheek and he felt a tingle. “You have to go back, Billy. To live the life you were meant to live.”
“No!” Billy shook his head and the other ghosts turned. “I’m staying with you!”
“You can’t.” And in that moment, he no longer felt Willa’s hand. She was merely an apparition once more. A reflection of a being that had once been his sister.
By then, a procession of spirits had floated in around them. Tim, Noah, and Steve, late of the Fearsome Foursome, were carrying a gigantic birthday cake topped with candles. Ghosts swooped down from chandeliers and rafters; a phantom organist played “Happy Birthday” and the guests sang their hearts out. And their eyes and their lungs and their kidneys.
At once, William recognized four additional guests: Connie, Uncle Rory and Diana Durwin, and of course Camille, who sang sweeter and louder than all the others. This was where their stories had led them. (The Count had to howl along from a window, as that “no pets” policy was still in effect.) The mansion was their new home. Like Willa, they were eternal residents of the happiest haunt on earth.
William smiled, joining the chorus, and when the song ended, Willa blew out her candles and the cake disappeared. No wishes, though. Her last one didn’t work out so well. Again, see volume one.
“Happy birthday, Sis,” whispered William, and he closed his eyes. It was okay to dream again.
When William opened his eyes, he found himself lying in front of Willa’s grave. It was morning; a caretaker and a shivering bloodhound were standing over him. William squinted to see, blocking the sunlight with his hand. “What time is it?”
“Around seven. You sleep here all night?”
“I-I guess so.”
The caretaker extended his hand and helped William to his feet. “Just put on a pot of joe, if you’re interested.”
Tales from the Haunted Mansion, Volume II Page 10