Waiting Spirits (15 page)

Carrie was held tight against Lisa's body, unable to move. “Please,” she whimpered. “Please, let me go.”

“Lisa,” said Brian. “Or Myra, or whoever you are. Let go of her!” He took a step toward the two girls.

“Stand back!” screamed Myra. “Get away!”

Brian stopped in his tracks. Alice Miles staggered up beside him. “Don't aggravate her,” she whispered. “There is no telling what she'll do.”

Brian nodded grimly.

“It's time to come to Mommy,” crooned Myra. “Oh, Carrie. Mommy has been waiting so long for this. Don't you want to be with me again? You'll feel just a little hurt, and then we'll be together forever.”

Carrie was trembling violently. Myra pressed the knife more tightly against her throat. “I don't want to do it until you're ready,” she murmured. “It won't be nearly so nice if I do. Haven't you missed me, darling? Haven't you missed your mother?”

Lisa read the terror in her sister's eyes and ached for her.

“Isn't there any way to stop her?” she cried, turning to the spirits who floated beside her.

Ellen McCormack was weeping. Harrison Halston's face was hard as stone. “None,” he said bitterly.

“Don't you remember?” asked Myra. “Listen!” A strange look crossed her face. “Mommy?” she called in a high-pitched voice. “Mommy, where are you?”

She dropped her voice to its normal tone. “Don't you remember how you were looking for me?” she asked. “You looked and looked. And now, here I am. I've come for you at last. Oh, please, Carrie. Please say it's all right. Then I can finish it, and we can be together.”

Listening to the words come from her own lips, seeing that madness shine in her own eyes, made Lisa ill.

Myra pressed the knife more tightly against Carrie's neck. A thin red line appeared beneath the blade.

“Leave me alone!” cried Carrie. “Leave me alone!”

Myra's eyes flashed with rage. “You ungrateful child!” she screamed. “You're not Carrie. You're not
my
Carrie at all! I'll punish you for this!”

She raised the knife and was ready to plunge it downward when Brian cried, “Myra, stop!”

She hesitated, her hand in the air.

Because it wasn't Brian.

Lisa let out a gasp. She could see Brian's spirit floating outside his body, just as she was outside hers. He looked dazed, confused.

Clearly someone had taken over his body, just as Myra had taken over hers.

But who? She looked beside her. Ellen and her great-grandfather were still there.

What was going on?

“Myra, put down the knife.”

It wasn't Brian's voice. It was a voice Lisa had never heard before.

But Myra had.

“Andrew? Andrew, is that you?”

Brian took a step toward her. “Yes, Myra. It's me.”

Andrew Long! The man who had murdered the first Carrie, all those years ago.

Myra twisted Lisa's face in wrath. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

“I've been here all along,” replied Andrew. “Here in the garden, waiting to see you again, to tell you how sorry I am. Waiting to make up for what I did.” He moved Brian's body another step in her direction. “Put down the knife, Myra.”

Lisa could see Myra's hand tremble as she wavered under Andrew Long's gaze. Her fingers played back and forth on the hilt of the knife.

Brian's body took another step toward Lisa's body; Andrew Long moved in on Myra Halston.

“Put the knife down,” he said again, his voice gentle but firm.

Myra began to lower the shining blade.

“That's right,” said Andrew Long. “That's right, Myra.” He took another step in her direction.

Lisa could see Myra struggling with herself. The body she had stolen was trembling with the effort. Brian's body took another step forward. He reached out and grabbed the arm that held the knife.

“Now, Carrie!” he cried. “Run!”

Carrie twisted out of Myra's grasp and raced to her grandmother. Lisa watched with horror as her own face was distorted by the wrath of the person in her body.

“You beast!” she cried. “You've robbed me again! You've taken my baby!”

She wrenched her hand free from his grasp. Lisa screamed as the butcher knife sliced across Brian's face, opening a wound that splattered blood in all directions.

“No!” she cried. “No! No! No!”

Myra's hand flew back. The knife was poised for another strike.

And then she heard it.

They all heard it, spirits and fleshbound alike. Every one of them looked up, straining to see where it was coming from.

It was the high, piping voice of a child. “Mommy? Mommy, where are you?”

Lisa cried out in joy as she saw a light above her, a beautiful light. The voice came from somewhere within it.

One by one Myra Halston's fingers opened. She dropped the knife. “Carrie? Carrie, is that you?”

“Mommy, where are you? I've been waiting for you!”

A look of rapture transformed Myra Halston's face. She threw out her arms and cried in joy, “I'm coming, Carrie! I'm coming!”

There was a flash of light.

And then she was gone.

Lisa looked up into a pair of remarkably blue eyes.

“Brian!”

He had his hand on the side of his face. Blood trickled between his fingers. “I'm glad you're all right,” he said. “I was worried—”

That was as far as he got. His legs buckled, and he collapsed. Lisa sat up and looked around. Carrie and her grandmother stood a few feet away, looking dazed.

“Help me!” cried Lisa. “We've got to get him to the hospital.”

As if waking from a trance, they walked slowly toward Lisa.

“Lisa?” asked Carrie tentatively. “Is it really you?”

“Of course it's me!” she snapped in exasperation. Then she realized why Carrie might well wonder, and said more softly. “Yes, it's really me. Myra is gone for good now, sweetie. Now come on. I need your help.”

They walked hesitantly forward. Lisa felt a piercing sorrow. How long would it be before her sister trusted her again? She looked at her grandmother. “What's wrong with your arm, Gramma?”

Dr. Miles scowled. “It's broken, I think. You threw me against Brian's car.”

“It wasn't
me!”
cried Lisa. “Can't you see that?”

Dr. Miles frowned. “Yes. I'm sorry. that was a terrible thing to say.” She looked around, as if noticing where they were for the first time. “Carrie, give your sister a hand! We've got to help Brian.”

Carrie took Brian's feet. Lisa put her hands under his arms. Working together, they dragged him around the corner of the house. Brian's car was blocking theirs, so rather than move his car and then have to hunt for the keys to their own car, Lisa decided to use his. She searched in his pants pockets and found the keys. Then they managed to get Brian into the back seat.

They squeezed Dr. Miles in back, too. She clutched her useless arm, pain glazing her eyes. Lisa closed the door for her. “It'll be all right, Gramma,” she whispered. “We'll get it taken care of soon.”

Lisa walked around the car and closed the other door. It turned her stomach to see the gaping wound on Brian's handsome face. Myra's knife had done its work well. Lisa shuddered. She wondered how many stitches he would require.

She glanced across at her grandmother. Dr. Miles nodded weakly.

Lisa went to the front of the car and slid in behind the steering wheel. She only had a learner's permit. But she had a feeling there would be no problem with the police if they should stop her. She had plenty of reason to be heading for the hospital.

She looked beside her and felt tears spring out in her eyes. Carrie was cowering against the passenger door, her face twisted by a look of terror.

“Hey, Carrie, it's all over,” she said, reaching out to her sister.

Carrie began to scream. “Don't touch me!” she cried. “Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Don't touch me!”

Tears streaming down her face, Lisa headed for the hospital.

Epilogue

Lisa stamped the snow off her feet.

“Mail call!” she cried, throwing her hat onto the brass rack in the foyer.

“Anything for me?” asked her mother. She was sitting at the kitchen table, studying the textbook for her computer-programming course.

“Two bills,” said Lisa. “And an advertisement wanting you to subscribe to
Modern Motorcycling.”

Mrs. Burton made a face. “Thanks a lot. Next time don't bother.”

“I don't write ‘em, I just deliver ‘em,” said Lisa with a smile.

“How about me?” asked Carrie.

“Not a thing.”

“Look at her grinning!” said Carrie. “You and I didn't make out so well, Mom, but I bet I can tell you one letter that's in that pile.”

“That doesn't take a mental giant,” said Mrs. Burton. “She gets one every day. Like clockwork.”

“Ha!” said Lisa. “You're just jealous. Both of you.”

She headed up the stairs to her room. She had just settled into the chair at her desk when she heard Carrie say, “Will you read me some of it? Not the mushy parts. Just any news.”

Lisa turned around. Carrie was standing in her doorway. Though Lisa didn't say a thing she felt a surge of elation. This was the first time Carrie had come into her room since they had returned from Sayers Island more than six months ago.

The first two months had been awful. Carrie would hardly go near Lisa. And the first time their parents had left the sisters alone together, Carrie had begun to scream as if she were being attacked. Mrs. Burton had rushed back to find Carrie in a corner, huddling in terror, and Lisa standing helplessly in the center of the room, tears streaming down her face.

It had taken months of patient talking and careful overtures to get Carrie out of her state of constant fear. Lisa knew she would carry the effects of what had happened on the island for the rest of her life.

But she was making progress. That was good.

“I said, will you read me part of it?” repeated Carrie.

Lisa smiled. “Sure. Have a seat, squirt.”

Carrie walked over to Lisa's desk. Lisa could sense her sister's nervousness. It hurt to see her that way. But she knew she had to be patient.

She opened the envelope and scanned the front side of the letter.

“Well, everything's fine,” she said. “Is that what you wanted to know?”

“Lisa!”

Lisa smiled. “Okay, I'll give you some details. ‘Dear Lisa. I miss you more than…' Well, you don't need to hear that. Let's see. Second paragraph. ‘Every night before I go to sleep…' No, that's not really news either. Hmm. There must be something here that would be of interest to you.”

She glanced in her sister's direction. Carrie was grinning. But she was also beginning to look quite exasperated.

Lisa turned the letter over and let out a shriek of delight.

“What is it?” cried Carrie. “What does it say?”

“Oh, nothing much,” said Lisa, a grin splitting her face. “I'll read it to you. Ahem. ‘I got an interesting piece of mail the other day. It was a letter from Burnham College. My application has been accepted, and they've granted me a scholarship that will just about cover what my parents and I aren't able to come up with. Do you think you can stand it if I spend the next four years in your neighborhood?' It's signed, ‘Love, Scarface.'”

Carrie sighed. “Gosh, that's so romantic.”

Lisa laughed. “Come on, twerp. I'll play you a game of Monopoly.”

Thank you for reading
Waiting Spirits.
If you enjoyed it (and I hope you did!) please take a moment to review it… I would truly appreciate it.

If you'd like to know more about me and my work, you can find me on the web at
www.brucecoville.com
. You can also order autographed copies of print versions of most of my books there.

A Personal History by Bruce Coville

I arrived in the world on May 16, 1950. Though I was born in the city of Syracuse, New York, I grew up as a country boy. This was because my family lived about twenty miles outside the city, and even three miles outside the little village of Phoenix, where I went to school from kindergarten through twelfth grade.

Our house was around the corner from my grandparents' dairy farm, where I spent a great deal of time playing when I was young, then helping with chores when I was older. Yep, I was a tractor-ridin', hay-bale-haulin', garden-weedin' kid.

I was also a reader.

It started with my parents, who read to me (which is the best way to make a reader)—a gift for which I am eternally grateful. In particular it was my father reading me
Tom Swift in the City of Gold
that turned me on to “big” books. I was particularly a fan of the Doctor Dolittle books, and I can remember getting up ahead of everyone else in the family so that I could huddle in a chair and read
The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle
.

I also read lots of things that people consider junk: Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, and zillions of comic books. In regard to the comics, I had a great deal going for me. My uncle ran a country store just up the road, and one of the things he sold was coverless comic books. (The covers had been stripped off and sent back to the publishers for credit. After that, the coverless books were sent to little country stores, where they were sold for a nickel apiece.) I was allowed to borrow them in stacks of thirty, read them, buy the ones I wanted to keep, and put the rest back in the bins for someone else to buy. It was heaven for a ten-year-old!

My only real regret from those years is the time I spent watching television, when I could have been reading instead. After all, the mind is a terrible thing to waste!

The first time I can remember thinking that I would like to be a writer came in sixth grade, when our teacher, Mrs. Crandall, gave us an extended period of time to write a long story. I had been doing poorly at writing all year long because we always had to write on a topic Mrs. Crandall chose. But this time, when I was free to write whatever I wanted, I loved doing it.