by Dan Poblocki
Dr. Simon stepped close to the exam table — his eyes glinting with an icy intensity — and placed his warm hand on Neil’s shoulder. “Did Rebecca mention that she was terrified of the dark?” the doctor asked, his voice low, severe. “Or that lightning storms sent her into a total panic? Did she say how she’d never learned to swim?” Neil listened in silence as the doctor went on. “Did she tell you how very easy it was to slip out of the hospital? To get lost in the reeds? To mistakenly wander into the water?” Neil leaned away, trying to get out of the doctor’s grip. “What happened to those kids at Graylock Hall was an accident. Horrible. Tragic. Unforgettable for those of us who were there. But an accident, nonetheless. The last thing this town needs is for rumors of murder to surface again. I’m sure Rebecca’s family would appreciate a moratorium on the subject.”
“Rebecca’s family?” said Neil, sliding off the table. “They’re in Hedston?”
Dr. Simon flinched, realizing he’d said too much. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
But Neil’s feet felt glued to the floor. If this news wasn’t exactly what he’d come for, it certainly sounded like a worthy clue. “Did Rebecca Smith grow up here?”
Dr. Simon’s face turned red as moved to the exit — his blush was as close to an answer as Neil’d be getting. The doctor grappled with the door, swinging it inward before stumbling, exasperated, into the waiting room. “Mother?” he called. “Can you please show our patient out?”
THE HIKE BACK TO THE SHOP WAS DAMP AND CHILLY. Neil stuck to backyards and alleyways. Every time a car passed by, a jolt of nerves rocked his bones.
When Neil walked through the shop door, he braced himself. Claire would surely be waiting for him with a worried look. He was certain his sister had told her everything.
But the shop was quiet.
Bree stood behind the register, glaring at him as he tentatively stepped toward her. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked.
“I didn’t know what I was looking for,” said Neil. “But I definitely found something.” Bree chewed at the inside of her lip, curious but unwilling to ask him what he meant. “Did you tell Aunt Claire what’s going on? Are we in trouble now?” Bree shook her head, but she still glared at him. Even if she hadn’t ratted him out, she wasn’t looking happy about it. “I thought —”
“I thought I would too,” said Bree. “After you took off, I came back in here and went to the office. But before I knocked on the door, I felt as though someone was beside me. When I turned, though, no one was there.”
“Rebecca?” Neil asked.
Bree ignored his question. “I heard that voice again. It was so quiet, I’m not sure if it was in my head. It said, ‘No.’”
“No?”
“That’s all. And I suddenly knew I couldn’t tell Aunt Claire. For whatever reason, that little No got me. I came back out here feeling someone walking behind me, nearly stepping on my heels. I’ve been waiting for you ever since.” She exhaled. “So what happened? What did you find?”
Neil told Bree everything, including Dr. Simon’s accidental hint that Rebecca Smith had lived in Hedston and that her family might still be here too. She didn’t look happy when Neil suggested they try to track the family down.
“Remember that voice you heard in your head?” Neil asked. “It might only have been your own.”
Bree sighed, tucking her hair behind her ears. “So look her up, then,” she said.
But Neil’s Internet search in Claire’s office didn’t show any Smiths in Hedston. “There has to be another way,” said Neil, returning to the front counter few minutes later.
“Well, apparently Rebecca doesn’t want us to ask the aunts,” said Bree. “So that’s out.”
Neil nodded even as he considered the precariousness of taking advice from a ghost. “We know other people in Hedston besides the aunts, though. Wesley’s family has been here for years. Maybe they can give us some answers.”
AFTER A LONG CONVERSATION WITH WESLEY, Neil hung up the shop’s phone and explained the new plan to his sister. It was complicated, but she complimented him on his resourcefulness.
Later, as Claire dropped the two of them off at the address Wesley had given Neil, she smiled. “I’m glad you’re doing this. I think it will be good for you two. I’ve always wished I could have joined a band when I was your age.”
“It’s just a tryout,” said Bree, opening the passenger door, grasping the handle of her viola case.
“You sure you don’t need a ride home?” asked Claire, looking more hopeful than he’d ever seen her.
Neil opened his door too, feeling a heavy blanket of guilt. He promised himself he’d tell the aunts everything sometime soon, no matter the consequences. “Eric said he’d drive us when we’re done.”
“Try to be back before dark. And call us before you get on the road.” She might as well have said, No long joyrides, please. “I don’t want Anna to worry.”
“We will,” said Neil, stepping onto the sidewalk, pushing the door shut.
Claire honked the horn as she pulled away.
Neil cringed, glancing up the hill.
The Diazes’ house sat at the top of a large green lawn. Two stories tall and five windows wide, it was bigger than most of the other houses in Hedston. Painted gray, the building nearly blended into the fog. Bloodred shutters flanked each window, standing out like wounds.
Neil looked around for Eric’s car, but the only vehicle nearby was the one parked halfway up the house’s long driveway. It was a small, familiar-looking red hatchback. This was the car that had passed them a couple days ago during the walk to the library. According to Eric, Bobby Phelps — the jerk who’d shouted at them — would be here.
The hatchback made everything concrete — there were no ghost stories here, no haunted hospital, no town legends, no nightmares. Neil’s goal was real. He was about to face real people. The possibility of real fists. Real pain.
From behind Neil and Bree, the sound of tires on wet pavement came up the street. They turned to find Mrs. Baptiste’s car pull to the curb. A moment later, Eric and Wesley stepped out, wearing worried expressions.
“Wesley filled me in,” said Eric, pocketing his mother’s keys. “Sorry my parents weren’t any help.” He smiled. “But at least now we’ve got a chance for some awesome payback.”
“You’re sure you believe all this ghost stuff now?” Bree asked.
“Whatever.” Eric shrugged and flashed a well-practiced grin. “Either way, I’m happy to be of service, especially if it gets me back in your good graces.” Bree looked at the ground and tightened her grip on the viola’s case.
“You guys ready?” Wesley added.
“Well, I’ve never snuck into someone’s house while they were still in it before,” said Neil. “But there’s a first time for everything. Right?”
They all slowly hiked up the driveway.
“I’m not sure how much time you two will have,” Eric said to Neil and Wesley. “Me and Bree might get kicked out immediately, so you’ll need to get upstairs as quickly as possible. Melissa’s old room is the first door on the left, facing the back of the house.”
Neil interrupted. “Her mother’s high school yearbooks are on a bookshelf there?”
“Mixed in with Melissa’s own.” Eric nodded. “I remember flipping through them one night. Every year is labeled on the spine. Grab the earliest ones. According to the dates you found in her file, I’m pretty this Rebecca girl was in Mrs. Diaz’s class. The yearbooks will definitely have some sort of dirt on her.”
As they came closer to the garage, a loud drumbeat echoed out across the otherwise quiet neighborhood. Eric nodded at Neil and Wesley, then pointed toward the backyard. He had to raise his voice slightly so they could hear him. “The patio door is always unlocked. Head straight through the kitchen. Stairs are on the left.” The boys nodded. Turning to Bree, Eric said, “Ready to impress them with your skills?”
“I hope so,” Bree said, holding up he
r case. She looked slightly green. “I’m supposed to be your new girlfriend, right?”
Eric nodded. “Melissa’s brother, Tony, was mad when he found out that she’d been hanging out with me again. That’s the reason they kicked me out. If I’m with you now, I’m hoping they’ll let me back in … at least for a few minutes.”
“I thought you said you quit,” Wesley said quietly.
Eric scowled. “Same difference. I’m not really trying to get back in. I’m just trying to help you guys figure out this ghost nonsense.”
“So we’ll be acting, then?” said Bree.
“Sure,” he said, amused.
“And they’re not expecting us?”
Eric shook his head. “I’ve known about this rehearsal since last week … when everything went down.”
“How serious are you and I, exactly?” Bree asked him. “Like, are we in love?”
“We’re as serious as it takes for these two to get in and get out fast and safe.” He swatted at Wesley’s hair.
“I still don’t understand why I couldn’t have just asked Melissa for the yearbook myself,” said Neil. “She likes me.”
“Don’t be too sure,” said Eric. “Yes, Melissa wants to keep her job at Claire’s shop. But that doesn’t mean she’d help out, especially not the brother of the ‘new girl’ in town.”
Bree flinched. “She’s jealous of me?”
Eric stared at her for several seconds, then nodded. “Pretty much.” Bree looked as if she wanted to smile but knew she shouldn’t.
“One more question,” said Neil, trying to squash the awkward feeling that had risen up among all of them. “What happens if Wesley and I get caught?”
Eric glanced at the red hatchback parked behind them, his face growing serious. Bobby Phelps’s catcall — Two freaks and a geek! — seemed to hum silently in the quiet fog as the drumbeat inside the garage grew louder and faster. “Let’s not think about that,” Eric said, taking Bree’s free hand and stepping toward the wide-open door.
AS BREE AND ERIC DISAPPEARED INTO THE GARAGE, Neil and Wesley were able to sneak around to the back of the house.
Inside the patio doors, a colorful glass lampshade hung over the kitchen table. It cast a mystical glow into the yard where the two boys stood.
Neil yanked the door handle. It slid open. The muffled drumbeat stopped abruptly. Wesley’s eyes went wide, and he looked as if he might turn and run. After a few seconds, Neil tugged on Wesley’s ratty sweater, dragging him into the quiet kitchen. Muted voices came from behind a closed door on their right. The garage. Neil didn’t know what reaction Eric and Bree were getting from the rest of the guys, but that wasn’t important. What mattered was the distraction. The staircase was visible through a doorway in the opposite wall. Nodding to Wesley, he crept toward it.
A plush gold carpet covered the stairs and dampened their footsteps. Once Neil reached the upstairs hall, he heard a different kind of sound coming from the garage. No drums. No voices. His sister’s strings were singing. That was a relief. They had some time to explore.
The door on their left was closed. Wesley tentatively pushed it open. Bree’s viola continued to echo through the house, coating the evening with a soothing sense of safety.
“Is this the right room?” Wesley whispered, peering farther in. After his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Neil glanced in to find a twin-sized bed, dark purple walls covered with posters of rock bands from the ’90s, a pile of dirty laundry underneath an open window. Beside a closet door, a tall bookcase was crammed with so many volumes, Neil worried briefly that even if he found the books he was looking for, he’d never be able to squeeze them out.
“Looks like it. Come on.” Keeping the light off, Neil headed toward the shelves. Wesley followed closely behind, closing the bedroom door.
Eric had been right. The yearbooks were grouped together on the bottom shelf. There were eight in total. The green, faux-leather spines were pristine, and on them the gold-stamped years seemed to shine almost magically. Neil wiggled the first four books out from the shelf in one clump. “These must have belonged to Mrs. Diaz,” he said, handing two of them to Wesley.
They were about to crack the books open when they heard a noise in the hallway — footsteps slowly shuffling against the carpet. Someone was upstairs with them. The boys stood, unsure what to do. Even if the rear window had been a viable escape option, there wasn’t time to reach it.
Wesley nudged Neil’s arm and nodded at the closet.
THEY MOVED SWIFTLY, shutting the door almost completely before they heard a click followed by hinges creaking from across the room. As clothes hangers poked his spine, Neil held his breath and hugged the yearbooks against his chest. The space was small and smelled weird, like a mix of flowers and sweat. He felt Wesley’s shoulder against his own. Neither of them said a word. A crack of gray light came in through the slight gap at the closet door.
Footsteps padded deliberately toward them. Neil braced himself as the presence came closer. A dark shape stepped in front of the closet, nearly blocking out the last little bit of light. Neil pressed himself backward into the closet. He heard a gurgling noise beside him. Wesley’s stomach. It was no comfort to find his friend panicking too.
The figure continued to stand before the closet, as if trying to make up its mind whether or not to grab the knob and pull.
Neil’s head spun as he strained to hear his sister’s music. But it wasn’t playing any longer. What if Eric and Bree had been forced to give away their plan to the band? What if the guys were furious? What if Bobby Phelps — two freaks! — had come upstairs and was standing just on the other side of this door?
Neil’s imagination took another leap forward, and placed Nicholas Reilly’s face onto the shadowy form outside.
An odd smell wafted inside the closet, different from the one he’d experienced moments ago. This was a moldy, rotten aroma. Plant decay.
Neil’s knees buckled.
He knew who was standing out in the bedroom. He felt for Wesley’s hand, just to be sure he wasn’t alone. The shadowy figure appeared to be staring at them through the gap. Neil couldn’t make out any features; it was too dark. The scent grew stronger, and he felt nauseous. The shadows seemed to squeeze at him. His own fear choked the air from his lungs, and that familiar painful feeling crept from his fingertips up his arms.
Rebecca, he thought. Why are you doing this? We’re trying to help you!
The bedroom light flicked on. A sliver of light burst through the opening at the closet door. The shape that had been standing just outside was gone.
Now, a humming voice entered the room. It was Melissa Diaz.
Again, Neil’s stomach dropped.
Through the gap, Neil watched Melissa plop down on the bed and kick off her shoes. He figured she wouldn’t be so peppy if she knew that Eric and Bree had arrived together — she clearly wasn’t in on band practice. She reached over and turned on her clock radio. Pop music burbled out from the tinny speaker. She sang along, stretched and yawned, looking as if she was settling in for a while.
Neil’s mind raced, trying to think of some way he and Wesley might be able to get out, or at least signal to Bree that they were stuck. Then another thought came along and stomped on his foot — what if Bree and Eric had assumed that he and Wesley had made it out without a problem? What if they’d simply left?
The closet door creaked open several inches, and Melissa stopped singing. Neil clenched his jaw, ready to smack Wesley for even thinking about touching the door. But when he turned to look at his friend, Wesley shook his head slightly. He hadn’t been near it.
If neither of them had moved, and Melissa was still on the bed, then Neil knew only one other person could have tugged on the knob.
Please, Rebecca, he thought. Don’t!
“Tony?” Melissa said, her voice trembling. “Is that you?” She sat up as the closet door opened another couple of inches. Neil had to squeeze closer to Wesley so that she wouldn’t see
him. “This isn’t funny.”
Across the room, the door to the hallway slammed open and Melissa screamed. Neil and Wesley couldn’t see what she was seeing. “Who’s there?” she shouted.
Wesley whispered in Neil’s ear. “What the heck is going on?”
“It has to be Rebecca.”
Seconds later, Neil watched as the entire contents of the bookcase tumbled onto the floor in front of the closet with a crash, followed immediately by the case itself. Melissa screamed again. She dashed out of the bedroom and raced quickly down the stairs.
Neil understood what Rebecca had done. She’d known Melissa was coming and had warned them into hiding. Knocking over the bookcase had gotten Melissa out. Rebecca hadn’t meant to scare them. She was helping them escape.
“Now!” he said. “Let’s go!”
THE BOYS SHOVED THE CLOSET DOOR against the shelves, pushing forward with all their weight. They squeezed themselves out through the small gap into Melissa’s bedroom.
Clutching the yearbooks, Neil and Wesley careened into the hallway and down the stairs. They froze in the foyer, listening to a commotion of voices coming into the kitchen from the garage. Melissa must have alerted her brother and his friends that someone had been upstairs. The bookcase crash had probably shaken the whole house, freaking out everyone even more.
In the foyer, Neil and Wesley spun toward the front door. They yanked it open and darted out into the night, running and sliding across the damp lawn, not slowing until they reached the street. They crouched behind Mrs. Baptiste’s car, unsure what to do.
Shouting continued to come from up the hill, louder now than before. Tony and his friends must have discovered the ruins of the bookcase in Melissa’s room.
Two shadowy figures exited the garage and dashed down the driveway. One of them was hugging a large case — the viola.
Eric drove, not knowing where they were going. Neil and Wesley peered out the rear window, making sure no one was following them. After several hurried turns, Eric pulled the car to the curb and flicked on the overhead light. Water condensed on the windows, collecting and streaking down the glass.
