Horrid

by Katrina Leno

  “How did she die?” Jane asked softly, wanting to hear Ruth’s version of events, to compare it to Susie and Alana’s.

  “Another day, Janie,” Ruth replied. “I can’t think about it anymore tonight.”

  “I just… I need to know,” Jane pleaded. “Just a little more? Just… What happened to her?”

  Ruth nodded. “There was a terrible accident. They were digging these little trenches out back, installing new arbors for my mother’s prized roses. Jemima was homeschooled; she didn’t have many friends, but one of the housekeepers had brought her daughter to work with her one day. Emilia was furious, of course. The housekeeper couldn’t find a sitter; she was in tears. I watched this whole screaming fight between them.… But Jemima took to the little girl right away. Annie. Annie Cansler. They started playing together. And suddenly Annie was coming with her mother once a week. She was Jemima’s first real friend.”

  “Cansler,” Jane repeated.

  “She was a beautiful little girl,” Ruth continued. “She had this stuffed teddy bear. Simon. She carried him everywhere. For all the years I knew her, she always had that bear.

  “They were eight years old. Annie came over; they were going to go trick-or-treating together. My father was going to take them. Annie’s mom dropped her off. They went to play out by the rosebushes, even though they knew they weren’t supposed to, and… Jemima fell into one of the holes. It was just big enough that she couldn’t get out. Annie tried to help her, Jemima tried to climb out, but… She was covered by dirt. She suffocated.”

  “Why does that name sound familiar?” Jane wondered aloud.

  “I need to go to sleep, Janie. I’m so sorry. For everything. For keeping this from you for so long. I hope you don’t hate me.” Her voice caught, and she rubbed her eyes with her fingers. The house felt colder still, like a chill had worked its way through the windowpanes, through the walls, up through the floorboards.

  “I could never hate you,” Jane replied automatically, and it was the truth.

  She hadn’t sent that message. She hadn’t told Ruth she hated her. She hadn’t sent that message.

  I hate you, I’ve always hated you! You never wanted me, you just wanted HER. Well, now I know everything. And you can’t have her and you can’t have me, you can’t have either of us.

  She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand what it meant.

  “Mom…”

  “Do you really think I never wanted you?” Ruth asked. She stood up, gripping the banister with her hand so tightly that Jane could see the skin at her knuckles turn white.

  “No, I don’t, I didn’t…”

  I didn’t write that message.

  “It destroyed me when she died,” Ruth continued, her eyes vacant now, a million miles away. “I was too young to have a baby. I didn’t know the first thing about having a child. I wasn’t even emotionally capable of taking care of myself, let alone another living thing, a baby. I kept her at arm’s length. I wouldn’t let myself get too close to her. If she called me Mama, I… Sometimes I corrected her. But I loved her. Of course, I loved her; she was my child. I was devastated when… when it happened. But I was also set free.”

  She took a hard, scratchy breath that turned into a sob halfway through. “I know how that sounds. It’s something I’ve wrestled with my entire life. Whether I’m a monster for even admitting that I felt some sort of relief when she died. I’m not proud of it. The opposite. It mortifies me, it kills me. And I swore I would never have another child.…

  “But then I met your father. And we fell in love. I’d never been in love before. I wasn’t in love with Jemima’s father; I barely spoke to him after I got pregnant. He tried to call me a couple times. He even showed up at the house once, but my mother made it clear that his role was done. And as the years passed, and the distance and the time worked to soften the terrible tragedy of her death… I decided I was ready to have another baby. So we tried, and you were born, and…” She was really sobbing now, harder than Jane had ever seen her cry before. Jane wanted to go to comfort her, but she couldn’t move, she couldn’t make her legs work. “So you can’t say I didn’t want you. You can never say I didn’t want you.”

  “Mom, I—”

  “Please don’t ask me anything else tonight, Jane. Please. I can’t. I can’t.”

  Still gripping the banister, Ruth turned and walked up the stairs, one step at a time, slowly, and she didn’t turn around at all. She reached the top floor and disappeared down the hallway and Jane couldn’t move, she couldn’t make her feet move. The chandelier was blazing above her, beating down its harsh, yellow light.

  She was still holding her phone. The message was on the screen, the message she hadn’t sent. But if she hadn’t sent it, who had?

  I hate you, I’ve always hated you! You never wanted me, you just wanted HER. Well, now I know everything. And you can’t have her and you can’t have me, you can’t have either of us.

  If Jane hadn’t written it…

  She looked up the stairs.

  Dimly, in the back of her consciousness, she heard Ruth’s bedroom door shut.

  If Jane hadn’t written it…

  You never wanted me, you just wanted HER.

  The text message to Sal: Everything is so good. Everything is perfect. I love it here.

  And the message she’d written to Ruth when Alana and Susie had stayed over: Take your time, mama. I have friends over. We’re having so much fun!

  And the FaceTime calls she couldn’t remember.

  And and and…

  Jane’s fingers were numb.

  Was she ready to admit, now, that she believed in…

  The word was still so hard to say. It was silly and childish. It was white sheets with eyeholes cut out and grainy pictures of disembodied heads and bumps in the night when you’re home alone, all tucked in bed and frozen with fear.

  Ghost.

  Sister.

  Were they one and the same?

  She put her hand on the banister and took a deep breath.

  Had she known this was going to happen? Had she known this was how tonight would end? Had she felt the inevitability of it, even before they’d left California, even before she’d ever stepped foot in this state, this town, this house?

  She went upstairs.

  She didn’t feel frightened, not really.

  What she felt, instead, was a sort of resolve. A calmness that radiated from her heart. A warmth that spread out to the tips of her fingertips. A sort of happiness…

  A sister.

  She had always wanted a sister.

  She reached the top landing. The upstairs hallway stretched long in front of her, dark and shadowy and, perhaps to some, a little creepy.

  But not to Jane.

  She wasn’t creeped out anymore.

  She was just curious.

  She closed the distance to her sister’s room.

  Her sister.

  And the light was on. Of course the light was on. Hadn’t she known the light was on as soon as she had heard Ruth’s bedroom door close? Hadn’t she known the light was on when she was underneath the too-bright chandelier?

  She reached the door. And she let her hand sit on the doorknob for just a moment. It felt warm and soft underneath her grip.

  She turned it.

  She pushed the door open.

  And there she was.

  A small, delicate-looking girl wearing a stuffy dress with white stockings and white patent-leather shoes. Sitting on the bed. Her long, curly hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. One single misbehaving lock falling right in the middle of her forehead. A face that looked so much like Jane’s. A face that looked up at Jane now, and smiled, so big, so wide…

  Don’t worry. She won’t wake up.

  Jane couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t blink—

  Someone’s coming. Do you want to have a little fun?

  It wasn’t possible it wasn’t possible it wasn’t.

>   I’m really happy you’re here.

  But no no no.

  Jane blinked and there was no girl, there was just an empty bedroom.

  Jane blinked and something crashed downstairs.

  Jane blinked and the bedroom light turned off.

  And voices…

  There were voices.

  There were two voices and laughter and the sound of fumbling as whatever had been knocked over was set right again.

  “Watch where you’re fucking going.” A girl’s voice.

  “Can’t believe they left the front door unlocked.” A guy’s voice.

  “Sort of disappointing. I was looking forward to smashing another window.”

  “And you’re sure nobody’s home? I mean, why is this light on?”

  “Nobody’s home. She’s at the dance. Courtney saw her. And her mom is at Frank’s party. My cousin is there. I don’t know why the light’s on. My mom leaves lights on, too. But trust me—nobody’s here.”

  Jane couldn’t help it; she smiled. This town really was small. Melanie had eyes everywhere.

  Because of course it was Melanie. Melanie and her boyfriend, Jeff. But what were they up to?

  Jane looked back at the bed. It was empty. The room was dark. It was easy to admit, now, that there hadn’t been a little girl on the bed at all.

  Because there was no such thing as—

  Footsteps on the stairs.

  Jane ducked into the closet, pushing aside rows of stuffy party dresses until she was totally hidden. She’d left the door to the room open, so she could hear Melanie and Jeff clearly when they reached the upstairs hallway.

  “This one,” Melanie said. They were the right distance away; they were going into Jane’s bedroom. “Let’s start in here.”

  “And why are we here again? The Halloween dance is the only dance that doesn’t totally suck.”

  “Because they’re both gone. And we needed them out of the house, so we can look for it.”

  Jane listened intently, every cell in her body given over to the act of listening, and as she listened she felt her skin start to itch with the familiar heat of her anger.

  She told herself it was fine. It was fine. She didn’t know what they were doing here, what they wanted, but they couldn’t stay long. They wouldn’t. It would be fine.

  But what if it isn’t fine?

  A small, childlike voice. A dark, scratchy, dangerous voice. Jane whirled around in the closet so quickly she almost lost her balance. But she was alone. Of course she was alone. Because there was no such thing as—

  What if they touch your things? Your books, your journals? I know how much you love them. I’ve seen you with them.

  On the other side of her—

  Jane spun back around so quickly she did fall, but she caught herself on the back wall of the closet before she crashed into anything.

  The closet was empty. She was all alone. She was alone and safe.

  Safe, yes, but not alone anymore. And isn’t that nice? You never have to be alone again. We have each other now.

  Jane covered her face with her hands, pressing her palms against her cheeks, squeezing her eyes shut. From far away, she heard a crash that might have been her bedside lamp. There was no way Ruth was sleeping through this. She would wake up, she would help Jane.…

  She won’t wake up. I told you she won’t wake up. She’s deep, deep asleep, it’s just you and me.…

  She was alone, she was alone, there was no such thing as ghosts.…

  I never meant to scare you, Jane. But you kept not seeing me. I just wanted you to see me.

  It was hard to breathe. Jane opened her mouth and tried to get enough oxygen. She felt light-headed and strange and scared. She was making it up, she was making it all up.…

  How come Mama never grew her hair long again? Did she not want to look like us anymore?

  Ruth had always had short hair.

  No, it used to be long, like ours. Grandma was always yelling at her to get her hair out of her mouth. Do you know the doctors had to cut into her stomach and take away all the hair she’d eaten? It was in a big ball inside her.

  Jane’s ears were ringing. A high-pitched, angry scream.

  So Grandma went into her bedroom one night when she was sleeping, and she cut it all off. She cut off all her hair so she couldn’t put it into her mouth anymore.

  Jane’s eyes opened underneath her palms.

  I know you eat things you’re not supposed to eat, too. I know what it’s like to love something so much you have to eat it.

  She knew when she took her hands away she would be alone and not alone. She knew when she took her hands away she would see her sister. She could feel Jemima now, close to her, so close the hairs on the back of her arms felt electric.

  “What do you mean?” Jane whispered, careful to keep her voice quiet enough so it wouldn’t leave the safety of the closet.

  I ate things, too. Things I wasn’t supposed to eat. Mama would get so mad at me.

  “What things did you eat?”

  The roses. I loved roses so much that Grandma planted more for me. Did you see all the roses in the back? The petals are so soft. Whenever I felt angry or mean or sad or scared, I would eat them. They would always make me feel better. Is that how it works with you, too, Janie?

  Jane took her hands away from her face and there was her sister, kneeling on the floor of her closet, her hands clasped together on her thighs, her hair wild and curly, her skin slightly glowing and slightly transparent, her eyes bright and happy and just a little bit mean.

  But she wasn’t really there at all. Because she wasn’t real, and Jane could both see her and not see her. If she squinted, Jemima was clearer. If she opened her eyes, she was alone in the closet.

  “You ate the roses,” Jane whispered.

  A flash to her mother: You can’t eat things that aren’t food, she had said, and Jane had known, even then, that she had said those words before, that she’d had those exact words said to her.

  They taste yummy, and they don’t make you sick. They make me feel better. Sometimes I get so angry, angry, angry, but the roses always help.

  Jane opened her eyes and Jemima was gone. She squinted and she could see her again, the blurry lines of a sister who was long dead. The blurry lines of Jane’s own imagination. Because ghosts weren’t real. Because none of this was happening.…

  Jemima looked past Jane and it was like she was seeing through the closet wall, down the hallway, through the walls of Jane’s bedroom. Her eyes darkened. Jane’s breath caught in her throat when she saw how similar she and Jemima looked when they were angry.

  She’s going to touch your things, Jemima said, her voice a razor. She’s going to touch your special books.

  Then she smiled, and her little white teeth seemed to glow, and her smile wasn’t the smile of a nice eight-year-old girl; it was the smile of something wrong, and not good, the smile of someone who had done bad things.…

  And she disappeared.

  No matter how much Jane squinted her eyes, no matter how hard Jane tried to look for her, Jemima was gone.

  Jane listened. It was all she could do, listen, because her body seemed frozen in place. Her heart was beating out of control; she felt sweat creeping down the insides of her thighs. The Rapunzel dress was too hot, too scratchy. The hair extensions were weighing down her scalp. Her eyes were stinging.

  She heard a thump. From above her.

  “What was that?” Jeff asked.

  It made Jane smile, just a little, to hear the fear in his voice.

  “These old houses make all kinds of noises,” Melanie replied.

  It was the same thing Jane used to tell herself.

  Jane smiled wider.

  The fear she felt was slowly being replaced with anger. Good, strong, pure anger. It unstuck her limbs and calmed her heart and filled her with a gentle kind of peace.

  Another bump, and something else… A low, long moan.

  “What was
that?” Jeff asked.

  “It’s the wind. Are you scared of the wind now? Look, these are actually her journals. This is amazing; we need to take pictures of all of this.”

  “Are you hearing this? Mel, are you listening to this?” Jeff’s voice was rising in pitch and so was the moaning. It was absolutely unmistakable: the moaning of an eight-year-old girl. How could Melanie possibly mistake that for wind?

  Unless she was hearing something different altogether, Jane realized.

  Unless Jemima was trying to get Jeff out of the house, but leave Melanie unafraid.

  “Here, take this,” Melanie said.

  “What do you want me to do with this?”

  “Just take it,” Melanie said.

  What had she given him?

  The moaning was even louder.

  “You’re not hearing anything? Seriously?”

  “Jesus, Jeff, get your shit together.”

  “I’m out of here,” he said. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

  “We’re not going anywhere until we find it.”

  “This house is huge, Melanie, there’s no way we’re going to find something as small as—”

  “We have to find it!” Melanie said, her voice rising to a sharp yell.

  Jane cocked her head, listening. Find what?

  “It’s been, like, twenty years. I know you want to find it, but what are the chances it’s even still here anymore?”

  “I don’t know what the fucking chances are, Jeff, but we have to try. Okay?”

  “And I don’t understand why we never looked for it before? Like, before they moved back?”

  “Because I didn’t know the truth before, okay? Look, maybe you should leave. If you’re just going to ask questions and get in the way.”

  “I’m just trying to be a voice of reason, here, babe, I mean—we’re trespassing in someone’s home. And the chances of us finding this fucking teddy bear that—”