The Haunting of Henry Davis
Page 16
“A boy I knew,” she said. “Long ago.”
My mother was standing next to me, and she whispered, “Barbara Anne, that locket doesn’t really belong to you.”
“Trust me,” I said. “She’s the one who’s supposed to have it now.”
I picked up the locket to help Constance put it on. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was Edgar’s photo—not the faded version that I had last seen, but one that looked so perfect and clear that it might have been taken yesterday.
The change in Edgar’s picture left me speechless for a moment. I was still trying to figure it out when I saw Martin hand another present to Constance. It was a book, naturally. I could see that from the shape of the package, even though it looked like Christine had wrapped it.
“I bet I know what it is!” Alice said.
“Alice!” Sophie and Christine scolded at the same time. That’s what happens, I guess, when you have two mothers standing next to you.
“Give her a chance to unwrap it,” Henry’s dad said.
“It’s a history of the neighborhood,” Martin said. “You probably could have written it yourself, but I thought you might enjoy some of the pictures.”
“It’s lovely,” Constance said. “Oh, and you’ve included a bookmark too.”
“A bookmark?” Martin asked, puzzled.
As Constance pulled at the edge of it, my eyes grew wide. There it was again: the card.
A FRIEND WILL CALL FROM FAR AWAY.
I reached into my pocket and found it empty. No card. No marble.
“Hey,” Zack said to me. “That looks just like the card we found on the stairs.”
“Mr. Corrigan,” I said, “is this a practical joke? Because if it is, it’s not funny.”
“Barbara Anne,” my mother said. “I think you and I should go to the kitchen and get the cake.”
When we got there, I said, “I know what you’re thinking, Mom, but I didn’t swipe that card. I don’t know how it got in the book.”
This, of course, was not true. I was pretty sure I did know who had gotten the card from my pocket and into the book, even if I didn’t know how. I already regretted what I had said to Uncle Marty. I realized, of course, that Edgar was up to his usual games.
“Now is not the time or place for this conversation,” Mom said. “Help me carry the cake.”
We lifted it gently and moved back into the other room.
Henry was standing near the window in the dining room, staring out at the rain.
“Here comes the cake!” Sophie said.
“Wow!” Zack said.
It really was impressive. It was the most immense cake I’d ever seen. And we stood there in the darkness, our faces lit by glowing candles, and began to sing. It was the strangest thing—to see each face hovering in the candlelight. For a minute, it felt like we were all…ghosts.
“Make a wish!” Alice yelled. “Blow out the candles!”
But before Constance had a chance, a gust of wind swirled through the room and blew out all the candles, not just the ones on the cake.
“What happened?” Renee asked.
Rachel began to wail, and everyone started to talk at once. Henry was the only quiet one. He was still near the window, and in the pitch-dark I made my way over to him.
“Henry,” I said. “I think—”
“Shhh,” he said. “Just listen.”
Then, in the pause, I heard it. An ordinary sound, easy to miss with all that was going on, but familiar to Henry and me, because we had visited before. The sound of the front door closing.
I ran to the hall, and Henry followed me, pushed past me, moved toward the door. “Where are you going?” I asked him.
“Edgar’s out there,” Henry said.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “He’d never hurt you.”
“I need to make sure he leaves,” Henry said.
“You can’t go out there alone,” I said.
By then, Zack and Renee were at the end of the hallway, watching. “Let him go,” Zack said.
“Here,” Renee said. She handed him a raincoat.
“I don’t think this is such a good idea,” I said.
“He’ll be okay,” Renee said. “He just needs to say goodbye to Edgar.”
* * *
—
When Henry got back, the three of us were in the hallway, waiting with a towel. Soon the storm began to pass and the electricity came back on. Zack played the guitar, and we all laughed and ate more cake. We finished celebrating Constance’s birthday and Henry’s return to our lives.
Henry never saw Edgar again. And that night, it snowed for the second time. When I went to Henry’s house the next morning to go sledding with him, there they were: the two sets of footprints leading away from her door. And so, I was not surprised by Henry’s news. Our friend Constance Leary had died in her sleep.
Once Edgar was gone, things got back to normal. We moved through December—from the sorrow of Constance leaving us to the joy of the holidays. Of course, there were still times when we felt scared or sad. After all, the world is a pretty haunted place, and Henry Davis isn’t the only one who ever saw a ghost.
But, mostly, we were happy. And on New Year’s Eve, my parents let me have a party—with sparklers and Silly String and everything. Zack and Renee got there first, and we were outside in my yard testing out the sparklers when I heard the doorbell ring. Henry. Late as usual.
“Barbara Anne,” my father called from the back door, “your final guest has arrived.”
“Send him out,” I yelled.
“He’d like to see you,” my father said. “Privately.”
Renee and Zack exchanged a look. “Do not start,” I warned them.
When I got to the living room, I saw that Henry had a sack slung over his shoulder. I could tell from the way he was carrying it that it was heavy. “Henry,” I said. “Christmas is over. Chanukah is over—”
“Come on,” Henry said. “I know you want to know what is inside this sack.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to sound bored. Who was I kidding? I was dying to see.
“Not so fast,” Henry said. “This is a tool that requires some patience and respect. You will have to learn how to use it.”
“Just give it to me,” I said. So Henry opened the sack and lifted out my gift.
“A fire extinguisher?” I said, starting to laugh.
“Portable and small,” he said. “We should take a minute to read the directions.”
It was red, with an interesting gauge and lever at the top. On the side it said:
HOLD UPRIGHT AND THEN PULL RING
STAND BACK 8 FEET AND AIM AT BASE OF FIRE
SQUEEZE LEVER AND SWEEP FROM SIDE TO SIDE
USE CAUTION. IF FIRE CANNOT BE EXTINGUISHED, CALL 911
THIS MEANS YOU, BARBARA ANNE KLEIN
That last one was written on a piece of tape that Henry had attached himself.
“Like it?” Henry asked.
“I love it,” I said.
“Are you guys ever coming out?” Zack asked from the back door.
“We’re freezing,” Renee said. “And we want to light the sparklers.”
“And I want to know who gets to do it,” Zack said.
“Henry,” I answered.
So the four of us went out into the cold December air to shiver and light sparklers and make wishes for the new year.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Zack kept asking Henry as he lit each one and handed them to us. “Why does he get to be in charge?”
It was a fair question. After all, it was my house. But I was trying not to tell everyone what to do. I guess that was my first resolution.
“Well, it’s better than letting Ba
rbara Anne do it!” Renee said. “I’m afraid she might set our shoes on fire.”
“Oh, no,” Henry said, smiling at me. “Barbara Anne is prepared for any emergency now. You never have to worry.”
It’s funny the things that scare you. Little things like spiders and bigger things like ghosts. Once Zack was afraid he would be kicked out of our school. Once Renee was scared of being without her mom. Henry feared Edgar. And I…well, I guess what frightened me most was not having a real friend. But that all ended—the day I met Henry Davis.
I am grateful to my agent, Miriam Altshuler, and to my editor, Michelle Frey, who guided me so skillfully and waited so patiently for Barbara Anne to arrive and tell her story. Many thanks are also due to the team at Knopf, including Katrina Damkoehler, Ken Crossland, Artie Bennett, Lisa Leventer, and Marisa DiNovis.
A big thank-you to the kids at Green Lake School Age Care Program, whose daily requests for stories are my biggest inspiration.
Finally, I want to thank my family for their collective courage, dark humor, and steadfast love and support during the past year.
KATHRYN SIEBEL teaches humanities at Billings Middle School in Seattle and works with elementary school students at the Green Lake School-Age Care Program. She has worked in educational publishing and as an English teacher and librarian and has an MFA from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. She is also the author of The Trouble with Twins.
KathrynSiebel.com
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