Waiting Spirits (12 page)

“Well, whatever it's about, it's weird to be haunted by your own great-grandmother,” interrupted Carrie. She made an exaggerated shiver.

“How would you like to be me?” snapped Dr. Miles. “Imagine being haunted by your own mother!”

“What about the night she chased me?” asked Lisa, coming over to the table with a platter of sandwiches. “That didn't seem so harmless.”

“Did she hurt you?” asked Dr. Miles.

“No. But she tried to slap me!”

“And you didn't feel it. See, they can't really touch you. As for the slap, I think it was actually intended for me. There are some interesting parallels here. As a matter of fact, I think what really stirred them up was having Carrie in the house.”

“Me?”

“Well, certainly. It was the death of the original Carrie that started everything. The spirits haven't been all that active. Otherwise this house would have a bigger reputation than it does. But it makes sense that when another young girl named Carrie moved in—a girl who, you might as well know, closely resembles the first Carrie—it would upset them. Add to that the fact that the two of you are about as far apart in age as Carrie and I were, and it's easy to see why my mother would be confusing our Carrie with the first Carrie, and you with me, Lisa. I suspect she has never gotten over her anger with me for living when Carrie died. So it wasn't you she was after at all. But she doesn't recognize me as her daughter, because I'm too old. She's trapped in the past, has no sense of how much time has gone by since that tragedy.”

“That makes sense, I suppose,” said Lisa. “But what about the messages?”

“Well, the first one must have been from your great-grandmother,” said Brian. “‘Welcome home'—it makes a lot of sense if she thought Carrie had come back. But what about the night I was here? That one said ‘Danger!'”

“I've been thinking about that,” said Dr. Miles. “Believe me, it's been preying on my mind. I've come up with a couple of possibilities. The one that seems to make the most sense is that it's from Ellen McCormack. She, too, is looking at Carrie as the original. She's trying to warn her away. Past, present, and future are jumbled together in their minds. She sees Carrie alive now, but she's afraid for what has already happened to her. That's the reason for the message Lisa got last night.”

“I think I've got it!” said Brian. “I've been trying to figure out the first seance we did together. It seemed like such a mix of things—cupboard doors slamming, that woman crying and screaming, the candle flying through the air. You remember the message I got….”

“I remember,” said Carrie. “I remember!”

Lisa put her hands on Carrie's shoulders.

“Go on,” said Dr. Miles.

Brian looked around the table. “The slamming doors were caused by Myra Halston. Why? Because Ellen McCormack had beaten her to the punch. Instead of a message of welcome, Ellen was going to give us a message of warning. That infuriated Dr. Miles's mother, who wanted Carrie to stay. So she tried to interrupt the message.”

“That's it!” cried Dr. Miles. “Ellen is warning us away because she's afraid for Carrie. My mother is welcoming us here because she's glad to have Carrie back. And both of them have our Carrie confused with the original.”

“I feel like a Ping-Pong ball,” said Carrie.

“So what do we do now?” asked Lisa.

“You've solved the mystery,” said Brian. “Get out!”

“We've solved the mystery,” said Dr. Miles. “But we haven't solved the problem. There's work to be done here!”

Lisa looked worried. “Gramma, what are you talking about?”

Dr. Miles looked grim. “I intend to have a little chat with my mother.”

Lisa put down her cards with a sigh. That was her third foolish bid in ten minutes. She could tell that Brian, playing as her partner, was getting frustrated. But she just couldn't concentrate. How he was able to keep his mind on the game was more than she could understand.

The clock struck eleven.

“I suppose unless we stir them up ourselves, nothing will happen till after midnight,” said Dr. Miles.

“I don't think we should try to rouse them,” said Carrie, throwing the ace of hearts into the center of the table. “They're doing just fine on their own.”

“So are you!” said Brian. He scowled as he tossed down the king she had forced. “I didn't know I was going to be playing with a bridge shark tonight.”

Carrie laughed. “I told you I would make a better partner than Lisa. Cards and romance don't mix.”

“The same goes for smart mouths,” said Dr. Miles as she trumped in and took the trick.

Lisa tried to relax. She couldn't tell if the others were enjoying the game as much as they seemed to be, or if they were simply better at pretending than she was.

She was glad Brian was still here. He had had to leave to help his father for a while that afternoon, but had come back for supper, with permission from his mother to stay late.

An odd tension seemed to fill the air. They were all afraid, yet at the same time confident that they were not really in danger. Lisa looked at her grandmother and marveled at how calm she seemed. How was it possible, when she was planning to confront her own mother's ghost in another hour?

But her unflappable nature was what had earned her the nickname The Great Stone Face to begin with. Lisa envied her grandmother's calm and courage, and wondered if she would ever be like that.

She smiled to herself. She had to admit that part of her was looking forward to whatever was going to happen. She had a feeling that in a confrontation between her grandmother and a ghost, the ghost wouldn't stand a chance.

So why was she, Lisa, so nervous? It wasn't just fear. She had had a strange feeling all night long, a restless itchiness, almost like having a spot that needed scratching, not on her skin, but on her soul.

“Forget it, Burton,” she ordered herself. “Concentrate on the game.”

They were seated at the card table in the living room. behind Brian, facing her, was the big grandfather clock that marked the hours for them. She almost wished it weren't there. It left her acutely aware of the passage of time. Or the lack of it. The hands seemed to have stopped. She was amazed when the quarter hour finally struck. An exchange of nervous glances passed around the table. But the game continued.

At eleven-thirty it began to fall apart, with all of them making more senseless plays than logical ones.

At eleven-forty-five Alice Miles threw down her cards and said, “This is nonsense. Let's just wait for midnight.”

The three young people nodded in agreement, and all eyes focused on the clock as the hands crawled slowly, inexorably, toward the witching hour. Outside the wind was rising. Lisa could see the full moon through the picture window.

Brian drummed his fingers nervously on the table. Dr. Miles reached out to stop him.

The clock began to chime midnight.

Dr. Miles turned off the lamp.

Lisa felt her skin begin to crawl. Something was wrong; very wrong. She had known it all along. Things weren't as simple as everyone had thought. There was more to this than…

She lost her train of thought. The clock was still chiming. She looked around the table, catching the eyes of each of the others, who were doing the same thing.

The chimes stopped.

Nothing had happened.

For a long time no one spoke. When Carrie did start to say something, Dr. Miles reached out and put a hand on her arm, cautioning her to remain quiet.

The silence continued.

“Maybe they're waiting for
us,”
said Brian at last.

“Shhh.”

Lisa felt small droplets of sweat began to form under her arms, along her shoulders, behind her neck. The waiting was driving her mad. “Come on!” she wanted to shout. “If you're going to come, get it over with!”

Nothing.

The clock struck the quarter hour.

“Mother always was late,” said Dr. Miles. She turned on the lamp. “Perhaps we had better try the writing. I can't wait much longer. And I certainly can't go through another night like this one!”

Lisa sighed. So her grandmother
was
human! That seemed like a relief in itself. “I'll get the paper,” she said. Normally Carrie would have leaped up to do it, but Lisa knew her sister had no intention of separating herself from the group now, whether the lights were on or off.

She headed for the kitchen, where they had left the pencils and paper they were using earlier that day. As soon as she entered the kitchen, she felt her skin begin to crawl again.

Suddenly she clutched the sides of her head. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Trembling violently, she staggered and fell against the counter.

A moment later, Lisa stood and shook herself.

Her face grim and intent, she opened one of the kitchen drawers and began searching for what she needed.

Chapter Twelve
Possession

“Here we go,” said Lisa brightly as she reentered the living room a few minutes later. She was carrying several pencils in her left hand. She was also clutching a large blue notebook against her chest.

Her right hand was hidden beneath the notebook.

A strange light glowed in her eyes—a light that grew brighter as she drew near the table.

“Dear God!” cried Brian suddenly. Lunging against the table, he pushed Carrie and her chair over sideways. At the same moment Lisa uttered a bloodcurdling scream and swung the butcher knife she was clutching downward in a vicious arc.

Alice Miles cried out in terror. The butcher knife, which had been intended for Carrie, quivered in the tabletop. The savage strength of the blow had thrust it through the cards, the cloth, and the table itself.

As Lisa tried to wrench the knife free, Brian grabbed her by the hair, spun her around, and slapped her face. “Stop it!” he roared.

“Gramma!” screamed Carrie. “Gramma, make her stop!”

Lisa was hissing and spitting, scratching at Brian like a rabid cat. “Let me go!” she screamed as she raked her fingers down his cheek, leaving four bloody welts.

Brian slapped her again. “Get out of there!” he shouted. “You get out of Lisa's body!”

Lisa's eyes were rolling wildly.

Brian pinned her arms to her sides and shook her savagely. “Get out!
Get out!”

She tried to bite him, spittle flying from the corners of her mouth.

“Make it stop!” cried Carrie, clinging to her grandmother. “Gramma, make it stop!”

Suddenly Lisa broke free of Brian's grasp. With a screech she lunged at Carrie, her fingers straining for her little sister's neck. When Dr. Miles intercepted Lisa, grabbing her by the shoulder, Lisa lashed out and slapped her grandmother so fiercely it seemed her jaw might be broken.

Dr. Miles slapped back. “Mother!” she said, her voice firm and strong. She was gasping, and her shoulders were shaking, yet she managed to sound like a parent disciplining an unruly child. “Mother, get out of there. You don't belong.”

Lisa's eyes rolled in her head. Her hair was tangled, her nostrils flaring.

Carrie turned away and threw up.

Suddenly Lisa's eyes rolled back in her head, so that only the whites showed. She convulsed wildly, as if an electric shock were running through her, then collapsed like a tent in a windstorm.

“Help me get her onto the couch,” snapped Dr. Miles. She had taken Lisa's arms. Brian was just reaching for her feet when from the air above them came a cry of horror.

“Carrie!” screamed the voice. “Oh, my God! Carrie!”

At the sound Lisa opened her eyes and shuddered. The voice carried such grief and terror that she could feel tears spring to her eyes, her sympathy for the maddened creature that haunted the night even stronger than the fear that was raging through her.

The ceiling began to drip, not in one place but in several. Rank green water struck the table, the couch, the carpet.

When the water turned to blood, Carrie buried her face in her arms and began to weep.

“Come on!” snapped Brian. “We're getting out of here!”

He grabbed Lisa and started for the door. A shriek of dismay rang out above them. Just as Brian and Lisa reached the door it blew inward, as if struck by a mighty wind. The edge of the door caught Brian's head, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Lisa grabbed at the door. It wrenched out of her fingers and slammed shut again. She tried to open it. It was jammed. Placing a foot against the wall, she yanked furiously, shaking her head from side to side.

The door would not budge

A lamp sailed past her, missing her head by inches. It smashed on the wall above the door. Shards of pottery rained down around her.

“Brian!” she cried, dropping to her knees beside him. “Brian, are you all right?”

He made no answer.

She lifted his head into her lap. He moaned and tried to open his eyes. Suddenly Carrie shrieked. Turning toward her sister, Lisa cried out with new terror. The closet under the stairs had opened like a hungry mouth, and Carrie was being dragged toward it by some unseen force. Dr. Miles had her arms locked around Carrie's shoulders and was straining to hold her. But the force was so great that Carrie's body was stretched out parallel to the floor. One of her shoes slipped off and flew straight into the closet, as if it had been sucked in by some gigantic vacuum cleaner. Carrie's other shoe came off. A sock peeled off after it. Both disappeared into the closet.

Lisa leaped up. She could feel the force sucking at her, too. Skirting the edges of it, working desperately to avoid stepping too close, she made a large circle around the living room and came up next to the closet. Standing behind the door she began to push against it, trying to close it, to block the horrendous force within.

She let out a little gasp as something brushed against her, then realized it was Brian. He was standing behind her, his face taut, a large purple welt above one eye.