10 - The Ghost Next Door (9 page)

Was he returning home? Returning home in time to catch the three intruders in
his house?

Hannah opened her mouth to call out a warning to the boys. But her voice
caught in her throat.

The headlights floated past. The darkness rolled back over the yard.

The car rumbled silently on.

It wasn’t Mr. Chesney, Hannah realized.

She struggled to her feet and returned to her place below the window. She
decided she had to let the boys know she was there. She had to get them
out
of there!

“Danny!” she called, wrapping her hands around her mouth as a megaphone. “Get
out! Come on—get out
now
!”

The feeling of dread weighed her down. She shouted up to the window again.
“Come out. Hurry—please!”

She could hear their muffled voices inside. And she could hear the scrape of
sneakers on the floor.

Staring up at the window, she saw a light come on. Orange light, dim at
first, then brighter.

“Are you
crazy?”
she shouted in to them. “Turn off the lights!”

Why on earth were they turning on lights?

Did they
want
to get caught?

“Turn off the lights!” she repeated in a high, shrill, frightened voice.

But the orange light grew brighter, became a bright yellow.

And as she stared in horror, Hannah realized the light was flickering.

Not lamp light.

Fire
light.

Fire!

They had set a fire!

“No!” she screamed, raising her hands to the sides of her face. “No! Get out!
Get out of there!”

She could smell smoke now. She could see the reflection of the leaping flames
in the window glass.

She started to shout to them again—but stopped when she saw the shadow move
toward her on the wall of the house.

Hannah stopped and turned her stare.

And saw the dark figure, blacker than the night, its red eyes glowing
brightly from the blackness of its face.

It stepped silently toward her, floating rapidly over the tall, weed-strewn
grass. Its red eyes appeared to light up as it neared.

“Hannah—stay away!” the moving shadow called in a voice as dry as dead
leaves.

“Hannah—stay away.”

“Nooooo!” Hannah uttered a frightened wail as it moved toward her. A burst of
frigid air encircled her body. “Noooo!”

“Hannah… Hannah…”

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want?”

Behind her, she could hear the crackle of flames now. Yellow light flickered
behind choking waves of black smoke from the open window.

Its fiery eyes glowing brighter, the shadow figure raised itself up, hovered
closer, closer, stretching out its arms, preparing to pull her in.

Gripped with fear, Hannah raised her hands in front of her as if trying to
shield herself.

She heard a sudden scrabbling at the window. A muffled cry above her head.

The shadow figure vanished.

And then she felt someone topple onto her.

They both fell in a heap to the ground.

“Alan!” she cried.

He struggled to his feet, his eyes wide with panic. “The matches!” he cried.
“The matches! We—we didn’t mean to. We—”

Another figure came diving out of the window as the crackle of flames grew to
a roar. Fred landed hard on his elbows and knees.

Hannah stared at his dazed face in the darting orange light. “Fred—are you
okay?”

“Danny,” he muttered, gazing at her with horror. “Danny’s in there. He can’t
get out.”

“Huh?” Hannah leapt to her feet.

“Danny’s trapped in the fire. He’s going to burn!” Alan cried.

“We have to get help!” Fred said, shouting over the roar of the flames. He
pulled Alan by the arm. The two boys took off, running unsteadily across the
yard toward the house next door.

Bright orange-and-yellow flames licked at the windowsill above Hannah’s head.

I have to save Danny, she thought.

She took a deep breath, gazing up at the flickering, flashing light of the
fire. Then she started toward the open window.

But before she could take a step, the light from the window disappeared. The
shadow rose in front of her.

“Hannah—go away.” Its frightening, harsh whisper was so close to her face.
“Go away.”

“No!” Hannah screamed, forgetting her fear. “I have to save Danny.”

“Hannah… you will not save him!” came the raspy reply.

The dark figure, eyes afire, hovered over her, blocking Hannah’s path to the
window.

“Let me go!” she screamed. “I have to save him!”

The red eyes loomed closer. The darkness fell heavier around her.

“Who
are
you?” Hannah shrieked.
“What
are you? What do you
want?”

The dark figure didn’t reply. The glowing eyes burned into hers.

Danny is trapped in there, Hannah thought. I
have
to get in that
window.

“Move out of my way!”
she screamed. And in her desperation, she reached
out with both hands—grabbed the dark figure by the shoulders—and tried to
shove it out of the way.

To Hannah’s shock, the figure felt solid. With a determined cry, she raised
her hands to its face—and tugged.

The darkness that cloaked its face fell away—and beneath the darkness,
Danny’s face
was revealed!

Hannah stared in horror and disbelief, struggling to breathe. The sour odor
choked her. The darkness continued to wrap around her, holding her prisoner.

Danny grinned back at her, with the same glowing red eyes as before he’d been
unmasked.

“No!” Hannah cried, her voice a hoarse whisper, tight with fear. “It isn’t
you, Danny. It isn’t!”

A cruel smile played over the figure’s glowing face. “I am Danny’s ghost!” he
declared.

“Ghost?” Hannah tried to pull back. But the darkness held her tightly.

“I am Danny’s ghost. When he dies in the fire, I will no longer be a shadow. I
will be BORN—and Danny will go to the shadow world in my place!”

“No! No!” Hannah shrieked, raising her fists in front of her. “No! Danny will not die! I won’t let him!”

Danny’s ghost opened its mouth and uttered a foul-smelling laugh. “You’re too
late, Hannah!” he sneered. “Too late.”

“Nooooooo!”

Hannah’s wail echoed in the darkness that surrounded her.

The ghost-Danny’s red eyes flared angrily as Hannah burst right through him.

A second later, she was raising her hands to the window ledge. “Oh!” The sill
was hot from the fire.

Using all her strength, she pulled herself up toward the darting flames—and
into the house. A curtain of thick, sour smoke rose up to greet her.

Ignoring the smoke and the bright wall of fire, Hannah lowered herself
heavily onto the floor.

I’m a ghost,
she told herself, stepping into the blazing room.

I’m a ghost. I can’t die again.

She rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her T-shirt, struggling to see.
“Danny?” she called, shouting as loudly as she could. “Danny—I can’t see you! Where are you?”

Shielding her eyes with one hand, Hannah took another step into the room.
Flames shot up like bright geysers. Wallpaper on one wall had curled down, the
blackened corner covered with leaping flames.

“Danny—where are you?”

She heard a muffled shout from the next room. Dashing through the
flame-encircled doorway, she saw him—trapped behind a tall wall of flames.

“Danny—!”

He was backed into a corner, his hands raised together in front of him,
shielding his face from the smoke.

I can’t get through those thick flames,
Hannah realized to her horror.

She took another step into the room, then held back.

No way.

No way I can save him.

But once again, she reminded herself:
I am a ghost. I can do things that
living people cannot do.

“Help me! Help me!”

Danny’s voice sounded tiny and far away behind the leaping waves of flame.

Without another second’s hesitation, Hannah sucked in a deep breath, held it—and leapt into the flames.

“Help me!” He stared at her, his eyes blank. He didn’t seem to see her.
“Help!”

“Come on!” She grabbed his hand and tugged. “Let’s go!”

The flames bent toward them, like fiery arms reaching to grab them.

“Come
on
!”

She tugged again, but he held back. “We can’t make it!”

“Yes—we
have
to!” she shouted.

The heat burned her nostrils. She shut her eyes against the blinding yellow
brightness. “We
have
to!”

She grabbed his hand with both of hers and pulled.

Black smoke swirled around them. Choking, she shut her eyes and pulled him,
pulled him into the searing, blistering heat of the flames.

Into the flames.

Through them.

Coughing and choking. Dripping with perspiration from the furnacelike heat.

Pulled him. Pulled blindly. Pulled with all her might.

She didn’t open her eyes until they were at the window.

She didn’t breathe until they had tumbled to the cool darkness of the ground.

Then, on her hands and knees, panting so loudly, gasping for clean air, she
gazed up.

There was the shadow figure near the house, twisting in flames. As the fire
consumed it, it raised its dark arms toward the sky—and vanished without
making a sound.

With a relieved sigh, Hannah lowered her gaze to Danny.

He was lying sprawled on his back, a dazed expression on his face. “Hannah,”
he whispered hoarsely. “Hannah, thanks.”

She felt a smile start to cross her face.

Everything turned bright, as bright as the wall of flames.

Then everything went black.

Danny’s mother leaned over him, pulling the light blanket up to his chest.
“How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

It was two hours later. Danny had been treated by the paramedics who arrived
shortly after the firefighters. They told his worried mother that he was
suffering from smoke inhalation and had a few minor burns.

After treating the burns, they drove Danny and Mrs. Anderson home in an
ambulance.

Now Danny lay in bed, staring up at her, still feeling groggy and dazed. Mrs.
Quilty stood anxiously in the corner, her arms clasped tensely in front of her,
looking on in silence. She had hurried over to see what the commotion was.

“I—I’m okay, I guess,” Danny said, pulling himself up a bit on the pillow.
“I’m just a little tired.”

His mother pushed a lock of blond hair off her forehead as she stared down at him, reading his lips. “How did you ever get
out? How did you get out of the house?”

“It was Hannah,” Danny told her. “Hannah pulled me out.”

“Who?” Mrs. Anderson knotted her face in confusion. “Who is Hannah?”

“You know,” Danny replied impatiently. “The girl next door.”

“There’s no girl next door,” his mother said. “Is there, Molly?” She turned
to read Mrs. Quilty’s lips.

Mrs. Quilty shook her head. “The house is empty.”

Danny sat up straight. “Her name is Hannah Fairchild. She saved my life,
Mom.”

Mrs. Quilty
tsk-tsked
sympathetically. “Hannah Fairchild is the girl
who died five years ago,” she said quietly. “Poor Danny is a bit delirious, I’m
afraid.”

“Just lie back,” Danny’s mother said, gently pushing him back onto the
pillow. “Get some rest. You’ll be fine.”

“But where is Hannah? Hannah is my friend!” Danny insisted.

Hannah watched the scene from the doorway.

The three people in the room couldn’t see her, she realized.

She had saved Danny’s life, and now the room and the people in it were growing faint, fading to gray.

Maybe that’s why my family and I came back after five years, Hannah thought.
Maybe we came back to save Danny from dying in a fire as we did.

“Hannah… Hannah…” A voice called to her. A sweet, familiar voice
from far away.

“Is that you, Mom?” Hannah called.

“Time to come back,” Mrs. Fairchild whispered. “You must leave now, Hannah.
It’s time to come back.”

“Okay, Mom.”

She gazed into the bedroom at Danny, lying peacefully on his pillow. He was
fading away now, fading to gray.

Hannah squinted into the solid grayness. The house, she knew, was fading. The
earth was fading from her sight.

“Come back, Hannah,” her mother whispered. “Come back to us now.”

Hannah could feel herself floating now. And as she floated, she gazed down—her last look at earth.

“I can see him, Mom,” she said excitedly, brushing the tears off her cheeks.
“I can see Danny. In his room. But the light is getting faint. So faint.”

“Hannah, come back. Come back to us,” her mother whispered, calling her home.

“Danny—remember me!” Hannah cried, as Danny’s face appeared clearly in the
misty gray. Could he hear her? Could he hear her calling to him? She hoped so.

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