by J. A. White
Good enough. For now.
I went to see A today. In that room. To tell her all this.
What did she say?
That’s the thing. Mr. D wouldn’t let me talk to her. He actually yelled at me for even trying. Mr. D never yelled at me b4.
It’s not him, Cordelia texted.
I think ur right. But then who is it? Why are the ghosts doing this?
Let’s find out.
If faculty meetings had still been held in the library, like the previous year, Cordelia and Benji could have simply gotten there early and found a good hiding spot. But Dr. Roqueni had moved meetings to the conservatory, which she had redone over the summer for this express purpose.
The door to the conservatory was always locked.
Stealing the key would be nearly impossible; as far as Cordelia knew, the only copy was on Dr. Roqueni’s keychain, which she kept in her pocket at all times. Before even considering such a risky option, Cordelia and Benji decided to do a thorough examination of the nearby rooms, just in case there was a secret door or passageway. Since they didn’t want the teachers to know they were planning something, they took turns searching so there was no risk of them being seen together.
It was Benji who struck gold.
Found it! he texted her after school one day. Trapdoor. Mr. Terpin’s room.
It goes to the conservatory?
Even better, he replied. It’s like a hiding spot. We can see them. They can’t see us.
Sounds good! Cordelia wrote. U game tomorrow?
It was a few moments before Benji responded. R we doing something stupid dangerous?????
Of course, Cordelia replied. That’s how we roll.
Wish we could ask Agnes. She’s smarter than us.
WAY smarter, Cordelia agreed. U could text her . . .
Thought about it. But what if Agnes is acting weird because not Agnes? Possessed??? Can’t trust her.
Does that mean u trust me again? Cordelia tried, throwing in a hand emoji with two fingers crossed.
IDK. U could be possessed too.
Cordelia waited for Benji to tell her he was kidding. He never did.
After school the next day, Cordelia met Benji outside Mr. Terpin’s classroom. They loitered in the hall while the math teacher wiped down every desk with antibacterial wipes and scrubbed his dry-erase board clean. At last, he flicked off the lights and left. As soon as Mr. Terpin was out of sight, Benji led Cordelia into the room and showed her the trapdoor he had found beneath the teacher’s desk. They opened it and hopped down into a large crawl space. Cordelia could stand up—barely—but Benji had to hunch over or his head would graze the ceiling. While Cordelia closed the trapdoor above them, Benji flicked a switch that activated several dusty lights.
“Sweet!” Cordelia said.
The crawl space had the cozy feel of a tree house. There were pillows, a sleeping bag, piles of ancient comic books with titles like Horrific and The Haunt of Fear, toy cars, and a ton of drawing supplies.
“Who do you think all this stuff belonged to?” Cordelia asked. She made sure to whisper as quietly as possible. The observatory was right below them, and she wasn’t sure how far their voices would carry.
Stepping lightly across the floor, Benji led her to a desk constructed from two crates and a piece of plywood. Above this makeshift workspace, dozens of newspaper clippings had been tacked to the wall: “FAMILY ABANDONS HOME DUE TO NIGHTLY ‘VISITORS,’” “RETIRED NURSE HEARS VOICE BEHIND WALL, FINDS BODY,” “LOCAL MAN CHARGES ADMISSION TO ‘HAUNTED’ HOUSE.” Whoever had pinned the newspaper articles to the wall had also sketched the houses featured in the photographs. The drawings were more technical than artistic, with crisp lines and measurements.
In the right-hand corner of one of the drawings, Cordelia saw a signature. The name was complicated by loops and curlicues—a kid trying to sign his name like a real artist—but after a moment’s study, she was able to piece the letters together.
Darius Shadow.
“Guess he lived here at some point before it became a school,” Benji said, peeking over her shoulder. “This must have been his special hiding spot.”
There were a few other items on the desk: a cigar box filled with eyeglass lenses that had been poked from their frames, a thick accordion folder, tarot cards, and a Magic 8-Ball. Cordelia opened the folder. It was stuffed with more newspaper clippings about ghosts and haunted houses.
“Wow,” she said. “Darius really did want to be just like Elijah when he grew up. Which is strange, when you think about it. He couldn’t even see the ghosts.”
Almost directly beneath their feet, they heard the click of a key opening a lock. Benji gasped and pulled Cordelia to the opposite end of the crawl space. The boards squeaking beneath their feet were drowned out by the squealing hinges of the conservatory door.
The teachers were coming.
Benji led her down a five-rung ladder to a cramped area barely big enough for the two of them. He slid a narrow panel to the left and made as much room as possible so she could squeeze next to him. If they had found themselves in the same situation a few weeks ago, Cordelia might have made some kind of joke: Hope you’re wearing deodorant or Good thing I’m part elf. But their friendship hadn’t yet knitted itself back together again, so all she could do was smile shyly and hope he didn’t mind being so close to her.
They looked through the slot together.
Their vantage point was just below the ceiling, giving them a decent view of the entire conservatory. Although the December sun shining through the arched windows provided little light, the flora seemed to be thriving: a colony of potted plants raised their unruly fronds toward the sky, while ivy twisted around the trellised balcony that encircled the room. A stone fountain covered with moss dribbled brackish water.
Cordelia was so taken with the dark beauty of the conservatory that she didn’t see the ghosts at first. There were dozens of them pressed shoulder to shoulder against the windows. Cordelia recognized a teenager wearing a royal-blue prom dress and sparkling tiara. Her Brightkey, a wasted corsage of lavender roses, had been dead and wilted in Cordelia’s locker for weeks. It was hard to tell for sure, since none of the ghosts were facing her, but she thought she recognized a few others who had refused their Brightkeys as well.
When she shared this observation with Benji, he nodded his head.
“I see one that turned me down, too,” he whispered. “This must be where they’ve been hiding out since they escaped their ghost zones.”
The teachers filed into the room and settled into the chairs set up around the observatory. Cordelia listened closely, hoping to learn something useful, but their conversations were all about normal things like TV shows or their families. When they mentioned the school at all, it was just to complain about someone’s annoying parents (such as Mason’s mom, who kept accusing the seventh-grade teachers of picking on her “misunderstood angel”).
“Nothing’s happening,” Benji said. “Maybe you got it wrong.”
Cordelia saw Mr. Russell take out a bottle of Tylenol and tap a few into his palm.
“Give it more time,” she said. “The meeting hasn’t even started yet.”
A second wave of teachers, led by Dr. Roqueni, entered the conservatory. They didn’t speak at all. Mrs. Machen and Mr. Bruce entered last, wheeling a squeaky A/V cart whose odd-shaped cargo was covered by a black sheet. Instead of sitting, the late arrivals spread themselves evenly across the room, like teachers at recess duty. Cordelia was left with the uncomfortable impression that they wanted to make sure no one could leave. Mrs. Aickman, perhaps sensing the same thing, shifted uneasily in her seat.
“Hey, Aria,” said Ms. Schwerin, a brash music teacher who seemed completely oblivious to the rising tension in the room. “Can we make this quick? My kid is sick.”
“Of course,” said Dr. Roqueni. “Let’s get right to business.”
She raised her hands above her head and clapped them together. “My f
ellow spirits! Take control of these mortal shells and join me!”
It was as though a switch had been flipped. As one, the teachers began to groan in pain. A few fell forward with their heads clasped in their hands. Others stared straight ahead, backs ramrod straight. Ms. Jackson, showing more tenacity than Cordelia would have ever given her credit for, managed to make it all the way to the door before collapsing to her knees.
A few moments later, the groans stopped. The teachers cracked their necks and stretched their arms, as though they had just awoken from a particularly restful nap.
Ms. Schwerin was the first to speak. “So much better,” she said.
Mr. Terpin nodded in agreement and took a long, joyous breath. “I never appreciated how sweet the air was when I was alive. But now I can’t get enough of it!”
“Hear, hear,” agreed Mr. Hearn in a British accent. He tried to applaud, but his hands kept missing each other. “Oh, dear. I had this yesterday.”
“Don’t force it,” Mr. Terpin said. “Remember your lessons—‘wear the body like a suit of clothes.’”
Mr. Hearn wasn’t the only one having a hard time. Mr. Blender kept sitting and standing for no reason at all. Ms. Soney had gone cross-eyed. Ms. Patel jerked and kicked like a malfunctioning robot. If Cordelia had seen her teachers acting so goofy on any other day, it would have been hilarious.
But this wasn’t funny at all.
Cordelia felt Benji’s hand slip into her own. It was warm and sweaty and wonderfully real, an anchor that kept her from blowing away into a dark and disobedient world.
“They’re possessed,” he said, his breathing quick and shallow. “You were right.”
“I wish I’d been wrong.”
“I don’t get it, though. The teachers were normal when they got here. And I didn’t see any of the ghosts . . . I don’t know . . . hop inside them or anything.”
“The ghosts were already inside, waiting,” Cordelia whispered. “Dr. Roqueni just woke them up.”
Benji shook his head. “That’s not Dr. Roqueni,” he said.
In a few moments, the ghosts had finished settling into their bodies. They sat up in their seats and gave the principal their full attention. To the uninformed observer, it would have looked like an ordinary faculty meeting.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” she said. “I know how hard it is to keep yourselves buried deep each day and not take control. But you should take pride in how good you’ve gotten at being passengers! Remember just a few months ago? Most of you couldn’t remain in a living body for a few minutes without losing your grip!” There were some embarrassed chuckles from the audience. “Now you’re able to hide in these breathers from the moment they enter the school in the morning to the moment they go home at night. I’m so proud of you. Show of hands—how many of your hosts don’t even get headaches anymore?”
A dozen arms shot into the air. Dr. Roqueni nodded with admiration.
“Wonderful,” she said. “Keep practicing, and before long you’ll be permitted to take full control during the school day, just like my best students here.” She gestured toward the standing teachers, including Mr. Derleth, Mrs. Machen, and Mr. Bruce. “They’ve managed to imitate their hosts so perfectly that the little urchins don’t know the difference! Work hard and follow their example.”
“Yes, Ms. Dunsworth,” the teachers intoned.
Benji nudged Cordelia with his shoulder.
“Dunsworth,” he said. “That must be the ghost inside Dr. Roqueni.”
Cordelia nodded, etching the name into her memory so she could research it later.
“We’ll be breaking into groups today,” Dr. Roqueni/Ms. Dunsworth continued. She glanced over at the ghosts standing by the windows. “Those of you who recently refused the temptation of your Brights and joined us”—she paused to lead the other ghosts in a round of applause—“will head down to the fifth-grade classrooms. Julia will teach you the basics of how to squeeze your spirit into a human host, but don’t expect to get it the first day. It takes practice.”
The teachers nodded in agreement. Ms. Patel offered the ghosts an encouraging thumbs-up.
“One word of warning to our newcomers, however,” Ms. Dunsworth said, crossing the room to address the window ghosts directly. “Just because you can possess a human doesn’t mean you should. If you prove yourself, you will be assigned a shell. By me and me alone. Do not practice your newfound skills without permission.” Ms. Dunsworth turned to face the teachers. “And despite the temptation, no one, under any circumstances, should attempt to possess one of the students. Wearing a child is far more difficult than wearing an adult. Their minds and bodies are still developing. That makes them . . . slippery. So much can go wrong—and we can’t risk being revealed.”
The teachers nodded. It was clearly not the first time they had heard this warning.
“Some of you may decide to risk it anyway. You may think, ‘That Ms. Dunsworth is a hundred and fifty years old. I’m sure I can get away with it!’ If that happens, please remember dear Martha. Such an amusing spirit, in her bathrobe and slippers. Until she lost her head and tried to possess a child—in front of a girl with the Sight, no less! I can’t allow that. I won’t allow that—as Martha learned.”
Cordelia saw a few teachers glance back at the A/V cart. She had no idea what lay beneath its black sheet, but based on their fearful expressions, she suspected it had something to do with Martha’s punishment.
Ms. Dunsworth left the ghosts by the windows and returned to her original position in front of the teachers. She pulled a Post-it note from her pocket and glanced down at it.
“Let’s see . . . if you’re fumbling over words—‘dead mouth,’ as we call it—please work with Jane today. She’s prepared a few special tongue twisters for you to loosen up those muscles. There will be a fine-motor-skills workshop in the gym with Eric—picking up a fork, tying your shoes, catching a ball, etc. These little things are crucial if you want to maintain a perfect disguise once we’ve escaped this place! Speaking of which, Harold needs your help.”
She nodded toward Mr. Derleth (whose first name wasn’t Harold). He put down the scissors he had been using to prune a potted gardenia and rose slowly to his feet, shedding a pair of gardening gloves.
“I know who that is!” Cordelia whispered. “The gardener! I followed him in the halls once and thought he disappeared, only maybe he didn’t. Maybe he hid inside Mr. Derleth.” Cordelia hissed through her teeth, feeling stupid. “How didn’t I know?”
“It’s not your fault,” Benji said. “They fooled me too. It’s not exactly something you think of. ‘Hey, my teacher’s being weird! Maybe there’s a ghost inside them.’”
“Not in a normal school. But here? I should have thought of it. But it never occurred to me that the ghosts would do anything so awful. I thought they were good. I thought—”
“Shh,” Benji said, squeezing her hand. “Let’s see what your gardener has to say.”
Harold stepped to the front of the room and cleared his throat. He clearly wasn’t as comfortable with public speaking as Ms. Dunsworth.
“Afternoon,” he said with Mr. Derleth’s voice. “I’m looking to round up a group to test the doors and windows of the . . .”
This set off a collective groan from the teachers.
“I know we’ve done it before!” Harold exclaimed, with a very un-Mr. Derleth like sneer. “But it’s like checking for holes in a fence. Maybe there’s a break we missed.”
“Come on, Harold,” Mr. Terpin said, slouching in his seat like a bored teenager (which he might very well have been). “You know that ain’t true. Ghosts can’t leave this place. Makes no matter if we’re in a body or out of a body. This is a prison either way.”
“For now,” Ms. Dunsworth said, squeezing Harold’s shoulder as she took charge again. “But it doesn’t hurt to be diligent while we wait for our real escape route. I’ll be very disappointed if no one participates.”
The
teachers nodded like scolded children. Cor-delia had a feeling that Harold would have quite a few volunteers to help him after all. She remembered her father telling her once how there were two types of leaders: those who ruled through respect, and those who ruled through fear.
She could tell what type of leader Ms. Dunsworth was.
“A number of new spirits have arrived in the school since our last meeting,” Ms. Dunsworth said, consulting her Post-it note again. “I’ll need five or six volunteers to greet them. They’re bound to be confused at this point, so I would just keep it simple: ‘You have two choices. You can stay dead forever, or you can live again in a brand-new body.’ Let that sink in for a day or two before you offer them a Brightkey. The smart ones will join us. And the ones who choose their Brights instead?” She scoffed. “Weaklings! We don’t want them anyway.”
“I’m more than happy to help,” Ms. Meeker said. She was a pretty fifth-grade teacher who, when not possessed, sang the national anthem at school assemblies. “But some of those Brightkeys are a pain to figure out. Why’d those kids stop all their rescue attempts? That made everything so much easier!”
“Cordelia Liu and the Núñez boy served a valuable purpose while our numbers were still low,” Ms. Dunsworth admitted. “But we can handle recruitment on our own at this point. Right now, I want to keep them as far from us as possible. Otherwise they might get suspicious.”
“Too late, loser,” Benji said.
Ms. Meeker raised her hand again. “But they can see us,” she said. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just . . . get rid of them?”
Cordelia was glad to see that this suggestion made some of the ghosts uncomfortable. “They’re just children!” she heard someone say.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Ms. Dunsworth said. “But the Matheson girl refused to design our new dehaunter unless I swore that her friends would remain safe. If she fails—or tells her friends the truth—that’s a completely different story. But until then, leave those children alone.”
Benji gasped. “That’s why Agnes is helping them!” he exclaimed. “They threatened to hurt us! She had no choice!”