10 - The Ghost Next Door (8 page)

She ducked out of sight behind the big maple tree and listened.

“It’s a perfectly lovely house.” Hannah recognized Mrs. Quilty’s voice.

“My cousin from Detroit looked at it last week,” another woman said. Hannah didn’t recognize her. Peering out from behind the
tree trunk, Hannah saw that it was a thin, haggard-looking woman wearing a
yellow sundress. She and Mrs. Quilty were standing halfway up the drive,
admiring Hannah’s house.

Afraid she might be seen, Hannah ducked back behind the tree.

“Did your cousin like the house?” Mrs. Quilty asked her companion.

“Too small,” was the curt reply.

“What a shame,” Mrs. Quilty said with a loud sigh. “I just hate having an
empty house on the block.”

But it’s not empty! Hannah thought angrily. I live here! My whole family
lives here—don’t we?

“How long has it been vacant?” the other woman asked.

“Ever since it was rebuilt,” Hannah heard Mrs. Quilty reply. “You know. After
that dreadful fire. I guess it was five years ago.”

“Fire?” Mrs. Quilty’s friend asked. “That was before I moved here. Did the
whole house burn down?”

“Pretty much,” Mrs. Quilty told her. “It was so dreadful, Beth. Such a
tragedy. The family trapped inside. Such a beautiful family. A young girl. Two
little boys. They all died that night.”

My dream!
Hannah thought, gripping the tree trunk to hold herself up.
It wasn’t a dream. It was a real fire. I really died that night.

Tears streamed down Hannah’s face. Her legs felt weak and trembly. She leaned
against the rough bark of the tree and listened.

“How did it happen?” Beth, Mrs. Quilty’s friend, asked. “Do they know what
started the fire?”

“Yes. The kids had some kind of campfire out back. Behind the garage,” Mrs.
Quilty continued. “When they went inside, they didn’t put it out completely. The
house caught fire after they’d gone to sleep. It spread so quickly.”

Hannah saw the two women peering thoughtfully at the house from their
position on the driveway. They were shaking their heads.

“The house was gutted, then completely rebuilt,” Mrs. Quilty was saying. “But
no one ever moved in. It’s been five years. Can you imagine?”

I’ve been dead for five years, Hannah thought, letting the tears roll down
her cheeks. No wonder I didn’t know Danny or his friends.

No wonder I haven’t gotten any letters from Janey. No wonder I haven’t heard
from any of my friends.

I’ve been dead for five years.

Now, Hannah understood why sometimes time seemed to stand still, and
sometimes it floated by so quickly.

Ghosts come and go, she thought sadly. Sometimes I’m solid enough to ride a
bike or kick a soccer ball. And sometimes I’m so flimsy, someone’s hand goes right through
me.

Hannah watched the two women make their way down the block until they
disappeared from view. Clinging to the tree trunk, she made no attempt to move.

It was all beginning to make sense to Hannah. The dreamlike summer days. The
loneliness. The feeling that something wasn’t right.

But what about Mom and Dad? she asked herself, pushing herself away from the
tree. What about the twins? Do they
know
? Do they know that we’re all
ghosts?

“Mom!” she shouted, running to the front door. “Mom!”

She burst into the house and ran through the hall to the kitchen. “Mom! Mom!
Where
are
you? Bill? Herb?”

Silence.

No one there.

They were all gone.

“Where
are
you?” Hannah cried aloud. “Mom! Bill! Herb!”

Were they gone
forever
?

We’re
all
ghosts, she thought miserably.
All.

And now they’ve left me here by myself.

Her heart pounding, she gazed around the kitchen.

It was bare. Empty.

No cereal boxes on the counter where they were usually kept. No funny magnets
on the refrigerator. No curtains on the window. No clock on the wall. No kitchen
table.

“Where
are
you?” Hannah called desperately.

She pushed away from the counter and went running through the house.

All empty. All bare.

No clothing. No furniture. No lamps or posters on the wall or books in the
bookshelves.

Gone. Everything gone.

They’ve left me here. A ghost. A ghost all by myself.

“I’ve
got
to talk to someone,” she said aloud. “Anyone!”

She searched desperately for a telephone until she found a red one on the
bare kitchen wall.

Who can I call? Who?

No one.

I’m dead.

I’ve been dead for five years.

She picked up the receiver and brought it to her ear.

Silence. The phone was dead, too.

With a hopeless cry, Hannah let the receiver fall to the floor. Her heart
thudding, tears once again rolling down her cheeks, she flung herself down onto
the bare floor.

Sobbing softly to herself, she buried her head in her arms and let the
darkness sweep over her.

When she opened her eyes, the darkness remained.

She pulled herself up, not sure at first where she was. Feeling shaky and
tense, she raised her eyes to the kitchen window. Outside, the sky was
blue-black.

Night.

Time floats in and out when you’re a ghost, Hannah realized. That’s why the
summer has seemed so short and so endless at the same time. She stretched her
arms toward the ceiling, then wandered from the kitchen.

“Anyone home?” she called.

She wasn’t surprised by the silence that greeted her question.

Her family was gone.

But where?

As she made her way through the dark, empty hallway toward the front of the
house, she had another premonition. Another feeling of dread.

Something bad was going to happen.

Now? Tonight?

She stopped at the open front door and peered through the screen door. “Hey—!” Danny was on his bike, pedaling slowly down his driveway.

Impulsively, Hannah pushed open the screen door and ran outside. “Hey—Danny!”

He slowed his bike and turned to her.

“Danny—wait!” she called, running across her yard toward him.

“No—please!” His face filled with fright. He raised both hands as if to
shield himself.

“Danny—?”

“Go away!”
he screamed, his voice shrill from terror.
“Please—stay
away!”
He gripped the handlebars and began pedaling furiously away.

Hannah jumped back, stunned and hurt. “Don’t be afraid of me!” she shouted
after him, cupping her hands around her mouth to be heard. “Danny, please—don’t be afraid!”

Leaning over the handlebars, he rode away without looking back.

Hannah uttered a hurt cry.

As Danny disappeared down the block, the feeling of dread swept over her.

I know where he’s going, she thought.

He’s meeting Alan and Fred, and they’re going to Mr. Chesney’s house. They’re
going to get their revenge on Mr. Chesney.

And something very bad is going to happen.

I’m going there, too, Hannah decided.

I
have
to go, too.

She hurried to the garage to get her bike.

Mr. Chesney had repaired his mailbox, Hannah saw. The hand-carved swan wings
floated out from the pole, which had been returned to its erect position.

Crouching behind the same low evergreen, Hannah watched the three boys across
the street. They hesitated at the edge of Mr. Chesney’s yard, hidden from the
house by the tall hedge.

In the pale white light of the streetlamp, Hannah could see them grinning and
joking. Then she saw Fred shove Danny toward the mailbox.

Hannah raised her gaze beyond the hedge to Mr. Chesney’s small house. Orange
light glowed dimly from the living room window. The porch-light was on. The rest
of the house sat in darkness.

Was Mr. Chesney home? Hannah couldn’t tell.

His beat-up old Plymouth wasn’t in the driveway.

Hannah crouched behind the evergreen. Its prickly branches bobbed in a light
breeze.

She watched Danny struggle to pull up the mailbox. Alan and Fred were
standing behind him, urging him on.

Danny gripped both jutting wings and pulled.

Fred slapped him on the back. “Harder!” he cried.

“What a wimp!” Alan declared, laughing.

Hannah kept glancing nervously up to the house. The boys were so noisy. What
made them so sure that Mr. Chesney wasn’t home?

What made them so sure that Chesney wouldn’t keep his promise and come after
them with his shotgun?

Hannah shuddered. She felt a trickle of perspiration slide down her forehead.

She watched Danny tug furiously at the mailbox. With a hard pull, he tilted
it at an angle.

Fred and Alan cheered gleefully.

Danny began to rock the mailbox, pushing it with his shoulder, then pulling
it back. It was coming loose, tilting farther with each push, each pull.

Hannah heard Danny’s loud groan as he gave it a final strong push—and the
mailbox fell onto its side on the ground. He backed away, a triumphant smile on
his face.

Fred and Alan cheered again and slapped him high-fives.

Fred picked up the mailbox, hoisted it on his shoulder, and paraded back and
forth in front of the hedge with it, as if it were an enemy flag.

As they celebrated their triumph, Hannah again glanced over the hedge to the
dimly lit house.

No sign of Mr. Chesney.

Maybe he wasn’t home. Maybe the boys would get away without getting caught.

But why did Hannah still have the heavy feeling of dread weighing her down,
chilling her body?

She gasped as she saw a shadow slide past the corner of the house.

Mr. Chesney?

No.

Squinting hard into the dim light, Hannah felt her heart begin to thud
against her chest.

No one there. But what was that shadow?

She had definitely seen it, a shape darker than the long night shadows,
slithering against the grayness of the house.

The boys’ loud voices interrupted her thoughts, drawing her attention away
from the house.

Fred had tossed the mailbox into the hedge. Now they had moved toward the
driveway. They were discussing something, arguing loudly. Alan laughed. Fred
gave Alan a playful shove. Danny was saying something, but Hannah couldn’t hear
his words.

Get away,
Hannah urged them in her mind.
Get away from there. You pulled your stupid prank, had your stupid revenge.

Now get away—before you get caught.

The evergreen limbs bobbed silently in a gust of hot wind. Hannah stepped
back into the darkness, her eyes on the boys.

They were huddled together at the bottom of the driveway. They were talking
excitedly, all three at once. Then Hannah saw a flicker of light. It glowed for
a moment, then went out.

It was a match, Hannah realized.

Alan was holding a large box of kitchen matches.

Hannah glanced nervously at the house. All was still. No Mr. Chesney. No
shadows slithering across the wall.

Go home. Please, go home,
she silently urged the boys.

But to her dismay, they turned and began jogging up the gravel driveway. They
ducked low as they ran, trying not to be seen from the house.

What are they doing? Hannah wondered, feeling all of her muscles tighten in
dread. A shiver of fear ran down her back as she stepped out from behind the
evergreen.

What are they going to do?

She made her way quickly across the street and ducked in front of the hedge,
her heart pounding.

She couldn’t hear them. They must be nearly up to the house by now.

Should she follow them?

She stood up slowly and raised herself on tiptoes to see over the hedge.

The three boys, Alan in the lead, followed by Danny and Fred, were bent low,
running rapidly across the front of the house. Caught in the dim orange glow of
light from the window, Hannah could see their determined expressions.

Where are they going? What are they planning?

Hannah watched them run into the darkness around the side of the house.

Still no sign of Mr. Chesney.

Keeping close to the hedge, Hannah made her way to the driveway. Then,
without thinking about it, without even realizing it, she was running, too.

She stopped short as she saw Alan shoving Danny up into an open window. Then
Fred stepped forward, lifted his hands to the window ledge, and allowed Alan to
give him a boost.

No—please!
Hannah wanted to cry.

Don’t go into the house! Don’t go in there!

But she was too late.

All three of them had climbed into the house.

Breathing hard, Hannah began to creep toward the window.

But halfway there, she felt something grab her leg and hold her in place.

Hannah uttered a silent cry.

She struggled to free her leg—and quickly realized she had stepped into a
coiled garden hose.

Exhaling loudly, she lifted her foot out of it and crept the rest of the way
to the open window.

This side of the house was covered in darkness. The window was too high for
Hannah to see into the room.

Standing beneath the window, Hannah could hear the boys’ sneakers thudding on
bare floorboards. She could hear whispering voices and high-pitched, muffled
laughter.

What are they doing in there? she wondered, her entire body tight with fear.

Don’t they realize how much trouble they could get into?

Bright lights against the side of the house made Hannah jump back with a
startled cry.

She dropped to the ground and spun around. And saw headlights through the
tall hedge. Car headlights floating toward the driveway.

Mr. Chesney?