They were all silent.
“Just wait a second,” Dad said, his voice gruff with wonder. “Listen …”
They listened.
“I love you all,” I said. “I love you so much.”
They all looked at one another, their eyes wide, in a triangle of did you hear something?
“It’s time for me to go now,” I said.
And then I climbed out of the car.
I watched them drive away.
As I walked back up the driveway, I could see the hungry flames through the faraway windows, devouring everything inside. In the distance, sirens blared, but I knew they’d never save the building. Rotburg was too small a town to fight a fire of this scale on short notice, and besides that, the fire was tearing through the house as if it had been waiting a hundred and fifty years for the chance.
More ghosts were outside now, standing in clumps and staring up at our former home. There were women of every age—teens and old ladies, wearing everything from drab hospital-issue nightgowns to elaborate velvet robes. There was also Theo, standing among them.
And they were all … changing.
Each one of them seemed to glow around their edges with a silvery outline. The ones who were hunched had begun to stand straighter. The ones who’d worn haunted, faraway looks seemed to be returning to awareness.
The edges of my vision were beginning to blur.
“Delia!”
Theo could see me? He left the crowd and came walking over—unhurried as usual.
He was glowing, too.
“What did you do?” he asked, a broad smile on his face. “It was you, wasn’t it? It had to be you.”
“I guess,” I said. “I thought it was time somebody took care of the problem.”
He looked at me, and there was a gentleness, an openness, in his eyes. As if some great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Do you … Can I do something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time?”
“Okay,” I said.
He moved closer, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me sweetly.
It was the kiss from the end of an amazing first date. A good-bye with a hello attached to it. An I hope we meet again kiss. A had circumstances been different this would have been only the first of many kisses kiss.
It was brief, but it ignited some new sense of joy in me, some moment of letting go, of realizing that Landon was never the love of my life, and that was okay—maybe I didn’t have one yet. Maybe I never would.
But if I had, a kiss like this one might have been how it started.
Theo pulled away and cocked his head. “On to a new adventure. Perhaps we’ll meet somewhere else along the path.”
“I hope so,” I said.
He took a few backward steps and started to disappear. Right before he vanished, he smiled at me and waved. I waved back. Then I kept making my way toward the house.
A lovely little girl about ten years old, with thick dark-brown hair flowing over her shoulders, came running up to me.
“You came back!” she said. “She said you’d come back.”
“Oh my—Maria?” I asked.
Maria beamed. “I’m pretty again, aren’t I? Don’t say it. I don’t mind being pretty, but I don’t want to turn vain.”
Her face was perfect and her skin was smooth. Her body was whole and healthy.
“You’ve always been pretty,” I said.
The fog was pushing in farther, giving everything an ethereal glow.
She glanced over at Penitence with the affectionate possessiveness only a child can have. “Mother says we’re going someplace. All of us.”
“I suppose we are,” I said.
“Look,” Maria said, pointing behind me.
Each of the ghosts around us was starting to fade—her subtle white glow gradually taking over her body and then dissolving into thin air. Every one of them wore a serene expression. The wretched women from the third floor, Nurse Carlson, Rosie and Posie … One by one, they disappeared.
“Where are we going?” Maria asked. “Will it be nice?”
Penitence came over and reached for Maria’s hand. “It’s a place where mothers and daughters are never apart.”
“And sisters?” Maria asked, looking at me.
“Sisters and brothers, as well,” Eliza said.
“And every little girl gets her own warm bed,” I said. “And a soft blanket made just for her.”
Maria clutched her mother’s hand and nestled happily against her long, black skirt. Penitence reached out her other hand and took hold of mine. And I reached for Eliza’s.
Eliza turned around, looking for someone.
“Florence,” she called.
Florence, whose glow was subtler than ours, stood off to the side, studying her own hands in amazement. She looked up at Eliza, her cheeks streaked with tears.
“Come on, then,” Eliza said. “Don’t just stand there like a statue.”
Florence came over and hovered just outside the circle for a moment, until Eliza grabbed her and pulled her in among us.
“But I’ve been so terrible,” Florence said softly.
“Be that as it may,” Eliza said. “It’s done now, so you might as well be here with us. No need to leave anyone out.”
The whole world seemed to be made of softly lustrous white light.
“What now?” Maria asked.
“Now we are here, together,” said Penitence in a hushed voice. “We are all together.”
The warm white light grew and expanded around us.
Maybe there was a kind of happily ever after, after all.
A feeling of exquisite contentment filled my heart and quieted the questions in my soul.
Peace, I thought, turning my face toward the sky. Rest in peace.
With heaps and heaps of gratitude, I would like to acknowledge the existence and assistance of the following folks:
Christopher, my sweetest girl, G, Matthew Elblonk, Ashley Collom, Adam Shear, and everyone at DeFiore and Co., Aimee Friedman, David Levithan, Jennifer Ung, Emily Cullings, Yaffa Jaskoll, Charisse Meloto, Stephanie Smith, Jeremy West, Bess Braswell, Emily Morrow, Larry Decker, and the rest of the brilliant Scholastic team. Marisol, Mom, Helen, Dad, Ann, Jeff, Vicky, Juli, Kevin, Jillian, Rebekah, Zack, Robert, George, Duygu, Onur, Ali, Micah, Bethany, Terry, frousins, fraunts, fruncles, and other less neatly categorizable family members, long-suffering and oft-neglected friends, Soapboxies, H Club, lads, buns, my awesome UPS man, author buddies, bookseller buddies, librarian buddies, teacher buddies, amazing readers, their parents, and everyone who cares about the written word and acts on that impulse …
You are all seriously super great.
Katie Alender is the acclaimed author of several novels for young adults, including Bad Girls Don’t Die; From Bad to Cursed; As Dead as It Gets; Marie Antoinette, Serial Killer; and Famous Last Words. A graduate of the Florida State University College of Motion Picture Arts, Katie now lives in Los Angeles with her husband, daughter, and dogs. She enjoys reading, sewing, gardening, and preparing and eating delicious high-calorie foods. To find out more about Katie, visit katiealender.com.
Also by
KATIE ALENDER
Bad Girls Don’t Die
From Bad to Cursed
As Dead as It Gets
Marie Antoinette, Serial Killer
Famous Last Words
Copyright © 2015 by Katie Alender
All rights reserved. Published by Point, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, POINT, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or l
ocales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Alender, Katie, author.
The dead girls of Hysteria Hall / Katie Alender.—First edition.
pages cm
Summary: Sixteen-year-old Cordelia and her family move into the house they just inherited in Pennsylvania, a former insane asylum the locals call Hysteria Hall—unfortunately the house does not want defiant girls like Delia, so it kills her, and as she wanders the house, meeting the other ghosts and learning the dark secrets of the Hall, she realizes that she has to find a way to save her sister, parents, and perhaps herself.
ISBN 978-0-545-63999-6 (jacketed hardcover) 1. Asylums—Juvenile fiction. 2. Haunted houses—Juvenile fiction. 3. Secrecy—Juvenile fiction. 4. Sisters—Juvenile fiction. 5. Families—Pennsylvania—Juvenile fiction. 6. Horror tales. 7. Ghost stories. [1. Haunted houses—Fiction. 2. Psychiatric hospitals—Fiction. 3. Ghosts—Fiction. 4. Secrets—Fiction. 5. Sisters—Fiction. 6. Family life—Fiction. 7. Horror stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.A3747De 2015
813.6—dc23
[Fic]
2014046681
First edition, September 2015
Cover design by Yaffa Jaskoll
Cover art © 2015 by Larry Rostant
Cover images ©: Patryk Kosminder/Shutterstock.com (house), Caspar Benson/Media Bakery (blood)
Author photo by Christopher Alender
e-ISBN 978-0-545-64000-8
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
The Dead Girls of Hysteria Hall Page 25
