Ollie realized that she was lying on one of a row of identical white beds. She couldn’t see how long the row was. The end of it disappeared into the shadows. Ollie looked down at herself. She was wearing a white nightgown too.
She still couldn’t see the face of the girl by her bed. Only the girl’s hand gripping her sleeve. It was bony and gray; the nails were long and black. The fingertips were blackened too, like the girl had dipped her hands in ashes.
Ollie wrenched away, half falling over the other side of the bed.
“Please,” the other girl’s voice whined out of the darkness. “I’m looking for my bones. Can you help me find them?”
Bones? Ollie just wanted to get out of that room. She looked around for a door. There wasn’t one. Just a lot of narrow white beds. The room was full of beds.
In each bed lay a girl. Their eyes were closed and frosted around with ice. Frozen shut? Their skin was all grayish. They looked like they’d frozen to death, stiff in their beds.
Ollie wanted to get away. But there was nowhere to go. Her heart beat faster and faster.
“I need my bones,” whispered the girl again. “I can’t get out of here without my bones.”
Ollie tried to say something, but no sound came out.
Suddenly the other girl reached over and grabbed Ollie by the arm. Her hand was cold and skinny and strong. “She’s coming,” the girl hissed. “You have to help me. If she finds you here, she’ll put you to bed. She’ll put me to bed. And then she’ll never let us leave again. Just like the others.” She gestured at the sleeping girls all around them, with their eyes frozen shut. “You’ll sleep here forever.”
Footsteps sounded outside the room. The girl holding Ollie’s arm cringed, but she didn’t let go of Ollie’s sleeve. “Good little girls don’t try to leave,” she muttered, almost to herself. “They stay here with Mother. Only bad little girls try to escape. But I’m a bad little girl. I don’t want to stay here forever.”
Her face was in the moonlight now. Unlike the other girls, her eyes were open, although ringed in frost. She looked like her eyes had frozen open, instead of shut. She didn’t blink. Her wide eyes gave her an expression of startled horror.
Ollie’s breath was shallow with terror. The quick, clacking footsteps outside were getting closer. “I don’t know where your bones are,” she managed.
The girl threw a terrified look at the door.
Then she bent forward and whispered in a totally different voice, almost too low for Ollie to hear: “It doesn’t matter. Don’t listen to the voices.”
“What?” Ollie’s voice came out a thin, terrified whisper. “What voices?”
“The dead voices,” said the girl. “All the dead voices.” Her icy hand pinched Ollie’s arm. “Stay out of closets. And don’t look in the mirror.”
Then the door to the room slammed open.
The girl screamed and threw herself backward, scrabbling away and disappearing into the shadows.
There was something in the doorway. Someone. It looked like a woman. Ollie couldn’t see her face. Just that she was tall and wore a black dress. She advanced on Ollie and reached out a bony hand. “Awake?” she demanded.
Ollie didn’t answer. She tried to get up and run, but she couldn’t move.
“Bad little girl. I caught you red-handed! How dare you be awake! Lie down this instant! Get back in bed and stay there.” The woman’s bony hand descended, grabbing at her. Ollie finally got her breath and shrieked.
And came gasping awake, to find herself in the lower bunk of their room in Hemlock Lodge, in the pitch-black dark before dawn. Coco must have just gone to the bathroom. Ollie heard her climb the bunk ladder and settle again under the covers.
Ollie had to pee too. But she lay still in bed, trying to ignore it. She really didn’t want to go out into the dark, freezing hallway.
She couldn’t ignore it.
Annoyed, and still shaken from her nightmare, Ollie got up, shoved her feet into slippers, went out into the hall. It was inky dark, and freezing. She almost ran to the girls’ bathroom. But she wasn’t scared, she told herself. Just cold.
There was a light showing under the bathroom door. Ollie frowned. Hadn’t they turned it off before going to bed? Despite herself, she was nervous. She scolded herself for being silly. Nightmares were just nightmares. Didn’t she know that by now? She’d had enough of them.
Determinedly, Ollie stepped forward and opened the bathroom door just as one of the toilets flushed.
“Hello?” called Ollie. Her voice cracked a little. “Who’s that?”
Coco stepped out of the stall, frowning.
“It’s me,” she said. “Who else would it be?”
Ollie stared. “But,” she said, “I heard you get back in bed.”
“Not yet,” said Coco. “I had to pee. You probably heard the lodge creaking.” Coco looked small and cold in her flannel pajamas. “This lodge creaks a lot. I’ve been hearing weird noises all night.” She said it like she was trying to sound chill, but was a bit anxious herself.
Ollie nodded. “Yeah,” she said, with feeling. “Although I was sure I heard . . . Wait for me to pee?” she asked.
“’Kay,” said Coco, and Ollie was happy not to be alone.
She flushed the toilet, and together the girls went back to their room.
But Ollie stopped short in the doorway. She stared at Coco’s bed.
It didn’t look empty. For a second, she was sure she saw a small girl, ice in her wide-open eyes, sitting up, staring at her. Her lips moved, mouthed two words.
Don’t listen.
With a gasp, Ollie leaped for the lamp, turned it on. There was no one there. Coco was peering at her worriedly. “What?” she said. “Did you see something?”
“Nothing,” said Ollie. But her heart was racing. “Just imagining things.”
* * *
—
It took Coco a long while to fall back asleep. She didn’t like Hemlock Lodge. The old wood and plaster groaned and creaked. The wind whined under the eaves outside. Coco lay in her top bunk and peered into every shadow, half expecting one of them to move. What had made Ollie nervous? Just the dark? Bad dreams? Or something else?
But Coco must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing she remembered was hearing Ollie’s gasp as she jerked awake below her. Pale morning light trickled between the curtains. Coco was happy to see the daylight. She dangled her head over the bunk and peered down at her friend. Ollie was as white as a piece of paper. Her curly brown hair stuck out every which way. “Ollie,” said Coco. “You okay?”
Her friend was covered in sweat. “Nightmares,” she said. She sat up and scrubbed a hand over her face. “A couple of really bad nightmares.”
“I had one too,” said Coco. “Yesterday in the car. You wanna talk about it?”
“Maybe,” said Ollie. She rolled out of bed decisively, like she was eager to be out of it. “But I need hot chocolate first.”
Hot chocolate sounded good to Coco too. “And a really, really big cinnamon roll.” She started to untangle herself from her covers. “What did you dream?”
“I can’t remember exactly.” Ollie still looked shaken.
“Not scarecrows?”
“No,” said Ollie. “Something about—about beds. And mirrors.” She walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. Coco eyed the world outside, still in the safety of her top bunk. It looked cold. And white. And snowy. The snow was coming down as fast as it had the night before. The wind hummed in the lines of the ski lift, like the whole mountain was a giant violin.
“No skiing unless the wind drops,” Ollie said glumly, letting the curtain fall. “They won’t be able to use the lifts while it’s so windy. Let’s go wake up Brian.” For some reason, she seemed eager to be out of their room.
Brian wa
s asleep, and not happy to be woken up. But the girls finally talked him out of his room and dragged him, wearing a gray hoodie, pajama pants, and a grumpy expression, down the hall and to the stairs. “There had better be hot chocolate in this place,” he said as he followed them.
With only two windows at either end, the hall wasn’t much brighter than it had been the night before. Ollie was still pale and tense too. Coco wondered what she’d been dreaming about.
In the lobby, the three of them found Sue Wilson behind the front desk, wearing a reindeer sweater and a huge smile. She hopped to her feet when she saw them. “Ah!” she said. “Early risers! And you five still the only guests here.” Coco didn’t think she was totally happy about that, despite the smile. “Breakfast?” she asked.
“Yes, please,” said Brian immediately. “Is there hot chocolate?”
“You bet! Sam’s cooking. He’s a mean cook. We hired a chef, but he couldn’t make it. None of our staff could make it. We’re really snowed in!”
Coco didn’t think Mrs. Wilson was too happy about that either.
Ollie didn’t seem to be listening. Which was strange for her, because she loved both hot chocolate and breakfast in general. She was frowning at a cluster of stuffed coyotes in a corner of the lobby. “Ollie, you coming?” called Brian, already heading for the dining room.
“Yeah,” said Ollie. But she was still frowning.
“What’s wrong?” Coco asked her.
“Nothing,” said Ollie. “It’s just I was sure I counted four coyotes last night. But it was dark.”
“No, I thought there were four too,” said Coco. She looked back at them. There were five. “Well, we probably just didn’t see the fifth one, right?” she said.
“I guess,” said Ollie. She shrugged and followed Brian into the dining room. Coco gave the coyotes a final glance. They were all showing big white teeth. Five doggy grins, like they were making fun of her. Had they looked like that last night?
Well, of course they had. How else would they have looked? Hurrying, Coco went after Ollie.
The dining room turned out to be right next to the lobby, and the two rooms were connected by a pair of archways. The fireplace that heated the lobby also heated the dining room. A fire was already roaring. The walls were clean white, freshly painted. A mirror hung on the wall opposite the fireplace, making the room seem even bigger than it was.
Coco’s mom was sitting alone at a table beside the fireplace, sipping coffee and scrolling through the news on her phone. She’d plugged it into a nearby outlet. Coco was glad to see that. The outlets upstairs hadn’t been working.
Coco’s mom really didn’t get cheerful until she’d had a second cup of coffee, but she looked up when they walked in and smiled at them all anyway. “You guys are up early,” she said. “Did the wind wake you?”
“Nope,” said Brian, still a little grumpy himself. “It was these two banging on the door. They tried to bribe me with hot chocolate.”
“And it worked,” Ollie commented.
Brian sighed. “Hot chocolate, my kryptonite,” he said.
Ollie’s dad popped out of the kitchen like a magic-trick rabbit. “Did I hear a call for hot chocolate? Coming right up!”
Ollie groaned and laughed and sank down into a chair next to Brian. “Dad’s in the kitchen already,” Ollie said. “Why am I not surprised?” Coco laughed too, and took the chair on the other side of her mom. It was so like Ollie’s dad to take over the lodge kitchen.
Coco’s mom smiled again. She seemed, thought Coco, more cheerful than she usually was in the mornings. “Your dad does love cooking, doesn’t he?” Coco’s mom said to Ollie. “When I came down, he was already in the kitchen. Said he heard Sam Wilson swearing at the stove and smelled something burning. Of course, he had to jump in and lend a hand.” She laughed and shook her head at the memory. Coco couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mom laugh like that. She must like being on vacation, even if vacation so far was just sleeping in a weird ski lodge.
Mr. Adler popped out of the kitchen again, this time with a jug in one hand and a big platter of pancakes in the other. He marched over. “Breakfast coming up!” he announced in the booming voice of a circus ringmaster. They all giggled. Even Coco’s mom.
“Come one, come all,” continued Mr. Adler, sweeping over to the table. “And experience—PANCAKES. For Miss Olivia Adler, most favorite daughter, we have banana chocolate chip PANCAKES. For Miss Coco Zintner, favorite almost-daughter, blueberry! And for Mr. Brian Battersby, favorite almost-son and hometown hockey hero, buttermilk! And something left over for us, of course,” he added, winking at Coco’s mom. He plopped the pancake platter in the middle of the table, took the chair next to her, theatrically wiped his forehead, and helped himself to three pancakes. “Sam’s bringing bacon and eggs,” he added in a normal voice, waving his fork at the kitchen door. “Eat up!”
“And butter and maple syrup?” asked Brian hopefully, helping himself to a buttermilk pancake.
“And more coffee?” asked Coco’s mom.
“It’s like feeding an army, making breakfast for you four,” said Mr. Adler. “But yes. What are pancakes without maple syrup? And I know you’re a five-cups-a-morning kind of woman.” He grinned at Coco’s mom, took her hand, squeezed it briefly, and started cutting up his pancakes.
Ollie looked from her dad to Coco’s mom with a strange expression. Coco was staring between the two of them herself. Hand-holding? Where did that come from?
Coco, wondering if she should say something, helped herself to a blueberry pancake and passed the platter. Ollie took a pancake, mouth shut tight, not meeting anyone’s gaze.
Coco decided that she didn’t dare say anything, if Ollie wasn’t going to. She could ask her mom later.
Coco started on her pancake, and realized that she was happier than she’d been since they left East Evansburg. The smells of bacon, coffee, and pancakes filled the dining room. The fire was crackling, and she was nice and toasty. Mr. Adler had made them all laugh; her mom was smiling. And Ollie’s dad had held hands with her mom. Just for a second, but still. Coco was delighted. Ollie’s dad was one of her favorite people.
Maybe, Coco thought, this trip to Mount Hemlock wasn’t going to be so bad, after all.
But why wouldn’t Ollie meet anyone’s eyes?
“Better dig in to those pancakes,” said Mr. Adler. “Or I’ll start telling jokes again.”
“Oh no,” said Coco’s mom, but she was still smiling. They all hastily began to eat their pancakes. Sam Wilson came out with a huge platter of bacon and scrambled eggs, and also a jug of golden maple syrup, some pats of butter, and a pot of coffee hanging dangerously from a pinkie. Ollie’s dad raised a cheer at his appearance, and Mr. Wilson managed to set the food onto the table without spilling any of it.
“Whew,” he said to Ollie’s dad. “You’re quite the chef, Roger. Glad you lent me a hand! Not to say I couldn’t have done it all myself, but . . .”
“Have a bite, Sam,” said Mr. Adler hospitably. “Don’t be formal; there’s only the seven of us here!”
“Well, don’t mind if I do,” said Mr. Wilson, and he sat.
“Guess there’s not going to be any skiing today, huh?” Brian asked once he’d downed his first pancake. He peered out the window, a little glum. Coco felt sorry for him. She thought of how happily he’d talked of boots and skis and snow and trails on the drive up.
“Not today,” said Mr. Adler. He sighed. “Too much wind. You guys probably heard the wind this morning. Absolutely shrieking. It woke Zelda and me up.” (Zelda was Coco’s mom.) “Besides, Sam says they’ve been having a lot of mechanical difficulties, isn’t that right?”
Mr. Wilson gulped a bite of bacon, and said, “Never seen anything like it. The lift keeps breaking down. The generator’s only putting out half—less—of the power it’s supposed to, but I
can’t find anything wrong with it. It’s just—not working.”
Brian looked unhappy at the news. But Coco’s heart leaped at the words not today.
No slippery cold mountain, she thought. Great. We can stay here and play chess. Or Scrabble. We can draw. Read.
Ollie was good at chess too. Coco practiced more, but Ollie was smart: the best at math in the entire middle school, and her mom had taught her to play chess when she was little. Brian could play chess, though he didn’t love it. He was a mean hand at Scrabble. Coco thought contentedly of spending a cozy day by the fire playing board games with her friends.
“We’re just going to have to entertain ourselves,” said Mr. Adler, echoing Coco’s thought.
But Brian kept on staring sadly out the big window of the dining room. Coco felt a little guilty for being so happy that they couldn’t ski. Ollie looked like she was hardly listening to what people were saying. She was watching her dad and Coco’s mom.
Was Ollie upset about the hand-holding? Coco wondered.
“Maybe we can raid the kitchen and bake cookies,” Mr. Adler suggested. “I’ll teach you all to knit. Got any board games, Sam?”
“A couple,” said Mr. Wilson. “I’ll go dig them out after breakfast.”
“Maybe at least we can go sledding,” said Brian, still staring out into the white world. “It doesn’t matter if it’s windy for that.”
“Maybe,” said Mr. Adler doubtfully. “It’s really coming down, though.”
Coco poured herself more hot chocolate.
Suddenly Brian said, “Hey, guys. Look. Who’s that?”
Everyone turned to look. It was a car. A black car, covered in snow, making its creeping way across the parking lot.
“Huh,” said Coco. “Someone made it through the storm.”
“I’m impressed that anything besides a plow truck could get up here,” said Coco’s mom. They had all stopped eating their pancakes to watch.
Dead Voices Page 3
