Whispers

by Lynn Moon

  “The man who tried to break in my house looked just like my dad,” I said as we walked. “How can someone look like my dad?”

  “Did your dad have a brother?” Hunter asked.

  “No, he was an only child.”

  “A cousin?” he asked.

  “Not that I’m aware of. We could ask my grandparents.”

  We finally reached the end, where a long wooden ladder led straight up. Reaching the top, Quinton used his shoulder to shove open a square door in the ceiling. As he climbed out, he laughed.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I think we’re in your grandparents’ old shed,” Quinton replied.

  “What?”

  Climbing up and into the small room, I stared at the four walls that surrounded us. Between the outside door and frame, I could almost make out a large tree that sure did look like the one that was behind my grandparents’ house. Pushing the door several times, I sighed. It refused to budge. Locked from the outside?

  “Guys, wait here. Charlie, you come with me.”

  “Where’re you going?” Quinton asked.

  “Just wait here!” I yelled back as I climbed down the ladder.

  I ran with Charlie close behind me through the long tunnel and past the stairs that led up and into my house. My legs ached as we climbed the stairs leading to my basement. We panted as we stumbled through the opening.

  “Hurry,” I said, running into the front yard.

  “Musetta?” Katrina yelled as we ran past the kitchen. “Dinner in twenty.”

  “Got it,” I hollered back.

  We hurried past my garage and my mom’s bedroom, not stopping at the large oak tree where my book bag had hung before the firefighters retrieved it. Hitting the empty field at a fast jog, we aimed for my grandparents’ old shed. By the time we reached it, we could hardly breathe. Gasping for air, I yanked on the iron latch, pulling open the door. Two smiling faces greeted us—Hunter and Quinton.

  “Hey, guys,” I said.

  “This is too weird,” Hunter added, emerging into the light. “And you never knew that the tunnel was down there?”

  “Nope,” I replied. “Dad never mentioned it. I wonder if Mom knows.”

  “We better head back and wash up,” Charlie said, glancing up at my grandparents’ old farm house. “Katrina said dinner was about ready.”

  CHAPTER 10

  SHORTLY AFTER DINNER, my friends had to leave. Charlie’s mom again said she’d do anything for me. All I had to do was ask. Waving goodbye hurt. Quinton and Hunter promised to spend the night with me on Friday, which was only a couple of days away. With my mom and aunts in the living room, talking or whatever they were doing, it was time for me to act. Saying I needed to shower before bed, I easily snuck away.

  Hunter had said that when he climbed the stairs and looked through the secret door, he was staring into the hallway on the second floor. That would mean it would be somewhere along these walls. But where? He didn’t say, exactly. And this hallway wasn’t small. Running my hands along the paneling, nothing moved. But it had to be here somewhere. Staring at the walls, I knew it wouldn’t be near the back bedrooms. Not enough room between the walls to have a secret walkway. Smacking myself for being so stupid, I almost tripped trying to get to the wall that backed up to the grand staircase. It was the only place where a secret hallway and stairs would fit.

  Hunter was right. This whole house was nothing but carved wood. Every inch of wall was covered in it. Any of these panels might be the one that would move. Pushing and pulling on the various panes, I froze when one rattled. But no matter how much I nudged it, the darn thing wouldn’t open.

  Katrina was still busy cleaning the kitchen. No way could I sneak out without her seeing me. Maybe this was a good time to take a break and think about everything. I could shower and get ready for bed. Then, when all was quiet, I could snoop some more.

  As always, a glass of ice water sat on my nightstand. When could Katrina have brought it up here? She was still cleaning the kitchen.

  After my shower, I pulled on a pair of black leggings and a bright red sweatshirt. The house seemed quiet. Maybe Katrina had left already, and maybe my aunts were in bed. Now was my chance. With heavy socks and slippers protecting my feet, I started with the panels in the hallway of the third floor. No matter where I touched, none of the panels were loose.

  Before I reentered my room, a musty odor filled the air. Slowly, I turned to stare at my father’s study. The door was closed. Pushing on the door, I peered inside. A flickering light from the hearth filled me with anger and fear. What an odd combination of emotions. Someone broke in, closed the door, and started a fire. But why?

  Entering, I flipped on the light switch. Nothing happened. Running to the desk, I pulled on the small chain. The desk lamp only lit part of the room.

  “Who’s here?” I asked. Glancing around, all seemed as it should.

  Pulling open the drapes allowed the moonlight to somewhat brighten the room. The dark corners gave me the creeps. What if my attacker is hiding there? Feeling a pull in the pit of my stomach, I inched my feet toward the hidden closet. If anyone were in there, I wouldn’t see them until I walked behind the bookcase. A lamp near the bay windows challenged me. Praying it worked, I turned the small knob. The other half of the room lit up. With the lights now on, the windows turned black.

  Peering around the corner, I saw the closet door standing wide open. The black robes hung ominously in the small rectangle box as if daring me to intrude on their solitude.

  “Two can play at this game, Daddy.”

  I yanked down the first robe. The hanger sprang back from the force of my tug before falling to the floor. Still clutching the black robe, I knelt down to pick up the hanger. Reaching between the robes, I jerked back when my fingers grazed against a damp, muddy brown shoe. Gasping, I froze. When it moved slightly forward, I screamed. Running from the study and hugging the robe to my chest, I rounded the corner at full speed. As my feet slid, my hand grabbed out for anything stable. My hand took hold of the stair rail. Again, I yelled. Is my nightmare just behind me, ready to pounce? At the bottom stair, the hand still clinging to my father’s robe shook. When my feet touched the freshly polished wood of the second floor, so did the black robe. Tangled in the silky material, my feet refused to move. My body, however, had other plans.

  Landing on my father’s robe, the force of me hitting the hardwood sent me sailing straight into the living room. I screamed as I clung onto the black robe.

  “Musetta?” Mom jumped from the couch and ran to my side. “What in the world is going on now?”

  “He’s upstairs,” I screamed. “In the study. I saw Dad’s shoes.”

  “If that lunatic is really here,” Aunt Zoey said, running up the stairs.

  As I cried into my mother’s arms, we waited for Zoey to return. Within minutes she was back.

  “Is this your intruder?” Aunt Zoey asked, holding out a pair of shiny, black dress shoes.

  “Were they in the closet?” my mother asked.

  “Yes, they were,” she replied. “Below the robes.”

  “No one was in the closet?” I asked.

  “Well, if he was,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest, “he’s gone now. All that racket and such, you’d scare off a wandering ghost.”

  “What were you doing in your father’s study?” Mom asked.

  “And why a fire?” Aunt Zoey added, now tapping her foot.

  “You started a fire?” Mom glared at me as if I’d committed a deadly sin.

  “I didn’t. That’s why I was in there. The door was shut. When I opened it, I saw the fire. I turned on the lamps ‘cuz the light wouldn’t work. Then I checked the closet and saw the muddy brown shoes. No, those shoes are all wrong.” I pointed to the pair my aunt was holding. “They were brown and muddy and wet. Those are clean and black and shiny.”

  “Okay, young lady,” Auntie Delphie said, helping me off the floor. “Time for bed. You
have school tomorrow.”

  ***

  After what seemed like forever, the last goodnight echoed through my door. I waited another hour to make sure everyone was asleep. By midnight, I had the house to myself.

  I had to know the truth. My imagination couldn’t be so wrong that I couldn’t reconcile what I thought I saw and what I actually did. Maybe this was what people called craziness. Maybe I was losing my mind.

  Freezing in place each time a stair squeaked, it took me a while to get into the kitchen. If someone caught me snooping around, I’d really be in trouble. They’d probably lock me in my room next. Grabbing the cellar keys, I punched in the code to turn off the house alarm. Outside, the air cooled my arms and legs. Creeping through the dew-covered grass, I kept checking my feet for slimy hitchhikers. I came home late once and a slug had inched its way up my sock. I didn’t find the thing until I undressed for bed.

  Opening the cellar door, I flipped on the light. The soothing chirps of crickets helped me a little in the courage department. Resisting the desire to run back to my room, I aimed for the old white door and the hidden tunnel. Clutching only a flashlight, I carefully descended the concrete stairs. Darkness and an icy chill surrounded me as if I had surrendered to the evil that was just ahead, waiting for me. Before I reached the bottom step, I clicked off my flashlight. All seemed quiet, which probably gave me a false sense of security. Flipping back on the light, I tried to hurry. But it wasn’t easy with slippers. How stupid can I be? I should have changed into my tennis shoes. Fighting mostly with the right slipper, I finally reached the wooden stairs that led up and into my house. It took forever to reach the small landing. Hunter was right. If I slid open the small panel, I could see right into the hallway. The door was exactly where I thought it would be, too—right next to the living room stairs.

  Finding the lock that kept the door and panel in place, I slid it open. Stepping out, I memorized exactly where the secret door was located. Examining the frame, my eyes latched onto a small wooden square with a carved flower. When pushed, the door swung inward, not out and into the hallway. Understanding how it worked, I could now use the door from inside the house.

  Since the basement door was still unlocked, I had no choice but to go back down and lock it. With each step, noise bounced off the tunnel walls. Clicking off my flashlight again, my heart pounded. Not wanting to make noise, I pulled off my slippers. Holding them near my chest with the darkened flashlight, I used the wall as a guide—not knowing why; I just had this odd feeling that I wasn’t alone.

  Inching toward my basement stairs, fear clutched at me so tightly that nothing seemed real. Almost as if I were in a living dream. An approaching light reflecting off the walls sent dread through me. Someone was coming down the same stairs that I had just been on! Stepping around the turn that led up to the basement, I dropped to my knees. I froze, hoping I wouldn’t be seen. My eyes refused to blink. My mind refused to think. I held my breath.

  As the person carrying the light came down the stairs, the beam grew stronger.

  Just before the person stepped onto the dirt floor, I gasped. Will the ghost see me? Silently, I counted: one . . . two . . . three. Peeking around the corner, I pushed my pounding heart back into my chest. In slow motion, a foot wearing a brown, muddy shoe appeared. Then a leg. Their flashlight waved along the ground and, thankfully, not over at me. The ghost’s head almost touched the ceiling. Shaking, I hugged myself. Once again, I stared at a man—my father. My supposedly deceased and buried father was walking away, and he was only a few feet from me. And I couldn’t move.

  Please don’t let him see me. Please don’t let him see me. Please don’t let him see me.

  Again, I had to peek. He was heading straight for my grandparents’ shed. Still frozen in place, I counted . . . sixty-three . . . sixty-four . . . sixty-five.

  Charging up the concrete stairs to my basement, I tripped, crawling through the hole. Slamming shut the old white door, I felt a little safer. Darting through the basement and clicking off the lights, I locked the outside door. Wanting the warmth and security of my bedroom, my feet soared through the wet grass.

  As soon as my wet slippers touched the slick patio tile, my feet slid out from under me. Bracing for a hard fall, I found myself steadied by two strong arms.

  “What are you doing?” It was Quinton’s soft voice.

  Gasping for air, I tried to explain. “I wanted to find the hidden door Hunter told us about.”

  “Why are you running through the yard at this time of night?”

  “Oh, Quinton, I almost got spotted by the ghost. When I got into the tunnel, he was right behind me. I was lucky this time. He went in the direction of my grandparents’ house. I’ve never been so afraid.”

  “Going down there alone was really stupid, Musetta!”

  It was then that I remembered how late it was, so I asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “I was letting the dog out when your patio lights came on. I watched you run across the yard. So when I got Roofes back inside, I came over to make sure you were okay. You weren’t in the basement, so I came up here and waited. And when I saw you slip, I caught you.”

  “Well, thank you for that.”

  “We’d better get to sleep. The alarm goes off early,” he said. “I’ll wait until you lock the door.”

  Kissing him on the cheek, I left him alone on our patio.

  ***

  Friday night soon arrived, and my aunts placed two chairs outside my bedroom door. It seemed that a watch list had been created and Auntie Roe and Zoey were on the first shift. How they would catch a ghost from outside my bedroom was beyond me. However, if they want to just sit there, why should I care? The watch started at ten o’clock sharp, so I snuck the boys up the secret stairs at eight. With my aunts still talking in the living room, it wasn’t difficult to sneak past them and up the back staircase.

  “Can they hear us walking around up here?” Quinton asked.

  “No,” I replied. “Nothing ever goes through these walls.”

  “Will anyone come to check on you?” Hunter asked.

  “I doubt it,” I replied. “If anyone does, just hide in the closet.”

  With my luck, a light rapping hit my bedroom door at nine o’clock sharp. The boys darted into my closet, just as I suggested, as my door opened.

  “Auntie Roe?”

  “Just checking on you, sweetheart,” she said, giving me a hug. “Someone will be outside that door all night. If anything happens, they’ll come right in.”

  “Thanks,” I said, hugging her back.

  After a brief goodnight kiss, she was gone. I paused before climbing back into bed. Will my ghost or intruder visit me tonight? Or does he know that someone else would be here? Taking several sips of water, I huddled down between my blankets, just as Hunter peeped around the closet door.

  “Clear,” I whispered.

  He nodded. With an arm full of blankets and pillows, the boys settled in between my bed and the closet. To get to my bathroom, I had to walk through my closet. Since it was a Friday night, I kept my bathroom light on and the closet doors opened.

  “Do you think he’ll come tonight?” Quinton asked from his makeshift bed on the floor.

  “He’s never let me down in the last two years,” I replied, drinking the rest of my water and yawning. “Why would tonight be any different?”

  “Quinton told me how you figured out the hallway door,” Hunter whispered.

  “Uh huh,” I said.

  Within minutes, I was asleep.

  ***

  With the morning light, came the sharp pain that always soared through my head on a Saturday morning. Not again. As my eyes opened, I cringed at the mess that surrounded me. My large dresser lay flat on the floor. My long mirror, which had been glued to my closet door, was now in pieces scattered across the carpet. Torn drapes hung crookedly across my windows. Trying to sit up, my muscles protested loudly, sending waves of pain through me.

 
; “Musetta?” Aunt Bella stared at me from the foot of my bed.

  Moving my head only made the room spin faster. Not wanting to get sick, I dropped back onto my pillow.

  “Musetta?” she said again.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “I can’t believe you slept through all the commotion last night. Either you’re the heaviest sleeper I’ve ever known, or you were drugged.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “How’re you feeling?” she asked, helping me to sit up.

  “Dizzy.”

  “Then my bet is on drugged.” She wiped my forehead with a damp cloth.

  Seeing the blankets and pillows in a pile sent painful waves straight through me. “Where are Quinton and Hunter?”

  “Normally,” she paused to giggle, “I would have pounded you for having boys in your room at night. This time, I’m glad you did. Very smart move on your part.”

  “Where are they?” Swinging my legs off my bed, Aunt Bella jumped in front of me.

  “Stop! There’s glass everywhere.”

  “Where are my friends?”

  She sighed. “They’re fine. Downstairs. Katrina’s feeding them. I’m here to help you get dressed. I don’t want you getting cut.”

  Dressing while still in bed wasn’t easy. Eventually, I stood in my bathroom staring at a girl wearing a white sweatshirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. Shaking and feeling sick, I sat on the toilet seat and cried into my hands. All of this nonsense had to stop.

  Splashing cool water on my face seemed to help a little. Anxious to hear what happened, I brushed my teeth and hair, and hurried to the kitchen. The room was packed with sheriff deputies and my family. Even two paramedics sat at the kitchen table eating eggs and bacon. I smiled. Katrina was busy feeding everyone who’d come to help. I never saw her happier.

  “Well there she is,” my mother said, coming to greet me. After a long hug and kiss, she smiled. “Are you hungry?”

  “Love something to drink,” I replied.