Ghostlight

by Sonia Gensler

  He grimaced. “You sound like my therapist.”

  “I just don’t want you to get in trouble anymore. I mean, we might have more movies to make together.”

  He ducked his head, so I couldn’t be sure how he felt about that suggestion.

  “Come on.” I tried to make my tone light. “We should catch up with Blake and Lily.”

  Hilliard House stood tall and gloomy under gray clouds, its narrow door like a puckered mouth holding back secrets. Grandma’s little blue car looked out of place in the driveway, as if it had traveled through a wormhole to the past. Our plan had sounded pretty crazy in theory, and now that it was actually happening, my courage was ready to sneak out through a back alley.

  Grandma stepped out of the car and slammed the door. “I forgot the key.”

  I glanced at Julian. “I think we left the door unlocked last time. We, um, got a little spooked.”

  “I suppose I’d better brace myself for damage, among other things.” She wiped her damp face with a handkerchief.

  We fell into line on the brick path, Blake leading the way. At the foot of the steps he came to a halt and turned. “Who’s going to open the door?”

  I glanced at Julian.

  He nodded encouragingly.

  I straightened my spine. “I should do it.”

  The knob was a little cold to the touch, but the longer I held it, the warmer it got. I gently leaned against the door, trying to think friendly thoughts. We just want to help, I said in my head over and over. Finally the knob turned, and the door opened. The light fixture still lay sprawled on the floor, and that rush of sadness came at me again, making me shiver.

  Julian was right behind me. “Man, that really hits you in the gut.”

  I stepped around the fallen fixture and waved at Grandma to come in. As she crossed over the threshold, the temperature dropped. I looked beyond her to where Blake and Lily stood at the edge of the porch. Without even looking up at him, Lily slipped her hand into Blake’s.

  “Are you okay?” Blake called out.

  I gave the thumbs-up. Then I went straight to the staircase and gathered up the doll, placing the head carefully on its soft midsection. With my free hand I reached for Grandma. “You all right?”

  She nodded, and I swear I heard her teeth chatter. I squeezed her hand tightly and looked around me. When we’d run out of the house last time, the double doors on either side of us had been shut. Or at least I thought they had. Now they were open.

  “We’ll do this in the parlor,” I said. “That’s where they found me all those years ago, wasn’t it, Grandma?”

  “They said you were asleep on the floor, right in front of the fireplace.”

  The words were barely out of her mouth before I heard a familiar creaking. The air around us stilled, and I watched Julian’s jaw drop as if it were happening in slow motion. My ears ached from a sudden pressure.

  I squeezed Grandma’s hand and braced myself.

  Every door in the house slammed shut.

  Grandma gasped and pulled me to her. I could feel her trembling, hear the thumping of her heart. Julian sidled over to us, his eyes wide. Just outside the front door Blake shouted and rattled the knob.

  “Stop it, Blake!” I shouted.

  There was a moment of quiet. All I could hear was our breathing.

  Then the doors on either side of us began to shake, slowly at first, then faster, louder, as if dark, wild creatures were desperate to get at us.

  “You have to leave, Julian!” I shouted. “You too, Grandma.”

  She shook her head, squeezing me tighter. “You’re coming with me.”

  I gently pried her arms off me and took her hand, giving her a steady look. “If the doors don’t stop shaking, I won’t go in the parlor. I promise I’ll follow you.” I turned to Julian. “Please take her outside.”

  Julian stared. Then he walked toward the front door. Straightening his shoulders, he reached for the knob, turning it quickly. The door opened without a problem.

  “Go,” I said to Grandma. “If everything calms down, and I’m pretty sure it will, I’ll go into the parlor alone.”

  She squeezed my hand so hard I thought my bones might crack.

  The doors shook even harder.

  “I can’t let you walk into danger!” she shouted. “Just come with us. We’ll figure out a different plan.”

  I leaned in, rising on my toes to speak into her ear. “Grandma, I’m the only one who can talk to Mr. Hilliard. I’ve done it before, and he didn’t touch a hair on my head. I must have felt pretty safe if I fell asleep in this house.”

  “Let me come in there with you, then.”

  I shook my head. “Trust me, Grandma. You’ll be able to see me through the window.”

  Her eyes said lots of things to me in the next few seconds. They spoke of her fear, but also of her love. She pulled me close for an instant. Then she let go and turned away, and I could hear her praying as she followed Julian out the front door.

  As soon as the front door slammed shut, the horrible rattling eased.

  “It’s just me now,” I said softly.

  The doors on either side of me stilled entirely, and a silence fell over the house. That strange despair still twisted in my gut like nausea, but it no longer lapped over me in waves. I took a breath and stepped to the parlor doors, touching my fingers to the right-hand doorknob.

  “Let me in? Please.”

  The knob warmed and turned easily for me. I took another deep breath, bracing myself. Then I pushed the door open and walked through.

  I paused at the edge of the room. After all the crazy rattling, I half expected the room to be a wreck, but nothing looked out of place. The room felt different, though, as if it was a living thing that had been crouching in wait, its muscles tensed for decades.

  A knock at the window made me jump. I slowly stepped toward it, easing the yellowed curtains open. Grandma and Julian stood just outside, with Blake peering over their shoulders.

  I nodded. I’m okay.

  Grandma clasped her hands to her mouth.

  I turned to face the fireplace. The dusty old rug lay in front of it, and I tried to remember lying there, falling asleep. The memory hovered at the edge of my mind, but at this point I doubted I’d ever catch it.

  I shrugged out of my knapsack and eased it to the floor by the fireplace. Then I took the doll and placed her body on the left side of the mantel, gently setting the head on top. Once the doll was arranged, I pulled the photograph of Margaret Anne and Aileen out of the knapsack and set it on the right side of the mantel.

  Within seconds the room turned cooler.

  I pulled one last item from the knapsack—Julian’s tablet. We’d rehearsed a quick opening of the file, but my hands were shaking as I expanded it to full screen. When it was ready to go, I set it on the mantel between the doll and the photograph, just below the framed picture of the first Hilliard House.

  “I want to show you something,” I said.

  Silence was my only answer.

  “When we first came here, we had the story all wrong. I think we’ve got it right this time.”

  I tapped Play on the tablet and stepped back as the light from the screen brightened the room.

  The film opened with Blake’s wide shot of the cemetery, just as I’d planned several nights ago in the attic. Julian and I had sifted through all our clips to find the best footage, and he’d edited them so they’d flow more smoothly. He’d also added an antique filter that made the whole thing look like an old film.

  The camera moved in on me standing near the cemetery sign, and it was odd to hear this black-and-white version of myself talk about the Hilliard family and how they’d settled the area. When the camera focused on Elizabeth and Margaret Anne’s gravestone, I felt a shift in the air. It wasn’t a change in temperature—more like a static charge. My hair seemed to lift a little, and my heart pounded faster.

  The scene moved to Hilliard House, with Blake’s foot
age of me talking about Joshua Hilliard’s life. Blake and I had coaxed Grandma into letting us use the photographs from Grandpa’s albums, so while I spoke of Joshua’s time at war and his marriage to Elizabeth Anne, the scanned images smoothly transitioned in and out.

  During a close-up of Margaret Anne and her dandelion hair, I glanced sidelong at the old framed photograph above the mantel and saw a flicker in the glass. My heartbeat quickened, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn around. When I looked at the photograph straight on, nothing was there.

  Now Mrs. Shelton appeared and spoke of Margaret Anne’s visits to the farm. The air around me shifted again, this time as if a storm was gathering in the parlor. A chill concentrated right behind me, and my ears popped.

  He was there.

  Every hair on my body lifted as I fought the urge to back out of the room.

  I focused on the video again. When Mrs. Shelton spoke of eggs, batter, and death, the pressure in my ears almost became unbearable, and that familiar wave of sorrow washed over me until I thought I might drown in it. Just as I was about to curl up on the floor and sob, it stopped. The final scene was rolling, and there I stood under a tree speaking directly to Joshua Hilliard. It was the last thing we’d filmed before Julian and I started editing.

  “I never really knew you, Mr. Hilliard,” said the film version of me. “You died before I was born, but you were a friend to my mom when she was a lonely girl growing up on the farm. I think you were a friend to me when I was little, though I still can’t remember. I’m sorry you never knew what really made your daughter sick. I’m sorry that others blamed you for her death, when it was something out of your control. I’m sorry you spent your life afraid they might be right. And I’m sorry that members of my own family thought you were a bad person. We know the truth now. I hope that lots of people will see this and understand. But most of all, I hope you can rest in peace.”

  I let out the breath I’d been holding, expecting the screen to fade to black. A title rolled instead—Julian must have added it after I’d left the cottage.

  GHOSTLIGHT

  BY

  AVERY MAY HILLIARD

  Behind the words was an image of a lighted window. The light flickered, and then the screen went blank. It was a small thing, but so perfect that my eyes started to prickle.

  For a moment all was still. I held my breath, waiting for…I didn’t know what.

  Then I felt a slight pressure on my right shoulder, as if a hand lightly rested there. I couldn’t turn my head—my body had seized up—but I glanced at the framed photograph and saw the shadowy outline reflected in the glass. My heart pounded so hard that even my lips were trembling, but I did my best to smile.

  The shadow vanished.

  “Good-bye,” I whispered.

  When we were certain the calm was real and lasting, we took some time setting things right in the house. Blake and I collected broken bits of light fixture and dragged them outside, while Julian and Lily grabbed old towels from the car to clean the upstairs bathroom. Grandma took a broom to the worst of the dust and mouse droppings.

  “Once the cleaners are gone tomorrow,” she said, “we need to find the mouse holes and plug them up. You know I don’t hold with poison or traps.”

  We went from room to room, opening curtains and shades, sweeping up mouse droppings and dead flies, all the while collecting small bits that Grandma wanted to save. When she and I came to the room with the sad old bed frame, I lifted the corner of the quilt to show her. “This was made by Aileen Shelton’s mother. See the initials?” I pointed to the embroidered S.F. “I don’t know her first name, but the last name was Forney. It’s got to be hers, right?”

  “Seems likely,” Grandma said.

  I ran my finger along the tiny, even stitches of the flowery patches. “May I have it? And take it back to Dallas?”

  Grandma reached out to touch the torn binding. “You’ll have to sew up the damaged areas first. I’ll show you how, and you can do your work in the sewing room. Then you’ll have to take care with washing it and hanging it out to dry.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be a lot of work. Are you prepared for that?”

  I nodded. “I really want it.”

  “All right, then.”

  When we took the quilt downstairs, we found Lily standing alone in the parlor. She stared up at the doll.

  “You were right, Lily,” I said. “Mrs. Shelton told me she was Margaret Anne’s doll.”

  Lily nodded without looking at me. “Does she have a name?”

  “Bettina. She came all the way from Germany as a present from Margaret Anne’s daddy.”

  Lily turned to Grandma. “I broke it that night we scared Avery.”

  Grandma moved to the mantel and reached toward the doll.

  “The head’s just sitting on top,” I said quickly.

  Grandma gently brought the head down and studied it. “There’s a crack in the back of the hair, but we could fill that. And it’s easy enough to anchor the head back on.”

  “It also needs its stuffing replaced,” Lily said. “A mouse got to it.”

  Grandma placed the head in Lily’s hands. “Come over to the house and I’ll show you how to sew up the body and wash her clothes. You won’t be able to play with her—she’s too delicate for that—but you could set her on a shelf and admire her. She’s very old and precious.”

  Lily looked into the doll’s eyes. “I want to fix her, but…she belongs here. Do you think the new owner would take her?”

  Grandma smiled. “Maybe we could make a shadow box for her. Then we could offer it as a housewarming present. Now that I think of it, I have plastic and paper bags in the trunk of the car. Avery, why don’t you and Lily get those doll pieces wrapped up for the drive home?”

  On the way out we passed Blake sweeping the front hallway. He paused to wink at Lily, reaching out to tweak one of her curls. She giggled.

  As soon as we were on the brick path leading down to the car, Lily looked up at me, her eyes shy. “Your brother is so cute.”

  I groaned. “He’s a little old for you, don’t you think?”

  “Well, he is now. But when I’m twenty-one, he’ll be…twenty-seven, I think?”

  “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

  She sighed. “We could get married then.”

  “You really do like to plan ahead, don’t you?” I opened the driver’s side door of Grandma’s car to pop the trunk. “Well, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to marry Blake. For one thing, his feet are really smelly.”

  “But he’s tall, and strong, and smart…”

  “Um, I’m not so sure about that last one.”

  “Well, you’re smart, and he’s your brother, right? Your mom must be smart ’cause she’s a lawyer. I bet your dad is pretty smart, too.” She looked back at the house. “Does Blake look like him?”

  I shut the car door a little too hard. Then I turned to follow her gaze to where Blake stood in the doorway, sweeping dirt and bits of broken glass into a dustpan.

  Mom and I had dark hair, but Blake’s was kind of medium blond. Mom’s eyes were brown, but Blake’s and mine were blue. Blake was already way taller than Mom, who was petite like me. Why had I never asked myself where his blond hair, blue eyes, and long legs came from?

  I turned back to Lily. “I never thought about it before, but yeah. I’m pretty sure Blake does look like our dad.”

  She smiled. “That’s cool.”

  I glanced at Blake again. He was staring at the full dustpan like he really just wanted to dump it on the grass. But then he sighed and walked it into the house, probably to find the big garbage can Grandma had set up in the kitchen.

  “Actually, Lily, it is cool.” I pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “It really is.”

  —

  By the time we’d sorted the trash from the keepsakes and carried it all out to Grandma’s car, the sky was rumbling with thunder and every belly groaned from hunger.

  “
Looks like it might finally rain, so let’s head on back,” Grandma said. “I have enough chicken and squash casserole in the Crock-Pot to feed us all twice over.” She turned to Julian. “As soon as we get to the house, I’ll call your daddy and invite him, too. That man is too skinny for my liking.”

  Julian nodded.

  “Lily can ride back with me, but the rest of you have to walk. The car is too full of that thing’s innards.” Grandma raised her head to consider the house. “It’s mighty handsome, though, isn’t it? Two days ago I couldn’t wait to be rid of it, but now I’m a little sad to say good-bye.”

  “Why can’t you just keep it, Mrs. Hilliard?” Lily asked.

  “Sweetie, I can barely keep up with my own business, that’s why. I don’t have the energy to give this house the attention it needs.” She wiped her hands on her slacks. “I believe the buyers have grand plans.”

  “Is a big family buying it?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “A young married couple. The wife grew up in these parts, and they want to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast. Good luck to them, I say. It’s quite an undertaking.” She patted Lily on the head. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go eat.”

  Blake and Julian were quiet on the walk back to Grandma’s house, and the silence made me squirmy. I guess it wasn’t easy to make small talk after you’d laid a ghost to rest and busted your behind to clean his house afterward.

  My thoughts stayed with Hilliard House as we walked. We’d left it a little tidier than we found it, but I longed to see how the house might shine if the right people put hard work and love into it. I imagined gleaming floors, polished woodwork, and fresh wallpaper. Floral curtains and beds made up with bright quilts and frilly bed skirts. Old-fashioned framed prints and photographs hanging on the walls. I saw the dining room filled with guests who’d worked up an appetite exploring the hills and hollows of Carver County. People hungry for history and interesting tales.

  “Oh,” I breathed.

  Blake nudged my shoulder. “What?”