Whispers From the Grave

by Leslie Rule

  A sudden sharp crack interrupted Rita’s words. I nearly dropped the diary as I turned quickly toward the noise. It sounded like a twig snapping under a foot. But I couldn’t see anyone. Immersed in Rita’s world, I hadn’t noticed the night creep in. The logs were shapeless shadows blending with the beach, and the water had turned black.

  “Who is it? Who’s there?” I called out tentatively. “Suki, is that you?” It would be exactly like her to follow me home when I’d just gotten rid of her. The pest!

  Only the waves answered me, their rhythmic whispers caressing the sand. I aimed my flashlight in the direction the noise had come from—or rather where it seemed to have come from. On the water sound plays tricks.

  The faint beam of my flashlight moved over the logs. I held my breath, half expecting to see a figure perched on a log, staring back at me. No one was there.

  Someone could have been hiding behind a log. But I wasn’t about to investigate! I stuffed the diary back in my pocket and headed toward home, this time walking briskly.

  The distinct sound of footsteps crunching on rocks came behind me. Someone is following me!

  My heartbeat thudded in my ears as I began to run. I bounded forward and my feet slid across the slippery, seaweed-coated rocks. Stumbling, I fell to my knees. Barnacles sharp as razors scraped the palms of my hands as I scrambled to my feet.

  Adrenaline coursed through me, fueling me with a surge of energy that kept my legs pumping. I nearly flew over the beach, kicking unseen sticks and sea whips out of my path, running for my life.

  I rounded the bend and was greeted by a ferocious bark. Relief flooded through me. It was old Mr. Edwards and his seeing-eye dog, Jake, a gangly German shepherd.

  “Who’s there?” Mr. Edwards yelled.

  I skidded to a stop, gasping for breath. “It’s me, Mr. Edwards! It’s Jenna. Someone was following me!”

  “Don’t worry. Jake will take care of them,” he said. “You can walk with us. We wander down here every night so Jake can do his business. That way I don’t have to clean up after him. The tide comes in and does it for me.”

  I fell into step beside them. He was a small, bent man with a powerful voice. It was full and warm and filled the night. His chatter spun around me like a protective wall. Normally he bored me, but tonight I felt safe listening to him.

  Jake suddenly bounded ahead, his leash trailing behind him. I wondered if I should offer Mr. Edwards my arm. But he was doing better than I was. While I tripped along the dark beach, he walked confidently, as if he sensed each protruding rock or washed up tennis shoe. Maybe his shoes were equipped with the radar device some seeing-impaired people use to detect obstacles. I wondered why he hadn’t had his vision restored through surgery.

  As if reading my mind, he said, “I might have had the surgery if I’d still been young. But Dr. Avery’s discovery wasn’t made until I was such an old goat I figured I’d kick the bucket any day.”

  “But sight restoration was discovered over twenty years ago!”

  He chuckled, “I guess I was wrong. I’m still here. And I kind of like it in my dark little world. You want to try it?”

  “What?”

  “Close your eyes,” he urged. “You’ve been tripping all over the beach. Close your eyes and see with your mind.”

  Obediently, I shut my eyes.

  “See your path with your mind. I know you can do it. You won’t trip.”

  The insides of my eyelids were red-black and I tried to see through them, picturing the course before me. But I saw only a black void, and imagined myself falling into it. Spinning downward into nothingness. It was the wrong thing to picture. The beach seemed to sway beneath my feet. I fought a wave of dizziness, tempted to peek.

  “Don’t try so hard. Relax. See with your mind. You can do it.” His voice was hypnotic.

  I drew a deep breath of cool, salty air and exhaled slowly. The tension slid from my muscles and I began to relax. He was right. I strolled easily beside him, no longer tripping as my feet carried me along.

  In this dark world, the waves seemed louder. Thunderous. They smashed against the sand. As a breeze brushed my cheek, I tasted the air. Sharp and salty and slightly fishy, it slipped across my tongue and instantly evaporated. Like a new pungent flavor of cotton candy—there and gone before you could sink your teeth into it.

  “I see a lot,” Mr. Edwards said. “Some think I’m a crazy old man. But I do see. The lights went out for me so long ago, you’d think I wouldn't remember. I was just a boy.”

  “What happened?”

  “An accident. A firecracker blew up in my face. Wiped out my sight. I guess I was pretty ugly,” he said matter-of-factly. “The scars were bad. My mom couldn’t stand to look at me. Of course I couldn’t see her, but I sensed it when she turned away in disgust.”

  “That’s awful!” I gasped.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me, Jenna. It was a long time ago. I wasted a few years feeling sorry for myself, and then I got on with life. I didn't let it make me bitter. I probably wouldn’t be here now if I had. Remember that. Never become bitter. That’s my advice to you.”

  “Sounds like good advice,” I said politely.

  “May I give you another piece of advice, young lady?”

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t walk on the beach after dark anymore. It’s not safe for you. Did you know a girl was murdered here?”

  3

  When I opened my mouth to reply, only a scream came out because I suddenly found myself flying through the air. I had tripped on a piece of driftwood. My eyes popped open as I threw my hands out to catch myself. My right hand landed on a piece of broken glass as I hit the ground. The glass sliced through my palm and blood gushed out. “Oh!” I cried as the wound instantly began to sting.

  “You hurt?”

  “I cut myself!”

  “Ouch,” he said sympathetically. “When that salt water gets into a cut it really stings. We’re almost to my house. I can wash that out for you and put a bandage on it.”

  “No thanks. It’s not that bad. We’ve got bandages.”

  So much for “seeing my path,” I thought. I never should have listened to that crazy old man!

  “Remember my advice, Jenna!” Mr. Edwards called after me as I scrambled up the path. My house loomed before me, the windows on the first floor shining brightly. Mom hadn’t bothered to pull the shades. I paused for an instant, imagining the house a hundred years before. It was easy to picture. Years ago, when Aunt Ashley first moved here, Banbury House had been declared a historic landmark. Remodeling was prohibited. The surrounding town might have changed, but the house remained the same.

  Banbury House was all peaks and balconies and gingerbread lace. The roof rose to such a sharp point it seemed to jab at the sky, threatening to rip a hole in the night’s clouds. It was painted canary-yellow and glowed in the moonlight.

  Inside the wood floors gleamed—a beautiful (but creaky) feature my mother loved. Two twisting staircases and countless nooks gave the house a mysterious feel, as if someone could hide there for days and you’d never guess.

  Suddenly, I knew. Rita lived here. She must have! Why else would her diary be in Banbury House! Which room was hers? My eyes swept up the side of the house to my room on the third story. I’d left the bedside lamp on, and the window glowed faintly, spilling light onto the maple tree branch that stretched beneath it. Mom had papered my room in an old-fashioned rose pattern that supposedly matched the original wallpaper. It was lacy and feminine. Definitely a girl’s room.

  Had it once been Rita’s room?

  I stared at the window. Had she been in that room—my room—when she wrote that someone was watching her? Had someone stood here in this very spot, staring at the house? Staring at Rita?

  I shivered at the thought. The bright lights in our kitchen illuminated my parents in vivid detail as I watched them from outside. Dad was leaning against the counter, his stocky arms folded across his chest. The bald crow
n of his head glinted under the fluorescent lights, as his head bobbed up and down. His whole head always moved when he talked.

  He must have said something funny because Mom was laughing. Her thick black hair fell into her eyes, and she brushed it aside and playfully punched him in the arm, oblivious to the fact that someone was standing outside peering in at her. Never mind it was me! Anyone could stand outside and stare in at us, and we wouldn’t even know!

  I felt a prickle of fear, remembering the footsteps on the beach. If someone had followed me, they might still be out there, lurking in the bushes!

  My parents’ jaws dropped when I charged through the kitchen door. I followed their eyes and saw the blood dripping off my hand.

  “Oh my God!” Mom cried. “What happened?”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” I said. “Did you know a girl was murdered on the beach?” It was the wrong thing to say. She immediately assumed someone had just been killed and I had narrowly escaped the same fate.

  I set her straight as she cleaned my wound. “I wouldn’t believe everything that crazy old man tells you, Jenna. He’s quite elderly—over a hundred years old. Most likely his mind is going. I haven’t heard about a murder.”

  “But we just moved here. It wouldn’t have gotten much coverage in the news in Salem,” I pointed out.

  “Aunt Ashley would have phoned us if someone had been murdered. The only murder I ever heard about around here happened years ago. And it wasn’t a girl.”

  “That’s right,” Dad said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “About twenty years ago a fisherman snagged his line on a skeleton in Crab Cave. The thing had been down there for years. It had a bullet through its skull. The police never figured out who it was, but they could tell it was a male around forty without teeth.”

  “That’s probably what Mr. Edwards was thinking of,” Mom added as Dad disappeared into his study.

  “He didn’t mention any cave,” I said. “He said a girl. He said she was killed on the beach!”

  “I’m sure he was mistaken. But Mr. Edwards is right about one thing. You shouldn’t be running around after dark,” she said, turning away to put a stack of dishes in the cupboard.

  “Mom, do you know who Rita Mills was?”

  For an instant my mother seemed to freeze. I couldn’t see her face, because she was turned away from me. Her shoulders tensed, drawing the fabric of her pink blouse taut against her back. She carefully pushed the stack of dishes onto the shelf and turned to face me. “I don’t know a Rita,” she said distractedly. “Is she a neighbor of ours?”

  “I found her picture in the attic. I think she’s one of your ancestors. Mom, she looks just like me!”

  “How interesting. At least we know you look like someone in the family,” she teased, and tugged on a strand of my hair.

  “Seriously. Isn’t it kind of weird I look so much like her?”

  Before she could answer, the kitchen phone rang and a handsome face appeared on the large video screen. It was Kyle Mettley! I smoothed my hair back before I clicked the button so he could see me on his phone too.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey yourself,” I answered, my heart thumping crazily. What was Kyle Mettley doing calling me?

  “I heard we’re both going to be working for Dr. Grady. I was wondering if you’d like a ride to the lab tomorrow.”

  So that’s why Suki was so excited! She had asked her uncle to hire Kyle. I could see why she was so crazy about him. He had strong, masculine features and a dazzling smile that lit up his sexy green eyes.

  “Sure. I could use a ride,” I said, trying to sound casual.

  “Marla Rindler, Josey Bells, Mike Willoby, and Karen Stokes all got hired.”

  It was an exclusive bunch! Suki had asked her uncle to hire the most popular kids at school. She clearly saw this as her chance to join the golden group.

  “Suki Grady is going to be there too,” I said.

  “She’s Grady’s niece,” he said. “He had to ask her. There’s always one spard at every party.”

  “Oh,” I teased. “So you think this is going to be a party? I thought it was work!”"

  “It’s a party if I’m there,” he said cockily.

  Just then the screen split as another call came through. Suki’s face filled the left half of the screen, and I felt a twinge of guilt at seeing her eyes shining so happily. She’d die if she knew Kyle had called her a spard.

  “Sorry, Kyle. There’s someone on the other line,” I said, and put our audio connection on hold.

  “Oh, Jenna! Where have you been?” Suki squealed. “I called you three times! Wait till you hear! Kyle is going to be at the lab tomorrow. Uncle Terry hired him to work with us!”

  “That’s great,” I said. “I’m on the other line, can we talk about this tomorrow?”

  What would she think if she knew her image was pressed against Kyle’s on my phone’s video screen? It was probably the closest she’d ever come to snuggling up to him.

  “What do you think I should wear tomorrow?” she asked.

  Kyle was fidgeting impatiently, obviously tired of being on hold.

  “Wear your pink puff-suit. It looks really nice on you,” I added kindly and punched the button so Kyle’s gorgeous face filled the entire screen once again.

  We flirted for another minute and then someone from the lab phoned for Dad, interrupting my call again.

  I wanted to continue my conversation with Mom about the old photo, but Dad said she’d gone to bed with a headache. It was only 7 p.m. I had the oddest feeling she was avoiding me. She had seemed almost frightened when asked about my resemblance to Rita. And there was no mistaking the relief on her face when Kyle’s call interrupted our talk.

  Was it my imagination, or was my mother hiding something from me?

  4

  Upstairs in my room I sat by my antique dresser, held Rita’s photograph next to my face, and stared into the mirror. I was struck again by the resemblance. She was laughing, so I laughed too. Dimples—just like hers—appeared in my cheeks. My eyes squinted and became the same half-moons as Rita’s. Were hers the same ocean-sky gray? The black-and-white photograph couldn’t tell me.

  “I wish I knew you, Rita,” I whispered. I went to my window, an old-fashioned bay window complete with a seat, and gazed into the night. The moon was high and cast a silvery path across the black water. I leaned against a fat cushion and opened Rita’s diary.

  I first noticed Benjamin Grand in History class. He sits across the aisle from me and always has something wonderfully rebellious to say to Mr. Frink. We all hate Mr. Frink because he’s boring and cruel—the worst possible traits in a teacher!

  Anyway, Mr. Frink was picking on Sue Mitchell. She’s this slow girl who always forgets to bring her book to class. (I think it’s because she can‘t remember her locker combination.) Mr. Frink really loves to make her squirm. He always makes her stand up and give the class a complete report on how she managed to not bring her book. She gets really embarrassed and her face turns bright pink and everyone knows she’/s trying really hard not to cry. Well, right in the middle of this harassment, Ben interrupted! He said, “Mr. Frink, I forgot my book too. Would you like me to explain to the class how this terrible oversight happened?”

  He was being sarcastic, of course, so everyone laughed—except Mr. Frink. (Mr. Frink hates Ben because he has long hair.) So then Ben launched into this HILARIOUS long story that didn’t have anything to do with his history book. Finally Mr. Frink (who was turning as pink as Sue) barked, “Would you get to the point, Mr. Grand?” But then the bell rang and everybody got up and charged out the door!

  I thought it was really nice of Ben to get Sue off the hook like that. I smiled at him as we headed down the hall, and we ended up walking together to the cafeteria. I fell in love with him over lunch. As I mentioned earlier, it was Ben’s eyes that did me in. They are fringed with long, black lashes, and so blue they’re nearly white—like bleached-out d
enim. But it’s not the color of his eyes or his eyelashes that makes them so beautiful. It is what’s inside those eyes. Does that make sense?

  It was as if she was talking directly to me. So I answered her. “Yes, Rita, it does make sense! I wish I could meet someone like your Ben.”

  And then I remembered he broke her heart! The ink was slightly smeared, so I knew she was still crying as she wrote. I felt for her. Maybe they’ll get back together, I thought and was tempted to flip to the end of the diary to see what had happened. Instead, I kept reading.

  We ate lunch together, but I couldn’t taste my food. I honestly don’t know if I ate anything. All I could think of was Ben—although I was distracted by April making faces at me from the next table. She kept raising her eyebrows and winking at me, as if to say, “Right on!” It was so embarrassing, I could have killed her! Luckily, I don’t think Ben noticed.

  It started with that lunch, and soon it was every lunch. Each afternoon after school, Ben gave me a ride home in his big clunky car and we’d sit on the beach and talk for hours or hang out at my house listening to my Beatles albums.

  The first time Ben kissed me, we were on the beach. Our lips fit together as if they were designed to kiss each other. I snuggled against his jean jacket and got lost in the wonderful warm circle of his arms. I would have stayed that way forever, but Jim and his friend Chuck were spying on us from the cliff above. They threw globs of wet seaweed on us and some of it slid down the back of my shirt! Why did God invent little brothers?

  Well, diary, I’m not going to tell you about every kiss. There were so many over the last weeks. They were the most blissful weeks of my life. But then April told me I should have some kind of a commitment from Ben. She said that if I was always available to spend time with him, he would lose interest. You see, Ben went camping with his friend Shane Murdock without telling me first. He left me hanging with no plans for the weekend! April slept over Saturday night, and when I griped about Ben’s camping trip, she told me to “play hard to get.”