The Ghost of Graylock

by Dan Poblocki

  At Graylock, Rebecca eventually began to socialize with some of the other patients in the youth ward. After a few months, the staff claimed she might even benefit from being released. For Rebecca, this news was devastating. She withdrew into her bedroom — number 13 — rarely coming out except for meals and meetings, during which she refused to speak.

  “That’s the room we got stuck in,” said Bree, her voice quavering.

  “It’s her,” Neil whispered. “Rebecca’s our ghost.”

  “Exactly,” said Wesley, shaking his head in disbelief. “So what was wrong? If she was getting better, why didn’t Rebecca want to leave Graylock?”

  “Maybe she was scared of what she might do to herself,” said Bree.

  “Or maybe she was scared of what someone else might do to her,” Neil whispered.

  “Look here,” said Wesley, peeking ahead to the last of the pages. “It turned out that Graylock wasn’t the safest place for her after all. She died there. She was one of the girls who drowned in the lake. This file proves it.”

  The three of them looked over the copy of the coroner’s report.

  Bree covered her mouth and closed her eyes. “She was only a little older than me.”

  The front door swung inward, and the three of them jumped. Neil swiftly closed the folder and sat on it.

  “Hey, there,” said Claire, from behind the screen door. “Whatcha been up to?”

  “Not much,” said Neil. “Just hanging out.”

  Claire bit the inside of her mouth, as if she didn’t like that answer. “Anyone up for a trip to Rooster’s Drive-In? I don’t know about you all, but I’m hungry enough for a hot dog or two. My treat.”

  Neil and Bree glanced at each other, silently questioning whether they had time for a break.

  “They have go-carts,” said Wesley, as if that might seal the deal.

  AFTER A GREASY DINNER OF HOT DOGS AND FRENCH FRIES, they all raced go-carts, taking the curves slowly so that none of them vomited. The aunts dared Neil to wallop them, but even after a few trips around the track, he couldn’t stop thinking of Graylock. It was as if Rebecca was sitting next to him, pulling at the steering wheel.

  When the group returned to the aunts’ house, the sun was starting to set. With his bike helmet strapped on tightly and his lips pressed shut in a knowing smile, Wesley took off for home.

  A message waited on the answering machine in the foyer — the red light blinking from the console like a stop signal at a crossroad. When Neil heard his father’s voice blaring from the speaker, he closed his eyes. “Hey, guys, sorry to miss you again,” said Rick. “I’ve got a big surprise that I’m sure will make you very happy. I’m busy tonight, but we’ll talk in a couple days. Love to you all.”

  Click.

  The aunts sighed and went into the living room, giving Neil and Bree privacy in the foyer. “You want to call him back?” asked Neil.

  Bree shook her head. Her eyes glinted darkly, almost regretfully. “But there is someone I think we should try reaching out to.” Bree grabbed the cordless phone and dialed Information. “I’m looking for a phone number in Heaverhill, New York,” she said to the operator, “a nursing home called Whispering Knoll.”

  Mrs. Reilly had been there on the night Rebecca had drowned. They both agreed that they needed to ask her about it.

  Neil dialed the number Bree had written down. The phone rang once, twice, three times. He was about to hang up, when a voice said, “Good evening. Whispering Knoll. How can I help you?” Neil asked to be connected to Mrs. Reilly’s room. After some hesitation, the receptionist, told him to hold.

  After nearly a minute, a male voice came on the line. “Who is this?”

  Neil recognized Mrs. Reilly’s son. He didn’t sound happy. “Um … My name is Neil Cady. I met you yesterday —”

  As if he’d been waiting for the call, Nicholas interrupted. “My mother has nothing more to say to you. And if you keep bothering us, you’re going to be very sorry. Do you understand me?”

  Neil nearly dropped the phone. All the breath exited his lungs. “I …”

  The line went dead, and moments later, a dial tone rang in his ear. Neil put the phone back in the cradle.

  Bree leaned forward, eyes like flying saucers. “What happened? What did she say?”

  “He said I was going to be very sorry.” Neil shook his head. “I don’t think we should call there again.”

  LATER, UPSTAIRS, NEIL AND BREE SAT ON HIS BED, discouraged, flipping through the pages of Rebecca Smith’s file.

  “I still can’t believe Nurse Janet’s son,” said Bree. “So weird.”

  “Yeah,” said Neil, unsure if weird was the right word for what Nicholas Reilly actually was. “I don’t know. I keep thinking about the way he watched us when we went up to Whispering Knoll, like he wanted us to disappear or something.”

  “He’s trying to protect his mom,” said Bree, distractedly turning another page of the folder, landing on a blood-test report. She glanced up at Neil. “He doesn’t want her to have to deal with anymore Nurse Janet questions.”

  Something popped into Neil’s head, something he hadn’t considered before. “Maybe he’s hiding something.”

  Bree flinched. “Like what?”

  “Mrs. Reilly could have lied,” said Neil, sitting back against the pillows near his headboard. “If Nicholas knew that, what would he do to keep anyone from learning what really happened at Graylock Hall?”

  Bree pulled nervously on her hair. “You don’t think …” She exhaled slowly, evenly.

  But for Neil, the room spun. “I don’t know,” he choked out. Nicholas’s voice stuck in his head like caramel. He tried to remember his dream from the other night, to make out the face behind the flashlight chasing him through the woods. Could it have been Mrs. Reilly after all? Maybe she actually was crazy. And maybe it ran in the family. “I wish Rebecca could just tell us what to do!”

  Neil felt a chill. He glanced around the room. There was no breeze, and yet he was suddenly cold. Bree rubbed at her arms. The papers lying between them fluttered a bit. Neil and Bree both looked down, bringing their hands away from the folder. Something on the page caught his attention.

  “Bree,” Neil whispered, “look.” He pointed at a name typed near the top of the document: DR. JULIUS SIMON.

  According to the hospital record, the doctor who had ordered Rebecca’s tests was the same one who’d bandaged Neil’s leg. Neil drew back from the folder, as if it might suddenly slam shut on his hand.

  THE NEXT MORNING WAS COLD AND GRAY. A white mist filled the usually sunny spaces between the trees that surrounded the Victorian house in the woods. When Neil woke and glanced out his bedroom window, he imagined momentarily that the fog was a mass of apparitions congregating in the shadows, waiting to descend upon him. Vague memories of bad dreams stuck in his head like cobwebs in a long-forgotten attic.

  Coming downstairs, a name flashed in his brain, shucking away the last remnants of sleep: Julius Simon. Neil had suggested the night before that they reach out to the doctor today. Bree, however, was still on the fence about it. He might be dangerous, she argued. Neil was thankful to find the rest of his makeshift family sitting at the kitchen table. Claire asked Neil and Bree if they wouldn’t mind helping out at the register, since Lyle called out sick. The two quickly shared a look — being in town would bring them closer to the doctor’s office. But was that a good thing?

  By the time they got to the shop, the morning rush had already passed — Melissa Diaz had been able to cover until they arrived. Claire taught Neil and Bree how to ring up the customers, then went back to her office.

  Even with a steady trickle of customers, though, Neil couldn’t stop thinking about Dr. Simon. Rebecca had obviously wanted them to find her file. But did she wish them to visit the doctor? Or avoid him at all costs? Either way, Dr. Simon was the only clue they had left.

  Returning to the front after a bathroom break, Neil tapped his sister’s shoulder. S
he screamed and spun around, her hand raised up as if ready to smack him. He flinched. “Whoa there,” he said. “Jumpy?”

  Bree closed her eyes and shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe what just happened.” Neil raised his eyebrows. “I was standing here, counting out the last customer’s change, when I looked up and noticed a car parked across the street. Guess who?” Neil shook his head. “Nicholas Reilly.”

  They both went out to the sidewalk, but the car that Bree had seen was gone. The roads were damp and fog obscured the distance.

  “How sure are you that it was him?” Neil asked.

  “Pretty sure,” said Bree. “His eyes were shooting bullets.” Neil didn’t care for the expression. After all, what might the man do to protect his mother? “Going up to Heaverhill was a big mistake. We’ve got to tell Aunt Claire and Aunt Anna what we did. If Mrs. Reilly’s son is here in Hedston, he could hurt us. He could hurt them.”

  Neil knew she was right. The aunts needed to know everything. But if he told them now, they might stop him from talking to the doctor, and he wasn’t ready to give up his biggest lead, especially since Rebecca had practically handed it to him. “Please don’t say anything,” Neil said, stepping away from the door of the pie shop, heading down the street. “Not yet.”

  “Neil,” Bree said, her voice raising like a warning alarm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Someone has to help Rebecca,” said Neil, beginning to run.

  “But what about us?” Bree called back.

  Same thing, Neil thought. His sneakers slipped on the sidewalk as he turned at the corner. Catching himself before he fell, he looked ahead into the mists that swirled between the houses, trying to remember the way to Dr. Simon’s office.

  AFTER A FEW BLOCKS, Neil came to an intersection that looked familiar. The sign at the corner read Yarrow Street. Several driveways down, the white building sat back from the road, a small sign crookedly pitched in the middle of the lawn: DR. JULIUS SIMON — FAMILY MEDICINE.

  During his frantic run, Neil’s mind had been spinning — had Nicholas Reilly followed him? Was Rebecca watching? If he didn’t do what she wanted, would she barrage him with the dangerous visions again?

  Now that he faced the long walk up to the doctor’s front door, reality began to solidify around him. He would ask Dr. Simon about Graylock. About Rebecca.

  He pressed the doorbell and waited. A few moments later, the knob turned and the doctor’s mother, Maude, opened the door. She wore the same floor-length white nightgown she’d had on the last time he’d seen her. Her outfit struck Neil as odd, reminding him of what he’d once imagined was Nurse Janet’s uniform, of Rebecca Smith’s own white hospital gown. Could Maude’s clothing be a clue? Everything seemed to mean something now.

  Neil blinked at the old woman. She scowled. “Mrs. Simon,” he blurted out. “Hi. I’m Neil Cady. I was here a couple days ago.”

  “I remember,” she said, reaching out both arms to grasp the door frame, blocking the way. Her son must have told her about the folder he’d confiscated from Eric. She obviously didn’t trust him now. “How’s your leg?”

  “Actually,” Neil said, thinking quickly, “that’s why I’m here.” This was his in. “Do you think Dr. Simon could take a look at it?”

  “Why?” said Maude. The old woman was as tough as she looked.

  “Pins and needles,” Neil answered, standing his ground. “It hurts.”

  “Have you been cleaning the wound?” She crossed her arms. “I believe that Dr. Simon gave you all the instruction you required.” As she leaned toward him, Neil realized how tall this woman was. He imagined her reaching out for him, pushing him down, her long fingers closing around his throat.

  Then another thought sparked his imagination: If this woman’s son had once been a doctor at Graylock Hall, was it possible that she’d worked there too? Had she known Nurse Janet … or Nicholas Reilly? Was Maude as frightening as she appeared to be, or was she simply annoyed that he’d disturbed her?

  Neil stepped back, forcing himself to speak. “I’ve been trying.” His voice came out like a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “But I really wanted to talk to Dr. Simon about it.”

  Maude shook her head violently, as if she might send him forcibly away simply by thinking about it.

  Neil gritted his teeth. Rebecca would be angry if he didn’t get inside. And the longer he stood here, the better chance Nicholas had of tracking him down — if he hadn’t already done so. Neil steadied himself, ready to attempt a dash past Maude, when a voice called from the darkness inside the house. “Who is it, Mother?”

  Maude stepped aside, revealing her son standing at the end of the long hallway, in the entrance to the waiting room. “Neil?” said Dr. Simon, stepping forward. “What’s wrong?”

  Neil knew that this was the last chance he’d have to turn and walk back to the relative safety of the pie shop, to meet up with what was sure to be a furious Bree. He paused in the damp air just outside the open door. Then, slowly, trying to stop the shaking he felt in his bones, Neil stepped over the threshold and into the blue hall, past the woman who glared down at him with eyes like acid.

  “Dr. Simon,” he said, “please, I need your help.”

  THE WHITE ROOM WAS EVEN MORE CRAMPED than Neil remembered. Tall, freestanding exam lights were shoved into the corners; stainless steel containers filled with Band-Aids, Q-tips, and syringes were crowded on the countertop. A big red bin labeled Biohazard sat on the floor next to a wide wooden desk. Neil perched once more on the paper-covered table as Dr. Simon sat on the stool by his feet, looking closely at Neil’s shin. After a few seconds, the doctor glanced up. “You could have kept it covered for another day or two, but it looks like it’s healing just fine without a bandage,” he said. “It still hurts?”

  “A little,” said Neil, clutching at both sides of the exam table. He worried that the doctor’s mother was listening from the other side of the door. But he knew that the longer he kept up the story of his leg bothering him, the harder it would be to spit out the real reason he’d come.

  “I’d recommend ibuprofen. I’m sure your aunts —”

  “Do you remember Rebecca Smith?” Dr. Simon stood up, surprised. He tilted his head in confusion, as if he hadn’t heard Neil correctly. Neil forced himself to continue. “She was a patient of yours a long time ago.” Dr. Simon stared at him, his puzzlement seeping away, replaced by what looked like frustration.

  “If you know that, then you already know my answer,” said Dr. Simon.

  Neil took a deep breath and crossed his ankles. He tried to imagine what Bree might have asked if she’d had the guts to tag along. “Can you tell me anything about her?” he tried.

  “I’m sorry,” said Dr. Simon. “I can’t talk about my other patients.”

  Neil thought quickly. “Can you tell me about working at Graylock Hall?”

  The doctor glanced at the door, as if contemplating walking out. “I moved to Hedston to be one of the general medicine physicians at Graylock,” he said in a rush. “I took care of many patients. Some of them got well. Some of them did not. Everyone knows it was not a nice place, but we did the best we could under the circumstances. When they shut Graylock down, I decided to open a private practice here in town. Mother and I have lived on Yarrow Street ever since.”

  Leaning forward, Neil asked, “Did your mom work with you?” When the doctor stepped closer toward the door, Neil tried a different question. “Did you know all the patients who drowned?”

  Dr. Simon blinked. “What do you know about Rebecca Smith?” he asked.

  “I know she died at Graylock Hall,” Neil heard himself say. “I know she drowned in the lake.”

  “Do you really?” Dr. Simon’s mouth seemed to twist into a slight smile. “And how do you know that?”

  Neil needed to make Dr. Simon understand how serious he was, so he said, “She told me.”

  Dr. Simon’s mouth dropped open momentarily before he
clicked it purposefully shut again, holding onto that strange, forced smile. “She told you,” he said with a look of condescension. “Of course she did. And what else did she tell you?”

  Here it was. The big question. Neil closed his eyes. “She said she was murdered.”

  “Ah, yes.” Dr. Simon nodded as if this suddenly all made sense. “You’ve heard the stories.” He chuckled. “You do know that Janet Reilly lives north of here? She’s a lovely woman. We were friends once.”

  “Nurse Janet wouldn’t hurt anyone?” asked Neil.

  The doctor shook his head. After a few seconds, he said, “So who do you think did it? Who murdered Rebecca Smith?”

  The ghost stories of Graylock Hall had twisted so many times in the past few days, Neil was having a hard time keeping everything straight. He knew he could probably come up with a list of suspects if he thought hard about it. Nurse Janet, who everyone believed had been the killer, was now an old woman, but her son, Nicholas, certainly seemed like a threat. Dr. Simon hadn’t answered Neil’s question about Maude working at the hospital with him, but did that mean that his mother might be guilty of murder? And then there was Dr. Simon himself. Several days ago, he’d confiscated Eric’s folder. He may have been the one who’d told the aunts about their first trip to Graylock Hall. And now, he wore that strange smile. Was he merely amused at Neil’s persistence? Or did his expression hint at something darker?

  Neil tensed up. Talking about Rebecca had brought attention to himself. If the murderer was still out there, he or she wouldn’t be happy that he was asking questions. But what else was he supposed to do? Sit in a closet? Hide away?