The Van Apfel Girls Are Gone

by Felicity McLean

  ‘How do we start?’ I said.

  We were lying flat on our stomachs around the board, legs fanned out, arms reaching forward, so that each girl had one finger on the upturned cup.

  ‘Do we need to say something to bring the spirits out?’ I asked. ‘Like an incantation or something?’

  ‘No inkan-nations,’ Nicole said firmly, wresting back control. ‘Local ghosts only. But everyone has to close their eyes while I say a spell to call up the dead spirits to see if they’re willing to talk.’

  I felt the queasy burn of embarrassment because she hadn’t understood my word and I wriggled uncomfortably on the tiles.

  ‘If Cordie closes her eyes now she’ll fall asleep,’ Lor whispered to me and I snuck a look in the direction of the armchair and there was Cordie, sullen and sleepy and curled in a ‘C’ like an animal trying to burrow into shallow dirt. She must have been worn out from all that dancing.

  The Nicole-girl started to chant then and I was surprised by her voice, by the deep, guttural sound it made, and by the music of her words. She was talking about ravens and nightshades and spirits and death. She rhymed ‘vermilion’ with ‘cotillion’ when I didn’t even know what a cotillion was. ‘That’s from Beetlejuice!’ my sister said indignantly. But no one else heard her, or if they did they didn’t care. Or maybe they just hadn’t seen the movie like Lor had. Everyone seemed more interested in listening to Nicole as she instructed the dead to come to life.

  For one moment after she uttered the words, the air around us seemed to swell almost to the point of splitting. I held my breath and waited, and listened to the shush of leaves sweeping against the verandah roof as the possum moved about in the tree. Hannah and Ruth had been drawn in, I noticed. They’d abandoned Cordie in the armchair and now peered over the back of the couch to watch the ouija board. Twin sets of eyes. Four chicken-wing arms splayed.

  ‘Told you so,’ Hannah muttered after several seconds of silence. ‘See? Nothing.’

  Ruth nodded and looked satisfied, and she turned her head away, but in the next instant the plastic cup moved. It skidded across the board and stopped hard on ‘Community Chest’. We screamed. And the sound punched a hole in the dark.

  Next came the noise of the body on the roof. The possum landed on the waves of corrugated iron with a beautiful, terrible bang. We screamed again – long and loud – and when we finally stopped we could make out a scrabbling sound across the roof, a scritch-scratch of sharp pointed nails, and we tripped over each other in our panic to get away. Someone bumped the reading lamp and its beam teetered drunkenly, and we screamed in horror, and our screams made us scream even more. The ouija board was knocked over and the box was tipped off the table. Monopoly money fluttered in the air like moths. Finally a man’s voice called out sardonically from some deeper part of the house: ‘Jesus Christ, haven’t youse ever heard a possum on the roof?’

  The lights came on then, flicked by Hannah’s smooth hand, and we stood in its glare, not meeting one another’s wild eyes.

  ‘It moved! The cup moved!’

  ‘Did it?’ Ruth said. ‘I didn’t see it.’

  ‘You weren’t watching! It moved! All on its own!’

  ‘You did it,’ Hayley said, pointing at me. ‘You moved it.’

  Her birthday was not going how she planned.

  ‘I didn’t move it,’ I protested.

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘No, I didn’t! Someone else must’ve done it!’

  ‘A spirit,’ the Nicole-girl said.

  ‘There’s no such thing as spirits,’ Laura snapped.

  ‘There is,’ Ruth said quickly, and she looked set to quote a Bible verse at us but Laura cut her off: ‘So what does it mean then? “Community Chest”. “CC”. What’s that supposed to mean? What was the spirit trying to say?’

  ‘Maybe “C” stands for a place or a name?’ I suggested. ‘Or maybe “see”? Like: “look see”? But look at what? What did it want us to look at? Something starting with “C”?’

  Nobody knew, but everyone was getting tired.

  ‘Look at this mess,’ Hayley said, pointing at the Monopoly money that had scattered all over the tiles. Her mum would be in again in a minute and she’d be on at Hayley to tidy it up.

  ‘That crap always takes ages to pack away,’ Ruth said sagely.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  We grew older and also younger at the party after that. We were scornful of our séance (‘What ghost comes back to play Monopoly?’ Laura scoffed), but we were spooked too. And I was adamant I wasn’t the one who moved the cup, but then, so was everyone else.

  It was a relief when Dad came to collect us shortly before ten o’clock. When he arrived Hayley’s mum brought him to the doorway, where the two of them stood side by side, looking bemused while we crawled around on the cork tiles picking up paper money. While they watched us Dad told Hayley’s mum all the things she already knew. (That my sister and I had to go up the coast early in the morning. That the Van Apfel girls had to go to church. And that he was sorry to knock on their door at almost ten o’clock at night but that he didn’t reckon they’d be getting much sleep anyway.) And seeing Dad there and hearing his voice was the comfort I hadn’t realised I needed. I could feel the fear of the past few minutes falling away until it lay there spooled at his feet.

  ‘You lot ready?’ he said.

  Laura and I nodded.

  ‘Ready, Mr Malloy,’ Ruth said, standing up. She hauled Hannah up by the arm.

  ‘Who’s missing?’ said Dad. ‘Shouldn’t I have five?’

  ‘Where’s Cordie?’

  ‘Did Cordie do the séance?’

  ‘What séance?’ said Mrs Stinson, alarmed.

  ‘Where’s Cordie?’

  ‘She was in the orange chair before.’

  We all looked at the armchair that sat solitarily in the corner, its cushion sucked inwards like a rind. For several minutes there was confusion while we tried to work out whether Cordie was really missing.

  ‘How can you not know?’ Dad asked, mystified. ‘What’ve you girls been doing?’

  Someone thought she might be in the bathroom but that turned out to be Hayley’s younger brother. ‘No chicks in here,’ he said sadly, exiting the bathroom.

  ‘I’ll get Mr Stinson to search outside,’ Mrs Stinson said in a tight voice and she disappeared down the hallway.

  ‘I’ll go too,’ Dad called after her. ‘Have you got an outside light here somewhere?’

  ‘You don’t need a light,’ a voice behind us announced. We wheeled around and there, standing in the doorway that led onto the verandah, stiff-necked and ashen-faced behind his dark beard, stood Mr Avery from 6A. He knocked awkwardly on the doorframe, even though the door was wide open. We’d never bothered to shut it the whole night. Next to him stood Cordie, who was still in her swimming costume. While he was fully clothed. He gripped his car keys like a badge and wore his laceless leather shoes. Her hair hung loose and limp and faintly chlorine green. And in the half-light of the doorway that sliced them front to back, the babyish swell of her stomach shone like a seal’s.

  ‘Can I come in?’ Mr Avery said, but he made no move to.

  ‘Cordie!’ Hannah cried.

  ‘I found her,’ said Mr Avery, ‘walking along the side of the road in the dark.’

  ‘Which road?’ Mrs Stinson said urgently. She was back now, along with her husband, and the two of them stood next to Dad in the centre of the room.

  We all waited to hear Mr Avery’s answer as if the name of the road was important. As if that was the detail that might clear things up.

  ‘Blaxland Road,’ he said and we nodded. We knew it. Blaxland Road was only a short walk away. It ran perpendicular to this street and it led to the local pool. We’d driven it a thousand times before tonight.

  ‘She was sleepwalking,’ Mr Avery said. ‘At least, I think she was. She didn’t seem to know how she got there, and I was a bit confused too. A bit thrown by the swimming costume,
you know.’ He turned red at having pointed out that Cordie was in her cossie. ‘Because of – because of the pool. I thought maybe she was going to the pool on Blaxland Road . . .’

  We stared at Mr Avery then as if we hardly recognised him at all. I heard he prefers boys. I heard he’s been in jail. He looked different, but no less formal, when he was wearing his weekend clothes. Maybe we’d never known him to begin with.

  Dad spoke first. ‘You thought she was going to the pool at ten o’clock at night? In the dark, all by herself?’ he said incredulously. He stepped towards Mr Avery and they began to talk between themselves in that infuriating way adults do when things get interesting. But we girls got the giggles then anyway, and we laughed, half with shock, half with relief, at the punchline that stood in the doorway. Sleepwalking! That was all. Cordie had sleepwalked away from us. There was nothing more sinister about it than that. Only, Cordie didn’t laugh. Her face stayed still and sullen for the entire time Mr Avery talked to Dad. ‘It’s none of my business what she was doing out there,’ I heard Mr Avery say defensively. ‘I was more worried about bringing her back!’

  Mr Avery left after that and the five of us got ready to go home with Dad.

  ‘I’ll walk you out the front,’ Mrs Stinson said.

  ‘Actually, we’re out the back,’ Dad said. ‘We’re parked in the street behind.’

  ‘Let me turn the outside light on for you then,’ she said and she lit up the backyard for us.

  We trailed Dad out the back door, past the pool and through the gate in the chicken-wire fence at the bottom of the yard. Hannah held tight to Cordie’s hand the whole way. Then out in the street behind the Stinsons’ place we saw Mr Avery getting into his little red hatchback. It seemed odd for such a hairy man to have such a dainty car. Dad patted the bonnet as we walked past as if to say: ‘On your way.’ But when I walked behind Dad and did the same thing, the engine of Mr Avery’s car was cold to touch.

  ‘Hey, that car’s been sitting out here the whole time —’ I started to say. But Dad bundled me into our car and we drove away.

  ‘It was cold,’ I protested as we sped through the dark. Each slice of pale light that fell from the streetlights got sucked under our wheels as we passed. ‘I’m not making it up, I swear. You felt it, didn’t you, Dad?’

  But Dad had a bigger problem than Mr Avery and his cold engine.

  ‘You won’t say anything to our parents will you, Mr Malloy?’ Hannah asked him anxiously. ‘You won’t tell Dad about Cordie’s sleepwalking, will you? About her wandering off?’

  Dad stared at the road like he was weighing it up, like he’d rather not say anything to the Van Apfels given the choice. Eventually he replied: ‘You know I have to, Hannah. Why don’t we explain it to your parents when I drop you off?

  ‘I’m sure they’ll understand,’ he said unconvincingly.

  * * *

  When we pulled up at the Van Apfel house that night – with its crosshatched windows, those twisted spiral stairs – Mr Van Apfel appeared from underneath the rising garage door like a televangelist stepping onto the stage. He waved hugely. As though he was guiding our car along a runway and not into his flagstone drive.

  ‘The return of the prodigals!’ he announced to the night. And in the glow of the interior car light I saw Cordie roll her eyes.

  ‘You better believe it,’ Dad said under his breath, and he stepped out of the car to speak with Mr Van Apfel and the rest of us scrambled out after him so we could hear what he said.

  On the drive there were two startlingly bright security lights fixed to the corners of the garage. Their beams angled together at a single point where Mr Van Apfel stood. Tiny insects buzzed around his head.

  ‘Graham,’ Mr Van Apfel pumped Dad’s hand enthusiastically. ‘Thanks for bringing the girls home. Carol and I hadn’t planned to take them to the party – we’ve got the Rise Up service in the morning, you see. So if it weren’t for you and Susan driving them there and picking them up afterwards, they wouldn’t have got to go at all. Isn’t that right, girls?’

  The girls said nothing.

  ‘It was no trouble. But look,’ Dad started to say, ‘tonight when I picked them up —’

  But Mr Van Apfel wasn’t finished.

  ‘The Rise Up service used to start at eight-thirty but they’ve pushed it back slightly to nine,’ he explained. ‘Even then, do you think I can get these girls out of bed on time? I need to prise them out on a Sunday morning.’

  He laughed and raked his fingers through his hair in mock anguish at his sleepy daughters. The insects scattered at the swipe of his hands, then immediately resumed their circling with more urgency than before.

  Dad cleared his throat and looked ready to try again, when Ruth pushed past him and into the spotlight.

  ‘Cordie sleepwalked away from the party!’ she blurted. ‘She disappeared and she only came back when that man-teacher returned her!’

  ‘What?’ Mr Van Apfel’s eyes narrowed. ‘What man-teacher? What are you talking about?’

  The insect-circling got more violent.

  ‘And what do you mean she sleepwalked away? I thought you weren’t present for the sleepover part?’ He spat out the words as if they were distasteful to him. As if all those ‘P’s were disgusting.

  ‘Actually, that’s what I need to talk to you about.’ Dad spoke casually but there was an edge to his voice that I knew meant he was ready to be firm if he had to. It wasn’t hard to imagine him handing out detention to his Year Nine students when they were acting like dills.

  ‘Ruth’s right,’ Dad said.

  Ruth blushed. It wasn’t a phrase she was used to. She shot a smug smile at her sisters, but a death stare from Hannah was enough to set her straight and her smile slipped quickly to the ground.

  ‘When I arrived to collect the girls tonight, it seems that Cordie had sleepwalked away from the party,’ Dad said. ‘Don’t worry – she didn’t get far. And Hayley’s parents were both at the house for the party. They were made aware of Cordie’s disappearance almost as soon as it happened.’

  Mr Van Apfel looked stony.

  ‘Anyway,’ Dad went on, ‘it turns out she’d wandered out the back and got herself onto Blaxland Road and then a passing car saw her and stopped and brought her back to the party —’

  ‘It was Mr Avery,’ I supplied.

  ‘Thank you, Tikka,’ Dad said.

  ‘He’s Cordie’s teacher,’ I said helpfully.

  ‘Mr Van Apfel knows that, champ.’

  ‘He replaced Mrs Harrow so 6H is now 6A. And he coaches the senior girls’ tee-ball team.’

  ‘All right,’ Dad said. He placed his hand on my shoulder, which was his signal that I’d said enough. We practised it sometimes at home.

  Mr Van Apfel listened to all of this with his fingers pressed together to form a tiny tent. His face was impassive.

  ‘You’re telling me that Cordelia’s classroom teacher happened to be driving past at exactly the moment that she sleepwalked out of a party?’

  He spoke slowly and enunciated every painful vowel, and it was like listening to a china plate crack. And the whole time he was talking to Dad, his eyes were fixed on Cordie. He held her there with his stare.

  And Cordie said to Mr Van Apfel: ‘I was wearing my cossie the whole time I sleepwalked away.’ She said it casually as if daring Mr Van Apfel to disapprove.

  And it was only then that I noticed she’d put a cotton dress over the top of her swimming costume to travel home. Its ruffled skirt snapped scornfully in the wind.

  ‘I spoke with Mr Avery when he dropped Cordie back at the party,’ Dad said. ‘He didn’t seem to have any prior knowledge of the party. Or about Cordie being out walking by herself at night.’

  Mr Van Apfel visibly stiffened at this last part.

  ‘He seemed genuinely worried about making sure Cordie was safe,’ Dad said.

  ‘Although,’ Dad spoke with forced lightness now, ‘I’d still report the incident to the Depa
rtment if it were one of my two. Just for the record, you know?’

  ‘To the Department?’ I said. ‘What Department, Dad? Is there a Department for Sleepwalking? Really?’

  I pictured an office of cotton-wool clouds.

  ‘The Department of Education,’ Dad said gravely.

  ‘But what about the car? And the headlights, and the dancing!’ Ruth sounded slightly hysterical by now.

  But Dad look confused.

  ‘I don’t know anything about that,’ he said to Mr Van Apfel sincerely.

  Then Dad said that it was time we got going. Had to be up early. Family thing in the morning. And Mr Van Apfel agreed it was late: ‘We’ve got the Rise Up service ourselves.

  ‘Time I got my Wandering Jew safely home,’ he said cryptically. And that’s when he put his hand on Cordie’s neck and frogmarched her into the house.

  * * *

  ‘How long was Mr Avery’s car there tonight, you reckon?’ I asked Dad once we were inside our own garage at home. ‘In that back lane, behind the party. How long, you reckon?’

  I’d waited until Laura had gone into the house before I asked.

  ‘Jeez, Tik, I don’t know . . .’ Dad trailed off.

  ‘What’s your best guess?’ I urged. ‘Come on, Dad. I’m eleven and one-sixth and you don’t tell me anything.’

  And Dad yielded at that.

  ‘My best guess? My feeling is he’d been there a while, Tik. At least an hour for his engine to cool down like that. Maybe two.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Although, it was only a small car, so maybe it was less. Three cylinder that hatchback, you think?’

  But even one hour meant Mr Avery had been parked there while Cordie danced on the verandah that night, and that the headlights that shone towards the house had been his. My stomach did a strange flip-flop.

  ‘So the bit about him driving past and spotting Cordie sleepwalking along the side of the road . . .’ I said.