The Mystery of the Whispering Witch

by Campbell, Julie

  An Astonishing Confession ● 9

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER, in the clubhouse, Trixie felt even more confused than she had before. She guessed that the other Bob-Whites were feeling the same way.

  Trixie almost wished that she could be alone for a while—alone to sort out her thoughts. She glanced around the small cottage that had once been the gatehouse of the huge Wheeler estate.

  She remembered how hard the Bob-Whites had worked to turn the cottage into a clubhouse they could all be proud of. Neat curtains hung at the windows. Winter and summer sports equipment was stored on tidy shelves: skis, skates, hockey sticks, sleds, pup tents, tennis rackets, and camping gear.

  The Bob-Whites were seated on benches at the big table that Brian and Jim had made. Mart, not as handy with carpentry tools as the other boys, had sanded and stained the furniture.

  Trixie knew, as did the others, that there were a lot of memories in their clubhouse—memories of other conferences they’d held, other adventures they’d talked about and puzzled over together.

  Trixie glanced at the little cottage’s dirt floor and remembered when she’d found a diamond embedded there. She looked up and found that Jim was watching her. She flushed and wondered if he was remembering that adventure, too.

  “Well, Trix?” he asked, his face still stiff with shock from the strange story they’d just heard. “What do you think? What can we do to help?” Trixie leaned toward Fay, who was seated next to dark-haired Dan Mangan on the other side of the table. “I was just thinking, Fay,” she said. “This old place has heard a lot of stories in its time—but, jeepers, I don’t think it’s ever heard anything like this.”

  “I know,” Fay said, her voice trembling, “and I don’t blame any of you if you think I’m making the whole thing up.”

  Pretty Diana Lynch said warmly, “But, of course, we don’t think you’re making it up, Fay. At least, I don’t. I’ve read a lot about stuff like this—where people get possessed by evil spirits, I mean. Some folks think that there are such things as ghosts and that they do haunt houses.”

  “But have you ever heard of anything like this?” Trixie asked.

  “N-No, not quite like this,” Di answered uncertainly. “Tell us again, Fay. How did you say it all started?”

  Now that Fay had told her story once, it seemed as if she found it much easier. “Everything was fine when we first moved into Lisgard House,” she told them. “My mother was so pleased and happy that she’d found a good job. Mr. Gregory hired her in New York, you know. Did I tell you that?”

  “Yes,” Dan said, “I guess you did.”

  Trixie looked at him sharply. He had a strange note in his voice. It was as though he didn’t quite believe the story he’d heard, either. Trixie could tell that both Brian and Mart still had doubts. Neither of them was looking directly at Fay. It was as if they didn’t want to meet her eyes.

  “We needed money,” Fay said, sounding suddenly tired. “My mother is insisting I go on to college later, you see, and you know how expensive that is these days. I did plan on applying for scholarships when the time came, but—”

  “We get the picture, Fay,” Mart said abruptly, staring down at his hands, which were clasped on the table in front of him. “You and your mother needed the money, so when Mr. Gregory offered a housekeeping position in a haunted house, you both jumped at it.”

  Fay didn’t seem to notice the edge in Mart’s voice. She shook her dark head. “No, it wasn’t quite like that. We didn’t know the history of Lisgard House. In fact, we didn’t find out about it until we’d moved in. And he was—that is, Mr. Gregory was paying Mother a very good salary. It was certainly better than anything in salary she’d ever received before.”

  “Didn’t that make you suspicious?” Brian asked. “No,” Fay answered simply. “We just figured our luck had changed for the better at last.” She frowned. “I can’t really remember when all the strange things began happening. At first it was just little things. It would be stuff like vases moved out of place when I knew I’d put them somewhere else. Once I found all the saucepans and kettles piled in the middle of the kitchen floor.”

  Honey gasped. “You didn’t tell us that before.” Fay moved uneasily in her seat. “There were so many things,” she replied. “It’s hard to remember all of them. There was that time about a month ago, when we had another storm. Do you remember that? It knocked down a power line that fed electricity to the house. I had to go around lighting candles until the workmen came the next day to fix everything.”

  Trixie nodded, remembering that October storm. “We lost all our power, too,” she said. “We had to use candles, too.”

  “But mine wouldn’t stay lit,” Fay said, her voice beginning to shake again. “As fast as I lit them and moved to another room to light others, I’d come back and find that they’d been blown out—or, at least, extinguished.”

  “Maybe you set them in a draft,” Mart suggested, still not looking at her.

  “No.” Fay sounded certain about it.

  “Go on,” Trixie prompted her.

  “It was soon after this that the strange noises began. I’d hear footsteps upstairs, pacing up and down. And I’d hear doors closing and opening. Once I heard someone laughing, as if there were some sort of joke going on that I knew nothing about. At first I thought it was someone playing a joke—”

  “A logical and entirely commendable thought,” Mart put in.

  “I thought it was Zeke Collins,” Fay stated flatly. “I thought he might be trying to scare Mother and me away from the house for some reason.

  He—he always seems so unfriendly. He’s been there for so long, you see. He knows every inch of the grounds. I guess Old Caleb wasn’t an easy man to work for. But for some reason, Zeke stayed around, even after the last of the Lisgards died. I think—that is, I thought Zeke wanted the Lisgard place to himself.” She tried to laugh. “Mother’s convinced that Zeke’s got something hidden on the grounds. Buried treasure, maybe. Oh, I know it sounds silly—”

  Trixie groaned to herself. It sounded more than silly. It sounded downright unbelievable. She couldn’t blame Brian, Mart, and Dan for sounding skeptical. She wasn’t surprised when she saw them exchanging doubtful glances.

  Fay hurried to finish her story. She told them about all the other strange things that had happened in that old house. She spoke of cold air that seemed to flow through a closed and windowless room. She told of a message written in crayon that she had found scrawled across her dressing table mirror.

  “What did it say?” Honey asked, though she’d already heard this part once.

  “It said, ‘I’m back!’ ” Fay answered.

  “That’s all?” Di asked. “Just that? ‘I’m back’?” Brian raised his head at last and looked directly at the Beldens’ houseguest. “And what did your mother have to say about all this?”

  Fay flushed. “I didn’t tell her. You see, all these things happened when I was alone in the house. Mother seemed to be so happy. She’d found a job that paid well. For the first time, she could see all her dreams for me coming true. She often said that perhaps the old house wasn’t as bright and cheerful as it could be, but...

  Trixie thought again of the old mansion as it had looked last night, and she couldn’t help thinking that Mrs. Franklin’s remark had been the understatement of the year.

  “And so I didn’t tell her,” Fay continued. “I began to wonder if everything that was going on was all my imagination. I began listening to stories—gossip, really—about Lisgard House. The more I heard, the more uneasy I got. And—and then I began to wonder if I was doing all these things myself.” She flung her head back and gazed at the circle of faces around her. Her eyes filled with tears. “And then one day Zeke Collins told me the story of poor Sarah Sligo. What he didn’t tell me, I found out from other people. I found out that the house brings bad luck to everyone who lives there. I found out that its occupants are—well, cursed. I began to have dreams— nightmares—and Sara
h would be in them. She was always dressed the same.” Fay’s voice was so low now that the Bob-Whites had to strain their ears to hear her. “I would be sitting in the study, the little room where she died. Suddenly the door would open, and there she’d be. ‘I need you, Fay,’ she’d say. ‘Only you can help me. You must help me get my revenge.’ ”

  Trixie stirred uneasily. “Those were only dreams, Fay,” she said.

  Fay shook her dark head. “But they were so vivid. And then, last night, Trixie told me the real story, the true story of Sarah Sligo. She didn’t want to at first, but I made her. I had to know the truth about Sarah Sligo.”

  Trixie gasped and remembered her own hunch that she was about to make a terrible mistake if she repeated the legend of the Lisgard witch. Why hadn’t she listened to her own warning?

  “Oh, Fay,” Trixie whispered, “I shouldn’t have said anything....”

  Fay didn’t seem to have heard her. “And so I learned the terrible truth. Somehow, someway, Sarah Sligo has taken over. How else can you explain what happened last night? Did you hear, all of you, how I almost burned us alive? I did it. I must have done it! There’s no other explanation! We were asleep. I was dreaming again about Sarah. And when I woke up—” her voice broke— “the room was full of smoke.”

  “That’s silly, Fay,” Honey said sharply. “How do you account, then, for all those other sounds we heard—the axes hacking at the front door; the footsteps in the passage; the screaming?” She stopped, shuddering.

  Fay leaped to her feet, her hands clenched at her sides. “I can summon the powers of darkness!” she cried. “When I am Sarah, I can do anything— anything at all!” She looked away and broke into a storm of weeping.

  The Bob-Whites sat in stunned silence. Then the girls hurried to comfort her.

  “Listen, Fay,” sensible Honey said earnestly, “what I think is that you’ve been brooding about this for far too long. Things can’t possibly have happened the way you think. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “It does too make sense,” Fay insisted. She sniffled, then added uncertainly, “Why doesn’t it make sense?”

  Honey obviously had no answer to this and threw Trixie a silent appeal for help.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Trixie said, trying desperately to think of something, “because— because—” Suddenly she stopped. “Because I’ve had an idea all along that someone else was there in the house with us last night.”

  “The whispering witch?” asked Di.

  Puzzled, Trixie ran a hand through her curls and frowned. “No,” she said at last, “someone else.” Fay lifted a tearstained face from Honey’s shoulder and stared. “But we were alone in the house last night. You know we were. There wasn’t anyone else but us. We checked, remember?”

  “I know,” Trixie said obstinately, “but all the same, I’m sure I’m right. I saw something—heard something— Oh, what was it?”

  “Maybe you’ll think of it later, Trix,” Brian’s deep voice remarked. He turned toward Fay. “Come on, kiddo. Leave everything to Uncle Brian. It seems to me that Honey’s right. You’ve been worrying about this ghost stuff way too much. It isn’t good to do that, you know. I’m sure you’re no more possessed than I am. It’s time to go to visit your mother. That’s going to make you feel a whole lot better.” He led Fay toward the clubhouse door. “You coming, Trix?”

  “I’d like to come, too, if Fay doesn’t mind,” Honey said.

  “And me?” Di asked. “Me, too?”

  In the end, it was decided that all the Bob-Whites, with the exception of Dan, would accompany Fay to the hospital.

  Dan thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his corduroys. “You know I’d be with you if I could,” he told Fay awkwardly, “but I guess I’d better get back to work on the game preserve.”

  Dan worked for Mr. Maypenny, the Wheelers’ gamekeeper, and was now a well-adjusted person. There had been a time when he had been involved with a New York City street gang and had gotten into trouble with the law. Those days were long since over with, though. Now Dan’s ambition was to be a policeman.

  “We understand, Dan,” Trixie told him, and she smiled as she watched him stride away.

  She was still thinking about Fay’s strange story as she and her friends climbed into the station wagon, which had been given to the Bob-Whites by Honey’s father.

  “If only I could remember what it was that’s made me suspicious about what went on last night,” Trixie whispered to Mart, who was sitting beside her in the backseat. “I know it’s really important.” She hesitated. “Mart, did you believe the stuff Fay told us? Do you really think she’s possessed? Are there such things as ghosts? Can they come back to haunt the living? Do you—do you think Fay’s telling us the truth?”

  For a moment, she thought her brother wasn’t going to answer her. He seemed to be busy watching Jim climb into the driver’s seat.

  Mart didn’t say anything until the big car was heading west along Glen Road and had sped past Lisgard House. Then he stirred and asked, “Has it occurred to you, Trix, that if Fay is telling the truth—and I did say if— that trying to get rid of a spirit could be very difficult?”

  Trixie nodded. “Yes,” she said, keeping her voice low, “I’d thought of that. In fact, I have no idea how it’s done.”

  “You call in an exorcist,” Mart said, “and sometimes they’re very expensive.”

  Trixie stared at him, her eyes wide. “How expensive is one?”

  Mart leaned his blond head closer to hers. “I don’t really know,” he whispered, ‘ but I do know what happens if you don’t pay your exorcist.”

  “What?”

  “You get repossessed,” Mart answered and laughed when he saw the look of outrage on his sister’s face.

  “How could you, Mart!” she hissed. “What’s the matter with you, anyway? Don’t you realize there’s nothing funny about this? Have you really thought about what we’re going to do if Fay’s truly possessed?”

  Mart looked penitent at once. “I’m sorry, Trix,” he said. “It was a dumb joke, and I do know that Fay needs help. Whether the Bob-Whites can give it to her, though, is another matter. Brian seems to think she may need professional help—in other words, she may need a psychiatrist.”

  Trixie was silent as she stared out the window at the flying landscape. She was more upset at Mart’s words than she wanted to admit, even to herself. She respected Brian’s opinion, even though she didn’t always follow his advice. This time she hoped, for Fay’s sake, that Brian was wrong.

  She stared thoughtfully at the back of Fay’s curly head as she sat sandwiched between Jim and Brian in the front seat.

  Fay seemed to feel that someone was watching her, because she twisted around, smiled at Trixie, and said, “I feel a lot better now. It seems to help when you can share troubles with your friends. There’s just one more thing, though.”

  Trixie groaned inwardly. What terrible thing was Fay going to tell them now?

  “I’d appreciate it,” Fay continued shyly, “if you didn’t tell my mother what we’ve been talking about. It would worry her very much.”

  “Of course we won’t tell her, Fay,” Honey said at once. “In fact, we won’t tell anyone.”

  The big car nosed its way into the hospital parking lot and backed into a space.

  “Oh, Fay!” Trixie exclaimed suddenly. “What did you say about not telling anyone? Something tells me that’s not going to be as easy as you think, but I certainly hope I’m wrong!”

  Startled, Fay turned to look out of the front-seat window. “What do you mean, Trixie?” Then she stopped, appalled.

  She found herself staring at a group of people who were already hurrying toward her. One woman carried a portable television camera on her shoulder. Her partner, a young man with flashing white teeth and dimples in his cheeks, was already thrusting a microphone toward Fay’s frightened face. A scruffy-looking young man had positioned himself with his still camera, ready to take
a photograph, while Paul Trent, a newspaper reporter for the Sleepyside Sun, scribbled furiously in his notebook.

  “Hold on a minute there, Miss Franklin,” Mr. Teeth-and-Dimples was saying. “How would you like to tell your exciting story to our television viewers on the five-thirty news tonight?”

  Fay looked bewildered. “What—what exciting story?”

  Paul Trent thrust his head through the open window and peered curiously into her face. “We want you to tell us all about the curious haunting of Lisgard House, of course,” he said. “We got a tip that the witch tried to burn the place down last night. You might just as well give us the straight dope, you know. We’ve already heard a lot about it. C’mon girls, give us the whole story.”

  Fay stiffened, then turned her head to look behind her. Her eyes were filled with tears. “Oh, Trixie,” she whispered. “How could you!”

  Mashed Potatoes ● 10

  FIVE MINUTES LATER, Trixie was still protesting her innocence as she and her friends hurried through the hospital’s main entrance. She could tell by the way Fay wouldn’t quite catch her eye, though, that she didn’t believe her.

  Fay had flatly refused to talk to either the newspaper reporter or his television counterpart. “Please! I don’t want to talk to you!” she kept repeating over and over in answer to their persistent questions.

  In the end, it was Brian and Jim who put a stop to all further argument by taking her by the arms and rushing her firmly away.

  “Jeepers!” Mart exclaimed once they were in the hospital lobby. “I feel as if I’ve been run over by a truck!”

  “I know. I do, too,” Honey admitted, brushing her long golden hair out of her eyes. “Did you hear all the questions they asked?”

  “I heard,” Di put in. “ ‘What did the ghost look like?’ ‘What did she say?’ ‘How did you get out of there alive?’ ”

  Fay started toward the large reception desk, but Trixie had planted herself firmly in her path. “Listen,” Trixie said earnestly, “I don’t know who told those reporters about last night, Fay, but it wasn’t me, honestly! Why would I do such a thing?”