by Diane Hoh
Shaking, she got up to remove the party dress. That made her wonder if Jenny had found “the perfect party dress” she’d been hunting for, and Megan burst into tears.
Suddenly Megan felt the temperature in her room plunge. The lights dimmed, sending the room into near-darkness, and the radio fell ominously silent.
Mouth and eyes wide open, Megan clutched at a bedpost. What was happening? An earthquake? A storm?
She was about to bolt for the door when a soft voice whispered, “Why are you crying, Megan Logan?”
Megan stopped in her tracks, unable to breathe.
The voice was faint and hollow, like the distant echo Megan’s own voice returned to her when she called out across the lake late at night.
“I said, why are you crying?”
Chapter 3
MEGAN LOOKED SLOWLY AROUND the room. There was no one in it but her.
But when her eyes moved to the big oval mirror, she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. She backed rapidly away from the mirror until she bumped into the dresser, its fat white knobs poking her rudely in the back. And there she stood, transfixed. And completely, utterly terrified.
Instead of her own image, the glass was filled with a wispy, shadowy plume, faintly purple in color, weaving gently back and forth in the glass. Gradually, as Megan continued to stare with horror-stricken eyes, the plume began to take on a vaguely human shape. There were no facial features, only a bright golden glow where a person’s eyes, nose, and mouth would normally be. No arms or legs were apparent on the gauzy purple stream. It was like looking at a person from a great distance through a sheer, delicate veil.
I’ve fallen asleep, I’m having a nightmare, Megan told herself to silence her galloping heart.
“I asked why you were crying. You look very sad.”
Megan was freezing. The air coming in the window behind her was toaster-warm, yet within her room, it was as cold as an underground cavern. Every inch of her body was paralyzed with fear.
Megan struggled to find her voice. “What’s going on?” she whispered. “What’s happening?”
An eerie silvery glow began to surround the lavender plume, lighting it from behind. “I need to talk to you, Megan Logan. Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.”
“Who … what are you?” Megan croaked hoarsely. Her legs weren’t going to hold her up much longer. She felt that at any second she was going to collapse to the floor, completely helpless. Willing herself to remain upright, she repeated shakily, “What are you?”
The answer came softly, sweetly. “I am Juliet.”
Megan had spent countless hours sitting on the terrace roof shaded by the branches of the huge old oak tree. There she watched the clouds drifting in over the lake. She always found something interesting in each wad of cottony white, each slab of pale or dark gray, each sunset-pinked gossamer trail.
But now, staring in terror at the shapeless, wavy stream of lavender in her mirror, she saw nothing familiar, nothing ordinary, nothing to still her hammering heart. The only thing she could be sure of was that the voice coming from the wispy column was, like her own, feminine.
“Juliet? But … but …” Megan sank down on the bed, shivering. The room was so cold. Yet a stream of stultifying, breath-defying hot air continued to crawl in sluggishly through her open window.
This wasn’t happening. This can’t be happening, Megan thought.
The voice was soft as cobwebs. “You think I shouldn’t have a name?”
Without taking her eyes off the mirror, Megan slowly reached out and pulled the comforter from her bed, wrapping herself in it. The lighting in the room remained dim, while the silvery glow in the mirror seemed to deepen. “Go away,” Megan whispered. “Whoever — whatever you are, I don’t want you here. You don’t belong here.”
“I can’t. I’ve got to talk to you, Megan. And you’ve got to listen to me. It’s important.”
“No,” Megan said in a mere whisper. She wanted to cry out for her parents, or her brother, but she knew the shout would never escape her frozen throat. “I don’t want to.”
Sadness sounded in the voice, and bitter disappointment. “You won’t listen to me? No, oh, no, that can’t be! I was sure you would. I’ve waited so long. So very long …” The voice trailed off, the silvery glow began to dim.
“You’ve waited? For me?” Confusion added to Megan’s fear. “Where? Where did you wait? Where did you come from?”
“I come from another time, another place. I’m here now, that’s all that matters.”
“How did you get into that mirror?”
The voice gathered strength as Megan began to respond. The silvery light throbbed, brightening again. “The mirror isn’t important. It doesn’t mean anything. I’m only using it so you can see me.”
“But I don’t want to see you!” Megan cried. “I don’t want you here! Just go away!”
“Please, Megan, please, all I ask is that you listen. It would mean so much to me.”
Only the possibility that she had fallen asleep and was caught in a horrible nightmare kept Megan from fleeing the room. That, and the mesmerizing quality of the plume’s plaintive voice as it begged her to listen.
“You’re getting ready for your party?” the voice said. “Pretty dress.”
Megan said nothing.
“You’re wondering how I know about your birthday. I know because it’s my birthday, too. We share that. That’s one of the reasons I can talk with you. But we weren’t born in the same year.”
Megan was seized by a fresh chill. The thing in the mirror had had a birthday? It had once been born, had lived, had maybe been a young girl like Megan?
But … if that was what it had been, what was it now?
Struggling, she managed to ask, “When? When were you born?”
“Nineteen thirty.”
“Nineteen thirty?” Sixty-one years ago. But the voice was not that of a sixty-one-year-old woman. It was as young as Megan’s.
“That dress really is pretty.”
Megan looked down in surprise, as if someone had slipped the dress on her when she wasn’t looking. The blue-green skirt peeked out from beneath the blue print comforter.
They had both been speaking in near-whispers, but now, the voice in the mirror gained strength. “I had a new dress for my sixteenth birthday party, too,” it added wistfully. “My dress was blue like yours, but a darker shade, like the night sky. It was taffeta. It crackled when I walked. I loved that sound. I was having an orchestra at my party, and colored lanterns strung above the lawn, and napkins with my initials on them.”
Megan was clenching her fists so tightly around the comforter, her knuckles looked bleached. The … thing in the mirror had had a birthday party?
Suddenly the plume became very agitated, jerking erratically from side to side. “But I never had my party,” the voice said mournfully. “It was canceled.”
A wave of skin-scorching heat blew in Megan’s Window, but she scarcely noticed. The agitation in the mirror terrified her. It … the plume … Juliet … was becoming very upset. I should leave, she thought numbly. I should run, right now, get out of this room. But fear had turned her body to stone.
An anguished sob filled the room. “There was an accident. A bad one.”
The light around the plume dimmed, and the room became lost in shadow. An owl in the oak tree beside the terrace hooted. Megan jumped, startled by the sound. She spoke automatically, as if in a trance. “An accident?”
“A boating accident. Out there on the lake, in that cove just around the bend. Do you know the place?”
Megan knew it well. Most lake people avoided it because of the rocks, some jutting up above the water, most hidden beneath it. At the bottom of the lake there was a treacherous tangle of undergrowth and weeds lying in wait to imprison whatever might come its way. The cove had a history of boat wrecks and drownings.
Was this … Juliet … saying she was a part of that tragic history?
&nbs
p; Megan waited with growing dread. Something terrible had happened to the thing in the mirror. She knew it. She didn’t want to know what that something terrible was.
“Our boat hit a rock. I hadn’t had time to learn to swim, but it wouldn’t have helped. I was thrown overboard and knocked unconscious. My body became tangled in the undergrowth. By the time I was pulled from the water … it was too late …
“I never made it to my party,” the voice whispered sadly. “But … it was all a long time ago. Forty-six years ago. Such a long time …”
When Megan still said nothing, the thing called Juliet added, “I would have been sixteen the day of my party. Like you, Megan. Sweet sixteen …”
The wispy plume began spinning like a top. Soft, anguished sobs filled the room with pure pain. “I’d been planning that party for ages. I was sure it meant all the fun would begin. The best time of my life. I was pretty and very popular.” The spinning stopped, but the voice was heavy with distress. “Everyone said I had so much promise. But that horrid accident took my life from me before I ever had a chance to live it.”
Megan was struck by the horror of Juliet’s words. Fresh tears streamed down her face, and her eyes were full of pain. “No, oh, no,” Megan whispered. Then, lifting, her head, she said, “But this isn’t happening. This is not happening.”
“Oh, dear, I’ve made you cry again. I shouldn’t have upset you. I’ll leave now, but I’ll come back another time. Thank you for listening to me … Most people wouldn’t have.”
And before Megan could cry out, the light dimmed, went out, and the mirror was clear again. There was nothing in it but the reflection of a girl, shaking violently beneath a blue print quilt, her face streaked with tears.
The lights came up to full power, and the radio came back on, as if Juliet had flicked a switch as she left. Once again, the room became suffocatingly hot.
Megan trembled for a long time. After a while, she removed the comforter, took off the party dress, and hung it carefully on a hanger in her closet. She got ready for bed, moving the entire time in stunned slow-motion. When she crawled up underneath the canopy, she pulled the pale blue sheet up over her in spite of the suffocating heat, unable to shake the chill left by the wraith in her mirror and the words the wraith had spoken.
I dreamed the whole thing, she told herself, staring up at the yellowed ceiling. I’m dreaming right now. I’m dreaming that I’m just going to bed, when the truth is, I’ve been asleep for hours.
The thought was comforting. It allowed her to relax and go to sleep.
The next morning when she awoke and remembered, her eyes flew to the mirror.
Except for Megan’s own sleepy-eyed, tousle-haired reflection, the mirror was empty.
Chapter 4
ON THURSDAY MORNING, LAKESIDE residents awoke to disappointment. The sky was still a sullen gray, the sun hidden, the heat still suffocating the town.
Megan felt like she’d slept in a sauna. Her head ached, her skin felt sticky, and her hair was matted to her head.
After checking the mirror and finding it empty, she thought immediately of her friends. Were they okay? She hoped her parents had heard something. Maybe her mother had talked to someone at the hospital.
As she got ready for school, her eyes returned repeatedly to the big mirror. Although there was nothing there, the feeling of a foreign presence lingered in the room. Something that didn’t belong had entered her room, uninvited. It was gone now, but the sense of it remained.
But I did dream that whole thing, she told herself after her shower. She pulled on white shorts and a pale yellow top. I dreamed it because I was so upset about the accident that nearly killed three of my friends. So I dreamed about someone my age who had died in an accident.
It had been so real, though. She remembered clearly every second of it. Slipping her feet into a pair of sandals, she pulled her thick mass of curls into a ponytail and fastened it with a yellow clip. Her morning shower had done nothing to ease the headache. The pounding behind her eyes was relentless.
Megan deliberately kept her back to the freestanding mirror as she halfheartedly applied a touch of blush and mascara. But as she left’ the room, her biology book in her arms, her blue denim shoulder bag hanging from one wrist, she couldn’t resist glancing one more time into the wooden-framed glass.
There was nothing in it but the reflection of a pale-faced girl in yellow and white. I look like a wilted daisy, Megan thought in disgust. When she closed the bedroom door behind her, she hoped she was closing out all memory of the strange wraith and its tragic story. And she hoped that when she came home later that day, her room would feel like her own again.
The early-morning mist on the water had already cleared as Megan pedaled her bicycle to school, using the bike path above the lake. Glancing up at the granite-colored sky, she told herself it was going to be another skin-sticky day. Everyone at school would be moaning and groaning about the weather.
Unless they were preoccupied with last night’s accident.
Megan crossed the highway to Philippa Moore High School, where groups of teenagers in shorts and tank tops milled about on the lawn. Her mother hadn’t had any news about the physical condition of her friends. She had found out only that they were all still alive. Locking her bicycle in the rack beneath the huge flagpole, Megan quickly searched for someone who could give her more information about Jenny, Barb, and Cappie.
But no one knew anything until lunch period, when Megan met Justin and Hilary and learned that Hilary had called the hospital and talked to Mrs. Winn.
“Barb’s okay,” she told Megan and Justin. “She was thrown clear and landed on grass. She’s going home today. Cappie has a broken wrist and a lot of bruises. But Jenny wasn’t so lucky. She has a really awful head injury, and her collarbone was shattered. There weren’t any seat belts in the car because it was so old. Mr. Winn had ordered some, but they hadn’t come in yet.” Hilary paused, then added quietly, “Mrs. Winn was crying the whole time we were talking.”
Megan shuddered. Her nasty headache persisted. My friends could all have been killed, she told herself, believing it for the first time. They could have died.
Like poor Juliet.
Except Juliet wasn’t real. She was just a dream. An awful dream.
What was almost worse than the dream was the feeling now that she was being watched. She felt eyes on her, following her every move. Her skin itched. It had started when she walked up the school steps, and it stayed with her. She had to keep fighting the urge to glance over her shoulder. When she did look around nervously, no one was paying any attention to her.
The student body at Philippa Moore was sprawled across the back lawn on the embankment sloping down to the lake. The air was thick and sluggish, making any sort of movement an effort. Too wiped out by the suffocating heat to play volleyball or toss a Frisbee, everyone studied or talked softly while they ate.
But the disturbed quiet across campus had nothing to do with the heat. It was the direct result of three of their own narrowly escaping death. The students were trying to deal with the grim fact of the accident.
“I don’t get it,” Justin said. “Jenny’s a good driver, and it wasn’t raining yesterday. No slippery roads. Anybody hear how it happened?”
Hilary, sitting on the ground with her legs crossed, leaned forward. Her thick, straight blonde hair was cut short and square around her ears in a shining cap, her round face pink-cheeked and healthy looking. “Mrs. Winn told me that when they hit that curve, Jenny aimed the car around it just like she always did. At least she tried to. But nothing happened. Barbie told her mother that the car just wouldn’t turn. It went straight into that utility pole like it had a mind of its own.”
“Sounds like the steering went,” Justin commented.
Hilary shrugged. “Maybe. Mrs. Winn said the sheriff is checking out the car.”
Justin frowned. His sandy hair curled softly across his forehead. He was wearing khaki shorts and a whi
te short-sleeved T-shirt. His warm gray eyes were pensive behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Jenny could be out of commission for a long time. She’s going to go stir-crazy in that hospital.”
“Well,” Megan said, “as soon as she can have visitors, we’ll just have to see that she doesn’t get lonely.”
Justin smiled at her. “If anybody can cheer her up, you can. You’re good at that.”
“Well, I think it all stinks!” Hilary complained. “School’s almost over, and Jenny won’t get to finish out the year.”
After a moment or two of somber silence, Hilary sat up straighter and said, “Let’s not talk about this anymore. Too depressing.” She made a face of disgust as she said, “Guess who asked me out this morning?” Hilary could switch moods as easily as she changed a T-shirt.
“Who?” Justin asked. “Who do we know without a single shred of taste?”
Hilary crossed her eyes at him. “Donny Richardson. He asked me to a movie. Isn’t that a hoot?”
“What did you tell him?” Megan asked, knowing perfectly well that short, squat, mustached Donny was definitely not Hilary’s type. He wasn’t tall enough or cute enough. He wasn’t athletic, and he wasn’t popular. Definitely not Hilary Bench’s type.
“I said, ‘Not in this lifetime.’ The guy has the personality of a hangnail.”
“Hilary, did you have to be so cruel?” Megan asked. It wasn’t hard to imagine the pain of that kind of rejection. If Justin ever treated her like that, she’d die. “You could have been a little bit nicer.”
“If you’re polite with guys like Donny, they never give up.”
“Well,” Justin said, “I think you could have been more tactful.” He grinned. “Although we know that tact isn’t among your limited virtues, Bench. Denny’s not a bad guy, and the girls in this school treat him like dirt. He probably has his limits, like everyone else. I was with Jenny a couple of weeks ago when Donny asked her to a movie. She turned him down. She was more polite than you, Hil, but he stomped off down the hall like he was squashing bugs. He was not happy.”