Up to that point, Theo’s face had been haltingly, politely curious, but when I stated my intention flat out, his features hardened. He broke our eye contact and reached over to set the flattened grass upright again.
I’d said something wrong.
“Theo?” I asked.
“No,” he said, abruptly standing up. “I can’t.”
I was too shocked to reply.
He looked at me with a mixture of pity and impatience. “It’s not going to work, Delia. Even if you could get in the car—which you aren’t powerful enough to do, not yet—you can’t leave.”
“But—” I cut myself off, taken aback by the expression on his face. He looked almost offended.
“If we could leave,” he said, “do you think any one of us would still be here?”
I shook my head. No. We couldn’t leave? I refused to believe it. He was wrong, wrong, wrong. He had to be wrong.
And then I understood why Aunt Cordelia had dragged herself out to the road before committing suicide. Why she hadn’t let herself die on the property.
Because then she would have been stuck forever.
Like me.
My voice turned to granite. “No,” I said. “Maybe the rest of you couldn’t do it, but I can. I will.”
Theo shrugged. “Maybe you can. Best of luck to you.”
Then he disappeared.
I felt a beat of sadness and then turned to check on the car. It was nearing the trees—which meant the gate.
Which meant the exit.
I ran ahead. Between the rusted metal gates, I could see the line where the rubble of the asphalt met with the smooth gray ribbon of highway.
Theo’s wrong, I thought again. I want this more than they all do. They just never wanted it enough.
And then I plunged forward, toward the road. Best-case scenario, I’d go right through the gate. Then I could just walk home to Atlanta. Who cared, right? I had all the time in the world. Worst-case, I’d be bounced back like when I tried to cross the walls inside the house.
What I hadn’t counted on was an absolute rock-bottom scenario—
—In which a stunning electric shock went through me, tensing every nonexistent muscle in my nonbody, sending my upper and lower jaws slamming into each other, setting my ears ringing, and landing me flat on my back, stunned. Possibly paralyzed.
I lay on the ground staring up at the trees, feeling like I might have melted into the earth, wondering if I had somehow become fused to the dirt itself—if, instead of being condemned to roam the house and grounds, I was now essentially buried alive. Unable to move, but able to look up at the sky … to see every raindrop and snowflake that might fall on me. To be gradually overgrown by the tall grasses in the spring.
Then Theo appeared again. I felt a rush of gratitude as he stood looking down at me, his expression significantly softer than it had been before.
“I tried it, too,” he said gently. “Just do yourself a favor and don’t do it again, all right?”
Theo leaned down and slowly, carefully, helped me ease up into a sitting position. Then he knelt beside me.
His eyes squinted slightly as he stared at the road. “It’s early days,” he said. “It’ll get easier, I promise.”
I don’t believe you, I thought.
My parents’ car seemed to be speeding up a bit. Only about twenty feet of driveway separated it and the gates. In the amount of time I used to spend doing my eye makeup, my family would be out of sight forever. Dad, Mom, Janie, and Uncle James were all looking ahead toward the highway, probably glad to be leaving and shutting the door on this terrible place.
But how could they not know, on some cellular level, that what they were really leaving behind was me? How could they not feel it?
I needed something to hold on to. Without thinking, I reached out and grabbed Theo’s hand.
He tensed and yanked his fingers out of mine.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling embarrassed. I hadn’t meant anything romantic by it—that was absolutely the farthest thing from my mind—but things were probably different back when Theo was alive. Maybe the gesture signified more back then. My cheeks burned.
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” Theo said, staring at our hands, which were inches apart. “It’s just that I haven’t touched anyone since I died. To be honest, I haven’t even talked to anyone.” He paused. “Not until you.”
I nodded, and then a moment later, I felt his hand reach out and take mine.
He swallowed hard, like there was a lump in his throat, then gave me a self-conscious grin. “You don’t know how much you miss something until you get it back,” he said.
I was too miserable to smile back. But his touch gave me strength. I thought, I can do this. I have a friend now. The unbearable pain of knowing my family was leaving lessened a little.
Until I looked back at the car.
It was halfway through the gate.
Before I could stop myself, I was back on my unsteady feet, staggering toward the gate.
“Come back!” I screamed. “Mom, Dad, Janie—come back!”
Theo grabbed me by the elbow a couple of feet shy of the property line. “They can’t hear you,” he said. “You’re just going to tire yourself out.”
All at once, time ramped up to normal speed. And the car stopped—this time for real. I held my breath as my father’s door opened. But then he walked past me and grabbed one of the rusted gates, and slowly pulled it through the brush and dirt until it was blocking half the driveway. Uncle James got out of the car and came to help him drag the other side. Then my uncle handed my father a metal chain and a spinning combination lock.
As Uncle James got back in the car, my father stood on the other side of the metal bars, about two feet away from me. And he locked the gate.
“Daddy,” I said, my voice crumbling. “Don’t do this. Don’t leave me.”
He kept staring, and I became convinced that he was looking at me, he had to be looking at me. I felt myself growing enraged by the thought that he was only pretending not to see me.
“I’m sorry, Delia,” Dad said, starting to cry again. “I’m so sorry.”
“No!” I roared. “No! Apology not accepted! No!”
“Delia,” Theo said, his voice insistent. “Stay away from the gate.”
He tried to grab my hand and pull me back, but I shook him off.
“Don’t touch me!” I snapped, feeling utterly humiliated.
He stepped away.
I turned to apologize, but his features were set. His jaw clenched and his eyes gazed up into the sky. “You’re not the only one, you know,” he said, his voice jagged. “We all had people we wanted to see again. We’ve all been left behind. We’re all forgotten. Everyone I ever loved, everyone who ever loved me, is dead. You’re … you’re not the only one.”
The car started up again and turned left onto the highway, where the heat from the glaring summer sun turned the air wavy, like a mirage—a vision you could see but never touch.
I watched until the car was gone from sight, and then I stood for a long time staring at the empty stretch of road.
“Come on,” Theo said, almost pleading. “Don’t keep standing here.”
“No,” I said. “Leave me alone. Please.”
“Okay,” he said. His voice sounded hurt, and I knew I’d broken whatever fragile friendship we’d begun. After this, he might never want to speak to me again.
Feeling more regret than I would have expected, I watched him go. As he passed by a patch of trees, a strange light flickered high in the branches, and after a moment, I recognized it as the dancing light I’d seen coming through the window of the day room. It had been Theo I’d seen, back then.
Florence smelled of buttercups. Eliza sounded like bells. Theo looked like light. How many other ghosts had I caught hidden glimpses of? How many of the strange sights and odd little sounds were secret signals that I was surrounded by dead people?
T
heo’s light moved with him, like a shadow. He passed the house, his reflection glinting off the stone and shimmering off the windows. I watched him until he came to the crest of the low hill and then descended the other side, down into what had to be the graveyard. I knew I should find him and apologize, but I thought I would rest first.
So I lay down in the grass and closed my eyes.
When I opened them a moment later, the world had turned white.
Is this heaven?
No—
It wasn’t the pure whiteness of paradise. It was the grayish, interrupted whiteness of winter. Around me, long blades of dead grass lay draped over low piles of snow. A few feet away, a set of delicate animal tracks led toward the trees. Bands of gray clouds rested over the hillside and blended into the snowy landscape, reducing the sun to a weak red ball of light.
I turned back to see the institute. It looked like a picture from an old-fashioned holiday card—the roof draped with white, snowdrifts piled against the front wall. Vignettes of frost clouded the windowpanes. A picturesque winter wonderland beautifully hiding the unrest inside.
I stood and started up the driveway, the frigid air slicing through me like a knife. Knowing I was already dead and couldn’t freeze didn’t relieve the painfully exposed feeling.
The front steps were iced over, but I ascended toward the front entrance without slipping. Then I stood staring at the door.
How on earth was I going to get inside?
If I called for Eliza and Florence, would they hear me? More than that, did they even care if I was stuck outside? Would they even come?
But as I wondered, the door crept open.
“Hello?” I called out, walking inside and listening for the sound of bells. “Eliza?”
From behind me came a rustling sound.
I sagged with relief. “Thank you,” I said, turning around. “I guess I really need to learn how to—”
But what was behind me wasn’t Eliza or Florence—it was a ghost.
I mean, it was a person dressed like a last-minute Halloween costume ghost, with a sheet draped over its head and covering its whole body—its very short body. Was it a child?
Then I realized—the sheet was solid. The feet peeping out beneath it were not. So … it was a ghost dressed up as a ghost?
I took a step forward. I was a little nervous, but this—this thing looked no bigger than a ten-year-old.
“Hello,” I said.
As I reached my hand out to touch the sheet, it swayed slightly, like the little girl inside was nervous. A pang of loneliness went through me as I thought of Janie—poor, sweet, sad little Janie.
“Don’t!”
The word was spoken with a distinctly Southern twang. The scent of buttercups crept into my nose.
Florence.
“Back away,” Florence said to me. “Very slowly, back away.”
The tension in her voice was all I needed to convince me to obey. I stepped backward.
The small ghost moved toward me again.
“No, Maria,” Florence said, her voice low and threatening. “Leave her alone.”
The sheet took one more step toward me.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“It’s Maria.” Florence frowned. “She’s not a nice girl.”
The ghost whipped its head toward her and uttered a menacing sound, almost a growl.
“I’m not afraid of you, honey,” Florence said, lifting her chin imperiously. “Don’t you remember what happened the last time you tried to bother me?”
Another growl.
“Back to the third floor, where you belong. Go! Scram!” Florence stepped forward, stomping her feet and clapping her hands, as if to frighten off a stray dog.
I felt a little guilty watching her. Maria was clearly just a child. How dangerous could she be?
“Delia, stand behind me. Back against the wall, as far as you can,” Florence said. “Maria’s in a bad mood. Something’s got her stirred up. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“Ghosts can get hurt?” I asked.
Florence looked at me like I was crazy. “Of course we can,” she said. “Now do as I say.”
I started to back away, but Maria kept coming for me.
“All right,” Florence said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I guess it’s come to this, then.”
A noise began to fill the room. It started as a low rumbling but got higher and higher pitched, until my head ached and my ears rang.
Then Florence seemed to explode into light, a violent strobe surrounding her body in a vibrating aura. Her eyes went black and her mouth hung open—the skin seemed to be peeling away from her bones. And slowly, she rose up off the ground, flickering like a phantom from a horror movie.
Without warning, she charged at the little ghost.
It sounded like a velociraptor and a tyrannosaurus coming together in battle. Maria matched the high-pitched sound with her own terrible roar, and for a moment the air around the two of them became blurry and unclear, like a dust storm made of light. I stood helplessly to the side and caught glimpses of arms grappling, heads thrashing.
Then, suddenly, Maria flew back across the room and landed on her back, motionless, with her legs stuck through the wall like the Wicked Witch who’d been crushed by a house in The Wizard of Oz. The sheet was in a heap on the floor.
In the next moment, Florence was back to her usual, lovely self—only clearly exhausted. She panted and held up her hand, looking like she was about to fall over. I went to her side and wrapped my arm around her waist just as she began to collapse. She leaned into me.
How can we possibly be dead? I wondered. We had weight. We felt pain.
It took another minute before Florence could speak. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“No, thank you,” I said, trying not to act too freaked out. “You saved me from … What is she?”
“She’s Maria,” she said flatly, as if that were all I needed to know, before pulling away and smoothing her dress. Then she inspected her arms and muttered, “Oh, perfect.”
I took a step closer and looked at her left wrist, which now had a very clear pattern of tooth marks on it.
But they didn’t look like human tooth marks. The points of entry were all just that—points. Not the lines that a human bite would leave.
“Are you going to be okay?” I asked. “Is that going to get infected or something?”
“Oh, I’ll be all right,” she said, sounding pretty gloomy. “I just try not to get all marked up. You only get one incorporeal body, you know. Might as well take care of it. Do yourself a favor and don’t go tumbling down the stairs.”
“All right,” I said.
Florence continued to inspect the tooth marks, more upset than she wanted to let on. Then she gave me a frustrated, self-conscious smile. “Sorry—Mama always did say I was a touch vain.”
“What is she?” I asked. “Maria?”
“Want to see?” Florence walked across the room, grabbed the legs that were sticking through the wall, and tugged them until Maria was back in the room with us.
I almost cried out.
The only thing about the figure before me that resembled a human child was her height—and her feet.
The rest of her was a grotesque mess. The skin of her face was cratered with black sores. Her eyelids were crisscrossed with the scars of old cuts. Her cheeks and lips had begun to rot away, revealing the decaying interior of her mouth—pitted gums and an uneven row of sharp teeth. It gave her the otherworldly perma-grin of a great white shark, even when she was unconscious.
Her arms were just patchy skin over bone, her fingers curled painfully into claws. Her torso, where I could see it through rips in her dress, was twisted and burned-looking.
“Rumor has it she was ten years old when she came here,” Florence said. “Killed her father some time in the eighties. She only lasted a few months before she electrocuted herself and a nurse. Nice kid.”
Looking a
t what remained of Maria’s old-fashioned clothes, it hit me. “The eighteen-eighties?”
“That’s right,” Florence said. “She was dead long before I came, and I died in aught-two.”
This time I didn’t have to ask. Nineteen aught-two. “Thanks again for saving me,” I said. “And I’m sorry I was rude before.”
“Oh, that’s all right, I understand. Those first few days are a real head-spinner. Besides, that was a long time ago.”
My heart sank. “How long?”
“Six months,” she said, glancing out at the snowy landscape.
Six months? I’d been lying outside for six months? I wondered if Theo had passed by, seen me there with my eyes closed … and decided I wasn’t worth waking.
“Has anyone come looking for me?” I asked.
Florence stared at me blankly, then figured out what I meant. “Your family? No, sugar. Sorry. The police spent some time here in the fall, but not a soul since then. Well—you know what I mean.”
“Earlier,” I said slowly, “you offered to show me how to go through the wall … Is there any way you could help me out with that? I mean, Maria can do it unconscious, and I can’t even manage no matter how hard I try.”
Florence’s face lit up. “Right! That’s it. Come over here.”
When we were close to the wall, she came up to me. “Now close your eyes. And keep ’em shut.”
I did. Then she took me by the shoulders and turned me around and around and around, until I was too dizzy to tell which direction I was facing.
“Sorry in advance if this hurts a little,” Florence said.
Then, without warning, she shoved me, hard. I fell backward and landed on the floor with an impact that sent a stunning ache through my backside.
I looked up to complain, but I was alone.
In the hallway.
Florence popped through the wall, beaming. “You did it!”
“Oh yes,” I said, getting to my feet and rubbing my rear end. “I totally did it. What talent. I’m clearly a genius.”