Waiting Spirits (7 page)

Lisa and Carrie exchanged a glance. “Sure,” said Lisa. “No need to worry about us!”

Dr. Miles shook her head. “I hope not.” She stepped into the room and kissed each girl on the cheek. “Good night, darlings. Good night, Brian. It was nice to see you again.”

“Good night, Dr. Miles,” Brian replied politely.

They watched as she climbed the stairs. Lisa thought, for no reason she could put her finger on, how proud she was of her grandmother.

“Whew,” said Brian, when the old woman had disappeared at the top of the steps. “`An awful feeling that something was wrong.' Is she psychic or something?”

“I'm beginning to wonder,” said Lisa.

Brian sat back down. “So… what are you going to do?”

“About what?” replied Lisa.

Brian frowned. “Don't act stupid. Are you going to tell your parents about all this or not?”

Lisa shook her head. “Absolutely not. We're just going to stop messing around with the automatic writing.”

“That won't be easy,” said Carrie. “It's like potato chips—hard to stop once you get started.”

“Potato chips only make you fat,” said Brian. “I've got a feeling the consequences from this could be a lot worse.”

Lisa grimaced. “I'll admit it was fantastically scary. But I told you yesterday I don't think there's any real danger. Nothing threatening has happened. It's only scary because we don't understand it.”

“If you don't understand it, how do you know it's not dangerous?” Brian asked.

Lisa hesitated. He had her, and she knew it. “Well, it doesn't make any difference,” she said at last. “I told you, we're not going to do it any more.”

“Let's just hope that whatever you've stirred up is also willing to stop,” said Brian grimly.

As Lisa and Carrie were settling into bed later that night Carrie said, “Do you really think there's nothing to worry about?”

Lisa looked at her sister. Her eyes were troubled, and a worried expression wrinkled her face. She wanted to lie to Carrie, to reassure her the way she had Brian. But they were in this together, and there was no sense in keeping anything from each other.

“I'm not certain,” she answered, pulling back the sheets. “I don't believe Gramma's explanation that it's something psychological. Not for a minute. This place is haunted, and that's all there is to that.”

Carrie shivered.

“Hey, I thought you were eager for some good stories to tell when you got home,” teased Lisa.

Carried forced a smile. “You know me—always changing my mind!”

Lisa put an arm around her. “That's right,” she said soothingly. “I forgot.”

Carrie leaned her head against Lisa. “Do you think she'll come back tonight?”

“I don't know,” said Lisa softly. She glanced at the clock on the dresser; the lighted dial read 12:05. “It's after midnight. If she was a traditional ghost, she would have been here already.”

“Maybe she's like me,” said Carrie, stifling a yawn. “Always late!”

Lisa woke with a start. Where was she?

She looked around and let out a little sigh of relief. She was in her bedroom. Carrie was sleeping next to her. It was the sudden waking out of a deep sleep that had made her feel disoriented.

But what had roused her? Something had caused her to stir from her slumber.

The piano! Someone was playing the piano.

She had a feeling she knew who it was. Sliding her feet into her slippers, she stood and put on her robe. Then she lit the candle again and headed for the hall.

I must look like the cover of a horror novel,
she thought. Then, creating the advertising copy, she added,
“Stalking the darkened corridor with a candle in her hand, the fearless girl searched for the mysterious sounds.”

Lisa paused at the top of the stairs, struck by a sudden urge to turn back.
Why are you doing this?
demanded a tiny voice inside her head, speaking for the sensible part of her personality, the part she so often ignored.

It was a reasonable question. Why
was
she doing this?

Slowly an answer took shape in her mind. It was partly curiosity. She had never realized how powerful curiosity was, how it could drive you on even in the face of fear. She had heard her mother and father talking about “the human condition” one night after dinner. This must be part of it—to be controlled by curiosity, to push on when some wiser part of you was crying out, “Turn back!
Turn back!”

That was part of it. But there was more. In the same way that the house was haunted by a ghost, Lisa was haunted by the ghost's sorrow. She had to believe that the woman who wept in the night had come back because she wanted something,
needed
something. And Lisa had the wild idea that maybe she could help solve the spirit's problem. The sound of that weeping had stayed with her since she had first heard it. It, too, was part of what drove her on now.

The piano was playing softly. Lisa hummed under her breath, trying to catch the tune. It was sweet and oddly sad. Suddenly she recognized it: “Beautiful Dreamer,” by Stephen Foster. Her grandmother had often sung it to her as a lullaby when she was little. The words drifted through her head as she took her first step down the stairs.

For an instant the piano stopped, almost as if the player had sensed her presence. Then it began again, a little louder than before, yet still only a ghost of a melody tickling across the threshold of her hearing.

Lisa reached the bottom of the stairs and stood for a moment in wary silence. The woman was sitting at the piano, swaying from side to side as she played. She stopped. Lisa could see her shoulders shake with sobs. Then she began to play again, and Lisa smiled in spite of herself as the merry notes of “Bill Bailey” came tinkling through the room. She almost had an urge to sing along.

Suddenly the woman slammed her hands against the keys, creating a harsh jumble of sound. She turned around on the bench and, looking up, saw Lisa. Her expression of grief shifted to one of rage, her face contorted by a fury that was almost insane. She leaped from the bench and rushed toward Lisa, her hands stretched before her.

Her anger was searing, in the same way that a light that is too bright hurts the eyes or a noise that is too loud hurts the ears. This blast of emotion hurt some tender place inside Lisa. It was too much, too powerful, and she staggered under the weight of it.

But only briefly. For the woman was almost on her now, and Lisa's sudden terror was far greater than the pain. A scream burst from her lips, and without even realizing it she turned and scrambled up the stairs as fast as she could. Her candle swayed precariously, spattering drops of hot wax. At the top of the stairs Lisa tripped. The candle flew ahead of her, then went out. Sprawling in the darkened hallway, she screamed and screamed. She tried to get to her feet, but she was tangled in her gown and robe.

Suddenly her father was at her side. He took her by the elbow and helped her to her feed. “Lisa! Lisa, what is it?”

For a moment she was mute with horror. Gasping, shaking, she tried to tell him what had happened. Nothing would come out. She turned.

The ghost was still there!

Rage twisting those familiar features, the ghost reached past Mr. Burton and slapped Lisa across the face.

Though all she really felt was a moment of numbing cold, Lisa screamed again.

The ghost vanished.

Her father was shaking her shoulders. “Lisa! Lisa! What is it?”

Her mother appeared in the hall behind them. Carrie and her grandmother dashed out of their rooms as well, the concern that etched their faces making them look strangely similar.

Lisa was gasping for breath. “It was a ghost,” she sobbed. “Didn't you hear it? It was playing the piano. It was angry. It was after me. Didn't you hear it?”

“Oh, for heaven's sake,” said her father. “I thought you were old enough to watch those stupid films without going off the deep end. No more Freddy Krueger for you for a while, young lady!”

“Daddy! Don't you believe me?”

“I believe you had a vivid nightmare,” said her father. Her mother touched his arm. His face softened, and he put an arm around Lisa, drawing her close. “I'm sorry, Lisa. My temper is on a short fuse these days. I didn't mean to be so harsh. Come on, I'll sit in your room with you for a while. He gave her a little squeeze. “But I mean it about those films!”

“But, Daddy…” Lisa stopped. It was no use. Nothing she could say would make her father believe what she had seen.

But she knew someone believed her. The look on her grandmother's face told Lisa that Dr. Alice Miles believed every word she had uttered.

Chapter Seven
The Silence of Dr. Miles

Lisa's father stayed with her until she dropped into a fitful sleep—though if Carrie had not been there, she doubted she would have slept at all. Again, she was surprised at how much it meant to have another person in the room, no matter how young or silly.

On Sunday morning while they were still sitting in bed she told this to Carrie, who informed her—in no uncertain terms—that she was not silly at all.

“I'm sorry,” replied Lisa. “Poor choice of words. I should have said ‘young and ridiculous.'”

At this Carried leaned forward, pulled her pillow from behind her back, and gave Lisa a thump.

Never one to submit to violence passively, Lisa grabbed her pillow and whacked back.

Before they knew it, the two girls were chasing each other about the room, their hysterical laughter punctuated by the dull
Thwack! Thwack!
of pillow warfare.

Lisa felt wonderful. She found herself laughing harder than she had in days as all the tensions that had been building up inside were being released in the wildness of the crazy pillow fight. She was on the verge of collapsing when the door swung open.

It was remarkable. Their father didn't have to say anything. He just stood there looking stern, and within seconds both girls had let their hands drop to their sides, the pillows fall to the bed.

Mr. Burton stared at each of them in turn. Following his gaze to Carrie, Lisa had to choke back a giggle. Her little sister's hair was flying in all directions. Her cheeks were red, her eyes were flashing, and she was panting like a marathon runner at the end of a race. The top of her nightgown had slid down over one shoulder.

Lisa wondered what she looked like herself.

“I'm glad you're feeling better, Lisa,” said her father, in a tone of voice that made it painfully clear she would be wise not to feel
too
much better.

He turned and left the room.

Lisa and Carrie looked at each other for a moment. Then Carrie began to giggle. Unable to control herself, she collapsed on the bed and pushed her face against her pillow. Lisa began to giggle, too. Soon both girls were lying on the bed, faces buried in their pillows, bodies shaking helplessly.

“Lisa! Carrie! Are you all right?” It was their grandmother. She took each of them by a shoulder and shook them heartily.

The girls rolled over, trying to control their laughter. Carrie's face was red. She had her lips pressed together, but was giggling and sputtering anyway. That struck Lisa as indescribably funny; she rolled over and buried her face in her pillow again.

For a moment their grandmother was silent. Then she began to laugh, too.

The last few days had been hard on all three of them.

Brian called just before noon, both to see how she was and to tell her that his family was going to visit some relatives that day, so he wouldn't be able to see her. Lisa debated with herself about whether to tell him what had happened after he left the night before. Finally she decided to put it off till she could see him in person.

Or maybe put it off altogether
, she admitted to herself.

She felt wistful about not being able to see him that day. On the other hand, she did need some time to herself just to think. She spent the day on the beach, working on her tan and soaking up sunlight as if it were an antidote to what was happening at night in the strange old house.

Even so, she felt apprehensive when it came time to go to bed that night. She could tell Carrie felt the same way. Neither of them knew what manifestations the night might bring.

“Do you smell smoke?” Carried asked, just as they were drifting off to sleep.

Lisa sat up. She thought she could detect a hint of smoke. But after a thorough search that managed to annoy their parents considerably, they decided it must be nothing but faint traces of a campfire on the beach being carried to their open window by the ocean breeze.

On Monday Brian returned with his father to work on the windows. He took advantage of his lunch break to go for a walk with Lisa.

“Anything happen yesterday?” he asked anxiously as soon as they were alone.

She shook her head. “No, it was pretty quiet.” She hesitated, then added, “But things sure got out of hand after you left Saturday night.” Speaking quickly, she told him the story of the mysterious piano playing and the attack of the weeping woman.

Brian's face was grim, and when she finished he told her again that he thought she should get out of the old house.

“Wouldn't I love to,” she answered bitterly. “I've been wanting to leave since the day we got here.” She gave Brian a quick smile. “At least, until last Friday, when you showed up. But I told you what my father said. He thinks I was just having a bad dream the other night. If I press it, he'll probably figure I'm making things up because I want to go home. Like I said, he believes there's a scientific explanation for everything. And my grandmother is just as bad. Hard as a rock. Of course, she was a geologist. Talk about dealing with reality!” Lisa giggled. “The kids on campus used to call her The Great Stone Face. They also called her Rocky.”

Brian looked at her for a second, then began to smile. “Rocky Miles. Not bad!”