The Ghost of Graylock (21 page)

N
EIL SEIZED HIS SISTER’S HAND
so hard that she cried out. He stood, dragging her to her feet.

“What are you —” Bree started to ask, but Neil dashed toward the front door, pulling her behind him.

Outside, the rain was coming down so ferociously, it hurt as it hit them. As Neil flew around the corner of the house toward the driveway, he realized that it wasn’t merely water falling from the sky, but hail as well. Chunks of ice as big as cherries bounced off the asphalt path that led to the studio. The dark shadow of the barn rose up before them. Neil nearly slipped and fell, but caught himself just in time. He prayed that the door was unlocked. Bree cried out from behind him as she too struggled to stay on her feet.

Neil turned to see if she was okay. At that moment, another flash lit the night. Back by the house, a dark silhouette stood. Tall. Rigid. A solid mass of shadow. Mixed with the thunder, his voice rose up in the night.

“REBECCA!!!”

Neil swallowed the panic rising from his stomach. They had to reach the phone in the barn. The building was still a dozen yards ahead. He pushed himself to run faster than he ever had before. He stumbled over the icy obstacles covering the driveway. One large lump fell from the high roof of the barn and struck his cheek, just below his eye. “OWW!” he cried.

The world went white — lightning or pain? But there was no time to stop.

As Neil reached for the doorknob, a flash of foliage appeared around him. He was suddenly enveloped by the tall, thin reeds of Graylock Lake. He remembered what Rebecca had felt in the dream — the terror of being chased, the knowledge that one slip could cost her life. And did. For just a moment, he was there,
he was her
, and the shadow behind him was reaching for his neck. Ready to grab, to shove, to push down and hold him underneath the surface of the freezing water —

Cold, wet metal filled his palm. Neil clutched the knob and turned. He shoved the door open as Bree crashed into him from behind, knocking the two of them to the floor once more. Turning over, Neil kicked at the door. It slammed shut.

They were alone in the barn.

Anna’s desk was on the far side of the room. Once there, Neil tried to flick on the desk lamp, but the barn had no power either.
Focus
, he told himself. Then he saw the phone sitting in its cradle on the other end of the desk. When Neil held the receiver to his ear, he cried out in joy. The dial tone buzzed musically, calmly, as if trying to assure him that everything was going to be okay.

Bree came up beside him, stammering. “I saw … I saw the swamp. Just now. I was there. Her father was coming for me.”

“I saw it too,” said Neil, turning the receiver over, looking for the glow of the push-button keypad. “He brought us there. Just like Rebecca did in our dreams.”

“But how? Why?”

“I don’t know!” said Neil. Exasperated, he spun toward his sister. “Who am I calling?”

“The aunts?” she said, her voice wobbly with panic. “Dad?”

“No cell phone service. You know that.”

“Call the police!”

“And tell them what? That a murderous ghost is chasing us? That we learned he killed his daughter and now he’s coming for us too?”

“I don’t know! Call Wesley. Call Eric. Anyone!”

“By the time they get here —” Something loud crashed out on the driveway. Neil craned his head to see through the window of the barn door, but the night gave no clue who or what was out there. He imagined a face staring back at them, cloaked in pitch, his smile growing wide, the rain mixing with blood and saliva as it ran down his chattering chin.

Neil groaned, a cramp stabbing his side. His cheek felt warm where the piece of hail had hit him. Bree shook her head and closed her eyes. Her own face was wet. Rain. Tears. Neil couldn’t be sure, but he knew just how she felt. Helpless.

“Wait a second,” he said. He shoved his hand into his pocket, praying silently that he was wearing the shorts he’d had on the other day. His fingers closed upon a small scrap of paper. Yes! He pulled out the scrap, unfolded it, and glanced at the smeared name scribbled there.

Andy

Neil handed the paper to Bree. “Quick,” he said. “Read me the phone number.”

T
HEY REMAINED HUDDLED UNDERNEATH
A
NNA’S DESK
until a flash of light streaked across the studio’s wall. Not lightning this time. An engine rumbled all the way up the driveway. Andy’s headlights shined blindingly through the window in the barn door.

Neil and Bree sprinted outside. The rain had begun to let up. Standing next to his truck, Andy opened his arms and both of them barreled into him. He hugged them tightly as they shivered with both cold and fear. Moments later, he held them at arm’s length. “Is he still in the house?” he asked, glancing up.

On the phone, they’d told Andy that they thought someone had broken into the aunts’ house — it had been easier than trying to explain everything else.

“We don’t know where he went,” said Bree.

“Can we please just get out of here?” Neil asked, worried that Rebecca’s father was watching from the shadows.

“Maybe I should take a peek inside the house,” said Andy, stepping away from the truck. “We don’t want the aunts coming home to find some creep waiting for them.”

Neil held his sister’s hand. “But … what if he’s waiting for
you
?”

Andy stared at the house, searching for a sign of an intruder. After a few seconds, he sighed and turned back to the truck. “Tell you what, we’ll head back to my house and try to reach the aunts from there. Sound like a plan?”

They all squeezed into the front seat. As Neil swung the truck’s door shut, he sighed, relieved to be in safety’s arms again. Andy reversed toward the road. The barn began to shrink before it disappeared into the rain-swept shadows. The house stood in the darkness beside it, looking forlorn and frightened to be left alone.

Andy turned on the radio. Soothing piano music came from the speakers. “You kids gave me a good scare. This’ll be a good story for our next movie night.” Neil secretly hoped they’d all make it that far.

As they drove off toward Andy’s house, Neil couldn’t help but remember that they were heading closer to Graylock. For a moment, he wondered if that was the best idea. But then he glanced in the rearview mirror.

Lightning lit the night, and Neil nearly screamed. Briefly illuminated in the road behind them, the man he’d earlier seen standing in the driveway was running toward them.

Even over the roar of the truck engine, Neil heard his voice calling.

“REBECCA!!!”

L
ESS THAN FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER
, Neil and Bree were sitting in Andy’s fully lit kitchen. Luckily, his house hadn’t lost electricity. Still, Neil couldn’t stop himself from flinching at every random creak or gust of wind. What if the ghost of Rebecca’s father had followed them here and was waiting for the perfect moment to burst through the door?

“Would you like some milk? Sugar?” Andy asked, placing two steaming mugs onto the table between Neil and Bree. They usually didn’t drink tea, but they nodded anyway, trying to forget about the horror that had chased them into the storm. They huddled in their chairs, wrapped tightly in the warm towels that Andy had taken out of his dryer for them. Outside, the rain had died down, but the soft
pat-pat-pat
of water dripping from branches onto the forest floor echoed in through Andy’s screen door.

After he brought a small carton of milk and a cup full of sugar to the table, Andy sat down beside Neil and Bree. “Now,” he said, “tell me exactly what happened. I’m not quite sure I understand why you don’t want me to call the police.”

The two glanced at each other, unsure how to answer.

“It’s okay,” said Andy, with a concerned smile. “You saw
something
. Trust me. In these woods, you’re not alone thinking you might be crazy.”

Crazy …

“We’re not sure what we saw,” said Neil. “But it was scary.”

“I can tell.” Andy leaned forward onto his elbows and clasped his hands, resting his chin on his fists, mashing his beard. “Now why do you think someone would want to break into your aunts’ house?”

“We don’t actually think someone would want to do that.” Neil clasped the hot mug, warming his fingers. “You said you’ve seen
crazy
things in these woods?” Andy squinted at him. Neil proceeded carefully. “What if we told you that the person in the driveway wasn’t quite … alive?”

Bree sat up straight, eyes wide, silently asking him what he thought he was doing. But Neil was determined. Andy might have the answers they’d been searching for; they should’ve talked to him sooner.

“It was a
ghost
chasing you?” Andy smirked. “Or a zombie? Maybe a vampire?” Seeing their horrified expressions, his bald head flushed red. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to sound sincere.

Neil glanced at the clock near the stove in the corner. He didn’t know when the aunts would return to the house, but he figured they had some time. At this point, what choice did he have?

Neil told Andy everything he could remember: the figure in room 13, the nightly visitations, the dreams, the strange pictures on the camera. He even mentioned their trip up to Whispering Knoll, and Nicholas Reilly’s reaction. Neil revealed the truth about Rebecca Smith’s death, about reading her clue in the yearbook, about how her father’s ghost had come for them, Neil theorized, to stop them from revealing his secret to anyone else.

As he spoke, Neil felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Now he and Bree weren’t alone. Andy looked concerned. And that was a relief. If Neil and Bree were forced to leave Hedston that night, at least someone knew what had happened at Graylock Hall. Maybe Rebecca would find the peace she so desperately sought.

“That’s … quite a story,” said Andy, shaking his head, keeping his eyes on them.

“You believe us, don’t you?” Bree asked.

“How could I not? It all adds up. Remarkable, actually.” Then, to their surprise, Andy chuckled. “You two should write a book!”

Bree glanced at Neil. “Maybe we will,” she said, hesitating, “someday.”

“But first,” said Neil, “we’ve got to figure out who Rebecca’s father was.”

Bree sucked her teeth. “What I want to know is how to stop him from coming after us again.”

“We could get in touch with the
Ghostly Investigators
,” said Neil. Bree scoffed.

Andy chuckled, pushing his chair back. “That is one question I definitely cannot answer for you.” He crossed around the table and headed through a darkened doorway and down a short hall. “But we can try and look him up on my computer,” he called out.

Neil and Bree followed him, leaving the towels draped on their chairs in the kitchen. Stepping into the darkness of the hall, they heard what sounded like a soft cry. The noise gave Neil chills. Feeling foolish, he closed his eyes, then walked faster toward the light and the comfort of Andy.

When Neil entered the room, he realized that the sound hadn’t been a cry, but merely the plinking of piano keys. The large instrument stood against the far wall beside a rain-spattered window. Andy had his back to them, moving papers off a desk and opening a laptop computer. His hip brushed against the piano again.

Plink. Plink. Plink-plink.

Neil sighed. His mind was still filled with Rebecca’s story. He needed to stop, to take a deep breath. To —

Bree grabbed his hand so suddenly, Neil nearly screamed. When he tried to pull away, he caught a glimpse of her face, and it froze him solid. Her eyes were wide, her lips pressed together so tightly that the skin around them was white. Cords of muscle stood out from her neck, and, for a moment, Neil wondered if she was having a seizure. But then Bree flicked her eyes toward the wall behind him. She shook her head slightly, with a quiet violence, as if to say
Not. A. Word.

Slowly, Neil turned.

His body went numb, his eyes completely dry. He clenched his jaw and didn’t even blink when he tasted the blood he’d drawn from his tongue. He felt as though the entire world was spinning too quickly — at any moment, gravity would stop holding him down. He’d hit the ceiling and that would be it. And maybe, right now, that would be for the best.

Above the stone fireplace, hanging from the dark, wood-paneled walls, a pair of deer antlers appeared to be reaching for him — sharp little skewers that could poke out his eyes if he got too close. Below the mantelpiece, in the mouth of the fireplace pit, a pair of black andirons held up three white logs. Neil knew it was birch wood. He’d seen them several times before — pictures of them, at least.

Neil turned away from the fireplace as quickly as he could.

Andy threw him a strange glance, as if he suspected the terrified thoughts rushing through their heads. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “You look like you’ve seen …” He chuckled. “Aw, heck, I’ll say it. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Nope,” said Bree, forcing her voice into an unnatural-sounding calmness. “No ghosts. Still a little freaked-out from before. That’s all.” She let go of Neil’s hand and stepped back toward the door. “You know, maybe my aunts are home now. Can we use your phone?”

“Of course,” said Andy, nonplussed. He gestured to a small table next to the piano bench, where his phone sat. Neil trembled when he saw a large pile of sheet music stacked on the bench, on top of which lay “Superstition” by Stevie Wonder. Neil squeezed his fists to keep himself from shaking. Andy rose and stood between them and the door. “Anna’s probably dying of worry.” He leaned against the wall and watched them expectantly.

Neil noticed a framed document hanging on the wall at Andy’s shoulder — a certificate of commendation from the local Kiwanis club. A name leapt out from the center of the frame.

A
NDREW
C
URTAIN

Curtain? It was Alice’s last name … Rebecca’s mother.

But how?
Neil wondered frantically.
We saw the killer’s ghost back at the aunts’ house.

Andy noticed the alarm written on Neil’s face and turned to see what had caught his attention. As he studied the certificate, his concerned expression transformed, looking both happy and sad, as if he had resigned himself to a difficult task.

After a few seconds, he spoke. “Rebecca was never my daughter,” he said. Bree dropped the phone receiver and turned around. “But her mother
was
my wife. Our relationship was … complicated, but eventually the girl did learn to think of me as her father.”

Daddy …

Andy reached down and allowed his hand to brush against the iron fireplace instruments: a brush, a shovel, a pair of tongs. But the piece he ended up wrapping his fingers around was longer, heavier, and sharper than the rest. The fireplace poker had a hooked tip. “Unfortunately, that didn’t last very long,” he said, stepping quickly toward them, his boots falling heavy against the hardwood floor.