The Scariest Night

by Betty R. Wright

  She had to tell her parents he was sneaking out on the porch. Cowper would call her a tattletale, but it wasn’t tattling when you told for a good reason. She couldn’t let him go on doing such a dangerous thing.

  Could she?

  “You’re awfully quiet tonight. Cat got your tongue, my queen?”

  Erin looked up guiltily, then returned to pushing her spaghetti around the plate.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” her father persisted. “No, make that a nickel. You look as if you’re carrying quite a load.”

  Across the table, Cowper put down his fork and took a deep breath. Now, Erin thought. Now I’ll tell them.

  She shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she said faintly. “I was just thinking.”

  Mrs. Lindsay made a little face. “Thinking or moping?” she asked. “I’ve forgotten what your smile looks like, Erin. The last time I saw it was—let me see—when we were making the video. What did you do today, anyway?”

  “Watched TV,” Erin replied. “Wrote a letter to Meg. Washed my hair.” And found out Cowper’s practically committing suicide. She pushed the thought away and looked at her mother defiantly. “What’s wrong with writing letters and washing my hair?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with it. You just sound like a little old lady, that’s all. You need some exercise, for goodness’ sake. Some variety. You need to get out of this apartment.” She frowned. “There must be someplace around here where you can use your skateboard. All the sidewalks can’t be as bad as they are in front of this building.”

  “They are,” Erin said. “I’ve looked.”

  “She’s right. The walks are pretty much messed up for blocks around,” her father said. “I don’t think she should try it. Besides,” he added, “skateboarding on city sidewalks isn’t such a great idea. There may even be a law against it.”

  “Well,” Mrs. Lindsay sounded exasperated, “there has to be something she can do besides sit around feeling sorry for herself. If she won’t give the Y a chance …”

  Erin thought of Margaret Mary sulking on the top shelf of Molly Panca’s closet. She hadn’t been back to visit Molly for several days. Tomorrow was Friday, the night they were to go see A Little Princess. Now, more than ever, Erin didn’t want to go. Perfect Sara Crewe would certainly have told her parents at once if she’d discovered that her foster brother was risking his life.

  Well, I’m just not a goody-goody like Sara, she thought. Cowbird’s only three years younger than I am. He knows what he’s doing. It’s not my fault if he acts crazy. It’s not my fault if he gets himself killed.

  For the last couple of hours Erin had been trying to imagine what life would be like if there were no Cowbird. Now she let herself think about it again. Her mother and father would be sad for a while. I might be sad, too. For a while. But then they would go back to Clinton, and everything would be the way it had been before Cowbird came to live with them. Erin could no longer remember exactly what that had been like, but she was sure she had had more fun—and more attention—than she had now. They would be a normal family again, without a genius child who had to be pampered and followed around the country wherever his piano playing took him.

  “Erin, what in the world is the matter with you? You’re absolutely white!”

  Erin jumped, startled by her mother’s question. They were all looking at her, as if they could actually see the wicked thoughts crowding her brain.

  “Nothing’s the matter!” she exclaimed. “I’m okay. I’m fine.” But then, as clearly as if it had already happened, Erin pictured Cowbird falling through the air. Saw him lying on the pavement behind the apartment. With a gasp she leaped up from the table and ran down the hall to the bathroom, barely making it before the spaghetti came back up.

  Her mother followed her. “What’s wrong? Are you coming down with the flu?” She pressed a cool hand to Erin’s forehead. “What’s bothering you, hon?”

  Erin leaned against the bathtub and closed her eyes, shutting out her mother’s anxious face. “I’m all right—my stomach’s just upset.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Erin nodded. “I’m sure I don’t have the flu.” She kept her eyes closed till she heard her mother sigh and go back down the hall.

  “I wish you’d come with us tonight.”

  Mrs. Lindsay stood in the doorway of Erin’s room, looking worried. She was wearing her best red-and-gold print dress and her big gold earrings for the interview with Cowper’s Mr. Salzman. “You still haven’t seen the conservatory,” she coaxed. “And besides, I don’t like leaving you home alone, especially when you don’t feel well.”

  “I don’t mind being alone,” Erin said. She was curled up on the studio couch with Rufus at her feet. “I just want to lie here for a while.” And go to sleep, she added to herself. If she slept, she could stop thinking about the ledge, stop seeing Cowper walking on it, falling from it.

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. Lindsay said doubtfully. “Maybe one of us should stay home.”

  “Are you ready?” Mr. Lindsay called from the front hall. “We have less than twenty minutes to get there.”

  Mrs. Lindsay sighed. She hurried across the room and bent to kiss Erin’s cheek. “I suppose it’ll be all right,” she said. “You just rest, dear. We’ll be back before you know it.”

  Erin pressed her face into the pillow and closed her eyes. She took deep breaths and tried to empty her mind. Go to sleep.

  It didn’t work. After a few minutes she sat up and reached for Rufus. He had moved to the windowsill and was staring longingly through the screen at the ledge below.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Erin went to the window and gathered him in her arms. A storm was building in the west, sending long fingers of lightning across the sky. Erin watched, flinching as the flashes of light came closer and the first drops of rain splattered against the screen.

  Back in Clinton, Erin had always enjoyed storms. From her bedroom window she could watch the swaying branches of the oak tree and the streaming yellow-green “hair” of the giant willows. When lightning flared over the bluffs along the river, it was a beautiful sight, like fireworks. But on Kirby Avenue, the harsh flashes lit up nothing but ugliness.

  Now Rufus noticed the lightning and pushed his head under her arm. Erin wandered down the hall to Cowper’s bedroom and stared out at the ledge. It was slippery-looking in the pelting rain.

  What Cowbird does is none of your business. Why should you care? The harsh voice inside her head refused to be still.

  “I don’t care,” she said out loud. “It’s not my fault if something awful happens to him.”

  Of course it’s not your fault. Nobody can blame you if he takes stupid chances.…

  If only Heather or Meg were close by, they would help her think about something else. If only … But what was the use of wishing? There was no one around to talk to but Molly Panca, and Molly was more like a sweet old aunt than a best friend. Besides, she already knew what Molly would say: “You must love your brother and do what’s best for him, the poor little tyke.”

  It was easy enough to talk about loving if the only people you had to put up with were dolls.

  “Meow!” Another bolt of lightning, startlingly close, sent Rufus hurtling out of Erin’s arms and under the bed. She bent to coax him out, just as a crash of thunder made the apartment tremble. The lights flickered and went off.

  For a moment Erin was too startled to move. Then she stumbled across the bedroom and out into the hall. Where had they put the flashlight when they unpacked the boxes? She pressed against the wall and made her way into the kitchen. The top drawer of the cupboard was her mother’s you-name-it-we-have-it place.

  A moment later Erin had the flashlight in her hand. The thin beam of light sliced through the darkness, guiding her to the foyer. But when she opened the apartment door a crack and peered out, the hall was as black as the rooms behind her. The whole building must be without power.

  Now what? Erin tried not to panic. Sh
e could stay in the apartment, but her family wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours. What if the flashlight battery wore out before then? Or she could go down to Molly Panca’s apartment right now, while she still had a light to help her find her way. She didn’t want to do either, but of the two possibilities, going to see Molly sounded better. They could eat cookies and talk with the dolls (except Margaret Mary, who would probably be pouting, as usual).

  Erin opened the door and pointed the thin pencil of light toward the back stairs. Darkness and her own nervousness transformed the hall into a terrifying tunnel.

  When she reached 405, the door was open a crack.

  “Molly?” She couldn’t keep a quiver out of her voice. “Is it okay if I come in?”

  The voice that answered was not Molly Panca’s. “Sounds like that girl who broke into my apartment while I was sleeping. What’s she want?”

  Mr. Barnhart! Erin backed away. She didn’t feel like being teased.

  “Erin, is that you?” The door opened the rest of the way, and Molly smiled out at her, a candle in one hand. She wore a bright red blouse with a huge bow knotted under her chin, and there was a matching red ribbon tied around her white curls.

  “I just came to visit,” Erin said. “The lights went out and I—” She paused. “My mom and dad are at Cowper’s school—”

  “You mean you’re home alone? Oh, my dear.” Molly touched her arm lightly. “You poor child. Come right in.”

  Erin didn’t move. “You have company—”

  “Dear friends,” Molly corrected her. “They’ve come for a seance, you see. We were just about to start when the lights went, and I had to stop and hunt for more candles.”

  “A seance? You’re having a seance right now?”

  “Oh my!” Molly looked unhappy. “What am I thinking of? I can’t let you stay without your parents’ permission. It seems cruel to send you away, but—”

  “Please!” Erin couldn’t bear to go back upstairs to the dark, empty apartment. “My mom and dad won’t mind,” she insisted. “They’ll be glad I didn’t have to stay alone in the dark.”

  “What’s going on out there?” Mr. Barnhart called from the apartment. “When’re we goin’ to get this show on the road?”

  Molly bit her lip. “I just don’t know,” she murmured, cringing at an especially loud crash of thunder. “Well …” She gave up. “I guess you can stay, dear. But you mustn’t be frightened. We’re all friends here, and the spirits are our friends, too. Do you understand?”

  “I won’t be afraid,” Erin assured her. She followed Molly into the living room eagerly. Talking to ghosts would be scary, but she liked being scared. And whatever happened, it would be a hundred times better than sitting all alone in the dark, with nothing to keep her company but the painful thoughts of the last few hours.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Four people clustered around a card table in Molly Panca’s tiny living room. Mr. Barnhart’s fuzzy white hair shone like a halo in candlelight, and he grinned wickedly at Erin from under shaggy brows.

  “There she is,” he announced. “Best female firefighter in Milwaukee. Come to keep an eye on the candles, I s’pose.”

  Molly shook her finger at him. “Such a tease,” she said fondly. “Erin, I’d like you to meet Miss Edith Brown, and this is her sister, Miss Cora Brown.” Erin nodded at the ladies.

  “We’ve met,” Miss Cora Brown announced. “At the elevator one day. You’d been crying, as I remember.”

  “Crying!” Molly peered anxiously at Erin. “You’re not crying now, are you, dear? Just a bit lonesome in the storm.” She went back to her introductions. “This is Mrs. Grady. You’ve met Mr. Grady. He’s the man who takes care of us all and keeps this building in such fine shape. And of course you know my family.” She pointed at the row of dolls lined up on the sofa. “They look forward to the seances.”

  “We all do,” Mr. Barnhart said dryly. “But it don’t usually take this long to get one started.”

  Molly smiled cheerfully. “Erin’s going to join us this evening, so we’ll need one more minute to get her settled. I’m afraid you’ll have to use the kitchen stool, dear. If you don’t mind.”

  Erin hurried out to the kitchen, grateful to escape Mrs. Grady’s hard stare and the Brown sisters’ curious examination. Good thing I didn’t stop to pick up Rufus before I came down here, she thought. Mrs. Grady looked as if she’d disapprove of pets as much as her husband did.

  When Erin returned to the living room, Molly was seated at the card table beside Mrs. Grady.

  “You can sit over here next to me,” Mr. Barnhart said, moving his chair to one side. “Jest put your fingertips on the table—like you was playing the piano—and watch what happens.”

  Erin obeyed, her heart thumping with excitement. On her other side, Molly Panca leaned back in her chair with her eyes closed. She had put her candlestick on the bookshelf behind her, and the bright little flame quivered and danced above her curls.

  “Now we’re ready to meet our spirit friends,” she said softly. “Tell us, spirits, if you are with us. Let the table tell us.” She began to move her fingers in wide circles over the tabletop.

  There was a long silence, in which the smell of incense seemed to grow stronger. Erin looked at the Brown sisters, both of whom had their eyes closed, and at Mr. Barnhart, who had pretended to close his eyes but was peeking. Mrs. Grady’s eyes were wide open. She stared fiercely at the table, as if daring it to tell her anything.

  Erin felt the hair rise across the back of her neck. She was sure the table had moved, a tiny but unmistakable shift.

  “There she goes,” Mr. Barnhart whispered gleefully. “What’d I tell ya!”

  “Emma Barnhart, are you with us this evening?” Molly Panca spoke in a low, robot voice, completely unlike her own. As if in answer, the battered old card table began to rise, shakily, under their fingertips. For a second it hovered. Then it dropped down again, and two loud knocks sounded from beneath it.

  “Two means yes,” Mr. Barnhart explained in a pleased whisper. “Emma’s here, bless her. Never missed yet, have ya, old girl?”

  “Don’t say ‘old girl.’” Mrs. Grady looked offended. “It doesn’t sound respectful.”

  Mr. Barnhart winked at Erin. “I called my Emma ‘old girl’ when she was alive. Can’t see any reason to do different now. Molly, you goin’ to ask her what I told you?”

  Molly’s face was still. “Emma dear,” she said in the same soft, faraway voice, “John wants to know whether he should go to Chicago to live with your children when we have to leave this building. What do you think?”

  Erin held her breath. A single sharp rap came from beneath the table.

  “I knew it!” Mr. Barnhart looked around triumphantly. “I knew she’d say no. We never did like to depend on our kids for things. Emma wants me to find a new place here in town. Right, old girl?”

  “Well,” Miss Edith Brown snapped, “if you already knew that’s what you were planning, I don’t see why you took up everybody’s time asking. You can put your name in for an apartment in that new low-income place, same as the rest of us.”

  Mr. Barnhart smiled at her. “That’s right,” he agreed. “But I wouldn’t do it without askin’ my Emma.”

  During this discussion, Molly Panca’s eyes remained closed; she’d have seemed asleep if it weren’t for those constantly moving fingertips. She looked, Erin decided, exactly the way a medium ought to look. And the shadowy living room, the soft candlelight, the crashes of thunder were spooky and right. It was the people around the table who were strangely out of tune with the occasion. Spirits and rappings and the mysteriously moving table didn’t startle Molly’s visitors in the least.

  “It’s our turn now,” Edith Brown said. “Is Father here?” The sisters leaned forward expectantly and looked at each other with relief as two raps sounded from under the table.

  “Quick, Molly. Ask him if we should sell the Chinese vase and use the money to go to
Florida this winter,” Cora said with a defiant glance at her sister. “I’m sure that’s what he’ll want us to do.”

  “He won’t!” Edith Brown retorted. “That vase has been in the family for ages.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Mrs. Grady exclaimed. “Why don’t you just—”

  The table rocked sharply, cutting short Mrs. Grady’s advice.

  “Cora and Edith would like your opinion, dear spirit,” Molly murmured. “Do you think they should sell the Chinese vase and go to Florida this winter?”

  Silence.

  “He’s disgusted with us for even suggesting it.” Edith sounded panicky. “I warned you.”

  Cora pressed her lips together.

  “Please tell us,” Molly begged. “Do you think Cora and Edith should go to Florida this winter, spirit?”

  This time the two raps came quickly. Cora Brown gave a crow of delight.

  “Yes! That means we’re going!” she chortled. “Oh, I’m so happy!”

  Edith glared at her sister and then at Molly. “There must be a mistake,” she said fiercely. “He never wanted to part with that vase.”

  “Well, he wants to now,” Mr. Barnhart interrupted briskly. “You can’t argue with the spirits, old girl.”

  Edith Brown sniffed. She looked around the little living room as if she’d gladly argue if she could see someone to argue with.

  “Let’s get on with this,” Mrs. Grady said impatiently. “It’s my turn, Miss Panca. And please don’t expect me to be satisfied with raps and table rocking. That’s all very well for some questions, I’m sure, but my problem is important. Life and death, you might say. I want to talk to Cousin Caroline myself, if you please.”

  Edith Brown sniffed. “As if a rare old Chinese vase isn’t important.”

  Mrs. Grady ignored her. “It’s Cousin Caroline’s daughter I’m worried sick about. Caroline must tell me what she wants me to do!”

  Erin fought down an uneasy giggle. Mrs. Grady sounded as if she expected people—and spirits—to move fast when she gave orders.