The Devil's Hand

by Amy Cross

  Outside, the snow is falling thicker than ever, but I've got a fire burning in the hearth and I've had the girls strip down and wear towels while their clothes dry on nearby chairs. As for myself, I'm still soaking wet, but I shall attend to that shortly. For now, I need to find a way to end this madness once and for all. Abigail Cartwright is not going to be resurrected and the girls have to stop being so foolish.

  “Do you have any idea how Mr. Kane would react if he knew about this?” I ask, still marveling at the ragged, homemade doll that they managed to put together, complete with strands of Abigail's blonde hair tied into the torso. “Have you stopped to imagine the fury that he would bring raining down on your heads?”

  “Are you going to tell him?” Winnie asks.

  “Please don't,” Joyce adds. “Please, Doctor Ratcliffe, he'll be furious!”

  “I'm furious!” I reply, setting the doll down and turning to them. “Voodoo is an outdated, irreligious, uncivilized, savage practice that belongs on the other side of the world, not here in England! I don't even know how you girls know about it in the first place, but the fact that you saw fit to give it a try...” Sighing, I realize that there's fear in their eyes, most likely because they're worried about Mr. Kane being informed. “So are all the girls trying this?” I ask finally. “Does everyone at this school have their own pet theory about how to get in touch with the dead?”

  “Not everyone,” Vera says cautiously, “but... A lot.”

  “You know it's nonsense, don't you?” I continue. “Quite apart from the fact that it's not Christian, it's absolute gobbledegook of the highest order and you should all be deeply ashamed.” To prove my point, I take the doll from the table and head over to the hearth, where I toss the doll into the flames and watch as it starts to burn. “Abigail Cartwright is dead,” I say finally, turning back to them, “and for that matter so is Sissy O'Neill. When people die, they're gone, it's as simple as that.”

  “Yes, Sir,” they all mutter.

  “So what am I going to do with the three of you?” I ask. “What am I going to do with three girls who think... No, scratch that, what am I going to do with an entire school full of girls who apparently think they can get in touch with the dead? This kind of behavior has to stop immediately, because next time I will get Mr. Kane involved and -”

  “Please don't, sir!” Joyce says, stepping forward. “He'll cane us for sure!”

  “Or worse,” Vera adds.

  “You don't know how right you are,” I tell them, before sighing as I realize that it's far too late at night to launch into a lecture now. These girls need their sleep. “For now, you will go back to your dormitory and in the morning you will spread the word among all the other girls. The very next one of you who is caught doing anything like this will be marched straight to Mr. Kane's door and left there at his mercy, is that understood?”

  “Yes, Sir,” they reply in unison.

  “Now get out of here,” I add, “and take your wet clothes with you. Straight to bed!”

  As they gather their things and file toward the door, I make my way over to the window and look out at the raging storm.

  “Please, Sir,” Vera says suddenly, “but... some people say they've seen Abigail. Since she passed away, I mean.”

  I turn to her. “What on earth are you talking about now, girl?” I ask, unable to hide the sense of shock in my voice.

  “It's just something a few of the others are saying,” she continues cautiously. “Not us, we haven't seen her, but... Susan said she thought she saw her in the dormitory the other night, and Polly said she saw a ghostly figure walking silently past the library door yesterday. I know it's probably silly, but...” Her voice trails off, and I can see that she's regretting saying anything.

  “Go to bed,” I tell her firmly, and finally all three girls head out into the corridor.

  Turning back to look out the window, I can just about make out the oak tree in the distance. After a moment I realize I can see a figure out there too, standing just a few feet from the tree. I turn to head to the door, convinced that I have to go out and round up yet another troublesome girl, but suddenly I glance back and watch the distant figure for a moment. She appears to be simply standing completely still, and it's hard not to think that maybe she's watching the school, maybe even watching me in particular. A shiver passes through my chest as I realize that even from here, the silhouette's figure looks almost familiar, as if...

  No.

  Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that I mustn't let foolish thoughts take root in my mind. I head to the window and look out at the figure for a moment longer, watching as snow falls all around, and then I draw the curtains. Turning, I'm about to head toward the door when I hear something tapping on the window. I freeze for a few seconds, before telling myself to ignore such things.

  As I walk toward the door, intending to return to my room, I happen to glance at the fireplace, where the girls' foolish doll is still just about visible as it continues to burn in the flames.

  Part Seven

  IVY JONES

  I

  “Hey Ivy,” Catherine continues, snapping her fingers in front of my face, “have you been listening to a word I've said?”

  Realizing that I haven't, I turn to her. For a moment, I feel as I've been in an absolute daze for the longest time.

  “You didn't say a word during breakfast,” she points out, taking a seat next to me as we wait for Mrs. Kilmartin to arrive for class. “Are you thinking about Sissy again?”

  I want to deny it, but I can't. Nodding, I turn and look back out the window. There's so much snow out there this morning.

  “You couldn't have done anything, you know,” Catherine says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You heard what Mr. Kane said, she -”

  “Oh, damn Mr. Kane!” I hiss, turning back to her. Realizing that I raised my voice a little more than I'd intended, I look around and see that all the other girls are staring at me with shocked expressions.

  “Better not let anyone else hear you say that,” Catherine mutters. “You could get yourself in an awful lot of trouble. Mr. Kane was simply trying to get us to understand that what Sissy did was wrong. It was very, very wrong. Think of her poor family, and think of poor Doctor Ratcliffe having to climb up there and cut her down like that. If you ask me, Sissy was extremely selfish and she should have thought about all the trouble she was causing.”

  “You can't be serious,” I reply, staring at her. “Are you actually agreeing with Kane?”

  “I'm saying that if Sissy is burning in hell, then I can sort of understand it.” She pauses, and I can see that she doesn't really believe what she's saying. She's just trying to suck up to Mr. Kane, which is pretty typical behavior on her part. “Don't cause a fuss,” she continues. “Please, Ivy, no-one wants any more drama. The thing with Sissy was horrid, but we have to leave it be now. Just keep your head down and let's all get through the rest of our time here. Don't let Sissy's weakness get us into trouble.”

  I stare at her for a moment longer, before turning and looking down at the books on my desk.

  “She's right,” a voice whispers suddenly.

  Looking over my shoulder, I realize that Beryl evidently agrees.

  “She is,” adds Prudence.

  “Do you all think the same?” I ask, looking around at the other girls. “Are you swallowing everything Kane said about Sissy? Come on, you knew her better than anyone else, she wasn't a bad person!”

  “She wasn't right in the head, though,” Catherine points out, clearly emboldened by the support she's getting from the others. “Are you going to deny that?”

  I want to hit her. I want to grab her by her lank ponytail, pull her off her chair, and scratch her eyes out. Forcing myself to turn away, I remind myself that I can't possibly do something like that, not in my condition. Besides, the last thing I need is to allow a girl like Catherine to get me into trouble. Easing myself up from the chair, I carefully avoid making eye contact
with her as I limp around the table. I curse my sore knees for slowing me down, but finally I manage to get to the door before stopping as I realize I don't know where to go.

  Before, I would have shuffled and found Sissy. She and I were almost joined at the hip, but now she's gone and I miss her so very much. When I glance back at the table, I see that the other girls are all chatting away, bonded no doubt by their shared view of Sissy's actions. It's as if I'm the only person in this whole school who can see through Mr. Kane's lies.

  ***

  I glance over my shoulder to double-check that no-one is about to come into the dormitory, and then I lean down and start examining Sissy's pillow.

  “Bingo,” I whisper as I find a stray strand of hair resting against the white fabric.

  ***

  “I seek the spirit of Sissy O'Neill,” I announce calmly, sitting on a cushion that I've set on the stone wall out beyond the oak tree, far from the school. “I ask that she comes to me. Sissy, if you hear my words now, offer me a sign.”

  I wait with my eyes closed.

  Nothing.

  A cold wind ruffles my dress, as snow continues to fall all around.

  “Please, Sissy,” I whisper, feeling a rising sense of desperation. “I know you can hear me.”

  Again, I wait.

  Again, nothing.

  “Sissy... I mean, Elizabeth, that was your full first name... If you're anywhere nearby and you can hear me, just offer me any kind of sign.”

  I wait.

  The only sound is my own breath in the cold afternoon air, and an occasional shout from the distant playground.

  I'm holding the strand of Sissy's hair in my right hand, hoping against hope that it might serve as enough of a physical link to summon her spirit. It's not as if I'm an expert in this kind of thing, but I thought about it a lot when Abigail died and I've thought about it even more since Sissy hung herself, and this is the only method of contacting the dead that seems remotely logical. Besides, if Sissy was capable of coming back to talk to me, I'm sure she'd do it, she wouldn't be able to help herself.

  So maybe she can't.

  Maybe she's just gone, or maybe she really is burning in hell. Or maybe I'm just a foolish girl sitting on a wall during her lunch break, making up a silly ritual and trying to tell herself that her best friend isn't really gone forever.

  “We'll always keep in touch,” I remember telling her, when I thought her parents would be the ones to take her away. “I promise.”

  “Oh Sissy,” I whisper now, sniffing back tears. “Why did you have to go and do something so wretchedly awful?”

  II

  “And it is these words,” Mr. Kane continues, his voice filled with certainty and pride as he holds the Bible up for us to see, “that guide our souls. It is these words that show us the path of light when we are in the midst of darkness, but no-one can force us to accept this help. We must reach out for it ourselves.”

  Staring down at my hands, I listen to the sound of his footsteps as he walks around his desk. Just being here in his classroom, just hearing his voice, is enough to make me feel sick. With every second that passes, I have to force myself to stay in my seat, and it doesn't help that out of the corner of my eye I can just about see Sissy's empty chair and the desk where she used to hold her breath whenever she was asked a difficult question. People used to laugh at her and call her simple-minded.

  There are tears in my eyes again, and after a moment I realize that Catherine is watching me from her seat. I glance at her and she stares at me for a moment longer before turning away.

  God, I'm starting to hate Catherine so much. It's as if Sissy's death has brought out the worst side of her.

  “Now why would someone resist the word of the Lord?” Mr. Kane asks, and suddenly I realize that he's much closer now. I look down at the open Bible on my desk as I hear his footsteps approaching along the aisle. I bet he's looking right at me, but I refuse to meet his gaze. “Why would anyone,” he continues, “upon being offered the guidance of the good book, prefer to look away and strike out alone? I know there are those who value independence above all other qualities, but would they do so even in relation to the word of God?”

  His footsteps continue, getting closer and closer until suddenly he stops.

  Glancing toward him, I see that he's looking down at Sissy's empty chair.

  “I think,” he says calmly, “that we have all seen a very recent example of someone who turned away from God and struck out alone into the spiritual wilderness, and I doubt anyone in this room would claim that her decision worked out well. In fact, it might -”

  Suddenly I feel someone tapping my shoulder from behind. I spin around, causing the legs of my chair to scrape against the wooden floor, but all I see is Beryl sitting obediently at her desk. I look the other way, but it's impossible that any of the other girls could reach me and, besides, none of them would do such a thing when Mr. Kane is in full flow. When I turn back to face straight ahead, I see that Mr. Kane is watching me, as are all the other girls.

  “Is there a problem, Miss Jones?” he asks.

  I shake my head, before looking down at the Bible on my desk. After a moment, I hear Kane's stick tapping against the floorboards as he makes his way toward the back of the room.

  “The path of the righteous man is marked by God,” he says firmly. “There is no mystery about this face, it's not a trick or a puzzle. Stay on that path, and God will steer you away from darkness and evil. Stray, however, and there is no telling what might be waiting for you in the wilderness. There is always -”

  Suddenly a scream erupts behind me, and I turn just as Beryl scrambles from her desk and then trips, dropping to the floor while shouting wildly and pointing at the window. I turn to see what has scared her, but there's nothing out there other than more snow falling gently from above.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Kane snaps, slamming his Bible down on my desk as he thunders past and grabs Beryl by the arm, hauling her up. “Have you lost your mind, Miss Simpkins?”

  “Abigail,” she stammers, her face as white as a sheet as she continues to stare at the window. “Didn't you see her too?” She looks around at the rest of us, as if she's desperate for someone to agree with her. “She was right outside! She was staring in at us! Didn't any of you see her?”

  “Get out!” Kane shouts, pulling her toward the door. “I will not have this pagan nonsense in my classroom!”

  “You must have seen her!” Beryl stammers, looking back at us with tear-filled eyes. “She was there! It was only for a split second, but I saw her! One of you must have seen her too!”

  “Out!” Kane says firmly, dragging her into the corridor and then slamming the door shut. A moment later, we all hear a loud thudding sound, which must be Beryl getting forced against the wall.

  “I didn't see anything,” Catherine says cautiously. “Did anyone else?”

  Feeling something brushing against my shoulder again, I look around but see only Beryl's empty desk behind me. I know I'm probably imagining things, but I can't help noticing that something seems to touch me every time Mr. Kane gets angry.

  ***

  “What happened to Doctor Ratcliffe?” I ask, staring out the window and watching as he limps across the playground. “Why isn't he off fighting in the war?”

  “Doctor Ratcliffe sustained an injury to his leg,” Miss Kilmartin replies, putting a hand on my arm and steering me back toward her desk at the front of the room. “No-one wants a cripple on the front line, do they? He was turned down by the military.”

  “But if -”

  “And it's none of your business,” she adds, taking a seat. “I pulled you in here, Ivy, not to talk about Doctor Ratcliffe, but to ask you what on earth is going on in the dormitories. The incident with Beryl Simpkins in Mr. Kane's class today was simply unacceptable, and as house matron I have a duty to nip it in the bud. Don't think I haven't noticed the change in Susan Edwards, either. That girl has been a shadow of her us
ual self these past days, and she seems to be constantly on the verge of tears. Since you appear to be the ringleader in that dormitory, I suppose that you must know the cause.”

  “I have no idea what you're talking about,” I reply, although I know I don't sound terribly convincing. I wish I were a better liar.

  “Come now,” she continues, “I'm only trying to help. If Susan is upset about something, she needs only come to me and I will endeavor to set the matter straight. Evidently stray gossip has already driven Miss Simpkins to the point of a nervous breakdown.”

  I pause for a moment, and suddenly it strikes me that Mrs. Kilmartin might be helpful after all. I'd always thought of her as a distant, calm woman, but sometimes I see a sliver of emotion in her eyes. The other girls joke about her being a gargoyle, but I don't think that's true.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” I ask finally.

  Damn it, that was a mistake.

  “Ghosts?” she replies, as if the word is almost alien to her. “Of course not. Why would you ask such a thing?”

  “It's just...” I pause, before letting out a faint sight. “Never mind.”

  “Is that what's going on in this school lately? Are you all nattering about ghosts?”

  “But what if someone says they saw one? I mean what if they really, truly think they saw a ghost right in front of them?”

  “Have you seen a ghost, Ivy?”

  “No, not me! Just...” My voice trails off as I realize how foolish I must sound.

  Sighing again, she gets to her feet and makes her way to the bookcase, where she pours herself some brandy. “You mustn't get involved in such things,” she says after a moment, her hands trembling slightly as she holds the glass. “Ivy, think seriously for one moment, ghosts aren't real. You must learn to think critically, so that you can see the truth behind all these wild stories.”

  “I can think critically!” I tell her, rather offended by the suggestion otherwise.