“Elizabeth. Elizabeth.”
Lizzie opened her eyes. She looked around. Had she fallen asleep? Had she dreamed it?
A sudden chill washed over her.
“Elizabeth. Elizabeth,” the hissing whisper came again. “It's your dear sister Amy.”
Her heart raced. She reached for her flashlight on the nightstand, groping for it in the darkness, but instead she touched the Spear. Immediately she saw someone bending over her. She opened her mouth to scream, but her breath failed and nothing more than a squeak came out.
The ghost, a girl about Lizzie's age, put a finger to her lips. “Shh.” She wore a light blue dress that had powdery black stripes running up and down and big pockets sewn in at each thigh. Amy smiled and whispered, “I have a secret.”
It felt to Lizzie as if someone were sitting on her chest and squeezing the air out. If she'd tried to say “Damnari inter manes” she might not have been able to. But she didn't even try because Amy had said the magic word: “Secret.”
The girl turned her head, revealing a shoulder-length ponytail, and glanced toward the corner of the room. Her pale blue eyes sparkled when she turned back toward Lizzie. “There's your mamma now. She's dead you know. But she still comes...doesn't know any better I think,” she said, and silently she backed away toward the door.
A creaking sound began in the corner.
Lizzie's heart pounded. Take a deep breath and clear the mind, she reminded herself. She forced herself to sit up and look toward the creaking sound.
A woman sat in a rocking chair, rocking and talking to herself. “What is wrong with me? I've never felt sick like this before. I just keep getting weaker and weaker. It's a struggle just to breathe.”
Lizzie could tell that the woman had once been pretty, but now she looked very sick. Her long blonde hair was dull and thin, her eyelids drooped, her cheeks were hollow, and her lips were chapped. The frown on her face seemed somehow irreversible. She slouched in the chair tugging restlessly at a patchwork quilt, the skin tight over the bones moving in her hands. “Why Lord? Why? I'm too young. My husband...my daughter, they need me. Please, no.”
“Hello, Mrs. Galbreath.” The girl with the ponytail came back into the room carrying a tray with a glass of water and a brown glass bottle. She beamed with excitement. “I have your medicine for you.”
“Oh Amy, it's not doing me any good,” Mrs. Galbreath complained.
“Doctor's orders, ma'am.” Amy put the tray down onto a table that a moment before had not been there. She poured medicine from the brown bottle into a teaspoon. “Open up.”
The lady lifted her head and slightly parted her lips, and the girl tipped the contents of the spoon into her mouth. The lady made a sour face.
“Let me give you a drink to wash it down.” Amy turned around, looked at Lizzie, and slipped a corked vial filled with a white powder out of her pocket. She raised her eyebrows knowingly, smiled, and tipped the powder into the drink. The woman, her head again bowed, did not notice.
Helping Mrs. Galbreath lift her head, and putting the glass to her lips, Amy said, “Drink it up, ma'am.”
Mrs. Galbreath kept on turning her head away from the glass, saying, “I've had enough,” but the girl was persistent, saying again and again, “Drink it all up, ma'am, yum yum.”
When the glass was finally empty, Amy gave Lizzie a proud grin. As she left the room, she stopped at the door and motioned with a curling finger that she wanted Lizzie to follow.
After the initial shock, Lizzie wasn't all that scared anymore. What could a ghost do to her? She had the Spear. She looked at her sleeping father. He would want her to use the Spear right then. Just point the Spear and say the words. But she wanted to see where the ghost would lead her. She wanted make sure she understood the secret.
Lizzie slipped from under the covers and tiptoed on the cool wooden floor to the door. Amy passed through the door as if it wasn't even there, but with the Spear Lizzie could still see the outline of her body as she waited in the hallway. Lizzie followed, turning the knob slowly and easing the door open so that it wouldn't squeak.
Amy stood smiling devilishly and as Lizzie came near she began to talk. “It is all so much like a dream, you know, Elizabeth. It all seems like it all happened a long, long time ago. Déjà vu...that's what they call it, right?
“Do you know why I poisoned your mamma, Elizabeth?”
Lizzie shook her head. “I'm not Elizabeth.”
“Waiting on you and your mom like a slave. Like ya'all were somehow better than me and my mom. Just makes me sick to think about.” The ghost began to walk down the hallway, and Lizzie followed.
“But then I thought up my great plan,” Amy continued, “and sure enough when your mamma died, your dad married my mamma.”
Amy wrinkled her nose in Lizzie's direction. “The only problem is that you're still here. Daddy's little princess. Oh, you make me mad, with your expensive dresses and your diamond earrings. It's not fair. And I'm gonna do something about it.”
Amy stopped and turned square to Lizzie. “You know, it's really strange, 'cause I know I dreamed about this before, and it was just like this, but a long, long time ago. You standing there, right where I tricked you to stand.”
Lizzie looked behind her and discovered that she was standing at the top of the staircase. Quickly she moved into her karate stance, putting more weight on the balls of her feet than the heels.
“But in my dream you moved as I tried to push you, and I tripped and rolled down the stairs. Very, very strange...the way it seemed so real. The crack my neck made as my head hit the wall...that sensation of fire running down my spine.”
Amy furled her eyebrows in doubt. “But it had to be just a dream, because here I am.”
The ghost seemed lost in thought for a moment, and then suddenly looked up past Lizzie's shoulder. “What are you doing here?” she asked, panic in her voice.
Lizzie whirled around, afraid of what she might see. But there was nothing.
Amy laughed. It was the oldest trick in the book, and Lizzie couldn't believe she had been stupid enough to fall for it.
Immediately, she dropped to her knees and leaned away from the stairs. She felt the push like a blast of cold air on her back and shoulders. But she held her ground, and the ghost went over her. There was a rumbling as it rolled down the stairs, a thud and a sickening crack.
Lizzie looked down the staircase. Amy lay there, her head pressed against the wall, eyes wide open, neck impossibly twisted.
For a moment, Lizzie thought the ghost was dead. But of course, the ghost had been dead for many, many years.
Amy's eyes blinked. She sat up and righted her head with her hands. “No. It's a nightmare.”
She got to her feet and started up the stairs toward Lizzie. “Somehow, I'm going to kill you Elizabeth. Somehow.”
Lizzie pointed the spear at the ghost and said, “I don't think so. Damnari inter manes.”
As the darkness came down out of the Spear, Amy turned and tried to run, but there was no escape. The blackness sucked her up and she was gone.
Chapter 16 — Birdie's run
Lizzie woke her father and told him what had happened with the ghost Amy.
He shook his head. “You should never talk to them, Lizzie. Just point the Spear and say the words.”
“Yes'r,” she said, head bowed.
Mr. Long looked into the corner where the other ghost was. Lizzie still held the Spear, but he probably could hear the creaking of the rocking chair. “Are you going to take care of that?” he asked.
“Do we really have to use the Spear on Mrs. Galbreath?”
“For crying out loud, Lizzie, you're calling them by name now?” he asked, the pitch of his voice rising.
“But she seemed so nice.”
“They're ghosts,” he said, rubbing his eyes and then his temples. “They don't belong here. And our job is to send them to where they do belong.”
“Yes'r,” she answered,
but still she didn't move to banish the ghost.
After a quiet moment, Mr. Long put his hand on her shoulder and in a calmer voice said, “Look, honey, it isn't our job to decide which Fugitive Spirits to claim and which to leave. We take them all.
“Now, I know it might seem cruel sometimes. But we don't know what happens to them after the Spear takes them. Who knows? Maybe some go to hell, and maybe some go to heaven.”
Lizzie nodded. She raised the Spear and pointed it at the ghost in the rocking chair. Maybe Mrs. Galbreath would go to heaven. Regardless, Lizzie had a job to do. Still, she couldn't help closing her eyes as she said the words.
In the morning, Mrs. Davis acted surprised to find them still there. She was even more surprised when Mr. Long told her they had not encountered a ghost. After eating a breakfast of bacon, eggs and grits, Mrs. Davis went upstairs with them.
She walked around, cautious and slow at first, but picking up the pace and growing more confident with every step.
“It's gone,” she said. Then she narrowed her eyes and looked hard at Mr. Long. “You did something, didn't you? You got rid of it somehow. I know it.”
He smiled and said, “There are no such things as ghosts,” and he made a secret wink to Lizzie. She could see he was proud of what they had done. Mrs. Davis could now live in her home in peace.
Lori came rushing down the stairs, and after she had kissed and hugged Mr. Long, she asked Lizzie if she wanted to play tetherball.
Lizzie looked at her watch. There were still several hours before her soccer game, and though she was tired, she didn't feel much like taking a nap. She nodded.
As they walked to the backdoor, Lori whispered, “Why did you go to that old house with dad? What were you doing?”
Lizzie shrugged. She wasn't supposed to tell anyone, and she wasn't about to tell Lori. Keeping secrets was almost as fun as discovering them.
“Mom won't tell me. She just says that you're helping him. But you can tell me. I can keep a secret. Pretty please?”
Lizzie put both her hands on her sister's shoulders and turned her so they were face to face. “When you get older, I'll tell you then...okay?”
Lori pouted her lips. “Whatever. I'm sure it's just something stupid anyway.”
As soon as Lizzie shut the sliding-glass door behind her, she realized something was wrong, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it.
She swung the tetherball over to Lori and said, “Serve.” Lori was never a challenge, so Lizzie just took it easy and only blocked her shots. Perhaps she would even let her win.
The ball went back and forth. Slap, slap, slap. Something still didn't feel right. It seemed quiet. Too quiet.
The dog wasn't barking. The dog always barked as they played tetherball.
Lizzie looked around the yard. The tetherball whizzed within inches of her head so she ducked away. As Lizzie walked away, Lori pounded the ball, spinning the rope around the pole.
“Birdie?” Lizzie shouted.
“I won!” Lori yelled.
Lizzie pointed to where the back gate stood open. “Did you leave that open?”
Lori shook her head. “I haven't been outside all day.”
Then Lizzie heard barking in the distance. It sounded like Birdie alright.
Lizzie pointed at Lori and said, “Stay here. I'm going to find Birdie.”
When she turned back around she froze, and whether she saw some movement or she just felt the creature's eyes on her, she looked up into the trees. It didn't surprise her to see the crow looking down on her. Its gaze did not waver. A shiver ran down her spine though the day was hot. He did it, she thought. He let Birdie out. And for a moment she felt fear of the crow.
But, no, she told herself. That's paranoid. It's just a bird. So she took a deep breath, and then burst through the back gate, jumped Crawdad Creek and ran through the narrow strip of woods and into the soybean fields.
Well across the field she could see the black dog jumping around. “Birdie!” she called, but the dog didn't seem to hear.
She began to run, but after a moment she slowed to a jog. Although there wasn't much she liked more than to be out in the fields and woods, she hadn't been back since when she'd met Nick. He was one of the Fallen—there was no denying it. And though he seemed nice, they could trick you. They could put you under their spell. That's what her dad had said.
Birdie continued darting back and forth, chasing something. “Birdie,” Lizzie said, out of breath from crossing the field.
The dog looked at her momentarily, then took off again, running and barking at something small down under the thick cover of soybean leaves.
Lizzie followed yelling, “BIRDIE...BIRDIE!” But the dog continued to run, zigzagging wildly, barking high-pitched and rapid, and always moving away. Frustrated and angry she grumbled under her breath, “Stupid bird dog.”
On and on they ran. Sometimes Birdie would stop and whine, as if she had chased something into a hole; but just as Lizzie would catch up, Birdie would zip away in a new chase. Before she knew it, the woods loomed near, a tall dark wall. From within she heard the caw of a crow.
When Birdie disappeared into the shadow of the forest, Lizzie stopped and put her hands on her hips. Could it be a coincidence? Or was this a trap?
Birdie howled—a long mournful sounding howl. Lizzie moved to the edge of the wood, leaning this way and that to see if she could get a glimpse of the dog. There was some movement in amongst the trees—a dark silhouette, bouncing.
Looking around warily, she crept into the woods. There was no trail, so it was hard to be quiet as she climbed over fallen trees, pushed her way through brush, and avoided the thorny vines.
Birdie jumped on her hind legs, touching her forepaws on the trunk of a tree, howling upward.
Slowly, Lizzie snuck up on the dog. If she didn't make any noise, maybe she could grab her by surprise.
But before she got to her, Birdie stopped howling, barked a couple of lazy barks, and sat down. The dog yawned. Stretching her paws out before her, she lay down. A longer yawn now, wide, and ending in a sigh.
Lizzie looked around suspiciously. It had to be the gnome. It had to be Nick. She hurried to Birdie's side and shook her hard. “Get up Birdie,” she said, trying to sound as forceful as she could without being too loud.
The dog began to breathe quickly, her paws twitching. She was dreaming.
This was magic, no doubt. A trick designed to get her into the forest. She should run—just forget the dog and run. Hopefully, Birdie would find her way back home.
“Hello Lizzie Long. Where haf you been?”
Too late.
Chapter 17 — The Fallen
She turned around, a hand still on the dog. He stood there, hands in the pockets of his brown trousers. As before, he wore a tall red pointed cap and a green vest. There was, however, something different about him, but Lizzie couldn't figure out what it was.
“Hi Nick,” she mumbled.
“We are friends, yah? Why do you not come to see your friend Nick?”
Lizzie stood and realized what was different. Whereas he was only knee high before, he stood almost as tall as her waist now. “You've grown,” she said.
Nick nodded. “Perhaps, yah. It all depends on how I am feelink. Lizzie Long, while I haf been in zese woods I haf seen the robins build zeir nests sree times. I haf also seen a certain little girl playink wiz her dog in ze fields, runnink along ze dirt roads, explorink ze woods where ze tall trees grow. Yet since we heal't ze rabbit, you haf not pass't beyond your back gate. Tell me, human child, do you avoid me?”
Lizzie looked away and shrugged.
He narrowed his eyes. “Did you break your promise? Did you tell about me?”
Lizzie shook her head.
“Good...zat is good. I didn't sink you would. Not my friend Lizzie Long.” He leaned over and gently patted the dog. Quietly he said, “She is nice dog.”
“What is wrong with her?” Lizzie asked.
> He looked up, a twinkling in his eyes. There might have been a smile under the thick silver beard. “Nothing. She is sleeping.”
“Did you put a spell on her?”
He hesitated, and then nodded his head once. ““Oh...yah, a little magic. Zat's what humans call it—magic. Not to worry—she will be fine. When I am ready, she will wake.”
“And did you put a spell on me?”
“Oh no, is zat what you sink? What makes you ask such a sing?”
“My dad...” she began, but she stopped when she heard how incriminating it sounded.
“So you did tell,” he said, his voice rising.
“No no no.” Lizzie held her hands out before her. “We were just talking in general about...about...gnomes and stuff.”
“Gnomes?”
“Well...I mean, I guess I don't know what you are really. What are you?”
“Oh, I suppose gnome is as goot a name as any. Humans haf given me so many names: Elf, Kobold, Hausböcke.”
“But what do you call yourself?”
“I am what I am,” he said. “It matters not what I am called.”
“Are you...an angel?”
“Ha, an angel?” he said, mockingly flapping his arms. “I don't haf wings.”
“Well, I don't mean an angel, exactly. More of a fallen angel.”
He looked at her long and hard. There was sadness in his eyes. “What I am...where I came from...you would understand it little and believe it less. No, never would I say I was an angel. Zis Earth it was forbidden, but we came anyway. Does zat make me ‘Fallen’? If so, does zat make me evil? Some who came are fair and ozers foul. And many in between. Same wiz humans.
“What we, who you call ‘Fallen’ have in common, is zat we chose ze Earth. We wanted to be amongst ze trees, run through ze fields, smell ze flowers, and see ze abundance of animals. Some loved ze blue mountains, and some ze blue waters.
“Zis is how we came to zis world; zis is how we fell. Do you understand? We are not evil.”
He looked up into the trees, and his eyes seemed to fix on something. “Not all are evil. Some fell for ze love of power.” Nick grimaced and grumbled, like he had stepped on a nail.
“Are you okay?” Lizzie asked, glancing back over her shoulder to where he had looked, but seeing nothing more than the dense Mississippi foliage. But then she saw it. The crow. It stared at her with a glinting eye.