The Old Willis Place (9 page)

Lissa went straight to Miss Lilian's bedroom, almost as if she'd been guided there. "Look at all this, Diana!" She pointed to the faded velvet drapes hanging at the windows, the cob webbed chandelier, the fancy marble fireplace, the high-topped walnut bed, the dusty matching furniture.

Yanking open a closet door, Lissa peered inside. "Her clothes are still here." She pawed through Miss Lilian's silk dresses, her velvet gowns, her wool coats, setting them swinging and swaying like ghosts.

While I watched, horrified, she held them up to herself and danced around the room, admiring her reflection in the tarnished mirrors. She tried on hats with plumes, straw hats, knit caps, even a cowboy hat from Miss Lilian's riding days. She wrapped shawls around her shoulders, draped herself with scarves, and struck silly poses like a model in a fashion magazine.

"Here, try this one, Diana." Lissa held up a blue beaded dress, one of Miss Lilian's favorites. The last time she'd worn it, she'd slapped me for spilling a tray of drinks she'd given me to serve the guests.

I pushed the dress aside, hating the dusty feel of the fabric. The smell of Miss Lilian's perfume still clung to it.

Lissa shrugged and grabbed a large straw hat covered with artificial flowers, another of Miss Lilian's favorites. She struck a silly pose. "Isn't this the most hideous hat you ever saw?

"Please, Lissa," I begged, "put those things away. Your father will see the mess and know someone's been in here."

Reluctantly Lissa began picking up the clothing, but she insisted on wearing the flowered hat. In hope of getting her out of the house, I helped jam dresses and shoes, skirts and blouses, coats and jackets back into the closet. Despite the noise we were making, I heard other sounds from the floor below.

"Listen," I whispered to Lissa. "Do you hear that?"

She stopped chattering, her face solemn for a moment. "What?"

"A sort of rustling and whispering, floors creaking."

Lissa stayed silent, listening hard, and then shook her head. "It's just old house sounds."

After I persuaded her to leave Miss Lilian's room, Lissa looked in the other bedrooms, empty except for odds and ends of broken furniture, mildewed books, and faded pictures, things Miss Lilian had left behind, needed no longer.

"Is this her, do you think?" Lissa held up a framed photograph of Miss Lilian sitting on the lion bench, frowning at the camera, eyes squinted against the sun, a cigarette in one hand and a glass in the other. "She looks like a witch, doesn't she?"

Taken by surprise, I backed away from the picture. How often had I seen Miss Lilian sitting on that bench, smoking, drinking a glass of wine, her mouth drawn down with disapproval? I even recognized her dress—navy with a prim white collar and cuffs, buttoned tightly. In those days, she'd always dressed for dinner.

"She
was
a witch." I spoke without thinking, but Lissa saw nothing out of the ordinary in my words.

"That's what everyone says." Lissa pitched the photo into the corner. I heard the glass break. "Old witch," she said with a giggle.

"Can we go now?" I started toward the stairs, frightened by Lissa's recklessness. I had to get her out of the house before she did any more damage.

But Lissa was obstinate. Grabbing my arm to stop me from leaving, she shined her flashlight up a dark flight of steps leading to the third floor. "Don't you want to see what's up there?"

"No." I pulled away from her.

"Diana, don't be such a scaredy-cat!" Lissa caught my arm again and tugged me toward the dark staircase. "I might never get another chance to explore this place."

At the top, Lissa drew in her breath at the sight of the grand piano. Without a second's hesitation, she ran to it and lifted the lid. It creaked so loudly I jumped.

"Can you play?" she asked me.

"Don't touch that," I whispered. "Please, Lissa."

"Why not? Who'll hear? Who'll care?" Brushing me aside, she set her flashlight down and struck the yellowed keys. The sound was discordant, warped, tuneless, but she banged away, trying to play "Chopsticks."

"Stop!" In a panic, I grabbed her and yanked her away from Miss Lilian's precious Stein way. "No one's allowed to touch the piano!"

For a moment we struggled. Lissa obviously didn't like being told what to do. Finally, she broke away from me and picked up the hat she'd lost in our tussle. Setting it firmly on her head, she deliberately pounded the piano keys, producing a hideous, tuneless sound.

I wanted to slap her, but as I raised my hand I remembered Miss Lilian's palm striking my cheek, the flash of pain. I shrank back from Lissa, fearful of who I might become, of what I might do. "It's against the rules!"

"The rules, the rules, the stupid rules. Everything's against the rules. How can you have any fun when you're always worried about breaking rules?"

"You don't understand," I said. "If Georgie or I—" I burst into tears, too frightened of Miss Lilian to go on.

Lissa's mood shifted. Abandoning the piano, she gave me a quick hug. "Oh, Diana, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted to explore the house. It's almost as if, as if . . ." She paused and adjusted the hat's angle.

"As if what?" There was something she wasn't telling me, something that worried me. I shivered, intensely aware of the darkness around us.

Lissa tilted the hat over one eye and then shifted it the other way. Nervous. Unsure. "I don't know," she said slowly. "I just had to see the house. I
had
to."

Over our heads, thunder rumbled. The heavy drapes swayed as the wind found its way through the boards covering the windows. Downstairs something thumped softly. I heard it again and then again, a little louder each time.

"Please, Lissa," I begged. "Let's go. Before it's too late."

She stared at me. "Too late for what?"

"Your father," I blurted, thinking fast. "He'll come home and you won't be there and he'll start looking for you. If he finds us in here..." I let my words trail away, unsure what to say next. "Well, you'll be in trouble for sure. And so will I."

Lissa shrugged. "Dad isn't strict like your parents. We'll just have a little talk and that'll be that." She shined the flashlight around the room again, letting its light play on old paintings, books, an ornate carved marble fireplace. "I guess I've seen just about everything up here," she said at last.

Aiming the light in front of us, Lissa followed me downstairs. On the second floor, she paused and looked at Miss Lilian's bedroom. "Are you sure you've never seen her ghost?" she asked.

My mouth was too dry to answer, so I simply shook my head and tugged her sleeve, urging her not to linger.

Suddenly, Lissa rushed past me, her feet thudding on the stairs. She bumped the old photographs hanging crooked on the walls, brushed the strips of torn paper aside, and came to a stop at the bottom.

Turning to me, she said, "Dare me to open the parlor door?"

Chapter 11

I ran down the steps after Lissa. In a panic, I jerked her hand away from the knob. "Don't open that door!"

"I want to see where she died." Lissa reached for the knob again. Miss Lilian's hat hid her face, but her voice was shrill with excitement. The rustling sounds grew louder, as if someone in a silk dress was crossing the room. The floor creaked, and the air turned so cold my teeth chattered.

As clearly as if she was standing beside me, I heard Miss Lilian's voice in my ear. "Get out of the girl's way, Diana. Let her open the door."

Instead of obeying the old woman, I pressed my back against the door and pushed Lissa away with all my strength. She staggered backward and crashed against the wall.

"What's wrong with you?" Lissa rubbed her arm and winced as if I'd hurt her. "Are you nuts?"

"Just stay away from the door. If you open it, she'll get out!"

"What are you talking about? Who'll get out?"

In my ear, Miss Lilian's cold voice froze the very air between us. "Let the girl open the door. You and I have business to settle, miss."

"Please, Lissa, please!" I flung myself at her. "I beg you, we have to get out of here."

But Lissa evaded me and reached for the knob. "I have to open the door," she cried. "I have to!"

"That's right," Miss Lilian hissed, "she must open the door. She must, she must."

Despite my efforts, Lissa managed to turn the knob. The door swung open and slammed against the wall with a loud bang. Out poured a blast of cold air. It spun past us like a small cyclone of ice, taking the flowered hat with it, and whirled up the stairs, leaving us frozen speechless in the parlor doorway.

Suddenly, there she was, Miss Lilian herself, peering down at Lissa and me from the top of the stairs. She was just as I remembered—tall and gaunt, bent with arthritis, wrathful, hateful. Uncombed hair framed her pale face in thorny white brambles. Clutching her hat, she leaned over the railing and directed her gaze at me. "You! You!"

She stood there, her mouth moving as if she wanted to say more but could find no words. "You," she whispered. "You and your brother. Just wait!"

With a wail of fury, she turned and fled. Her gray silk dress rustled. Her footsteps clicked the way they always had. Then her bedroom door slammed shut, and she was gone.

In the sudden silence, I collapsed on the steps, weak with fear. Miss Lilian was free. Free to pursue Georgie and me, free to hurt us again and again. With her hunting us, we weren't safe anywhere on the farm. And we couldn't leave.

I glanced at Lissa. What had she done? I wanted to scream at her, to blame everything on her, but she sagged against the wall as if she'd never move again, her face colorless, her eyes unfocused. While I watched, she drew in her breath, opened her mouth, and began to scream.

Out of pity, I took Lissa's hand and pulled her to her feet. I ran and dragged her behind me, still screaming, stumbling and tripping and bumping into things as if she were blind.

"Faster!" I yelled, jerking her along. I didn't care if I was hurting her, I didn't care if I was scaring her. It was her fault. She'd brought me here, she'd insisted on seeing every room in the house, she'd opened the parlor door.

At last, we plunged outside into cold, fresh air smelling of nothing but rain. MacDuff leapt up from the terrace and bounded ahead across the weedy lawn, as anxious as we were to get away from the house.

Once safe in the trailer, we slammed the door against the wind and rain and whatever else might be out there. Without speaking, we huddled on the sofa, wet and cold and shaking. MacDuff cowered between us, as scared as we were. Mr. Morrison wasn't back from Home Depot—which was a good thing, considering Lissa's hysterical weeping.

"Oh, Diana," she cried, "I saw her, I saw Miss Willis! She ran up the stairs, she, she—" Lissa's sobs overcame her and she buried her face in MacDuff's fur.

"Why didn't you listen to me?" I tried hard not to shout at her, but my voice rose anyway. "I told you not to go in the house, I told you not to open that door!"

Lissa rocked back and forth, crying and moaning. "I couldn't help it, my hand just went to the doorknob. I couldn't stop myself. And she got out. She—"

"She didn't just
get
out. You
let
her out!"

"But I didn't mean to. I told you. It was like my hand, my hand—" Lissa raised her head from MacDuff's back and looked at her hand as if it didn't belong to her. "She made me do it, Diana."

I stared at her. Maybe it was true. Ghosts sometimes possessed people. I'd seen it happen in movies, so maybe it happened in real life, too. "If you'd just listened to me—"

Lissa started crying again. "It wasn't my fault."

I slumped down on the sofa and stared at the window, sheeted with rain. MacDuff whimpered and licked my hand, and I stroked his head. Though I didn't like to admit it, I'd started all this by making friends with Lissa. It wasn't her fault. It was mine. I had no right to be angry with her.

Lissa leaned closer to me, her voice hoarse from crying, and whispered, "What will Miss Willis do? Will she hurt us?"

I kept looking at that window, fearful of seeing a face press itself against the glass. I saw nothing but rain. Where was Miss Lilian? What was she doing all alone in her ruined house? When would she come looking for my brother and me?

"If she comes after anyone," I said slowly, "it will be Georgie and me, not you. It's us she hates."

Lissa huddled in her corner of the sofa and stared at me, her face wet with tears. "Why would she hate you and Georgie?"

I looked at Lissa long and hard, tired of her questions, tired of her ignorance. Why had I wanted a friend so badly? I got to my feet. "I have to find Georgie."

"Don't go." Lissa grabbed my hand with both of hers. "Wait till Daddy comes home. Don't leave me here alone."

"I told you, Miss Willis won't hurt you."

"Please, please!" Lissa clung to me and wept. "Stay with me. I'm scared."

I pulled away from her. "You have MacDuff. But Georgie's out there in the woods with no one but Nero."

"Don't be mad," Lissa begged. "I'm sorry, Diana, I'm so sorry. I didn't know—I didn't mean—I—"

I left her weeping on the couch, her arms around the dog. All I cared about was Georgie. I was his big sister. I had to keep him safe from Miss Lilian.

T
HE
D
IARY OF
L
ISSA
M
ORRISON

Dear Dee Dee,

What happened today is almost too terrible to write about. My hand is still shaking so much I can hardly hold my pen. I did what I said
I
was going to do. I made Diana go inside the house with me. MacDuff wouldn't come with us. Diana didn't want to go in either—she said it was against the rules.

Oh, Dee Dee, I should have listened to Diana. She and MacDuff are both smarter than I am. What's wrong with me? Why do I do dumb things?

As soon as I stepped inside that house, I smelled a horrible stink—cat pee mostly, just disgusting—but did that stop me? Oh, no,
I
went in anyway. I just had to see what the house was like.

But it was more than that, Dee Dee. It was like something was making me go inside. It was kind of like a voice in my head saying, "Come in, come in."It wasn't just an invitation, Dee Dee, it was more like an order, and I had to do what it said. Hearing voices—it sounds crazy, but that's what it was like.

I hope nobody ever reads what I just wrote. They'd lock me up in a padded cell for sure. But it's true. There was a voice, and now I know it was Miss Willis. She wanted me to come in, she wanted me to open that door.

I was scared, but I didn't want Diana to know, so I said let's go upstairs. We went to Miss Willis's bedroom and I tried on her clothes and made fun of them. I even took one of her hats, a big one with flowers on it, really hideous, and then I made Diana go to the third floor. There was a big old piano up there, all covered with cobwebs. Diana freaked out when I started playing it. We actually had a fight, and then she started crying and I realized I was acting like a spoiled brat, making her do what I wanted when she was so totally worried about those rules—which turned out to be much more important than I ever dreamed.

So I told her I was sorry and we started to leave, but at the bottom of the steps the voice in my head started up again. There I was, right in front of the parlor door, and I knew that was the room where she died, and the voice kept telling me to open the door.

So I grabbed the knob. Diana tried to stop me, but it was like something had ahold of me and it was making me turn the knob and open the door. Honest. I'm not just making excuses for what I did. It was her. Miss Willis. I'm sure of it now.

As soon as the door opened, this icy cold wind came rushing out and I saw something gray go running up the steps. It took the hat, snatched it right off my head, and stopped at the top. Dee Dee, don't think I'm nuts when I tell you this—it was Miss Willis. She looked real, but I knew she was a ghost because she died at least ten years ago. There she was, staring down at Diana and me, mean and ugly with wild white hair, wearing a gray dress like any old crazy woman you might see in a store or walking down the street.

She leaned over the rail and started yelling at Diana. Then she
ran down the hall and I heard her bedroom door slam and the house got very, very quiet—as if it was holding its breath till the next thing happened.

That's when I started screaming. I couldn't stop. Maybe I was hysterical. Or losing my mind. Diana grabbed me and yanked me along behind her. She kept saying I had to go faster, but my legs wouldn't work right and I couldn't see, maybe my eyes were shut, I don't know, but I was so scared. We got outside and ran all the way home and MacDuff ran with us. I thought Miss Willis was chasing us, I thought she'd come to the trailer, I thought she'd hurt Diana and me.

Diana says Miss Willis's ghost won't hurt me, she'll go after her and Georgie because she hates them. Not me. But, Dee Dee, what could they have done to Miss Willis? She's been dead so long and Diana's only twelve like me. It's all so strange—her parents, the rules, all the things I don't know about Diana's life. My head hurts when I think about it.

But,
no matter what Diana says, I'm still scared and Dad is still at Home Depot, and when he comes home he won't believe a word I say, he'll just be mad because I went into the house when he told me not to. Maybe Dad will find another job soon. I hope so. Far away from here. I see now why all those other caretakers left. I don't know how I'll get a single night's sleep as long as we live here.

Let me tell you something, Dee Dee: never say you want to see a ghost.You will definitely be sorry.

Love, Lissa