The Wendys turned their backs on Charlotte to discuss what their next move or “cut” would be.
“I don’t know what she’s trying to pull, but let’s give her enough rope to hang herself,” Wendy Anderson whispered curiously.
“Fingers crossed,” Wendy Thomas said nastily. “Petula is going to freak!”
The girls turned to face Charlotte and gave her their verdict.
“We’ve got room for one more, don’t we, Wendy?” Wendy Thomas jibed, much to the surprise and dismay of the rest of the candidates.
“Yes, we do, Wendy,” Wendy Anderson concurred.
“I don’t know why you’re here, but I do know that you’re going to wish you weren’t,” Wendy Thomas said.
“I’m here to cheer,” Charlotte affirmed, twisting Scarlet’s trademark sourpuss into an ultra-bright smile.
“It’s your… funeral,” Wendy Anderson scoffed, looking over Charlotte’s outfit, scribbling a number, and tossing it to her.
Charlotte proudly pinned on the number: 666
Damen looked on skeptically, wondering what the Wendys had up their identical sleeves as Petula walked onto the field.
“What the hell is her jaded, friendless virgin ass doing contaminating MY football field?” Petula griped as she approached.
Scarlet was having the time of her life as she made her way to the teachers’ lounge, completely oblivious to what Charlotte was up to in her body.
“So this is their habitat,” she said, watching the teachers eat and socialize.
She noticed two teachers playing footsie under the table—one wearing high heels and the other wearing chunky black boots. Both were women, doing a dirty little toe dance under the table.
“I knew it!” Scarlet screamed as she sat down on the windowsill, thrilled to be in possession of such secret knowledge.
One of the teachers, feeling a cold chill, walked over to the window, looking right through Scarlet to the field outside. Scarlet was nervous, not knowing what was actually going on.
“Oh my God!” the teacher shouted, leaning even farther into the window, eyeball to eyeball with Scarlet.
Scarlet thought the jig was up as she scrambled off the windowsill into the corner.
The teacher opened the window and waved the other faculty over to get a look for themselves. The teachers came running to see, and finally, so did Scarlet.
“What the hell!” Scarlet yelled, standing side-by-side with the teachers, totally in shock at what she saw.
“That’s not very Goth, is it?” Miss Pearl, one of the freshly outted teachers, said with a smirk on her face as Charlotte, making her audition, jumped, spun, and tumbled her heart out effortlessly, with skill and passion far beyond anything the coaches or Petula had ever seen. Damen, meanwhile, watched from the bleachers in awe and seemed to enjoy every moment of Charlotte’s routine… and Petula’s agony.
“GOOD LUCK!
“HEY, HEY…
“L*U*C*K!” Charlotte cheered, spelling out the word and punctuating each letter with a kick or jump.
“What are you doing?” Scarlet yelled out to Charlotte.
Scarlet raced toward Charlotte, hoping that she could end the public humiliation that she—well, her body, at least—was being subjected to.
Charlotte was in the zone and continued her cheer, totally unaware that Scarlet was watching.
“I SAID, GOOD LUCK!
“HEY, HEY…”
Terrified of what would come next, Scarlet took action. She slammed right into Charlotte, knocking her out of her body and into the air. As she tumbled back to earth, Scarlet regained control of her body and finished the cheer, her way.
“F*U*C*K!” she spat out, landing sure-footed, a most impressive feat for a would-be cheerleader.
The buzz was buzzing around the football field and a small crowd had gathered to watch Scarlet’s otherworldly gymnastics. It was that shocking. The other cheerleaders, feeling threatened, immediately organized a huddle to plot a response.
The cheerleaders broke their huddle with a handclap and, with game faces on, lined up in cheer formation, facing Scarlet. Three stepped forward—Petula and the Wendys—to commence the cheer-off. Scarlet was outnumbered, but she was ready. Wendy Thomas stepped forward and fired the first shot.
“OH, NO, YOU DIDN’T.
AT LEAST WE LOOK ALIVE!
YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT,
WE’RE NOT SUN-DEPRIVED!”
She clapped her hands sharply. Scarlet watched and listened unfazed, then responded with a dis of her own.
“OH MY, ‘DEPRIVED.’
WHAT A BIG-ASS WORD.
YOU JUST WON A FREE VISIT
TO PLANNED PARENTHOOD!”
Scarlet crooked her index finger and scored “one” on an imaginary scoreboard. Wendy Anderson was next. She did a back-bend walkover and began:
“YEAH, YOU WISH,
YOU CAN’T EVEN GET A DATE—”
Before Wendy could get the rest of her spiteful screed out, Scarlet interrupted.
“AT LEAST I DON’T STRESS
ABOUT MY PERIOD BEING LATE!”
The jocks broke down with hysterical laughter in total disbelief at what Scarlet just said. Scarlet held her finger to her mouth, blowing on it like the barrel of a warm gun. The applause was deafening.
“Oh no.” Charlotte sulked, her dreams of impressing Damen and being accepted by Petula fading as fast as the Wendys’ egos.
The crowd grew larger and faces were plastered against every window now. The Main Event was coming right up, and the tensi on was palpable. It was Petula’s turn, and she decided to get creative and show some real cheerleadership. Rather than bust a rhyme, Petula grabbed the Wendys and they broke out in song. A nasty, hurtful campfire sing-along that touched a nerve in Scarlet the way only a sister could.
“IF YOU’RE A REJECT AND YOU KNOW IT,
SLASH YOUR WRISTS.
IF YOU’RE DEPRESSED AND YOU KNOW IT,
SLASH YOUR WRISTS.
IF YOU’RE DESPERATE FOR ATTENTION
OR JUST BORED IN DETENTION.
IF YOU’RE A REJECT AND YOU KNOW IT,
SLASH YOUR WRISTS!”
Petula and The Wendys turned to everyone and took a bow, rubbing the humiliation further into Scarlet’s face.
Scarlet took center field, walked dismissively past the Wendys, and let loose on the Queen Bitch, her sister, Petula.
“AFTER GRADUATION,
YOU’LL BE ALL CELLULITE AND FATTY,
SITTIN’ NEXT TO MAURY
SEARCHIN’ FOR YO’ BABY’S DADDY!”
“Ohhhh,” the crowd cringed in unified embarrassment for Petula.
Scarlet was just getting started when Charlotte once again tried to inject herself into Scarlet’s body. Maybe she wanted to help her friend or maybe she was jealous that Scarlet was getting the attention she’d earned, but either way she was determined to make a scene.
“What are you doing?” Charlotte asked desperately. “You are going to ruin everything.”
“Me?” Scarlet cracked. “I’m not the one trying out for the Special Olympics!”
The struggle between the two spirits forced Scarlet’s body into the air like a rag doll, flipping forward and back in a gravity-defying Crouching Tiger dance. As the girls bounced, twisted, and turned faster and faster, all that could be seen was a whirling dervish of arms and legs burning up the field.
The crowd went wild over the supernatural finale.
The cheer ended dramatically with Scarlet back in control of her body and Charlotte tossed out onto the ground, disappointed.
The kids in the upper bleachers and the ones peering speechless from the windows of the classrooms noticed that Scarlet had burnt an H for Hawthorne High in the grass.
“Those skills cannot be denied,” one candidate said in the emergency huddle.
“Well, she is my sister,” Petula said, trying to take credit for Scarlet’s performance.
The cheerleaders reluctantly reached an agree
ment and walked over to Scarlet.
“We talked it over and… well… you are now a Hawthorne Hawk,” Petula said begrudgingly.
“And there’s a slumber party tonight at Petula’s… well, your house, F.C.O.,” Wendy Anderson said.
“F.C.O.?” Scarlet asked, skeptical of the warm reception she was receiving from these lifelong enemies.
“For Cheerleaders Only,” Wendy Thomas said.
“You are one of us now,” the Wendys said in their best Stepford-wife monotone, sandwiching Scarlet between them, symbolically absorbing her in their clique.
Scarlet made her “walk of shame” off the field in a stupor.
“I’m a cheerleader,” Charlotte said, her spectral form hovering just inches over the grass turf but totally over the moon at this unexpected piece of good fortune. She stayed for the rest of the tryouts, thinking that she was now finally “in,” and watched Scarlet walk off the field and almost past Damen.
“How did you do all that?” Damen, still hidden under the bleachers, whispered, fascinated by what he’d just witnessed.
“Years of pent-up pep,” Scarlet replied, deadpan, noticing the blanket and the whole setup, and just wishing it was all a nightmare.
13
The Fall of the House of Usher
The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.
—Virginia Woolf
Being someone who you’re not is exhausting.
But better to be phony than lonely. That was the way Charlotte saw it. She convinced herself that what she was doing wasn’t any different than those girls on the football fi eld. She even rationalized that she was doing a good thing for Scarlet—a service—by bringing her into the inner circle at Hawthorne, because if she was on the outside, she was a sitting duck. And in her experience, sitting ducks were dead ducks. But with her whole duck scenario, the question was: was it better to waddle alone in agonizing fear that you would be caught and dragged away at any given moment, or was it better to know that you were surrounded by other “ducks” that looked and acted exactly like you, possibly sparing your life by sacrifi cing theirs? Our will to survive is inherent, Charlotte thought, and our will to be popular is survival.
Charlotte arrived early for the big slumber party F.C.O., buzzing with the thought of being included in such a clique for the first time. She began to ring the bell at Petula’s house, but then thought better of it and proceeded to just walk through the door. It was getting easier.
There in the living room was Scarlet’s semi-lifeless body, sprawled out on the couch wearing dark sunglasses and looking spent and depressed.
“Well if it isn’t the school spirit,” she said, barely lifting her head.
“Nice shades,” Charlotte said, breaking the ice.
“Looks like I’m the only one enjoying a possession hangover,” Scarlet snapped back, peering over her glasses. “The cheerleading squad???”
“Damen wasn’t paying any attention to me, so I thought he’d pay attention if I tried out for cheerleader,” Charlotte argued in her own defense.
Scarlet, however, did not budge.
“Look, I didn’t know we would make it! But it will be easier, now that you are a cheerleader. I so appreciate what you’re doing for me, and this is going to help me get resolution. You’ll see,” Charlotte said.
“No, I won’t see. Find someone else who’s user-friendly. I’ve seen enough,” Scarlet said.
“What do you mean?” Charlotte asked nervously.
“I mean, I’m done. No more ‘Scarlet on Demand,’ ” Scarlet said, confirming Charlotte’s worst fear.
“You’re the one who said you’re always a bridesmaid,” Charlotte pleaded. “Come on, wasn’t it cool being invisible, doing whatever you wanted?”
Scarlet stayed silent, knowing she’d had a good time but not wanting to admit it.
“Come on, admit it, it was cool… no boundaries, no limitations, no authority,” Charlotte said, prodding her. “Fight the power!”
“You did not just bust out with ‘fight the power,’ ” Scarlet said as she rolled her eyes. “Look, I didn’t say it wasn’t cool….”
“Hey, maybe we can raise the stakes a little, you know, make it a little more exciting for you?” Charlotte said, getting things back on track.
“Oh yeah, like how?”
“I don’t know, maybe have a slumber party of your own at my house while I’m at yours?” Charlotte teased.
“The Dead Dorm?” Scarlet asked, her voice dripping with excitement for a change.
At Hawthorne Manor, Prue addressed the Dead assembly at their “scare” meeting.
“Okay, so, exactly how are we going to make the potential buyers believe that this place is not up to code?” Prue barked, starting to spin her head around and make specific assignments. “Jerry. You’re in charge of plumbing.”
“Yeah, make this place smell like Britney Spears’s bare feet walking out of a public restroom,” CoCo added.
Deadhead Jerry gave the peace sign, signaling that he was onboard.
“Bud. Destabilize the structure of the house,” Prue snapped as Bud held up his stump and agreed.
“We’re talking Paula Abdul–unstable!” CoCo yelled, amusing everyone, but mostly herself, with her clever, but somewhat dated, pop culture references.
“Where’s our little German exchange student?” Prue asked, preparing to give her final assignment.
A small decaying girl slowly raised her hand as minute maggots welled restlessly in the pores of her face.
“Rotting Rita. You’re on Infestation Patrol,” Prue announced.
“Yeah, we wanna see bugs swarming like the paparazzi around Brangelina!” CoCo broadcasted at a fever pitch.
Prue telekinetically opened the doors and everyone scurried out of the room. She noticed that Charlotte was absent.
“Where’s Usher?” Prue asked.
Piccolo Pam started to tremble, producing a high-pitched whistling sound from her throat as she tried to speed past Prue.
“Pam, why is your piccolo so pitchy?” Prue asked smugly. “Do you know where Usher is?”
“She asked me to, ah, take notes for her…,” Piccolo Pam said, thinking on her feet.
“Note this. She better get here!” Prue threatened as she got into Pam’s face, totally intimidating her. “I am dead serious.”
Back at Petula’s, the Wendys arrived for the slumber party, toting enough luggage for a month—Vuitton wheelies, carry-ons, and crates. After they rang the doorbell, they hung back and recited Scarlet’s cheer from that afternoon.
“Sittin’ next to Maury…,” Wendy Anderson chanted.
“Searchin’ for yo’ baby’s daddy…,” Wendy Thomas chanted back.
Upstairs, Charlotte’s persistence paid off and Scarlet agreed to be possessed once more.
“Oh, just one thing before you go. Don’t be afraid of anything you might see,” Charlotte warned casually. “It’s just something that we have to do for an assignment tonight, okay?”
Scarlet shook her head in agreement.
“There’s this girl, her name is Prue…,” Charlotte began.
“Prue,” Scarlet repeated.
“Yes, just make sure you stay out of her way, okay?” Charlotte emphasized.
“Okay,” Scarlet agreed.
“Promise,” Charlotte said, holding onto Scarlet’s shoulders and looking her square in the eyes.
“Yeah, I’ll stay out of her way. You’re freaking me out,” Scarlet said, shaking free.
Anyway, I’m sure everyone will be so busy, they won’t even notice you’re there,” Charlotte explained.
“Yeah, and you don’t be afraid by anything you might see tonight either,” Scarlet said as she disappeared out the window and into the clear autumn night. They were excited about what the night had in store for each of them, and neither wanted to miss a single second.
Charlotte heard the doorbell and rushed downstairs, since Petula didn’t seem to be in an
y rush to get it. She was all fake smiles, just like the Wendys, as she opened the door and let them in.
“Let’s get this party started,” pseudo Scarlet screamed a bit too enthusiastically, hitting the play button on the CD remote. With the music blaring and new friends arriving, Petula trudged unhappily down the staircase, more than a little peeved at the glory her sister was so uncharacteristically basking in.
On the other side of town, a doorbell was also ringing. Miss Wacksel, a strange, uptight, eccentric real estate agent who was assigned to sell Hawthorne Manor, was standing on the porch about to show the house to the Martins, an anxious young couple looking for a deal and hoping to buy the relic as an affordable fixer-upper. It was windy and very cold, and the longer they stood on the porch, the more unpleasant it was. Wacksel long suspected that the house might not be entirely unoccupied, but tried to put on a brave face for the twosome.
Behind them was a huge old “For Sale” sign that creaked loudly as it was blown to and fro in the wind. Piccolo Pam was perched in the branches of a dead, twisted tree, desperately looking out for any signs of Charlotte. The melancholy notes from Pam’s throat mixed with the howling wind, producing a mournful soundtrack for Miss Wacksel to begin her tour.
“Ah, why are you ringing the doorbell if there’s no one living here?” the husband asked, wanting to get inside as soon as possible.
“You are exactly right, Mr. Martin,” Miss Wacksel said nervously. “No need to ring, I have a key.”
Steadying her grip, she pushed the antiquated skeleton key into the lock, but each time, it was forced back into her hand.
“There is no one living here,” she repeated over and over, continuing to struggle with the lock and key. If Miss Wacksel could only see Silent Violet plugging the keyhole with her finger on the other side of the door, she might have just called it an evening. But Wacksel was determined, and the thought of her commission on the old dump was a big motivator.
“This house has so much… personality,” she babbled to the increasingly impatient newlyweds, finally thrusting the key in the lock and turning it open before Violet could get her finger all the way in. Silent Violet, Dead Ed’s first line of defense, had been breached. She instantaneously disappeared and reappeared at the top of the steps before the couple could enter. Immediately, she started purging black tarlike sludge from the pit of her stomach out of her throat, causing it to creep down the steps and seep into every crack of wood in its path.