The Haunting of Hill House (29 page)

“No,” the doctor said strongly. “Eleanor has to go back the way she came.”

“And who do I thank for a lovely time?” Eleanor asked.

The doctor took her by the arm and, with Luke beside her, led her to her car and opened the door for her. The carton was still on the back seat, her suitcase was on the floor, her coat and pocketbook on the seat; Luke had left the motor running. “Doctor,” Eleanor said, clutching at him, “Doctor.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Good-by.”

“Drive carefully,” Luke said politely.

“You can’t just
make
me go,” she said wildly. “You
brought
me here.”

“And I am sending you away,” the doctor said. “We won’t forget you, Eleanor. But right now the only important thing for
you
is to forget Hill House and all of us. Good-by.”

“Good-by,” Mrs. Montague said firmly from the steps, and Arthur said, “Good-by, have a good trip.”

Then Eleanor, her hand on the door of the car, stopped and turned. “Theo?” she said inquiringly, and Theodora ran down the steps to her.

“I thought you weren’t going to say good-by to me,” she said. “Oh, Nellie, my Nell—be happy; please be happy. Don’t
really
forget me; someday things really
will
be all right again, and you’ll write me letters and I’ll answer and we’ll visit each other and we’ll have fun talking over the crazy things we did and saw and heard in Hill House—oh, Nellie! I thought you weren’t going to say good-by to me.”

“Good-by,” Eleanor said to her.

“Nellie,” Theodora said timidly, and put out a hand to touch Eleanor’s cheek, “listen—maybe someday we can meet here again? And have our picnic by the brook? We never had our picnic,” she told the doctor, and he shook his head, looking at Eleanor.

“Good-by,” Eleanor said to Mrs. Montague, “good-by, Arthur. Good-by, Doctor. I hope your book is very successful. Luke,” she said, “good-by. And good-by.”

“Nell,” Theodora said, “please be careful.”

“Good-by,” Eleanor said, and slid into the car; it felt unfamiliar and awkward; I am too used already to the comforts of Hill House, she thought, and reminded herself to wave a hand from the car window. “Good-by,” she called, wondering if there had ever been another word for her to say, “good-by, good-by.” Clumsily, her hands fumbling, she released the brake and let the car move slowly.

They waved back at her dutifully, standing still, watching her. They will watch me down the drive as far as they can see, she thought; it is only civil for them to look at me until I am out of sight; so now I am going. Journeys end in lovers meeting. But I
won’t
go, she thought, and laughed aloud to herself; Hill House is not as easy as
they
are; just by telling me to go away they can’t make me leave, not if Hill House means me to stay. “Go away, Eleanor,” she chanted aloud, “go away, Eleanor, we don’t want you any more, not in
our
Hill House, go away, Eleanor, you can’t stay
here;
but I can,” she sang, “but I can;
they
don’t make the rules around
here
. They can’t turn me out or shut me out or laugh at me or hide from me; I won’t go, and Hill House belongs to
me
.”

With what she perceived as quick cleverness she pressed her foot down hard on the accelerator; they can’t run fast enough to catch me this time, she thought, but by now they must be beginning to realize; I wonder who notices first? Luke, almost certainly. I can hear them calling now, she thought, and the little footsteps running through Hill House and the soft sound of the hills pressing closer. I am really doing it, she thought, turning the wheel to send the car directly at the great tree at the curve of the driveway, I am really doing it, I am doing this all by myself, now, at last; this is me, I am really really really doing it by myself.

In the unending, crashing second before the car hurled into the tree she thought clearly,
Why
am I doing this? Why am I doing this? Why don’t they stop me?

Mrs. Sanderson was enormously relieved to hear that Dr. Montague and his party had left Hill House; she would have turned them out, she told the family lawyer, if Dr. Montague had shown any sign of wanting to stay. Theodora’s friend, mollified and contrite, was delighted to see Theodora back so soon; Luke took himself off to Paris, where his aunt fervently hoped he would stay for a while. Dr. Montague finally retired from active scholarly pursuits after the cool, almost contemptuous reception of his preliminary article analyzing the psychic phenomena of Hill House. Hill House itself, not sane, stood against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, its walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.