The Old Willis Place

by Mary Downing Hahn

  "I can lend you a sweater," she offered. "Or a jacket."

  "Thanks, but I'll be okay. I'm used to the cold."

  "You are so mysterious, Diana." Lissa looked into my eyes, hungry to learn more about me.

  I shrugged again, afraid to tell her anything that might give my secrets away.

  Fortunately Lissa never stuck to one subject long. "Where's Georgie today?" she asked.

  "He went off somewhere before I got up. He's still mad at me."

  "I'm glad I don't have a brother." Lissa sighed. "A sister might be nice, though."

  "Oh, Georgie's not so bad."

  Lissa raised her eyebrows at that. "Why does he hate me so much?"

  "I told you, he doesn't hate you. He's just scared of breaking the rules and being punished."

  "What would your parents do to him?" Lissa stared at me. "If they beat him or anything like that, they could be arrested for child abuse."

  No matter what I said, Lissa came up with questions I couldn't answer. In an effort to avoid her probing eyes, I looked across the lawn toward the woods, still hoping for a glimpse of Georgie. The wind was blowing harder, whipping the treetops back and forth. Eddies of dead leaves swirled toward us, spiraling up like phantoms from the corners of the terrace.

  "A storm's coming," I said. "Maybe we should go to your place. Your dad will be worried."

  Lissa pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and drew the drawstring tight under her chin. "Oh, don't worry about Dad. He's at Home Depot, the most boring store in the world. It's jam-packed with tools and plumbing fixtures and nails and screws and I don't know what all. He'll be there for hours."

  "But look at the sky." I studied the clouds' dark shapes—flocks of lost sheep straying across a desolate wasteland, blown to rags and tatters by the wind. "It will rain soon."

  "Just wait till you see what I have." Lissa reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a rusty key. A small tag hung from it. "I took this from Dad's key ring. Guess what it's for?"

  I shrank back, my heart racing like a wild thing. It was a big, old-fashioned house key, maybe one that my father had carried on his key ring.

  Lissa leaned close to me, her eyes gleaming. "It opens the back door. We can go inside."

  On the other side of the brick wall I sensed Miss Lilian listening, her head up, like a hound on the scent of something.

  "I think we should leave," I said. "Now. Before its too late."

  Lissa ignored me. "The old woman who used to live here died in the parlor," she went on. "Dad told me nobody found her body for a week. Isn't that gross?"

  "Lissa." I tugged at her arm. "Let's go."

  Dropping her voice to a whisper, Lissa pulled me closer. "She never left the house, not even to buy groceries. Her hired man did the shopping for her, but she wouldn't let him in the house. No one was allowed in there. It was filthy, Dad said—cats peeing anywhere they liked, her garbage piled up everywhere, cockroaches, mice, even rats. She was crazy."

  "I've heard that." I worked to keep my face blank, my voice expressionless. My own mother had said the same often enough, but she'd never been able to convince my father. Eccentric, he'd argued, but harmless. He should have listened to Mother. She knew Miss Lilian far better than he did.

  Lissa waved the key. "You and I could go inside and see the very room she died in. Right now."

  "Your father told us not to," I said. "It isn't safe."

  "Dad isn't here," Lissa reminded me. "He won't know."

  Rain began falling, softly at first, speckling my blouse and skirt with wet spots.

  "Come on, Diana." Lissa got to her feet and tugged at my hand. "We'll get drenched out here."

  "It's dark inside. You won't be able to see a thing." I didn't want to go into that house again, no matter how hard it rained. Where was Georgie? If he were here, he'd pull me away.

  "I already thought of that." Lissa pulled a small flashlight out of her pocket and brandished it.

  "We could fall through the floor and end up in the cellar—with the snakes."

  "You're afraid!" Lissa laughed. "You think it's haunted, don't you? You're scared of Miss Willis!"

  I wanted to cover her mouth to keep her from saying that name. "It's against the rules, Lissa," I blurted out. "I can't go in there! You mustn't go in either! You don't understand—"

  "Your parents won't know you broke their silly rules," Lissa cut in.

  Before I could stop her, she ran to the door and stuck the key in the lock. With a great deal of effort, she managed to turn it. It made a loud rasping sound. Shoving with her shoulder, she forced the door open.The hinges screeched in protest.

  From where I stood, I felt cold dead air rush out to meet me. It smelled of cat pee, garbage, mold, mildew, all the stale odors that had been locked in the house with Miss Lilian.

  MacDuff stuck his nose inside. When he caught the whiff of rot and decay, his hackles rose and he whined.

  Lissa watched the dog back away from the door. "Mac-Duff," she said, "you silly thing. What's the matter with you?

  Listen to him, I thought, he's smarter than you are. Of course, I didn't say it out loud. No matter how much trouble Lissa caused, I wanted to please her, to keep her as a friend.

  MacDuff cocked his head and barked. "Come away, come away," he seemed to say.

  Ignoring the dog, Lissa turned to me. "Come on," she urged. "We'll freeze to death out here."

  Afraid to let her go by herself, I followed her through the door. MacDuff stayed where he was, but he continued to bark.

  With the back door open, the house wasn't as dark as I'd expected. Lissa barely needed the flashlight. But she flicked it on anyway, playing the beam over the ruins of the kitchen. Someone had pulled the stove away from the wall to disconnect the gas line. The top was caked with burned grease, and the oven door hung open. The refrigerator door was gone, its interior stained and streaked. Bottles and jars filled the sink.

  I was glad Mother wasn't here to see the state of things. In the old days, the kitchen had been her territory. She'd kept it gleaming and filled with good smells. Where spiders now spun their webs, geraniums had bloomed red and pink on the windowsills.

  While I stayed in the doorway, fidgeting and fretting, Lissa explored the kitchen. Undeterred by cobwebs and filth and the rustle of mice burrowing into hiding places, she opened cupboards and investigated rusted cans of food, chipped china, dented pots and pans, empty bottles and jars.

  "Look at this," she said loudly. "Miss Willis must have saved every jar of wheat germ she ever bought. I bet there's a hundred of them."

  Miss Willis, Miss Willis—the words hung in the still air like a call. "Wake up, Miss Willis, you have visitors."

  "Let's go," I begged Lissa, sure I'd heard sounds from deep in the house. "Something's in here. Don't you hear it?"

  "Mice," she said, cocking her head to listen. "Squirrels maybe."

  I grabbed her arm, but she pulled away, as stubborn as Georgie. "I'm not leaving till I see the rest of the house."

  Before I could stop her, Lissa pushed open the kitchen door and ran out into the hall. She stopped at the back stairs, the servants' stairs, the ones my mother used after Mrs. Willis died and Miss Lilian took over.

  Lissa pointed the flashlight up into the darkness. "What's that at the top of the steps?"

  In the dim light I made out the seat Miss Lilian had installed when she'd gotten too old to climb to the second floor. She sat on it, pushed a button, and it glided up and down the stairs. Before Miss Lilian died, Georgie and I played on it whenever we had a chance, zooming up and down as fast as we could. Miss Lilian would hear the noise and hobble down the hall. If she'd left the seat at the bottom of the stairs, she'd find it at the top. If she'd left it at the top, she'd find it at the bottom.

  Georgie and I were too fast for her to catch us in the act, but she knew who was responsible. She'd call our names sometimes. And curse us. We never answered, but she must have heard us laughing. It w
as such fun to tease the old woman. Didn't she deserve it?

  Back then, she couldn't do anything worse to us than she'd already done. But now? I wasn't so sure.

  "It's a seat to help handicapped or old people go up and down the stairs," I told Lissa. I was proud of my steady voice, but I hid my shaking hands behind my back.

  "Do you think it still works?"

  "There's no electricity in the house," I said. "The county turned it off after she died."

  Lissa drew in her breath and crossed her arms across her chest as if she were cold. "That seat looks creepy up there. Like it's waiting for Miss Willis."

  "The whole place is creepy." I tugged her arm. "Let's go."

  Lissa pulled away. "Not yet, Diana. I want to see what's upstairs."

  "Those steps will collapse before you're halfway to the top." I tugged her arm again, and again she shook me off.

  "There must be another staircase." Lissa pushed past me and headed down the hall toward the front of the house. From an uncovered window high overhead, a little daylight made its way down the curved staircase, illuminating thousands of dust motes dancing in the dim air.

  Once more, I saw Miss Lilian sweeping down those stairs, head high, scorning Mother as she passed her, glaring at Georgie and me. How cold her voice, how haughty her manner, how hateful the look on her face. "Go outside, girl. I can't bear the sight of you."

  It was rain I heard now, not Miss Lilian's voice. Rain beating against the boarded windows, splashing through holes in the roof, streaking the walls. Rain. And wind creeping through cracks, rattling and banging loose boards and shutters.

  But there was something else—little sounds from behind the closed parlor door. Murmurs and sighs, shuffling noises, the tinkle of something small breaking. She was there all right, trapped in that room. As long as no one opened the door, maybe, just maybe...

  I hesitated, torn between running outside and staying with Lissa, who was already at the top of the steps. "Come on, Diana," she called. I followed her, looking over my shoulder at the parlor door, terrified I'd see it slowly open.

  Lissa went straight to Miss Lilian's bedroom, almost as if she'd been guided there. "Look at all this, Diana!" She pointed to the faded velvet drapes hanging at the windows, the cob webbed chandelier, the fancy marble fireplace, the high-topped walnut bed, the dusty matching furniture.

  Yanking open a closet door, Lissa peered inside. "Her clothes are still here." She pawed through Miss Lilian's silk dresses, her velvet gowns, her wool coats, setting them swinging and swaying like ghosts.

  While I watched, horrified, she held them up to herself and danced around the room, admiring her reflection in the tarnished mirrors. She tried on hats with plumes, straw hats, knit caps, even a cowboy hat from Miss Lilian's riding days. She wrapped shawls around her shoulders, draped herself with scarves, and struck silly poses like a model in a fashion magazine.

  "Here, try this one, Diana." Lissa held up a blue beaded dress, one of Miss Lilian's favorites. The last time she'd worn it, she'd slapped me for spilling a tray of drinks she'd given me to serve the guests.

  I pushed the dress aside, hating the dusty feel of the fabric. The smell of Miss Lilian's perfume still clung to it.

  Lissa shrugged and grabbed a large straw hat covered with artificial flowers, another of Miss Lilian's favorites. She struck a silly pose. "Isn't this the most hideous hat you ever saw?

  "Please, Lissa," I begged, "put those things away. Your father will see the mess and know someone's been in here."

  Reluctantly Lissa began picking up the clothing, but she insisted on wearing the flowered hat. In hope of getting her out of the house, I helped jam dresses and shoes, skirts and blouses, coats and jackets back into the closet. Despite the noise we were making, I heard other sounds from the floor below.

  "Listen," I whispered to Lissa. "Do you hear that?"

  She stopped chattering, her face solemn for a moment. "What?"

  "A sort of rustling and whispering, floors creaking."

  Lissa stayed silent, listening hard, and then shook her head. "It's just old house sounds."

  After I persuaded her to leave Miss Lilian's room, Lissa looked in the other bedrooms, empty except for odds and ends of broken furniture, mildewed books, and faded pictures, things Miss Lilian had left behind, needed no longer.

  "Is this her, do you think?" Lissa held up a framed photograph of Miss Lilian sitting on the lion bench, frowning at the camera, eyes squinted against the sun, a cigarette in one hand and a glass in the other. "She looks like a witch, doesn't she?"

  Taken by surprise, I backed away from the picture. How often had I seen Miss Lilian sitting on that bench, smoking, drinking a glass of wine, her mouth drawn down with disapproval? I even recognized her dress—navy with a prim white collar and cuffs, buttoned tightly. In those days, she'd always dressed for dinner.

  "She was a witch." I spoke without thinking, but Lissa saw nothing out of the ordinary in my words.

  "That's what everyone says." Lissa pitched the photo into the corner. I heard the glass break. "Old witch," she said with a giggle.

  "Can we go now?" I started toward the stairs, frightened by Lissa's recklessness. I had to get her out of the house before she did any more damage.

  But Lissa was obstinate. Grabbing my arm to stop me from leaving, she shined her flashlight up a dark flight of steps leading to the third floor. "Don't you want to see what's up there?"

  "No." I pulled away from her.

  "Diana, don't be such a scaredy-cat!" Lissa caught my arm again and tugged me toward the dark staircase. "I might never get another chance to explore this place."

  At the top, Lissa drew in her breath at the sight of the grand piano. Without a second's hesitation, she ran to it and lifted the lid. It creaked so loudly I jumped.

  "Can you play?" she asked me.

  "Don't touch that," I whispered. "Please, Lissa."

  "Why not? Who'll hear? Who'll care?" Brushing me aside, she set her flashlight down and struck the yellowed keys. The sound was discordant, warped, tuneless, but she banged away, trying to play "Chopsticks."

  "Stop!" In a panic, I grabbed her and yanked her away from Miss Lilian's precious Stein way. "No one's allowed to touch the piano!"

  For a moment we struggled. Lissa obviously didn't like being told what to do. Finally, she broke away from me and picked up the hat she'd lost in our tussle. Setting it firmly on her head, she deliberately pounded the piano keys, producing a hideous, tuneless sound.

  I wanted to slap her, but as I raised my hand I remembered Miss Lilian's palm striking my cheek, the flash of pain. I shrank back from Lissa, fearful of who I might become, of what I might do. "It's against the rules!"

  "The rules, the rules, the stupid rules. Everything's against the rules. How can you have any fun when you're always worried about breaking rules?"

  "You don't understand," I said. "If Georgie or I—" I burst into tears, too frightened of Miss Lilian to go on.

  Lissa's mood shifted. Abandoning the piano, she gave me a quick hug. "Oh, Diana, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted to explore the house. It's almost as if, as if . . ." She paused and adjusted the hat's angle.

  "As if what?" There was something she wasn't telling me, something that worried me. I shivered, intensely aware of the darkness around us.

  Lissa tilted the hat over one eye and then shifted it the other way. Nervous. Unsure. "I don't know," she said slowly. "I just had to see the house. I had to."

  Over our heads, thunder rumbled. The heavy drapes swayed as the wind found its way through the boards covering the windows. Downstairs something thumped softly. I heard it again and then again, a little louder each time.

  "Please, Lissa," I begged. "Let's go. Before it's too late."

  She stared at me. "Too late for what?"

  "Your father," I blurted, thinking fast. "He'll come home and you won't be there and he'll start looking for you. If he finds us in here..." I let my words trail
away, unsure what to say next. "Well, you'll be in trouble for sure. And so will I."

  Lissa shrugged. "Dad isn't strict like your parents. We'll just have a little talk and that'll be that." She shined the flashlight around the room again, letting its light play on old paintings, books, an ornate carved marble fireplace. "I guess I've seen just about everything up here," she said at last.

  Aiming the light in front of us, Lissa followed me downstairs. On the second floor, she paused and looked at Miss Lilian's bedroom. "Are you sure you've never seen her ghost?" she asked.

  My mouth was too dry to answer, so I simply shook my head and tugged her sleeve, urging her not to linger.

  Suddenly, Lissa rushed past me, her feet thudding on the stairs. She bumped the old photographs hanging crooked on the walls, brushed the strips of torn paper aside, and came to a stop at the bottom.

  Turning to me, she said, "Dare me to open the parlor door?"

  Chapter 11

  I ran down the steps after Lissa. In a panic, I jerked her hand away from the knob. "Don't open that door!"

  "I want to see where she died." Lissa reached for the knob again. Miss Lilian's hat hid her face, but her voice was shrill with excitement. The rustling sounds grew louder, as if someone in a silk dress was crossing the room. The floor creaked, and the air turned so cold my teeth chattered.

  As clearly as if she was standing beside me, I heard Miss Lilian's voice in my ear. "Get out of the girl's way, Diana. Let her open the door."

  Instead of obeying the old woman, I pressed my back against the door and pushed Lissa away with all my strength. She staggered backward and crashed against the wall.

  "What's wrong with you?" Lissa rubbed her arm and winced as if I'd hurt her. "Are you nuts?"

  "Just stay away from the door. If you open it, she'll get out!"

  "What are you talking about? Who'll get out?"

  In my ear, Miss Lilian's cold voice froze the very air between us. "Let the girl open the door. You and I have business to settle, miss."