Hellfire

24

It was a little past midnight. The house was silent, but from outside her open windows Tracy could hear the soft chirpings of crickets and the murmurs of tree frogs calling to their mates. Her feet bare, and only a light robe over her pajamas, she opened her closet and fished her grandmother’s jewelry box off the top shelf. Then she turned off the lights in her room, and carefully opened the door.

The corridor outside was dark, but Tracy didn’t even consider turning on the night-light on the commode. Her grandmother’s door was only thirty feet away, and she could have walked it blindfolded if she’d had to.

She was halfway down the hall, moving carefully to avoid bumping into the commode that stood at the midpoint, when she realized that the corridor was not completely dark after all. At the far end, there seemed to be a faint glowing, as if a dim light were spilling from beneath a door.

Her grandmother’s door.

She froze in the darkness, clutching the jewelry box tighter, her eyes fixed on the light. It seemed now to be flickering slightly. Why would there be light coming from her grandmother’s room? It was empty, wasn’t it?

Unless it wasn’t empty.

But who could be in there? She’d been awake all night, listening.

Her father and stepmother had come in to say good night to her, and then she’d heard them going down the hall to the other end of the house. She’d even opened her door so she could listen, and been able to hear their voices until the closing of their door had cut off their words.

Twice, she’d crept down the hall to listen at Beth’s door, and opened it just enough to hear the even rhythm of her stepsister’s breathing as she slept.

The only other person in the house was Hannah.

So it had to be Hannah.

Hannah was in her grandmother’s room, going through her belongings, looking for things to steal.

Her grandmother had told her about servants, and how they always stole things. “You have to expect it,” her grandmother had explained to her. “Servants resent you for what you have, and they think they deserve it. So they simply take things, because they have no sense of right and wrong. You can’t stop it — it’s simply the price we pay for what we have.”

And now, with her grandmother barely dead, Hannah was in her room, using a flashlight to go through her things, looking for things to steal.

Tracy smiled in the darkness, congratulating herself for having already removed the jewelry box from its place in her grandmother’s vanity. She turned, and started back toward her own room.

But then she remembered how Hannah had always fawned over Beth, and how, for the last three days, she had refused to do even the simplest thing for Tracy herself. Slowly another idea came to her, and she knew exactly what she would do. She would catch Hannah in her grandmother’s room, and then make her father fire her. Hannah could even be blamed for the pieces missing from the jewelry box. Maybe she could even fix it so the old housekeeper would go to jail.

She moved quickly on down the hall, stopping outside the closed door to her grandmother’s room. Pressing her ear close, she listened, then stooped down to peer through the keyhole.

The room was dark now, and she could hear nothing.

Maybe Hannah had heard her.

Gingerly, Tracy turned the knob, and pushed the door slightly open. Then she reached in, and flipped the switch just inside the door. The chandelier that hung from the center of the ceiling went on, and the room was flooded with bright light.

Tracy pushed the door open, and looked around.

The room was empty.

But there had been light under the door, she was certain of it. Her eyes scanned the room again, and fell on the door that led to her grandmother’s dressing room, and the bathroom beyond.

The dressing room, too, was empty, as was the bathroom. She paused on her way back to the bedroom, and put the jewelry box back in its accustomed place in the top drawer on the right side.

Finally, she returned to the bedroom, and looked around once more. She couldn’t have been wrong — she couldn’t.

And yet, nowhere was there any sign that anyone else had been in these rooms. All was exactly as it had been earlier when she had stolen in to take the jewelry box in the first place. All the clutter — the things her grandmother prized so much, and that Tracy regarded as just so much junk — was exactly as it had always been. The lights, all of them except the chandelier, were off, so that wouldn’t account for the strange light coming from beneath the door either.

She went to the window, and looked out into the darkness. In the village there were still a few lights on, and in the distance she could barely make out the shape of the mill. And then, as she watched, she saw the strange flickering light again.

This time, though, it was at the mill. It seemed to light up for just a moment, then disappear once more into the blackness of the night.

And then Tracy was sure she knew what it was. A car, winding along the road, its headlights flashing briefly on the mill as it rounded a bend.

The same thing must have happened when she’d been in the hall — it had been no more than a car coming up the hill, its lights flashing into the room for a few seconds.

Tracy turned away from the window, and started toward the closet that had been her grandfather’s.

Had she stayed at the window a few more seconds, she would have seen the strange light at the mill again. She would also have seen that there were no cars moving along River Road.

She found the box where it had sat for as long as she could remember, on the highest shelf of her grandfather’s closet. She had seen it often there, but whenever she’d asked her grandfather what was in it, he’d told her only that when the time came, she would know.

Now she stared at it for several moments. There didn’t seem to be anything special about it — it was simply a rectangular metal box, with a metal handle. She could tell just by looking at it that it was very old. She reached up and gently eased it off the shelf, then carried it gingerly back to the parlor, where she sat down in her grandmother’s chair. When she pressed the button on its front panel, the latch stuck for a second, then popped open.

Inside, there was nothing but some sort of old book. She fingered it for a moment, wondering if she should read it here, then put the box back in her grandfather’s closet. But then, as the beginnings of an idea began to form in her mind, she picked up the box and left the suite of rooms, pulling the door shut behind her.

Back in her own room, Tracy put the box on her desk, then took the strange-looking book out of it. Taking the book with her, she went to her bed, got under the covers, then opened the book to the first page.

It was a journal of some sort, written by hand in black ink, that was barely legible. The spiky handwriting looked very old-fashioned, and for a moment Tracy wasn’t sure she would be able to read it at all. But then, remembering the book had something to do with Amy, she began studying the words more carefully. Slowly, deciphering the words one by one, she read through the old book.

By the time morning came, and she woke up from what had been a fitful sleep, she knew exactly what she was going to do.

She smiled, and hugged herself, luxuriating in the warmth of the summer morning, and the knowledge that by this time tomorrow, she would finally be rid of Beth Rogers.

I’m being ridiculous, Carolyn told herself as she sat at the breakfast table that morning. Everything is fine. Tracy is behaving like a perfectly ordinary child, and I have no reason to be suspicious.

And there was nothing going on at the table that should have made her suspicious, either. Beth and Tracy were talking together, and Tracy was suggesting that after breakfast, maybe she should give Beth a tennis lesson.

“But I’ve never even played,” Beth said. “I’ll just mess up.”

“Everybody messes up,” Tracy countered. “And besides, you can’t go to the club unless you play tennis.”

Carolyn felt herself stiffen, ready for the scornful comment that was sure to come. But instead, Tracy simply went on talking, nothing in her voice betraying the contempt for Beth she had always expressed before.

“Look. Everybody at the club plays tennis, right?”

Beth nodded.

“So if you don’t play tennis, what are you going to do? Just sit there?”

“Maybe I won’t go to the club at all,” Beth suggested.

Now Tracy rolled her eyes, and again Carolyn felt a pang of apprehension.

“So what are you going to do? Sit up here all by yourself? What fun will that be? And you know you don’t have any friends down in the village anymore—”

“Tracy—” Phillip interrupted, shooting his daughter a warning look. Instantly, Tracy looked apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Beth. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Beth shrugged, and stared at her half-eaten grapefruit. “Why not? It’s true. They all think I’m crazy.”

“Who cares what they think?” Tracy asked.

Beth eyed Tracy suspiciously. “You think I’m crazy too. You said so.”

“That was before,” Tracy replied. “I can change my mind, can’t I?”

“But what about all your friends?”

“Stop worrying so much. Just let me teach you how to play tennis, and then next week I’ll take you to the club. And I’ll even let you wear some of my clothes. Or we’ll make Daddy take us to Boston, and buy you some of your own.”

“But what if I’m no good?” Beth asked, though her eyes were starting to betray her eagerness. “What if I’m terrible at it?”

“You can’t be any worse than Alison Babcock,” Tracy answered. “She can barely even hit the ball over the net. And when she serves, it’s like getting free points.”

“You won’t laugh at me?”

“I won’t laugh at you,” Tracy promised, suddenly grinning. “Anyway, I won’t laugh very much. Besides, who’s going to see you?”

Ten minutes later the girls dutifully cleared the table of everything except their parents’ coffee cups, and then were gone. A few minutes later, Carolyn saw them walking across the lawn toward the tennis court, Tracy already showing Beth how to hold a racket.

“Well?” Phillip asked, as if he’d been reading her thoughts for the last half-hour. “You don’t believe it, do you?”

Carolyn sighed. “I wish I could, but nobody changes as quickly as Tracy has. So, no, I don’t believe it at all. I’m absolutely convinced that she’s putting on some kind of performance, but I can’t figure out what it’s all about.”

“Don’t forget,” Phillip replied. “I gave her a choice — she either behaves herself, or she goes away.”

But Carolyn shook her head. “What she’s doing goes beyond that, Phillip, and you know it as well as I do. I keep getting the feeling that she’s up to something, and that she needs to get Beth’s confidence.” Then, at the hurt she saw in Phillip’s eyes, she tried to apologize. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’m not being fair to her. But I just can’t see her changing overnight.”

“She probably hasn’t,” Phillip conceded. “But even if it’s just an act, it’s better than the way things were. And we have to give her a chance, don’t we? You know as well as I do that if she gets to know Beth, she’ll like her.”

I don’t know that at all, Carolyn thought to herself. All I know is that I don’t believe any of this. I feel like I’m living in a play, and I don’t know what it’s about. But despite her private feelings, she made herself smile at her husband. “A couple of months ago that was certainly true enough. But after all that’s happened—”

“It’s all over now,” Phillip declared.

Carolyn wished she thought he was right. “Is it?” she asked. “What about Beth’s friend Amy?”

Phillip’s eyes clouded, and Carolyn had the feeling he was keeping something from her. But he shook his head. “She’ll forget about her. Beth was going through a rough period when she dreamed Amy up, but as things get better, she won’t need Amy anymore.” He looked at his wife pleadingly. “Honey, haven’t we had enough problems this summer? Do we have to start looking for more? And besides,” he added, “Beth hasn’t mentioned Amy even once since she’s been home, has she?”

“Can you blame her?” Carolyn replied more sharply than she’d intended. “Talking about Amy cost her every friend she had. If I’d been her, I’d have stopped talking about Amy long ago. But that wouldn’t mean I’d stopped thinking about her.”

Phillip frowned. “What are you getting at?”

“I don’t know!” Carolyn rose from the table, and moved to the French doors. Beyond the terrace and across the lawn, she could see Beth and Tracy on the tennis. Had it been any two girls but these, the scene would have looked perfectly natural. But knowing all that had happened that summer, and remembering what Tracy had said in the restaurant the night Abigail had had her first heart attack, there was something frightening about watching Tracy show Beth how to hold the tennis racket. The scene looked so innocent, but Carolyn couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that what she was watching was more than a simple tennis lesson. Tracy, she was increasingly certain, was up to something. But what? And then, as her gaze wandered past the tennis court and fell on the massive shape of the mill, it came to her.

Whatever Tracy was up to, it had to do with the mill. She turned back to face her husband. “What about the mill?” she asked. “Have you decided what you’re going to do with it?”

Phillip felt dazed by her words. “What does that have to do with Beth and Tracy?” he asked.

“I’m not sure what it has to do with Tracy,” Carolyn replied. “But it seems to me that it’s obvious what it has to do with Beth. I want you to tear it down.”

“Tear it down?” Phillip echoed. “Carolyn, what are you talking about? There’s no way I can do that—”

Carolyn’s heart beat faster, for even as she had spoken the words, she had known she was right.

“But you have to! Don’t you see? It’s not just Beth! It’s everyone! Sooner or later, that mill destroys everyone in this family. Your brother — your father. Even Abigail and Alan. And I know who will be next! Phillip, if you don’t do something, the mill will destroy Beth and Tracy, too!”

Phillip stared at her. It was like hearing his father again, rambling on about the evils and dangers that the old brick building harbored. But there was nothing to it — no more than superstition. “No! Carolyn, I won’t have you talking like that. There’s nothing in that mill — nothing at all!”

Carolyn heard his words, and desperately wanted to believe them. And yet, deep in her heart, she knew that he was wrong. There was something evil in the mill, and it was spreading out now, reaching out toward them. If they didn’t do something, it would destroy them all.

But what could they do, short of destroying the mill?

Nothing.

She had to find a way to convince him she was right. And she had to find it soon.

“Did I really do all right?” Beth asked an hour later when Tracy finally called a halt to the tennis lesson.

“You did great,” Tracy lied, wondering why she’d even bothered to suggest tennis lessons, when anything else would have done just as well. It had been so boring, standing there in the hot sun, throwing balls gently over the net for Beth to try to hit. And she’d hardly been able to keep from laughing as Beth kept chopping away at them, most of the time not even coming close to hitting one of them. Of course it had been kind of fun the last fifteen minutes, when she’d started throwing them all over the place, making Beth run back and forth as fast as she could.

“When are you going to teach me how to serve?”

“Tomorrow,” Tracy promised. She jumped easily over the net and started gathering up the balls that were scattered all over the court. When they were finished, they started toward the house, but Tracy suddenly stopped, as if something had just caught her eye. When Beth turned, Tracy was looking up the hill toward the mausoleum. When she could see Beth watching her out of the corner of her eye, she spoke. “I bet Amy’s supposed to be buried up there,” she said.

Beth’s eyes widened. “A-Amy?” she stammered. “I thought you didn’t believe there was any such person.”

“I changed my mind,” Tracy said. “I told you that this morning, didn’t I? That I didn’t think you were crazy anymore?”

Beth nodded hesitantly.

“So if I don’t think you’re crazy, and you think Amy’s real, then I have to think she is too, don’t I?”

“I … I guess so.”

“Besides,” Tracy went on, her voice dropping, “I snuck into my grandmother’s room last night, and found something.”

A thrill of anticipation ran through Beth, and her eyes widened. “About Amy?”

Tracy nodded.

“What?” Beth asked. “What did you find?”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“I promise.”

Tracy eyed the other girl narrowly. “Swear on your father’s grave?”

“Th — that’s not fair,” Beth protested, struggling against the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat.

“If you don’t swear, I won’t tell you,” Tracy said.

Beth hesitated, then nodded. “I … I swear.”

“Okay, I found a book, and it tells all about Amy.”

“What does it say?”

Tracy smiled mysteriously. “Want to read it?”

“You mean you still have it?”

“I hid it in my room. Come on.”

They hurried into the house, and went upstairs. When they reached the landing, Tracy whispered into Beth’s ear, “Go into your room and lock the door, and don’t let anyone in until I give the secret code. And as soon as I come in, lock the door behind me. All right?”

Beth nodded, and scurried into her room, locking the door behind her. Giggling, Tracy went into her own room, closed the door, then flopped down on the bed and turned on her television. Half an hour later, when she decided that if she waited any longer Beth would decide she’d been joking, she pulled the metal box out from under her bed, checked the upstairs hall, then ran down and knocked twice on Beth’s door, waited a second, then knocked again. Instantly the door opened, and Beth let her in.

“What happened?” Beth whispered. “I thought you weren’t ever coming.”

“I almost got caught,” Tracy told her. “Every time I tried to sneak out of my room, Hannah was snooping around. And if she catches us with this, she’ll tell my father, and he’ll whip us both.”

Beth gasped. “Whip us? Really?”

Tracy nodded solemnly. “That’s why we can’t let him know we have it.” Then she took the box to Beth’s desk, and lifted the lid. Ceremoniously, she took the book out, laid it on the desk, and carefully opened its cover. “Read it,” she said.

When Beth had finished deciphering the strange handwriting that covered the pages of the little book, she looked up at Tracy.

“What does it mean?” she asked. “What’ll we do?”

“It means they buried her in the wrong place,” Tracy replied. “Don’t you see? She’s supposed to be up in the mausoleum, but she’s not. That’s what she wants.”

Beth’s eyes widened. “You mean we have to dig her up?”

Tracy hesitated, then shook her head. “That wouldn’t be enough,” she said. “What we have to do is get her spirit out of the mill.”

Beth swallowed. Her heart was suddenly pounding. “How?” she whispered. “The mill’s all locked up, isn’t it? How can we get in?”

“I know where Daddy hid the keys,” Tracy replied. “So we’ll do it tonight. All right? We’ll go down there together, and we’ll let Amy out, and bring her up to the mausoleum. Then she’ll be where she belongs, and she won’t be angry anymore, and you can visit her anytime you want to. See?”

Beth nodded, but said nothing.

“Keep the book in here, okay? Hannah’s always coming in to clean my room, and if she finds it, we’re dead.”

“But what if she finds it in here?”

“She won’t. But even if she does, it won’t be so bad, because you can say you didn’t know you shouldn’t have taken it out of Grandmother’s room. Just stick the book in your desk, and hide the box in your closet.”

“But what—?” she began again, but this time Tracy didn’t let her finish her question.

“Just hide it, then come down to the stable. There’s some stuff we’ve got to get ready for tonight.” Then, before Beth could say anything else, Tracy slipped out of her room, closing the door behind her.

After Tracy was gone, Beth stared at the book for several long seconds, then slowly read it through once more.

Everything she read fit together with what she already knew about Amy.

So Amy was real after all, and even Tracy finally believed her.

Tracy, she decided as she hid the box in her closet and slipped the book into the top drawer of her desk, wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was starting to look like they were going to be almost real sisters after all.

Tracy could hardly believe it.

She skipped down the path toward the stable, doing her best to keep from laughing out loud.

Beth had actually fallen for it. Just because of a name written in an old book, she’d actually been stupid enough to think it was proof that her dumb ghost was real.

She sauntered into the stable. Peter Russell was mucking out the stalls. He looked up at her and frowned.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to come down here anymore,” he said.

“There’s some stuff I have to get,” Tracy replied, her eyes narrowing angrily.

“What kind of stuff?” Peter challenged. “Your dad told me the stable was off limits.”

“None of your business,” Tracy replied, but when she tried to brush past Peter, he stepped out into the aisle and blocked her way.

“It is too my business. And until your father says different, you stay out of here.”

Tracy hesitated, wondering if she should try to talk him out of it. And then she had an even better idea.

She’d just wait for Beth, and tell her what to get out of the tackroom. And Beth would do it, too. Now that she’d shown Beth that old book, she was sure Beth would do anything she asked her to do.

Anything at all.