The Dead Ones (Death Herself Book 3) (6 page)

Chapter Eight

“Hey, you've reached Molly,” the answerphone message says for the tenth time today. “If you -”

Hanging up, I slip my phone away and let out a sigh. It's dark now and I've been trudging the streets for hours, taking care to avoid the areas where I'm most likely to run into trouble. Adam and his buddies aren't the only bullies in town, but I've learned over the years that bullies have a tendency to stick to the same areas, so it's usually not too hard to keep out of their way. In fact, most times when I bump into Adam, it's because I've willingly dared myself to take more of a risk. Tonight I have no such desire, so I stick to the back alleys and shadows, and to the streets with broken lighting. It's almost 11pm, and I figure I need to keep away from the house for at least another two hours before I dare go back. Sometimes when Mom gets
really
drunk and
really
angry, she stays awake well into the small hours.

Hearing footsteps in the distance, I instinctively duck away from the sidewalk. I crouch in the shadows of someone's front yard and listen as the footsteps come closer. Whoever it is, they sound calm enough, and I wait as the steps go past. I don't
see
anyone, which seems a little odd, but I guess they must have been in the shadows. I stay low for a few minutes, until well after the footsteps have passed, before getting to my feet and resuming my long, aimless trudge along the street. Sometimes I feel like a ghost in my own body.

Eventually I realize that I'm about to walk past the school. I hesitate for a moment, almost turning back, before forcing myself to keep going. As I get closer to the entrance, I see the dark, hulking building resting unlit under the night sky. There are a couple of lights around the perimeter, but the main part of the school has been left shrouded in darkness. I know it's dumb, but I feel a shiver rippling through my chest as I walk past, and I can't help thinking back to that awful day three years ago when this whole street was filled with police cars and ambulances, while helicopters hovered overhead and news crews reported excitedly from behind the police cordon.

“Oh God,” I remember Debbie whimpering as we hid under a table, “please let me get out of this.”

Now, there's just darkness, and an empty parking lot, and a few bikes resting against the wall around the side of the building, and a general sense of uneasy calm.

I keep walking, glad to get past and -

Wait.

I stop.

What?

Bikes resting against the wall?

Stepping back, I look at the bikes and realize with a slow sense of concern that I recognize one of them. Making my way over, I double-check and see that I was right. A bright pink BMX with a broken front-light could only belong to one person, and when I glance around the side of the main building I see that the door to the gym has been propped open.

“Molly?” I whisper, taking a step forward.

***

“If you
are
there, we only want to talk to you. We come in peace.”

I hear the voice as soon as I get through the door. It's not Molly, but it's Shannon Lucas, a girl who's always involved whenever Molly does something dumb, which is depressingly often. The corridor next to the gym's main hall is completely dark, but I know this school well enough by now to make my way easily to the double-door that leads into the hall, and when I lean through I see several candles flickering at the far end, catching the sides of three tense, oh-so-serious faces.

“It's not working,” Molly says after a moment. “Are you sure we're doing it right?”

“You've got to be patient,” says another voice. Karen Barnes, I think. “I told you, it takes time. If you try to rush them, you'll scare the spirits away?”

“Spirits?” I whisper under my breath.

“We call upon the spirits in this building to answer us,” Shannon continues. “We mean no harm, but we wish to commune with those who have passed on to the other side.”

Stepping forward, I stay as quiet as possible as I make my way cautiously through the darkness.

“I don't feel anything,” Karen whispers.

“Quiet!” Shannon hisses. “Don't disturb the process.”

Now that I'm getting closer, I can see that the three of them are sitting in a circle, holding hands while candles burn next to one kind of home-made ouija board. There's a part of me that wants to go over and flick the main lights on, or to start banging the pipes to give these idiots a scare, but at the same time I'm too shocked by the fact that they're being such complete fools. Still, at least I know why Molly couldn't hang out tonight, and why she wasn't answering her phone. She must have known that I'd go ballistic if I found out about this little stunt.

“Are the spirits close?” Shannon calls out. “I think... I think I hear something! I think maybe there's a presence here...”

“Yeah,” I reply. “Me.”

They all gasp as they turn, and I step forward so that they can see my face in the candlelight.

“That's Bonnie,” Karen says with a hint of disappointment. “
She's
not dead, is she?”

“No,” I reply wearily, “I'm not. Thanks for noticing.”

“Hey,” Molly says, getting to her feet. “What... What are you doing here?”

“I saw your bike outside.”

“We were just...” She pauses, but it's clear from the panic in her eyes that she knows she can't wriggle out of this. “I mean, we were... We thought...”

“Trying to contact the dead?” I ask, stepping past her and looking down at the ouija board, which isn't really a ouija board at all. It's a piece of paper with some letters drawn in a vague pattern, plus the words Yes, No and Maybe at the bottom. “And how's that going?” I mutter. “Have you amateur Alistair Crowleys managed anything yet?”

“Are you angry?” Molly asks.

I turn to her. “Why would I be angry?”

“Well, I mean...” Her voice trails off.

“I don't have any right to be angry,” I continue, even though deep down I know she's right. I
am
angry that these idiots are turning the tragedy into a game, but I know I shouldn't start lecturing them. “Just because my brother was one of the two assholes who shot this place up, that doesn't give me the right to...” I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. “How long have you been doing this?”

“About two hours,” Molly replies. “Tonight.”

“And before tonight?”

“We've been a couple of times.”

“We heard a bump,” Karen adds.

I turn to her. “Are you sure it wasn't me coming in just now?”

“It was two nights ago!”

“Wow,” I mutter. “Success, huh?”

“It might have been the heating system,” Shannon admits cautiously.

“Might have been,” I tell her.

“We don't really know what we're doing,” Molly says.

“That's not true!” Karen hisses.

“Yes, it is!” she replies, turning to her. “This is the third night we've tried this, and we're not getting anywhere! Face it, the spirits aren't interested in talking to us!”

“Maybe you're not a true believer,” Karen points out.

Molly sighs.

“Maybe you need a fourth person,” I tell them. “Someone with more of a link to this whole thing.”

They all turn to me.

I pause for a moment. This is dumb, in fact it's quite possibly the dumbest thing I've ever contemplated in my life, but it's not like I can go home, and wandering the cold streets doesn't hold much appeal, not anymore. Besides, that incident in Malcolm's room made me start contemplating the possibility that there might be something to the whole ghost concept, and I figure a failed séance is the perfect way to slam that door back shut so I can move on. I'm tempted to tell them about Rudolph the miraculously resurrected bird, but I figure that'd just fry their minds completely.

“What's wrong?” I ask, with a faint smile. “Worried it might actually work if I'm involved?”

“Are you sure about this?” Molly asks, stepping closer to me. “I didn't tell you what we were doing because, well, I thought it might upset you.”

“Please,” I mutter, slipping past her and sitting next to Karen. “I'm not a pussy. I can handle a few ghosts if they show up.”

I wait, but the others are clearly shocked and I can tell they're not entirely comfortable with my involvement.

“Well,” Shannon says finally, “I... I guess...”

“Seriously,” I reply, fixing her with a firm stare, “what are you worried about? Is it the fact that my brother was one of the killers?”

“What if...” She pauses. “What if you being here means that... something...
comes
?”

“Isn't that the point?” I ask. “Or are you just full of crap?” I wait for an answer, before turning to Karen. “Are you little girls trying to give yourselves a scare, or are you
actually
trying to contact the dead? 'Cause if this is a game, that's fine, you can just run along. But if you're serious, then you'd better put your money where your mouth is and sit down. Make your mind up, though. I don't have all night.”

God, it's so easy to wind them up.

After a moment, Molly sits next to me. “I guess this is what we came for,” she says cautiously, reaching out and taking my hand.

“What's the worst that could happen?” I ask.

Slowly, with obvious trepidation, the other girls all link hands. I feel like an absolute goddamn idiot right now, but I need to remind myself that this type of thing is garbage. As we all sit cross-legged on the gym floor, with the candles already burned down to their halfway marks, a kind of uneasy silence falls.

“Well?” I say finally. “Who wants to do all the spooky talking?”

***

“O spirits!” Karen calls out, now that it's finally her turn to lead. “Come to us and speak of the world beyond life! We are your humble servants, and we wish only to hear your wise words!”

Silence.

Finally, I can't help myself and I burst out laughing.

“Bonnie!” Molly hisses.

“Seriously?” I reply, turning to her and then to the others. “Is this how a séance is supposed to go? Did you, like, look it up online or something?”

“I saw a movie once,” Shannon replies, a little defensively. “It was kind of like this.”

“I've seen movies too,” I tell her. “I'm pretty sure you don't need to talk like a fifteenth century English maiden if you're trying to attract twenty-first century American ghosts.”

“What would
you
know?” Karen asks.

“Maybe a little more than you realize,” I reply. “Do you want to let me take my turn?”

I can see the fear in her eyes, but I bet she won't turn the offer down.

“Go on, then,” she mutters cautiously. She's scared, but she's also way too proud.

“I should warn you,” I continue, making eye contact with each of them in turn, “that there's a chance this might actually work. There have been some strange incidents in the past few days, and they've made me start wondering about things.” Taking a deep breath, I realize that I've managed to get them nicely worked up, which after all is the whole point of this endeavor. It's not like there's any chance at all that we'll contact the dead. “I just want to make it clear,” I add, to increase the tension, “that I'm not responsible for anything that happens in the next few minutes. What will be, will be. Okay, girls?”

I wait, but they seem too scared to reply, and after a moment I feel Molly squeezing my hand.

“Okay, then,” I say, staring down at the piece of paper that has been serving as a ouija board. After a moment, I let go of Molly's grasp and grab the paper, before burning it with one of the candles.

“What are you doing?” Karen hisses. “We need that!”

“It's getting in the way,” I reply, dropping the remains of the paper to the floor before taking Molly's hand again. “You were letting your minds get distracted by that junk.”

I wait, and it's clear that I've got them on the hook.

“We're not little girls,” I point out. “This isn't a game.”

Again, silence.

“Close your eyes,” I continue. I watch as one by one they do as they're told, and then I close my eyes too. Might as well join in with the fun. To be honest, I think I have a natural flair for this theatrical baloney. “We're calling out to the dead spirits that inhabit this place,” I say calmly. “We know you're here, we know you're trapped in this space between life and death, and we seek only the chance to help. If you come to us, we will listen. If you speak to us, we will do anything to help you that is in our power. We, the living, seek communion with you, the dead.”

Silence.

I wait, feeling a slow sense of calm creeping through my chest. I know this is baloney, it has to be, but at the same time I feel a sense of doubt tugging at me.

“My name is Bonnie Bromley,” I continue. “My brother was one of the ones who -”