Horror at the Haunted House (8 page)

After dinner, she stretched out on the sofa and kept reading.

“I’ll say one thing for you,” Mr. Streater remarked, “when we buy you a book, our money isn’t wasted.”

Ellen didn’t hear him. She was reading a theory that some ghosts only appear at specific times of the year. One ghost always haunted a certain house at Christmastime. Another came only on the anniversary of a violent thunderstorm during which a favorite cocker spaniel was struck by lightning.

This wasn’t true of Lydia, Ellen knew. According to the biography at the Historical Society library, Lydia had been seen in different seasons of the year.

The book said ghosts materialize most often in the dark but this didn’t seem always true of Lydia, either. True, Lydia had disappeared from Ellen’s room as soon as the light was turned on. But the dining room of the haunted house was lit when Ellen saw the hands and it wasn’t dark when she saw Lydia’s reflection in the mirror.

Ellen had nearly concluded that, while the book was interesting, it didn’t pertain to her situation when she read about a man who sold his house and moved because he believed the house was haunted. He frequently heard footsteps in the night and claimed he could
smell
a ghost. He became so nervous he could not sleep and after months of restless nights, he moved.

On the first night in his new house, he heard the same rushing of footsteps which had become so familiar in the old house. He also smelled the distinctive odor of the ghost he thought he had left behind. After three months, he moved again and the story repeated itself. It became clear that it wasn’t the houses that were haunted—it was the man himself. A ghost had attached itself to him and followed him wherever he went. Even moving to a different country failed to help.

Ellen quit reading and thought about that. What if the ghost
of Lydia Clayton had decided to follow Ellen? Lydia had never left Clayton House before, or at least had never been seen away from it, until she appeared in Ellen’s bedroom. What if Lydia kept haunting her? What if she continued to appear, night after night? Ellen shuddered, remembering how she felt as she was roused from a sound sleep by the cold fingers on her neck and the strangled sound of “Oohh . . . end.”

She put the book aside and went to get a glass of milk and a cookie. Mr. Streater was in the kitchen making his lunch for work the next day. When he saw Ellen he said, “If you’re interested in ghosts, why don’t you look them up in our encyclopedia?”

“Good idea,” Ellen said. She couldn’t very well say that she had come to the kitchen to get away from ghost stories—not after begging her parents to buy her the book. Besides, her dad loved it when she and Corey used the encyclopedia. Whenever they asked him a question that he couldn’t answer, he suggested that they look it up in the encyclopedia. Sometimes Ellen suspected he said that even when he knew the answer.

“Ghosts” were in Volume 13, which seemed appropriate. After a lengthy section on primitive religions, she read, “It is believed that certain people have psychic abilities which allow them to perceive that which other people do not sense, both in sight and hearing, just as some animals can see, hear or even smell that which humans cannot.”

Ellen read that part again. Maybe this explained why she could see, feel, and hear the ghost even though no one else was able to. She thought back to the time when she knew, without being told, that Mrs. Lantow was sick. She had known about Uncle Ted and Aunt Cheryl’s unhappiness.

Do I have special psychic ability? she wondered. The mention
of animals who see and hear what humans can’t made her remember how she had tried, last summer, to communicate with Prince as a Science Fair experiment. She had been successful in getting Prince to obey her unspoken commands. She had also communicated with an elephant at the zoo, although she couldn’t prove that. Maybe she had unusual psychic powers. Maybe that’s why Lydia had chosen her. Or maybe Lydia had no choice in the matter. Maybe Lydia was always there but Ellen was one of the rare people who could see her.

Knowledge. Ellen kept coming back to the idea that if she learned enough about ghosts, she would somehow be able to deal with Lydia. She finished her snack, put on her pajamas, and finished reading
True Ghost Stories
in bed.

It ended by saying that a person would learn far more about ghosts from just one personal encounter with one than by reading a hundred books on the subject. If that’s true, Ellen thought, I’m already something of an expert.

That night, Lydia came again. Ellen woke shivering and knew, even before she heard the moan, that the ghost was back. She pulled the covers up over her face and squeezed her eyes shut tight. It didn’t help. The icy air penetrated her blanket.

Ellen pretended not to notice. She lay still, hardly breathing. She heard a muffled, “Ooohhh . . . end,” and did not respond.

Maybe if I ignore her, Ellen thought, she’ll grow tired of bothering me and leave.

The mattress began to shake. It wasn’t a gentle rocking movement, like the vibrating bed she and Corey had seen demonstrated at the county fair. It was instead a violent motion, as if a person stood at each corner of her bed and raised and lowered the mattress. At the same time, it tilted from side to side, until Ellen was afraid she would be flipped into the air like a pancake.

She clenched her teeth and clung to the bedding. The shaking grew more frenzied.

Ellen flung the blankets back, uncovering her face. “Stop it!” she said, trying to keep her voice low.

Immediately, the bed quit shaking.

“What do you want?” Ellen whispered.

The cold air that had pressed against her moved away. She felt it swirling a few feet in front of her, like a miniature tornado. Seconds later, the swirling stopped. The ghost appeared.

Ellen saw all of her. It was the same woman whose reflection Ellen had seen in the mirror. She wore the same long white gown, with lace at the wrists and throat.

“Lydia,” Ellen said. It was a statement, not a question.

“Ooohhh . . . end.” The ghost had a greenish glow to her, especially her huge eyes.

Frantically, Ellen tried to remember everything she had read about ghosts, wondering what she should say or do.

“Why have you come here?” Ellen said. She thought of turning on the light but her mother might notice and Ellen wanted answers, not more questions.

The ghost held up her hands and beckoned to Ellen.

“You want me to follow you?” Ellen said.

The ghost beckoned again.

Ellen shook her head, no. She felt safe in her bed, though she wasn’t sure why, the way the bed had been lurching just then.

The ghost held out one hand to Ellen, as if urging her to take it and follow.

“No,” Ellen said, but even as she spoke, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Her feet found her slippers and slid into them.

Moving as if she were in a trance, Ellen took her bathrobe from the blanket chest at the foot of her bed and slipped her arms into it. She turned and faced the ghost.

She had to look up because the ghost was taller than Ellen. She saw the back of the ghost’s head as it moved toward Ellen’s bedroom door. When it reached the door, it disappeared.

I should get back in bed, Ellen thought. I should turn on the light. If Mom comes, I can say I wanted a drink of water. But her mind seemed to belong to one person and her body to another. Even as she told herself what to do, she did exactly the opposite.

Feeling as if she had been hypnotized, Ellen quietly turned the knob and eased the door open. She peered out. The ghost stood in the hallway, waiting for her.

It floated down the stairs. Ellen followed.

It flowed through the living room. Ellen followed, though she went around the furniture instead of moving through it as the ghost did.

The ghost went to the front door and disappeared. As Ellen approached the door, she heard the click-click of Prince’s toenails coming toward her across the floor. She stopped.

Prince nudged Ellen with his muzzle, wanting to be scratched. The feel of his fur, the everyday gesture of rubbing his head, brought Ellen out of the dreamlike state she had been in. She stood there, quietly stroking Prince’s fur.

Prince growled. The ghost reappeared on the inside of the door.

“Shush, Prince,” Ellen whispered. “No bark.”

Prince growled again.

The ghost did not appear to notice. She lifted her arms again and beckoned for Ellen to follow her.

Ellen shook her head. “I can’t,” she said. “I’m not allowed to leave the house at night, without telling my parents.” It was true and, for once, Ellen was glad to abide by her parents’ strict rules.

The ghost came closer. Prince bared his teeth and moved between Ellen and the door.

“What do you want?” Ellen whispered. “You can’t expect me to follow you around in the middle of the night when I don’t know what you want or where you’re going.”

The ghost’s mouth opened and a low, strangled sound came out. Ellen sensed it was a supreme effort to speak, but the effort failed. The luminous green eyes looked so sad that Ellen expected to see tears flowing down the ghost’s cheeks.

The whole room was filled with frigid air. The ghost lifted her arms and beckoned again, imploring Ellen to follow.

Prince growled.

Ellen’s fingers closed around Prince’s collar.

“Come, Prince,” she said. She turned and fled across the living room, up the stairs, and back to her own room, with Prince beside her. She closed her bedroom door. “You can sleep in here tonight,” she told Prince. She wondered if Prince had actually seen the ghost or if he had only sensed something was there.

She got back in bed and sat propped against two pillows, staring at the closed door.

I will probably never sleep again, she thought. I’ll be too nervous about being awakened by a ghost. I’ll die of lack of sleep, if I don’t die of fright first. Or else I’ll tell someone what’s going on and get committed to a mental institution.

Why did I follow her downstairs? Ellen wondered. I should have stayed in bed. Does she have some power over me, to make me do what she wants me to do? Or was I still half-asleep until
Prince came along and brought me to my senses? What if Prince had not been there? Would I have followed Lydia? Followed her where?

Where had Lydia planned to go? To Clayton House? That was much too far for Ellen to walk, although perhaps a ghost had no sense of distance. Lydia just materialized wherever she wanted to be. Maybe she thought Ellen could do the same.

Too bad I can’t, Ellen thought. If I could, I would materialize in the dining room of the mansion when Agnes isn’t there and try to figure out if there’s something about the Wedgwood collection that Lydia is trying to show me.

Eventually, Ellen dozed, awoke, dozed again, and finally fell asleep.

Lydia did not return.

A
re ghosts logical? Ellen wondered. If they aren’t, Lydia’s strange behavior will never make sense, no matter how hard I try to explain it. If they are, then I must discover what Lydia is trying to tell me.

Ellen’s head told her to stay out of the dining room. Her curiosity told her to examine the Wedgwood again.

The next night, Ellen and Corey got to the haunted house later than usual, arriving just in time to get to their places before the doors opened. As Ellen hurried through the great hall and up the stairs, she hoped Agnes wouldn’t be annoyed with her for being so late. There had been an accident on the freeway and traffic was a mess.

When Ellen entered the parlor, Agnes wasn’t waiting. Moments later, Mrs. Whittacker announced on the loudspeaker, “All actors in place, please. The doors will open in five minutes.”

Since Agnes wasn’t there, Ellen turned on the switches herself to start all of the special effects for the Joan of Arc scene.
Then she got on the platform and held her hands behind her, as if they were tied.

Mrs. Whittacker rushed into the room. “I nearly forgot!” she cried. “I’m supposed to get your scene ready tonight.”

“Where’s Agnes?”

“She’s sick. She called this afternoon and I couldn’t find anyone to replace her. We expect a small crowd tonight, since it’s Monday, so I thought we could manage but someone from Sheltering Arms showed up to make a video and I had to show her around.”

As she spoke she wound the rope around Ellen’s knees and shoulders and tied her to the stake. “I see I didn’t need to panic. I might have known you would start all your special effects without any help. You and Corey are wonderful.”

Mrs. Whittacker hurried away just in time. The first visitors of the night entered the viewing space as Ellen closed her eyes and tried to look saintly.

As the fake crowd shouted, “Witch! Heretic!” and the real audience murmured their sympathy and fright, Ellen’s excitement grew. She could inspect the Wedgwood tonight, to see if it held some clue to what Lydia wanted Ellen to know. She could go behind the rope and examine each piece as much as she wanted, without worrying that Agnes would find her and order her out of the dining room.

Mrs. Whittacker came promptly at ten to untie Ellen. As soon as she put her shoes on, Ellen hurried across the hall to the dining room. It was empty. She glanced in the mirror as she passed it and saw only her own reflection. Good. Maybe Agnes
and
Lydia would leave her alone long enough for her to get a good, close look at the Wedgwood collection.

Quickly, she crossed the room to the Wedgwood display and ducked underneath the rope. She had already decided that she would begin with the earliest pieces and examine each one in order. It had occurred to her that maybe Lydia was trying to get her to admire the older Wedgwood, the pieces Lydia herself had collected. Until now, Ellen had focused all her attention on the Fairylustre and perhaps Lydia didn’t like that.

As she leaned toward a tea server from Lydia’s original creamware set, she heard footsteps behind her. When she looked around, no one was there. Probably one of the actors rushing down the hall, she thought, eager to get home.

She turned back to the Wedgwood and heard the footsteps again. She remembered the man in the book, the one who had moved so many times but no matter where he went, he heard the same footsteps of a ghost. She realized that she, too, was hearing phantom footsteps, not real ones. Instead of looking behind her, she kept her eyes straight ahead, trying to concentrate on the dishes.