by Isobel Bird
She left the room and walked down the hallway. She felt bad about lying to Nora. She could write with other people around. But there was something she wanted to do, and she didn’t want Nora to know she was doing it.
Cooper walked through the lobby to the front desk. She was relieved to see that neither Bryan nor Fiona Reilly was working the desk. Instead, a perky-faced girl she’d never seen before was standing there.
“Hi,” Cooper said when she reached the desk. “Um, I was wondering if you could help me with something?”
“Sure,” the girl said chirpily. “What is it?”
“Well, I’m really interested in the history of the hotel,” Cooper told her. “I was wondering if you have any literature about it or anything.”
The girl frowned. “You know, we sure don’t,” she said, sounding disappointed.
“That’s too bad,” Cooper replied. “I was hoping to find out a little bit more about it.”
“Well, you could ask the Reillys,” the girl suggested. “Their family has owned it since it was built.”
“Oh, I don’t want to bother them,” said Cooper hastily. “I know they’re really busy and everything. Thanks anyway, though.”
She started to walk away when the girl called her back. “There’s someone else who might know something,” she said. “Old Mr. Greaves.”
“Who’s he?” asked Cooper.
“He’s one of the caretakers,” the girl told her. “He’s been here forever. He’s a little cranky, but if anyone is going to know anything, it will be him.”
“Where can I find him?” Cooper asked her.
“Try the basement,” said the girl. “He’s usually down there fussing around with the furnaces and stuff. Just go through the dining room and then down the stairs at the back. You’ll find it.”
“Thanks,” Cooper said. “I’ll go look for him.”
She left the lobby and walked through the deserted dining room. Next to the entrance to the kitchen she found the stairs leading to the basement, and she went down them. She found herself in a long hallway. Pipes ran over her head, and the air was much warmer than it was upstairs. Every so often she heard something rattle as water or steam passed through a pipe.
She walked down the hall, following the pipes overhead, until she came to a large room. A row of furnaces sat at one end of it, and just as the girl at the desk had predicted, there was a man walking around them. He was checking the instruments and occasionally giving one or another of the furnaces a whack with a wrench he carried in his hand. Cooper approached him carefully, not wanting to startle him.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you Mr. Greaves?”
The man turned around and fixed her with a look. He really was old. His skin was wrinkled, and what hair he had left was almost pure white. He looked at Cooper suspiciously. “Who wants to know?” he growled.
“The girl at the desk told me I could find you here,” Cooper said. “I’m one of the guests.”
“Guests aren’t allowed down here,” the man said. “I’ve got work to do.”
He turned around and went back to inspecting the furnaces. But Cooper wasn’t about to give up so easily, so she tried again.
“The girl said that you might be able to tell me something about the history of the hotel,” said Cooper.
Mr. Greaves grunted but didn’t say anything.
“I was hoping you could tell me something about Mary O’Shea,” said Cooper.
Mr. Greaves stopped working on the furnace and turned around slowly. “Where did you hear that name?” he asked Cooper.
“So you know who she is?” Cooper replied, not answering his question.
Mr. Greaves nodded. “Of course I do,” he said. “The question is why you know about her.”
“What can you tell me about her?” asked Cooper.
Mr. Greaves looked at her appraisingly before laughing. “You’re not going to tell me how you found out about Mary, eh?” he said. “Well, good for you. I like that.”
Cooper grinned at him. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s just say that someone told me a little something about her and I want to know more.”
One of the furnaces hissed, and the old man turned to peer at it suspiciously. “Damn things have been acting strange all day,” he said, turning a dial on one of them. Then he turned back to Cooper. “Mary O’Shea lived in this hotel,” he said. “Her parents ran it. She died on the evening of her sixteenth birthday.”
“Do you know how?” asked Cooper.
“She fell,” said the caretaker. “From the east tower room.”
“But how could she fall from there?” asked Cooper. “There’s no balcony or anything.”
Mr. Greaves looked at her curiously, and Cooper knew he was wondering how she could know what the tower room looked like. For a moment she thought he was going to question her further, but then he just nodded. “There used to be a walkway around it,” he said. “The O’Sheas had it removed after their daughters died.”
“Daughters?” Cooper said. “There was more than one?”
“Mary had a twin sister,” said Mr. Greaves. “Alice.”
“And how did she die?” Cooper inquired.
“Same way her sister did,” answered the old man. “She fell from the tower.”
“I’m confused,” Cooper said. “How did they both fall from the tower?”
“They fell together,” Mr. Greaves said simply. “They died together.”
Cooper stared at him. “There were two girls who died that night?” she asked. “And they were twins?”
“No one knows how it happened or why they were up there,” Mr. Greaves said in reply. “They found them in the snow, holding on to one another like they were sleeping.”
Cooper tried to take in this new information. If it was true, why was only Mary appearing to Nora? Why wasn’t Alice’s ghost haunting the tower room? Then Cooper remembered what Mary’s ghost had said. She had been killed by someone close to her. Could it be Alice?
But why? Cooper wondered. Why would one sister kill the other?
“Is there anything else you want to know?” Mr. Greaves asked Cooper, bringing her back to the moment.
Cooper shook her head. “No,” she said. “Thanks for telling me this.”
“There are people who said that Alice and Mary O’Shea weren’t quite right,” said the old man.
“What do you mean?” asked Cooper.
Mr. Greaves shrugged his shoulders. “My grandfather told me that,” he said. “He was the caretaker here when it happened. He found them, almost frozen. I remember him saying that a lot of people were afraid of the girls. They thought they had powers, that they could do things. Bad things. Some peculiar things occurred that year.”
“Like what?” asked Cooper.
“A gardener died mysteriously,” answered the caretaker. “Drowned in the pond. There were other things, but I don’t remember a lot about it. My grandfather didn’t like talking about the girls. No one did.”
Cooper waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. “Well, thanks again,” she said. “I should be getting back upstairs.”
Mr. Greaves suddenly looked straight at her. “Whatever it was that killed those girls, don’t go stirring it up,” he said. “Stay out of that room.”
Cooper nodded. “I will,” she said, knowing even as the words left her mouth that she was lying.
One of the furnaces gave a rumble, and Mr. Greaves turned his attention back to it. “I’m coming. I’m coming,” he said, as if the machine were a person demanding that he come to its aid. “What’s gotten into you today, anyway?”
Cooper left the old man to his work and went back upstairs. As she emerged from the basement she checked her watch. She had only twenty minutes to write her story. Well, it will have to do, she thought as she sat at one of the empty tables in the dining room and opened her notebook.
She wrote quickly, making up some ridiculous story about a girl who answers the door one afternoon only to
discover that there’s a policeman standing on her front step. “Let someone else decide why he’s there,” she thought as she finished up and closed the notebook.
As she walked back to the room where her path was meeting, she thought about everything Mr. Greaves had told her. There was definitely more to the story than Nora had told them—if she even knew it. But unlike the story Cooper had just written, the story of Mary and Alice O’Shea had an ending. It was the beginning that was missing.
CHAPTER 9
Annie stood with her eyes closed, her hands at her sides. I’m ready to die, she told herself. I’m ready to die. She’d been repeating that to herself for the past few minutes, ever since Ginny had told them to stand in a circle and keep their eyes shut. Now the leader was walking around the circle, speaking in a gentle voice.
“Today some of you will die,” she said. “Are you ready? If you should feel the hand of death on your shoulder, will you go willingly?”
Suddenly, Annie heard a gasp from somewhere in the circle. What had happened? She almost opened her eyes, but Ginny’s voice prevented her from doing so.
“Those of you who are chosen should step forward,” she said.
Annie waited to feel a hand on her shoulder. She had already made up her mind that she was going to be chosen, and now she was just waiting for confirmation of that fact. It was a strange feeling. She knew that none of them were really dying, but still she was apprehensive. What would this dying mean? What was going to happen to them? Ginny hadn’t given them any clues.
“Death has chosen.” Ginny’s voice was clear and firm. “Open your eyes.”
Annie opened her eyes and looked around. Half of the class members were standing inside the circle, while the rest of them remained where they had been, looking at those whom death had selected. Annie was surprised to discover that she hadn’t been chosen, and even more surprised that she wanted to cry with relief.
“Those who have died, turn and look at those who are living,” instructed Ginny.
The “dead” turned and faced the people who had not been tapped on the shoulder. Looking at their faces, Annie wanted to cry all over again. Among them she saw Ivy looking back at her, her eyes damp. How did it feel for her to be one of those who had died?
“The dead will now choose one of the living to help them make the journey from this world to the next,” Ginny said. “Please select a partner, someone you feel can best care for you as you pass over.”
The people in the inner circle looked around, searching the faces of those facing them. One by one, they stepped forward and took one of the “living” people by the hand. Annie was happy when Ivy stepped forward and took her hand.
“Will you help me?” she asked.
Annie nodded, unable to speak because of the lump in her throat. The older woman squeezed her hand gently, and Annie choked back tears. There was something very touching about the way Ivy had come to her, and although Annie had no idea what would happen next, she found herself wanting to comfort Ivy.
“What we are going to do now is prepare the dead for their journey to the underworld,” Ginny informed them. “We will do this by creating a death mask for each of them.”
Annie looked at Ivy quizzically. “What does she mean?” she asked.
Ivy shook her head. “Got me,” she said.
“On the tables you will find towels and mask kits,” Ginny continued. “Each kit contains a bowl of water, some plaster bandages, and a small jar of petroleum jelly. Each of the living should take a kit. Then take your dead and find a quiet place in the room. We’ll continue from there.”
Annie left Ivy and went to the table. Sure enough, she discovered that there were plastic bowls of warm water and boxes of bandages and petroleum jelly. She took one of the kits, along with a towel, and returned to Ivy.
“Where would you like to go?” she asked.
“How about over by the windows?” Ivy asked her. “I like the light there.”
They walked to their chosen place and sat on the floor. All around the room other pairs were doing the same. When they were all seated, Ginny said, “Now we will make our death masks. The dead should lie down. The living will then prepare the mask by first smoothing a thin layer of petroleum jelly over the face and neck to keep the bandages from sticking to the skin. Once you’ve done that, you will take the plaster bandages. One at a time, dip them in the water and smooth them over the face of the dead. Don’t get them too wet, and don’t apply them too tightly. Be sure to leave openings for the nose so that your dead can breathe, too.”
There was nervous laughter from the class members at Ginny’s comment. It seemed odd to Annie that she was telling them to make sure that “dead” people could breathe, and she laughed with the rest of them.
“Get started,” Ginny said. “I’ll come around and give you more directions individually.”
Annie looked at Ivy. “Are you ready for this?” she asked.
“We’ll find out,” Ivy replied, stretching out on the floor.
Annie spread the towel over Ivy’s chest, so that only her head stuck out above it. She opened the jar of petroleum jelly and scooped out a little. Then she began to gently apply it to Ivy’s cheeks.
“Remember that you’re preparing a body for burial,” Ginny said as she walked among them. “The dead should not speak or move, and the living should really think of them as dead. Feel the face that you’re touching. Think about the person it belongs to.”
Annie looked at Ivy’s face as she rubbed a thin layer of jelly over it. Her eyes were closed, and her lips were set in a peaceful smile. She looked like she was sleeping.
As her fingers caressed Ivy’s face, Annie really looked at her. She’d only known Ivy for a short time, but she felt close to her.
Once the petroleum jelly was smeared evenly over Ivy’s face, Annie wiped her fingers on the edge of the towel. Throughout the process, Ivy hadn’t so much as moved a muscle. It really was as if she were dead, and Annie was even starting to think of her that way. A respectful silence had settled over the room, and it felt very peaceful and solemn. Annie looked around and saw the other pairs working quietly. She wasn’t surprised to see that some of the participants were wiping their eyes or even crying openly.
“This exercise will bring up many emotions,” Ginny said as she observed the teams. “That’s okay. Cry if you need to. Allow yourself to feel. If you think it’s getting to be too much, just raise your hand and I’ll come to you.”
Annie opened the box of plaster bandages. Taking one out, she dipped it into the warm water and then pulled it through her fingers to wipe off the excess water. She took the now-soft bandage and laid it across Ivy’s forehead, smoothing it over her skin with her fingertips. The bandage conformed to the shape of Ivy’s face like a second skin.
One by one, Annie took the bandages and laid them over Ivy’s face. Slowly her skin was covered by the chalky white strips and the mask formed. Annie was careful not to let any of the water run down Ivy’s neck, and she took extra time with the area around Ivy’s nose. As the mask took shape, Annie wondered what it was like for Ivy to feel her mouth and eyes covered, to feel her skin encased like a mummy in the plaster bandages, which were very quickly drying and becoming hard.
From time to time Annie stopped to stroke Ivy’s hair and to touch the portions of her face that were still uncovered. A calmness had come over her, a calmness mixed with deep sadness that grew deeper as more of Ivy’s real face disappeared, replaced by the cold whiteness of the mask. As Annie laid bandages over Ivy’s eyes, she remembered how brightly those eyes had sparkled. As she covered Ivy’s mouth, she thought about the woman’s carefree laugh. All of these things were gone now, hidden behind the bandages.
“That’s wonderful.” Annie looked up to see Ginny crouching next to her, watching her work.
Annie smiled at her, unable to say anything in response. She didn’t want to talk and spoil the mood. More than that, she didn’t know what she could possibl
y say. Preparing Ivy’s death mask was turning out to be a totally different experience from anything she’d expected. She felt a sense of responsibility toward her, a responsibility to send her on her journey with as much love as she could.
“When you’ve completed your masks, sit with the dead and attend them while the masks dry completely,” said Ginny.
Annie looked at Ivy’s mask. It was finished. Her features were all covered by a blanket of white, the eyes blank and the mouth sealed shut. Annie put the remaining bandages and the bowl of water to one side and just sat beside Ivy. What should I do? she asked herself.
She began to hum quietly as she sat next to Ivy, her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. She found that she was humming a familiar chant that they often used in rituals. We all come from the Goddess, she thought to herself as she hummed the tune. And to her we shall return, like a drop of rain flowing to the ocean. It seemed appropriate for the occasion, with its message of birth and death and rebirth, and she hoped that Ivy didn’t mind her humming it.
After another ten minutes or so, Ginny called to them. “It is now time for the dead to journey to the underworld,” she said. “Will you all help your dead to stand?”
Annie took Ivy’s hand and held it as she sat up. Then Ivy stood, her masked face looking blankly out into nowhere.
“Put your hand on the shoulder of your dead,” Ginny said. “And follow me as we travel to the land of the dead.”
Annie placed her hand on Ivy’s shoulder and put her other hand on her elbow. Ivy shuffled forward as Annie led her in the direction of Ginny. Ginny moved slowly as the masked “dead” followed her with their attendants. She led them to a door at the side of the room that opened out onto a snowy expanse of lawn. When they reached the door, Annie looked out and saw that paths had been shoveled into the snow. The paths spiraled around each other in a circular shape.
“This is the labyrinth that leads to the land of the dead,” Ginny told them as they stood at the doorway. “Each of you will walk your dead through the labyrinth until you reach the center. There you will wait until all the dead have arrived.”
