Whispers From the Grave (2 page)

“We’re doing a special study and we need teenagers to participate. We’re starting this Saturday.”

“What do I need to do?” I asked,

“Take a few tests. We’re just testing a theory. Suki is going to participate, and she’s suggested names of a few of your classmates.”

I glanced at Suki, who was grinning broadly.
Great
,
I thought.
Now
I’ll
be stuck with her every Saturday!

“I’ll ask my parents,” I said.

“We’ve already cleared it with your father. Now we need a commitment from you,” he said. “Once we start, we can’t have any dropouts or it will skew the results and we’ll have to start all over. Can we count on you, Jenna?”

“Sure,” I said, squirming slightly under his steady gaze.

“Come on,” Suki said and pulled on my arm. “I want to show you something in my room.”

When I stepped into her large, round bedroom, I gasped. Her walls were a brilliant, fiery orange—so bright they hurt my eyes.

“Like it?” she asked eagerly.

“Do you want my honest opinion?”

She sighed. “Maybe it is too much,” she conceded. “I’ll tone it down.” She turned a dial by her door, and the orange walls flickered a moment before settling into a mellow tangerine shade.

My home in Salem had also had “Change-a-Walls”—walls made from sheets of Plexiglas with colored liquid trapped inside. With a flick of a switch, I could change the color and mood of my room instantly. I favored soft shades of lavender and baby blue. Sometimes I’d program in a gentle pattern for a wallpaper effect. Suki went for crazy shades and wild designs that almost always gave me a headache. Or maybe it was
Suki
who gave me a headache.

“I’ve got stuff to do at home,” I told her, and she tagged after me as I tried to slip past the living room where the scientists were engrossed in an animated discussion. They fell silent when they saw me. Had they been talking about
me
?

“Can you join us for dinner, Jenna?” Dr. Grady asked.

I insisted I had to get back to do my homework. (I couldn’t imagine trying to digest food with all of them scrutinizing me!)

Suki followed me out onto the deck, reluctant to see me go. “Why don’t you stay for dinner? That geography report isn’t due until Monday.” Her blue eyes shined anxiously. She was as eager as a puppy dog. You’d think she’d never had a friend before!

“Thanks, but I really have to get home.”

“Wait just a minute. I’m going to run in and get the list of kids Uncle Terry scheduled to take the tests with us. He was supposed to call and hire them this afternoon, and I’m dying to see if they agreed to it. I hope he called the ones I asked him to. You won’t believe it when you see who they are!”

She scurried inside and I leaned on the railing of the Gradys’ deck and stared at the horizon. The sunset had deepened to purple, and the beach was cloaked in shadows. Dr. Grady poked his head out the door. “It’s getting dark. I’ll drive you home,” he said, his scraggly eyebrows drawing together in concern.

I waved him away. “I walk fast. I’ll be home before it’s completely dark. Tell Suki I’ll phone her,” I called over my shoulder, hurrying down the steps toward the beach. The idea of being alone with him filled me with inexplicable dread. Something about him made my skin creep!

I lied to Dr. Grady. I had no intention of walking fast. I strolled slowly, inhaling the pungent, salty air and savoring the peaceful moments alone. The only sound was the gentle slapping of the waves. It felt good to get away from Suki’s constant chatter.

Halfway home, my finger-watch phone beeped. Suki’s face—in 3-D—appeared on my watch face.
Now what does she want?

“Jenna, are you there?” Suki called. “Can you hear me?”

For a moment, I felt as if a miniature Suki face was growing from my finger—like an annoying plantar wart that refused to fall off. I turned off the finger-phone and her image vanished. Then I settled in on one of the huge logs a storm had washed ashore and opened Rita’s diary. The light had nearly faded away so I read by my key ring flashlight.

March 3, 1970

Dear Diary,

I never should have listened to April! She told me I should “play hard to get!
”
She said Ben would lose interest if I didn
’t
"act aloof once in a while. She said—AND I QUOTE—“Men like a little mystery.
”

Well, I took April’s advice. And I’d give anything if I hadn
’t.
While I was busy being aloof, some tramp got her claws into the love of my life!

Why did I listen to April? She’s never even had a boyfriend and has only been on three dates, and they were only with that skinny guy who bags groceries
—
Marvin Fudsomething-or-other. Does that make her an expert????? I think not!

Maybe April WANTED to break me and Ben up because Shane doesn’t want to date her. (Shane Murdock is Ben
^‘
s best friend and he’s gorgeous
—
though not as gorgeous as Ben.)

I guess I shouldn’t be mad at April, but I have to blame someone. It hurts so bad. For the first time in my life, I’m really in love. I know I’ve said it before, but it was NEVER like this. Oh, Diary, I know I haven’t told you anything about Ben. And I know I promised to write my every thought in you. But I’ve been so busy since I met him, I haven’t had time. Now, as my tears fall on your pages, smearing the ink, I’ll try to fill you in on the last weeks.

Diary, it started with his eyes. Ben has these really far-out eyes. They’re the same shade of blue as a faded pair of jeans. And when he looks at me, I feel like he’s looking into my soul. I know that sounds corny but
—
oh! Someone’s knocking at the door. Maybe it’s Ben!

I’m back, Diary. It wasn’t Ben. No one was at the door. That’s kind of scary, because I’m here alone. Mom’s at her Yoga class and Dad’s giving a guitar lesson. Jim is probably out raising hell on his bicycle with all the other eleven-year-old brats in the neighborhood. So when I answered the door and didn’t see anybody, I slammed it fast. I kind of had the feeling someone was hiding in the bushes! I went around the house and locked all the windows, just in case. Lately I’ve had this really weird feeling that someone’s watching me!

A sudden sharp crack interrupted Rita’s words. I nearly dropped the diary as I turned quickly toward the noise. It sounded like a twig snapping under a foot. But I couldn’t see anyone. Immersed in Rita’s world, I hadn’t noticed the night creep in. The logs were shapeless shadows blending with the beach, and the water had turned black.

“Who is it? Who’s there?” I called out tentatively. “Suki, is that you?” It would be exactly like her to follow me home when I’d just gotten rid of her. The pest!

Only the waves answered me, their rhythmic whispers caressing the sand. I aimed my flashlight in the direction the noise had come from—or rather where it seemed to have come from. On the water sound plays tricks.

The faint beam of my flashlight moved over the logs. I held my breath, half expecting to see a figure perched on a log, staring back at me. No one was there.

Someone could have been hiding behind a log. But I wasn’t about to investigate! I stuffed the diary back in my pocket and headed toward home, this time walking briskly.

The distinct sound of footsteps crunching on rocks came behind me.
Someone is following me!

My heartbeat thudded in my ears as I began to run. I bounded forward and my feet slid across the slippery, seaweed-coated rocks. Stumbling, I fell to my knees. Barnacles sharp as razors scraped the palms of my hands as I scrambled to my feet.

Adrenaline coursed through me, fueling me with a surge of energy that kept my legs pumping. I nearly flew over the beach, kicking unseen sticks and sea whips out of my path, running for my life.

I rounded the bend and was greeted by a ferocious bark. Relief flooded through me. It was old Mr. Edwards and his seeing-eye dog, Jake, a gangly German shepherd.

“Who’s there?” Mr. Edwards yelled.

I skidded to a stop, gasping for breath. “It’s me, Mr. Edwards! It’s Jenna. Someone was following me!”

“Don’t worry. Jake will take care of them,” he said. “You can walk with us. We wander down here every night so Jake can do his business. That way I don’t have to clean up after him. The tide comes in and does it for me.”

I fell into step beside them. He was a small, bent man with a powerful voice. It was full and warm and filled the night. His chatter spun around me like a protective wall. Normally he bored me, but tonight I felt safe listening to him.

Jake suddenly bounded ahead, his leash trailing behind him. I wondered if I should offer Mr. Edwards my arm. But he was doing better than I was. While I tripped along the dark beach, he walked confidently, as if he sensed each protruding rock or washed up tennis shoe. Maybe his shoes were equipped with the radar device some seeing-impaired people use to detect obstacles. I wondered why he hadn’t had his vision restored through surgery.

As if reading my mind, he said, “I might have had the surgery if I’d still been young. But Dr. Avery’s discovery wasn’t made until I was such an old goat I figured I’d kick the bucket any day.”

“But sight restoration was discovered over twenty years ago!”

He chuckled, “I guess I was wrong. I’m still here. And I kind of like it in my dark little world. You want to try it?”

“What?”

“Close your eyes,” he urged. “You’ve been tripping all over the beach. Close your eyes and see with your mind.”

Obediently, I shut my eyes.

“See your path with your mind. I know you can do it. You won’t trip.”

The insides of my eyelids were red-black and I tried to see through them, picturing the course before me. But I saw only a black void, and imagined myself falling into it. Spinning downward into nothingness. It was the wrong thing to picture. The beach seemed to sway beneath my feet. I fought a wave of dizziness, tempted to peek.

“Don’t try so hard. Relax. See with your mind. You can do it.” His voice was hypnotic.

I drew a deep breath of cool, salty air and exhaled slowly. The tension slid from my muscles and I began to relax. He was right. I strolled easily beside him, no longer tripping as my feet carried me along.

In this dark world, the waves seemed louder. Thunderous. They smashed against the sand. As a breeze brushed my cheek, I tasted the air. Sharp and salty and slightly fishy, it slipped across my tongue and instantly evaporated. Like a new pungent flavor of cotton candy—there and gone before you could sink your teeth into it.

“I see a lot,” Mr. Edwards said. “Some think I’m a crazy old man. But I
do
see. The lights went out for me so long ago, you’d think I wouldn't remember. I was just a boy.”

“What happened?”

“An accident. A firecracker blew up in my face. Wiped out my sight. I guess I was pretty ugly,” he said matter-of-factly. “The scars were bad. My mom couldn’t stand to look at me. Of course I couldn’t see her, but I sensed it when she turned away in disgust.”

“That’s awful!” I gasped.

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Jenna. It was a long time ago. I wasted a few years feeling sorry for myself, and then I got on with life. I didn't let it make me bitter. I probably wouldn’t be here now if I had. Remember that. Never become bitter. That’s my advice to you.”

“Sounds like good advice,” I said politely.

“May I give you another piece of advice, young lady?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t walk on the beach after dark anymore. It’s not safe for you. Did you know a girl was murdered here?”

3

When I opened my mouth to reply, only a
scream came out because I suddenly found myself flying through the air. I had tripped on a piece of driftwood. My eyes popped open as I threw my hands out to catch myself. My right hand landed on a piece of broken glass as I hit the ground. The glass sliced through my palm and blood gushed out. “Oh!” I cried as the wound instantly began to sting.

“You hurt?”

“I cut myself!”

“Ouch,” he said sympathetically. “When that salt water gets into a cut it really stings. We’re almost to my house. I can wash that out for you and put a bandage on it.”

“No thanks. It’s not that bad. We’ve got bandages.”

So much for
“
seeing my path
,” I thought.
I
never should have listened to that crazy old man!

“Remember my advice, Jenna!” Mr. Edwards called after me as I scrambled up the path. My house loomed before me, the windows on the first floor shining brightly. Mom hadn’t bothered to pull the shades. I paused for an instant, imagining the house a hundred years before. It was easy to picture. Years ago, when Aunt Ashley first moved here, Banbury House had been declared a historic landmark. Remodeling was prohibited. The surrounding town might have changed, but the house remained the same.

Banbury House was all peaks and balconies and gingerbread lace. The roof rose to such a sharp point it seemed to jab at the sky, threatening to rip a hole in the night’s clouds. It was painted canary-yellow and glowed in the moonlight.

Inside the wood floors gleamed—a beautiful (but creaky) feature my mother loved. Two twisting staircases and countless nooks gave the house a mysterious feel, as if someone could hide there for days and you’d never guess.

Suddenly, I knew.
Rita lived here.
She
must
have! Why else would her diary be in Banbury House! Which room was hers? My eyes swept up the side of the house to my room on the third story. I’d left the bedside lamp on, and the window glowed faintly, spilling light onto the maple tree branch that stretched beneath it. Mom had papered my room in an old-fashioned rose pattern that supposedly matched the original wallpaper. It was lacy and feminine. Definitely a girl’s room.

Had it once been
Rita’s
room?

I stared at the window. Had she been in that room—
my room
—when she wrote that someone was watching her? Had someone stood here in this very spot, staring at the house?
Staring at Rita?

I shivered at the thought. The bright lights in our kitchen illuminated my parents in vivid detail as I watched them from outside. Dad was leaning against the counter, his stocky arms folded across his chest. The bald crown of his head glinted under the fluorescent lights, as his head bobbed up and down. His whole head always moved when he talked.