Ollie was thinking of her own mom, Coco thought. She ached for her friend. Ollie hated getting sympathy from anyone, but Coco couldn’t help trying. “Ollie—” she started, but Ollie wasn’t listening.
“What stuff do we need?” Ollie asked Mr. Voland briskly.
Mr. Adler and Coco’s mom were heading out of the room in search of jackets and boots. Mr. Voland put the lid on his thermos, took a final pancake, rolled it up around some egg, like a burrito, wrapped it in a napkin, and tucked it into a pocket. “You just need your wits about you,” he told them. “A notebook and a pencil to write down any impressions. And maybe a flashlight.”
“We’ll go up to our rooms right now to get our stuff,” said Ollie. “We’ll meet you in the lobby.” Without another word, she bolted for the stairs, running ahead of Coco and Brian. She disappeared into the shadows of the second floor. Coco and Brian followed her.
Mr. Voland stayed in the lobby.
“Guess we’re going to look for ghosts,” said Coco unhappily.
“It’s not my first choice either, Tiny,” said Brian.
Coco looked at him in surprise. At breakfast, Brian had seemed happy to go ghost hunting. “Ollie’s upset,” he added. “You noticed, right? Probably about your mom and her dad holding hands.” Brian said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it was, to him. People all said hockey was Brian’s superpower, but Coco thought his superpower was noticing things. “And Ollie’s mom might be a ghost. Therefore—ghost hunting. We can’t just let her go looking for ghosts all upset and by herself.”
“No,” Coco agreed. “We can’t. But, I mean, we don’t know if her dad and my mom like each other.”
Brian gave her a skeptical look.
Coco bit her lip. She was afraid to believe it because she wanted it to be true so badly. She wanted to move into the Egg with her mom and live with Ollie and Ollie’s dad. She wanted Ollie to be her actual sister, not just her friend. But Ollie— “Ollie doesn’t want my mom,” said Coco sadly. “She wants her own mom back.”
“Obviously,” said Brian. “Wouldn’t you?”
Coco didn’t answer that. Instead she said, “It’s just that—I’m still not sure that ghost hunting is a good idea.” Suddenly Coco’s worries came pouring out in a rush. “Last night, on the road, I think I might have seen a ghost. Really. I saw someone in a blue ski jacket who vanished. And then . . .” Coco swallowed. “I saw the shadow of a person in the second-floor hall. But there wasn’t anyone there. Just the shadow. And Ollie had nightmares all night. She hasn’t said what about, but she looked scared when she woke up this morning. And the generators aren’t working. And we can’t leave until the storm stops. Maybe this place really is haunted. Brian, do you really want to meet another ghost? Be stuck here in a snowstorm with ghosts?”
Brian had stopped dead at the foot of the stairs. “Seriously?” said Brian. “You’ve been actually seeing ghosts? And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t know what I was seeing! You didn’t believe me last night on the road. And this morning, we were kind of distracted by pancakes and a random guy showing up and our parents holding hands,” retorted Coco.
“Yeah,” said Brian. “Sorry about last night. I did kind of think you were dreaming.”
“And now?” said Coco.
“I believe you,” said Brian. He paused, thinking. “The three of us clearly need to talk ASAP.”
“Yeah,” said Coco. “And we need to stick together. Like always, right? We’ll stick together, and we’ll be fine.”
Brian grinned. “As always, Tiny,” he said, making Coco want to smile and stomp on his foot at the same time.
“Don’t call me Tiny,” she said for about the thousandth time. “We’d better go find Ollie.”
They started up the stairs. But with his foot on the second step, Brian paused, frowning, and turned back. “Wasn’t the bear on its hind legs before?” he asked.
Coco turned. The stuffed bear was on all fours, its head twisted back over its shoulder, like it was looking at them. She frowned. “I think it was,” she said. “I can’t really remember now.”
“Never mind,” said Brian. They got to the top of the stairs. The hallway was shadowy. The wall lamps were off. There was only the light coming from the windows on each end. Coco couldn’t see Ollie. She must already be in their room.
Halfway down the hall, Brian slowed. Stopped. “Tiny,” he said, “do you—hear something?”
Coco stopped, listened.
“No—” she began.
“Listen,” said Brian.
And then she heard it. A very soft rattle.
“Maybe it’s Ollie,” said Coco, but she realized she was whispering.
“Maybe—” said Brian, and then there was a bang, right next to them, like someone had slammed a fist against the wall. They both jumped.
Now all was silent. They listened. Nothing. “Where’d it come from?” Coco asked, hearing her voice go thin with anxiety.
“I don’t know—” Brian began.
Another rattle. Coco turned.
“There?” asked Brian. He pointed. To their right was a door labeled UTILITY CLOSET.
“Who would be in—?” Coco broke off. The door was shaking on its hinges, knob going back and forth, like someone inside was trying to turn it. But it was locked. Who would be in there?
“Ollie?” called Brian. “Ollie, that’s not funny.”
No answer. The door shook again.
Brian said, staring at the door, “Do you think—”
“I don’t know,” said Coco. “I thought I heard—listen.”
Brian shushed. Silence fell once more in the hall. The door was still.
And then Coco heard a voice.
A very small, very scratchy voice whispered, from behind the closet door, “Is anyone there?”
They both froze.
“Can I come out?” said the voice. “I’m scared.” The door handle jerked up and down.
“But,” said Brian, “if that’s not Ollie, then who is talking?”
Coco didn’t say anything. Her mouth and throat had gone dry.
The tiny trembling voice only went on, “I’ll be goodest. I promise. I promise!” The door rattled harder than ever. “Let me out! Let me out!”
Coco and Brian looked at each other. “Was there someone else in the lodge? That we didn’t know about?” Coco asked. But she knew there hadn’t been.
“No,” whispered Brian.
“Should we open the door?”
“Definitely not.”
“Whoever it is, they’re scared,” said Coco.
The closet door rattled again.
Coco’s hand darted out, hesitated on the handle. “Coco!” cried Brian.
But before she could lose her nerve, Coco wrenched the knob and threw open the door. It wasn’t locked. They both stumbled back. She heard Brian’s quick, frightened breath.
They both stared into the closet. But there was nothing in there at all.
4
OLLIE WAS IN the bunk room, pulling on an extra sweatshirt. The bunk room had been warm the night before, but now it was chilly. The whole lodge seemed to be getting colder, Ollie thought. As though the storm outside was pressing inward, creeping in through cracks.
Ollie’s insides were cold too, but it had nothing to do with the storm. She was sad. She was confused.
She’d forgotten how her dad had been before the plane crash. She’d forgotten how silly he could be, how fun. It was more than just bad jokes. It was the way he used to laugh, how things like banana pancakes for breakfast could make him so happy. She’d forgotten all that.
But that morning, her dad had been his old self. He’d been cooking, and laughing, and announcing his pancakes like a circus ringmaster. He’d plunked down the pancakes, winked at C
oco’s mom, and held her hand. Did he—like Coco’s mom? Ollie wasn’t sure what to think about that. Maybe she was imagining things. Coco’s mom wasn’t that special! Ollie’s mom had been special. The most special person who ever lived.
But Ollie’s mom was gone. And now Ollie didn’t know how she should feel.
She thought about Coco. Ollie loved Coco. Coco was like her sister. She would love for Coco to be her real sister. That seemed like a big step, though. And Ollie didn’t want another mother. Absolutely not!
But maybe she was wrong, Ollie thought. Imagining things. What if she went down and told her dad what she was feeling, and he had no idea what she was talking about? She’d be so embarrassed. Maybe none of this was real, and she was anxious over nothing.
More than anything, Ollie wanted to talk to her own mom. She wondered if Mr. Voland knew how. She hoped he did. She was going to help him explore the lodge, talk to him, and when the time was right, she was going to ask him. Casually. About how you talked to ghosts.
At that moment, Ollie’s watch beeped.
She froze.
Ollie’s watch hadn’t changed or made a sound since those dangerous days when Ollie and her friends escaped the corn maze. But now the watch was beeping.
Ollie looked down at it.
Ever since October, there had been a single word, unchanged, on the digital display. LOVE, her watch had said. It was her mother’s final message, sent after Ollie and her friends were safe.
But now the word was gone from the display, as though it had sunk in a gray sea. In its place, a word was struggling to get out. Letters and numbers writhed across the screen. But they were a blur. An S? H? Ollie couldn’t read them.
“Mom?” she whispered. She looked around the room, but of course she was alone. Her heart was beating very fast. “Mom—are you there?” Maybe her mom was there to give her answers after all. If only Ollie could read . . . “What is it?”
For the briefest instant, a new word appeared on the watch face, then vanished as fast as it had come. The beeping stopped.
Ollie shook the watch. Tapped it. Nothing.
The word LOVE did not come back. Neither did the other word. The new word, which Ollie had barely glimpsed.
BEWARE.
Ollie was suddenly aware of the utter stillness of the room. The only sound was the moan of the wind outside. Where were Brian and Coco?
Her watch remained blank.
She waited. Nothing happened. Ollie started to shake. She couldn’t stand still.
She bolted out the door and down the stairs.
Beware what?
Her hand closed tight around the empty watch face.
There was no sign of Brian or Coco in the lobby. Mr. Voland was leaning on the wall by the double-sided fireplace, talking to Mrs. Wilson. She was still digging in the ashes. Her hands were sooty to the elbows, and the corners of her mouth turned down. There was water everywhere from melted snow, but no fire. The lights were still out.
Ollie stepped around the bearskin rug, spared a frown at the bear in the corner. Hadn’t it been on its hind legs before? Maybe Mr. Wilson had a lot of differently posed animals that he switched in and out?
“Oh,” Mrs. Wilson was saying to Mr. Voland, in the tone of someone who was being polite but really just wanted to get on with work. “I didn’t realize that a haunted lodge could be a tourist attraction.”
Mr. Voland laughed his big, warm laugh. “It certainly can,” he said cheerfully. “Give your lodge a haunted reputation, invent some bloodcurdling stories for a few of the rooms, and people will flock—absolutely flock—to stay here.”
“Wish they would flock today,” said Mrs. Wilson sourly, and then she caught sight of Ollie. “Hello, dear!” she called. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Doing just fine, Mrs. Wilson,” Ollie said. Still out of breath from running, she turned to Mr. Voland. “Could I talk to you a second, please?” she said.
Mr. Voland raised both eyebrows. “Ollie, wasn’t it? Certainly.” He walked over to a pair of cowskin chairs on the other side of the lobby and sat down on one. Ollie followed and took the other. She was almost quivering with impatience. The BEWARE on her mother’s watch seemed to be burned onto the backs of her eyelids. She was barely sitting down before she blurted out, “If a ghost wanted to talk to you, how would you talk back? Can you tell me?”
Mr. Voland looked surprised. He thought a moment. Then he said, “I’ll tell you what I know.” He was watching her narrowly. “If you’ll tell me why you’re so interested. If it’s just for fun, I’m afraid that talking to ghosts is not something one does for fun.”
“It’s not for fun!” Ollie burst out, more sharply than she’d meant. But Mr. Voland didn’t look annoyed. He just waited.
Ollie didn’t know what to say. Her watch was her precious secret, even now, when it had gone blank and she was afraid something had happened to it.
“I know ghosts are real,” Ollie said carefully. “You say you’ve seen them. Me ’n’ Brian ’n’ Coco have all seen them too. So I want to know how you talk to them. That’s all.”
Mr. Voland said mildly, “I can’t help you unless you tell me everything, Ollie.”
She glared. He raised his eyebrows, still waiting.
Hesitating, Ollie began again, “My mom died. In a plane crash.”
She darted a glance up at his face. More than anything, Ollie hated sympathy face: that look of solemn pity she got from grown-ups who knew she’d lost her mom. But Mr. Voland looked completely unmoved, except for mild interest. “I am so sorry,” he said. “I assume you are hoping to talk to your lost mother, then? You do realize that talking to her won’t bring her back.”
“I know that,” said Ollie, between clenched teeth. “That’s not what I—”
“Talking to her,” Mr. Voland went on relentlessly, “won’t make you any less jealous of your friend, whose mother is there to worry about her and make her sandwiches, who will always love her more than you. So what do you hope to gain?”
Ollie gaped. “Jealous? Of my friend? You mean Coco? But I—I would never be. That’s not why I wanted . . .” She trailed off, staring at him.
“No?” said Don. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, the two-colored eyes intent. “Then start from the beginning and tell me the truth, Ollie.”
Ollie bit her lip and glared. She didn’t want to tell him about her watch. She didn’t want to tell him anything now. What right did he have to say something like that? She wasn’t jealous of Coco. She loved Coco. Even if Coco could be annoying and sometimes Coco did complain about her mom, and hug her mom, never thinking about how it would make Ollie feel . . .
“I—” Ollie began. But she was cut off by her watch, which started beeping again, loudly and furiously. Ollie looked down. Still blank.
Then she heard a sudden thunder of footsteps down the stairs. Ollie looked up. Brian and Coco came sprinting into the lobby, and both of them were pale and stammering.
Mr. Voland looked once, narrow-eyed, from Ollie’s still-beeping watch to Brian’s and Coco’s frightened faces. But he didn’t say anything about the watch. Instead he turned to Ollie’s friends. “Has something happened?”
They launched into speech together. He raised a hand. “One at a time, please.”
Taking turns, Brian and Coco blurted out a strange story about a rattling closet and a voice inside, begging. “But when we opened it,” Coco finished breathlessly, “no one was there.”
Ollie frowned, listening. The word closet rang a bell. Something she’d dreamed?
“Well,” Don said, “it seems that the simplest course will be to investigate this closet.” He looked excited. “The sooner the better.” He took off up the stairs at once. Brian and Coco, after a brief hesitation, tagged along at his heels, looking anxious, leaving Ollie behind.
Ollie’s watch had
stopped beeping, but the face was still blank.
“What are you trying to tell me?” Ollie whispered.
No answer. Ollie clenched her fists and hurried after Brian and Coco. She couldn’t let anything happen to her friends. She had to find a way to talk to her mom!
She caught the others at the top of the stairs. Ollie gave the rest of the hallway a suspicious look, but there was no one there except for them.
“Is this the closet?” Mr. Voland was asking Brian and Coco.
“That one,” said Brian, pointing. It was a plain white door with a sign that said UTILITY CLOSET. He and Coco were both looking at that ordinary closet door like it contained snakes.
“Excellent,” said Don, rubbing his hands together. “Well, first let us see if the situation repeats itself. A knocking, was it? Hush, let us listen.”
They all fell silent. Ollie glanced again at the empty gray screen of her watch. The sight made her feel cold and scared, as though a steadying hand had gone.
Silence lay thick in that lodge. But it wasn’t, Ollie thought, an empty silence. It felt heavy now. Aware. Like someone was watching them, just around the corner. The back of her neck prickled. She looked up and down the hallway. Still no one but them.
“Nothing so far,” said Don, after they’d listened in silence for a few minutes. His eyes were bright and eager. “Now we’ll see what’s inside the closet.”
When he reached out and opened the door, Brian and Coco took a step back.
But the closet was empty. Just some brooms, a few spray bottles.
“Nothing,” said Ollie.
“No—wait,” said Brian. “What’s that?” He pulled out his phone and shined the light into the closet. Ollie, standing behind him, saw a curving line carved raggedly into the back wall, half concealed by the mops. Above the line were two vertical slashes. Together they made . . .
“It’s a face,” said Coco, whispering. “It’s sort of like a smiley face.”
“Old graffiti,” said Don. “Not everything has to do with ghosts. Even the sturdiest ghost isn’t going to go carving things into walls.”
Dead Voices Page 5
