The Secret Bedroom (11 page)

“And did you?” Lea asked, leaning forward, supporting her chin in her hands, drawn into the tragic story.

“My parents caught me as I was about to leave the
house. I fought them. They killed me.” Her voice became flat again, flat and emotionless. The glow left her eyes. Her entire form darkened. “They killed me and brought me back up to this room, my prison, my cage. And then the cage became my tomb.”

Lea looked away, turned her eyes to the flickering candles on the dresser top. She couldn't bear to see the grief, the look of betrayal on Catherine's face.

Neither girl said anything for a while. Then Catherine broke the silence. “I came to accept it in time,” she said softly. “I came to accept the fact that I was no longer alive, no longer flesh and blood. That I was floating, floating through the years, a spirit reflection of myself. Look. I can make myself fade and disappear.”

Catherine darkened to smoke, and then the smoke fell away.

“And I can make myself appear and glow more brightly than any living creature.” The voice came out of air, but as she spoke, Catherine reappeared, the image brighter and brighter until her golden hair seemed as fiery as the sun, and Lea had to shield her eyes.

Catherine laughed, a bitter laugh. “There is only one thing I have not been able to do. I have not been able to leave this room.”

Lea abruptly jumped to her feet. “No,” she said, speaking more to herself than to Catherine. “No. I'm sorry. I don't believe this. I don't believe any of this. This isn't happening.”

Catherine was on her feet too Lea was surprised to see that she was at least a foot taller than Catherine.
“You
must
believe me,” the ghost insisted. “You must!”

“No. I'm sorry. I have to go,” Lea said, feeling the fear rise up from her stomach, choke her throat. “I'm sorry. This can't be real.” She turned toward the open door.

“Please!” Catherine cried.

I have to get out of here, out of this horrifying dream, Lea thought. She started for the door.

“Please—I've been so lonely,” Catherine pleaded breathlessly. “Just let me touch you. Let me touch your hair.”

As Lea moved to the door, she felt her hair being grabbed. Cold fingers pulled at her hair, small, cold fingers, but strong, frighteningly strong.

“What beautiful hair!” Catherine exclaimed, tightening her grip, pulling Lea back by the hair and turning her around until they were face to face. Catherine's eyes glowed like black oil in moonlight. “What beautiful hair.”

“Let go of me!” Lea cried. “Let go! You're
hurting
me!”

Catherine smiled and pulled harder. “What beautiful hair. We're going to be great friends—aren't we!”

“Let go of my hair!” Lea cried. “Please—let go of my hair!”

“L
et go home!”

With a scream of terror, Lea finally yanked herself out of Catherine's tight grasp and ran blindly from the room.

Into the harsh yellow light of the attic, a blur of shadows chasing her. Gasping for breath, her head still tingling, still aching from the cold fingers that had pulled her hair so painfully hard, Lea staggered to the ladder.

She dropped to her knees on the attic floor, flung herself onto the ladder, and, breathing hard, slid down to the hall floor.

“Oh!” She realized she had forgotten to replace the trapdoor.

Back up the ladder, her knees trembling, her whole body gripped with fear, she pulled the door back into place, then slid down again and hurried into her room.

She slammed the bedroom door and leaned back against it, closing her eyes, waiting for her breathing to return to normal, waiting for the aching in her head to stop, waiting for the fear to subside.

I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay.

She repeated the words again and again in her mind until they had no meaning.

Still shaking all over, she ran across the room and threw herself facedown on the bed.

I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay.

She buried her face in the soft bedspread.

And then pulled her head up sharply and uttered a low cry.

Did I close the door to the hidden room? she asked herself. Did I lock the door?

Or—did I allow the ghost to escape?

Would
she escape? Would she come after me? Follow me down here?

Lea had the sudden feeling she was being watched. She pulled herself up to her knees, frantically surveying the room.

No. No sign of Catherine. No dark, ghostly vapors. No glowing blond hair. No pale, chalky face staring back at her.

But the door, the attic door.

It
has
to be locked, Lea thought.

I couldn't have left it open—could I?

Climbing to her feet, she knew she had no choice. She had to go back up to the attic and make sure the door was locked.

Lea knew she couldn't sleep, couldn't stay in her room, couldn't stay in the house if she had left the
door unlocked—if Catherine was free—if the ghost was free to haunt her.

She took a deep breath and let it out. Catching a glimpse of herself in the oval mirror above her dresser, she stopped. She straightened her hair, pushing it into place with trembling hands.

Then she opened her door and stepped out into the hallway. Downstairs, the TV was still on, the murmur of voices and music floating up the stairwell. Lea hesitated at the foot of the ladder. She felt tempted to run down to the den and tell her parents what she'd done, and what she'd found in the attic. To tell them
everything.

But, no, she first had to make sure the door up there was locked. She had to make sure they were all safe.

She pulled herself up the ladder. Her legs felt as if they each weighed a thousand pounds, but she forced herself to the top. She reached up and slid away the wooden door in the ceiling, then pulled herself up.

The light. The yellow light. She could never remember to turn it off.

Pulling herself to her feet, she turned toward the hidden room, holding her breath, dreading what she knew she was going to find.

But to her relief, the door was closed.

Closed—but was it locked?

She hurried over to the room, stumbling over the two-by-fours on the floor.

If only I had never touched them, she thought, with true regret. If only I had never pulled off the boards or unlocked the door or …

The key was in place. The door was locked.

Lea hesitated, listening.

Silence.

Feeling a little relieved, she hurried away. This time she did remember to turn off the light. The attic seemed to disappear completely in the blackness.

Yes. Disappear, Lea thought. Just disappear.

She lowered herself onto the ladder and pulled the ceiling door in place.

Safe in her room, she shut her door tightly.

Trying to calm down, she paced back and forth for a while, the old floorboards creaking noisily beneath her feet. Finally she began to feel more normal.

She reached onto the bed, picked up Georgie, her stuffed tiger, and hugged him close to her. “I'm afraid, Georgie,” she whispered to the tiger. “I'm really afraid.”

Lea stared as the tiger's eyes began to glow—red, redder, redder—until his entire face glowed with red, demonic evil.

Dropping the stuffed tiger onto the floor, Lea began to scream.

“W
ell, I couldn't believe it when she called Don,” Marci was saying, pushing back her short, coppery hair as she talked. “But when she asked him out, it was just too much,”

The crowd of girls around Marci burst into scornful laughter.

“And I was there at Don's house on the extension the whole time! I heard the whole conversation!” Marci exclaimed, delivering the punch line to her story, then grinning broadly, her pale blue eyes lighting up with delight, as the story received the laughter and approval of her friends.

Lea was standing right around the corner, hidden by her open locker door, listening the whole time, trembling with anger and embarrassment.

Marci really is sick, Lea thought. Marci couldn't wait to start telling stories about me to her friends. And such vicious lies!

Why is she doing this to me? Lea wondered. She's already won. She has Don. He's her total slave. He'll do anything she asks. When he sees her, he goes running, wagging his tail like an eager puppy.

And she's totally humiliated me. She's embarrassed me in front of Don, and in front of her friends. She's got the whole school laughing at me.

She's won. So why does she keep on doing this? It's sick. It's just sick, Lea decided.

She slammed her locker door and spun the combination lock. Adjusting the backpack on her shoulders, she turned the corner and headed down the hall to the front exit.

Two girls, pulling on down jackets at their lockers, snickered out loud as Lea walked by. Lea could feel her face growing red.

Friends of Marci, she thought bitterly, turning her face to the wall to avoid them. Angrily she jammed her hands into her jeans pockets and kept walking.

This isn't fair. Marci is ruining my life.
Ruining
it. And I haven't done
anything
to her!

“If only there was some way to get back at her!” she said to herself, pushing open the front door to the school and stepping out into a bright but blustery day. “Then maybe she'd leave me alone.”

All the way home, first on the bus, then walking against the gusting wind, watching the swirl of leaves around her, breathing the sweet-sour autumn air, Lea dreamed up suitable revenges. But none of them seemed suitable enough.

I don't want to play any kind of dumb practical
joke, Lea decided. I want Marci to feel really bad, really grossed out, maybe. Really humiliated.

No. Really
frightened.

Yes, Lea wanted to scare Marci.

A smile spread across Lea's face as she turned onto Fear Street, a funnel-shaped cloud of brown leaves swirling high over the street ahead of her, past the cemetery that sloped up to the right, the crooked old gravestones standing as silent, gray sentries.

Yes, I want Marci to be terrified, Lea thought, so engrossed in her schemes that she didn't see the squirrels that scampered just in front of her, on their way to scavenge for acorns in the old cemetery.

I want her to be as terrified as I was up in the attic last night.

Last night.

Yes.

The idea seemed to fall into place, so that by the time Lea unlocked the back door and stepped through the pantry into the kitchen, carefully wiping the wet soles of her sneakers on the mat by the door, she knew what she wanted to do.

The idea frightened her, but only a little. It would frighten Marci a whole lot more, Lea decided.

She tossed her backpack onto the kitchen counter, then checked the refrigerator door for messages. None.

Odd, Lea thought. Her mother almost always had some “emergency” instructions or news bulletins for her.

Heading to the front hall, she pulled off her coat and tossed it over the banister. Then she ran up the
creaking stairs, cheered by her scheme, her eagerness to get back at Marci forcing away the fear she knew she should be feeling.

She's ruining my life.
Ruining
it.

The words ran through her mind, again and again, as she paced back and forth in her bedroom, thinking about her plan, chilled by it, excited by it.

Stop thinking about it and just
do
it, she urged herself finally.

Stepping out into the hallway, Lea pulled herself quickly up the ladder and slid back the trapdoor. She stepped into the attic, half expecting the boards to be back in place, the hidden room locked and boarded up, her encounter the night before all a vivid, mysterious dream.

But the boards were still on the floor. The smooth wooden door stood against the wall, exposed and inviting.

The fear returned.

Despite her excitement, despite all of her plans for revenge, the fear came back. Lea could feel her throat tighten, feel all of her muscles tighten as she made her way to the door.