The Ghost of Graylock

by Dan Poblocki

  “And more,” said Wesley. Turning toward Neil, he whispered, “We should get to a phone. Maybe your aunt will let us use the one back at the shop.”

  Neil nodded, even though he was almost terrified to find out what a living, breathing Nurse Janet would have to say to them. Would she be angry? Would she hang up? He still couldn’t believe she was really alive. Was Gladys telling the truth?

  Wesley went off to find the bathroom.

  “Ugh! Come on!” came a voice from behind a bookshelf near the fiction section.

  Jay glanced at Neil. He raised an eyebrow. “She’s been doing that for a while.”

  Neil peeked around the corner and found Bree standing at a computer kiosk. She was looking through the electronic catalogue. “What’s the matter?”

  Bree stiffened, then turned. She shook her head and waved dramatically at the screen. “This stupid thing isn’t working. I keep typing in book titles, and all that pops up are these weird screen savers. Three pictures. When I move the mouse, they go away, but the computer won’t let me look for my books.”

  Neil’s throat tightened. “What kind of pictures?”

  “I’ll show you.” Bree searched for a random title, and when she hit enter, a full-screen slide show began. When Neil saw the first photograph, he covered his mouth in shock. It was the same picture he’d seen in his camera’s view screen the day before. The taxidermic deer head. When the next photo popped up on the screen, Neil felt dizzy. The piano bench with the stack of sheet music. The third photo — birch logs in a fireplace — was no surprise. Bree stared at him, worried.

  Neil felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped and spun around, lashing out, nearly slapping Jay in the face. The librarian leapt backward. “Whoa!” he said. “I came to see if the catalogue was giving you problems.”

  “Sorry!” said Neil. “I just thought —”

  “As a matter of fact,” Bree said, turning back to the screen, “the catalogue is giving us problems. A screen saver keeps popping up. The computer won’t let me search.”

  “This machine doesn’t have a screen saver,” said Jay, confused.

  “Well, look,” said Bree. She went through the search process again, but this time, after she hit ENTER, the catalogue showed her a list of titles similar to the one she’d entered. No photos. No slide show. “What the heck? It’s not doing it now.”

  Jay sighed and shrugged. “I’m not sure what to tell you, except that the V. C. Andrews books are all right behind you. That’s what you were looking for. Right?”

  Bree looked sheepish. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  On the walk back to the pie shop, Neil filled in Wesley about the three photos they’d encountered at the computer kiosk.

  “At first, I didn’t realize that I was looking at the same pictures Neil saw yesterday,” said Bree, “but when I saw Neil’s reaction …”

  “It’s like someone was able to tap into the devices,” said Neil, “to show us something they wanted us to see. The antlers, the piano bench, and the fireplace.”

  “But how is that possible?” asked Wesley. “Can you remotely manipulate a camera’s memory card? Or a whole library catalogue?”

  “Not that I’ve ever heard,” said Bree.

  “You know what this means, right?” said Neil. “Bree and I have both dreamed of the lake. We’ve both seen the weeds. And now, we’ve both experienced the three photos. Eric’s wrong — this is definitely not only in my imagination.”

  Bree squinted, seeming to concentrate on the sidewalk ahead of her. “Someone wanted us to see these images. Us. And somehow they managed to make it happen.”

  Neil remembered what Alexi and Mark had said about the dead being able to use physical energy in order to show themselves to the living. Maybe the images were simply another way that this spirit, or whatever, was trying to communicate with them. But what was it trying to say?

  “The antlers, the piano bench, and the fireplace,” Bree continued dreamily, seeing the images in her mind. “They’ve got to mean something. Maybe the pictures have to do with that Nurse Janet legend.”

  “Yeah,” said Neil slowly, cautiously, thinking about the news Gladys had revealed to them a few minutes ago. “About that …”

  BY THE TIME THEY RETURNED FROM THE LIBRARY, Neil and Wesley had filled in Bree on Gladys’s story.

  They stood uncertainly in front of the shop, waiting for one of them to make the next move. “Something feels wrong,” said Bree. She began to shake her head, and Neil knew they had a problem. “I think we should leave it alone.”

  Neil threw his hands in the air. “A few minutes ago you were all for figuring this out.”

  “Yeah, but that was before I learned the truth! Nurse Janet is alive — a far cry from being a murderous ghost.”

  Neil rolled his eyes. Far cry? “That only means we have more questions than before.”

  Wesley nodded. “We have to do something.”

  “And what’s that? Call an old woman in a nursing home? Please!” Bree held up the thick book she’d borrowed from the library, Petals on the Wind. “I just want to forget all of this, sit by myself and read.”

  “Where? In California?” Neil spat.

  “You guys!” Wesley stepped between them. “Stop.” He took a breath. “If Bree doesn’t want to be part of it, Neil, then you and me can call Mrs. Reilly. It’s fine.”

  “Thank you, Wesley,” said Bree, glaring at her brother. She sat down on the sidewalk beside the shop’s front door and practically shoved her nose into the paperback book.

  Inside, Neil and Wesley asked Claire if they could use the phone. She was busy with a customer at the register, so she didn’t even blink before saying yes. They crept to her office and called the number that Neil had written down at the library. A bored-sounding woman answered. With his heart racing, Neil asked if the woman could connect him to Janet Reilly’s room, and she immediately put him on hold. Seconds later, she informed him that Mrs. Reilly was sleeping. She sounded as if she was about to hang up, but Neil quickly asked if Whispering Knoll accepted visitors. “Until six P.M.,” the operator said. Then the line went dead.

  “How are we going to get up there?” Neil asked Wesley. “My aunts are busy. And anyway, I don’t think they’d take us when we told them who she is.”

  “I know someone with time on his hands,” Wesley said. They made another phone call, then waited in the café for their ride to pull up. Fifteen minutes later, Eric arrived at the curb, behind the wheel of his mother’s sedan.

  “Where’s Bree?” Eric asked, as the two boys slipped into the backseat.

  Neil was about to tell him when someone yanked the front passenger door open. Bree peeked inside, her eyes wide, her knuckles white as she dug her fingers into her book’s cover. “Where are you guys going?” she asked.

  “Where do you think?” said Neil. “We couldn’t get through on the phone, so —”

  “I’m coming,” Bree said and then slid into the front seat. She slammed the door shut.

  Eric smiled petulantly. “Well, it’s nice to see you too.”

  “Please. Just … drive?” said Bree, peering into the rearview mirror.

  Eric put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. “As you wish,” he said.

  “What made you change your mind?” Wesley asked.

  Bree huffed a sigh. She sounded annoyed. “I saw something,” she mumbled.

  “Something?” Eric said, curious.

  “Someone.” Bree buckled her seat belt. “When I was reading, I felt like I was being watched. I looked up …” She shivered, remembering. “A girl was standing across the street, in the alley. I couldn’t see her too well, but I noticed she was dressed in a white dress, like a hospital uniform.”

  “Just like the woman I saw near the playground,” said Neil.

  “The girl I saw looked like she could have been any age, I guess, but something told me she was around my age. I heard a voice in my head, as if from the other side of a bad phone con
nection.”

  “What did it say?” Wesley asked, as if this was a perfectly natural occurrence.

  Bree hung her head. “She said, ‘Go.’”

  “Go?” said Neil. “As in, with us?”

  Bree nodded. “I stood up and shouted at her to leave me alone. And she was gone. But a second later, my legs went numb. Then my hands. The most incredible pain raced all over my body, like knives cutting my skin. I couldn’t breathe. And everything started to go dark.” Her voice hitched, but she continued. “I heard her voice again, as if from far away, screaming, ‘Go!’ So I promised I would. I said it out loud. And it stopped. She left me alone.” Suddenly furious, Bree turned toward the backseat. “I hate this, Neil! What have you gotten us into?”

  A half hour later, Eric continued north on the twisted country roads that led to the town of Heaverhill, where Whispering Knoll Rest Home was located.

  “I forgot to tell Aunt Claire we were leaving,” said Bree, clutching her hands in her lap.

  “Me too,” said Neil, feeling light-headed. This was the first thing she’d said to him since yelling at him, but it gave him no comfort.

  “If they give you a hard time,” said Eric, “I’ll tell your aunts I’m a really good driver.”

  “Thanks,” Bree answered dryly. “I’m sure that’ll help.” Stone-faced, she glanced out the window at the immense green fields that sped by in a dizzying blur. The mountainous horizon from which they’d come faded in the humid air behind them. Despite the car’s open windows, Neil’s forehead was dripping with sweat, and his teeth nearly chattered with nerves.

  “How much longer?” Wesley asked.

  As if in response, a small white sign appeared along the side of the road up ahead. WELCOME TO HEAVERHILL. After another couple miles, they came to another sign, this one for the rest home. Neil clutched at his seat belt as Eric made the turn into the long driveway.

  The building was nice, or at least it was nicer than Neil had expected. He’d heard nursing homes could be depressing, but Whispering Knoll looked like a giant dollhouse, with gables and spires and white vinyl siding that resembled real wood.

  After parking, the four approached the main entrance. A pair of dark glass doors slid open. The group went in together, silent and curious. A quiet desk, covered in colorful flowers, stood off to the right of a wide foyer. A short woman greeted them with a fake-looking smile. “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “We’re here to see Janet Reilly,” said Neil. “I called earlier but she was sleeping.”

  “And you are?” the woman asked, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

  “Friends,” said Bree. Neil was glad that she had his back. “Came up for a visit.”

  The woman behind the desk sighed heavily, as if they’d asked her to run a marathon. She typed something into her computer. “Looks like she’s scheduled for the rec room right now. But she’s already got a visitor in there. Her son comes every afternoon.” She glanced up at the group.

  Neil smiled, pretending to be unperturbed. “It’ll be nice to see him too. Which way do we go?”

  The receptionist seemed surprised and a bit disappointed at his quick response, but pointed down the hall. “Straight ahead. Can’t miss it.”

  Wesley leaned toward the desk. “And, uh, could you tell us what she looks like?”

  Bree smacked Wesley on the back. He cried out, and Bree forced a laugh. The receptionist wore a look that said she might call Security. “Such a kidder,” Bree said. The group hurried off toward a pair of French doors.

  “Smooth move, guys,” Eric said.

  “I was just trying to help,” said Wesley.

  The rec room was large, bright, and comfy. Soft couches were set up facing each other in several areas. On an enormous television in a far corner, a muted game show played. A pool table stood in the center of the room, flanked by two unoccupied Ping-Pong tables. Most of the residents who were there seemed happy to simply sit near the sunny windows, enjoying the view of a sloping green hillside.

  A middle-aged man, younger than most of the people in the room, walked briskly toward them. Neil worried that the man was about to kick them out, but he passed them by.

  Neil, Bree, Wesley, and Eric were now alone with a group of elderly people. Slowly, the four stepped forward.

  Two women sat off to the left of the space, engaging in what sounded like a deep conversation about the weather. One man held onto a walker, staring silently out the window. A fourth woman was perched in a wheelchair. Her back was toward them. An empty chair sat beside her.

  Neil thought of the man who’d passed them at the center of the room … the receptionist’s news that Mrs. Reilly had a visitor … the chair that seemed to wait for someone’s return. He approached this woman, her broad shoulders greeting him like a wall; her thin gray hair cut short, styled in mashed curls. “Mrs. Reilly?” he said.

  She turned and saw the group standing behind her. Her face was weathered, her laugh lines deep. Her bottom lip quavered, and for a moment, Neil wondered if she was crying. But she wasn’t. The movement seemed to be a spasm. It ended when the woman showed a smile that lit up her blue eyes. “Yes?” she said.

  “My name is Neil Cady,” he said, keeping his voice even, though his insides trembled. Imagining how someone on a detective show might sound, he said, “This is my sister, Bree, and my friends Wesley and Eric. We were wondering if we could talk to you for a few minutes?”

  “About what?” she asked, her brow crinkling.

  “About Graylock Hall,” said Neil. The words fell from his mouth like a stone into water. They seemed to ripple through the room, slowly making their way to the old woman’s ears.

  When Janet Reilly finally processed what he’d said, her smile dropped away, and those bright blue eyes seemed to cloud over, as if a storm were brewing somewhere deep inside.

  “WHAT ABOUT IT?” MRS. REILLY ASKED, but her puckered face told them she knew exactly what they wanted to hear. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Sit down,” she said, as if she’d been dreading this moment for many years. “Quick. Before my son gets back.”

  The four grabbed several stools from a nearby card table and arranged them around the old woman’s wheelchair. When they were settled, Neil felt as if they were attending some sort of messed-up story time at his hometown library back in New Jersey.

  “You wanted to see Nurse Janet for yourselves?” Mrs. Reilly’s face grew darker, angrier. “Isn’t that how the story goes? Old Janet Reilly. The Monster of Graylock Hall?” She leaned toward Wesley, as close as she could get. Her breath was orange scented — even Neil could smell her from where he sat. “Aren’t you scared of me?” she whispered, a lightning flash in her eye. Anger? Amusement? She was difficult to read.

  “Should we be?” asked Eric, crossing his arms, refusing to play her game.

  Mrs. Reilly sat back and took him in. After a few seconds, she exhaled, releasing her intensity like steam from a kettle of boiling water. “Of course not,” she said honestly. “I never hurt anyone in my life. So why do you kids insist on turning me into a monster?”

  “That’s not what we came to do,” said Bree.

  “If you tell us about Graylock,” Neil tried, “we can share the truth with our friends.”

  “The truth?” Mrs. Reilly laughed a humorless laugh. “You came here, so you must know the story … though I doubt your version has much to do with the truth.” She shrugged. “Short version: Some patients died while under my watch. The town blamed me.” She paused again. “They said that I was responsible.”

  “But you’re not?” Bree whispered.

  “That’s the big question, isn’t it?” Mrs. Reilly answered, more softly than any of them expected. “You want the truth?” She coughed, cleared her throat, and then shook her head, which appeared heavy, weary with memory. “The truth is: The patients did it to themselves, honey. Remember, these kids were not well. They had emotional problems. Addictions. Difficult families. These were good kids
who needed help. They deserved the best kind of treatment, but what they got was Graylock. And they wanted out.

  “We all knew that when the summer storms came through that place,” she continued, looking each of them in the eye in turn, “the island’s power grid usually failed, and the back door of the youth ward would unlatch. I begged my bosses to get it fixed, but considering the condition of the rest of the building, one little broken door didn’t seem to be high on their list of priorities, even after the second time it happened. The investigations. The accusations. The poor patients …” The old woman sighed.

  “That’s so horrible,” said Bree, shivering beneath the air-conditioning vent.

  “I worked the graveyard shift alone,” Mrs. Reilly went on, “unlucky enough to be in the position where my kids were capable of sneaking out from under my watch. And let me tell you, when the lights went out in that building, it was all I could do to keep track of myself, never mind fifteen teenagers no older than the lot of you.”

  “So the drownings really were accidents?” said Neil. He thought of the nightmare he’d had — running through the woods, falling into the lake, trapped under the surface, inhaling water. He knew it had been a dream, because he’d been asleep, but upon waking it had seemed so very much like a memory, as if it had really happened. As if he’d been one of the patients.

  There was one big difference between Mrs. Reilly’s explanation and what he’d seen: In the dream, someone had been chasing him.

  Mrs. Reilly clutched at the arms of her chair, her eyes suddenly wild. “Don’t think I haven’t blamed myself every day for what happened. It hurts. To fail those in your care despite your best intentions. To have an entire community turn against you … To have friends and family wondering: Is it true? Is she capable of such an atrocity?” She calmed herself, glancing at her audience as if they’d suddenly materialized all around her. “I’m sorry…. You didn’t come to hear this.”

  “We did, actually,” said Eric.