“Father would not have to know.”
In a near whisper, Miss Tiramaku told her tale. “I saw the first ones when I was a little girl in the orphanage. We slept in a ward, perhaps twelve of us, and the nuns told us we must stay in our beds after lights-out, but in the small hours of the morning, I had to go to the toilet. To wet the bed was a great shame, so I crept out in the dark, careful not to wake my sister orphans, and made my way by feel along the wall. I noticed a strange light at the far end of the hallway, and curiosity pulled me. Floating in the air in the corner were two girls, twin sisters maybe five or six years old, with bright red faces and bobbed black hair like my own. ‘What are you doing out of bed, little princess?’ one of them said, and I knew at once who they were.”
A gust of wind rocked the car, making them laugh nervously.
“They were the murdered children of the woman who owned the house before the church bought it to make the orphanage. The mother had strangled them in their sleep and then drowned herself in a small stream that runs along the property. All the orphans knew the legend, but as far as I know I was the only one to see the ghost children.”
“What did you do?” Holly asked.
“I ran away and hid beneath the covers, for I was frightened. But I would see them all the time, and they would talk to me in my sleep, and sometimes I saw their footprints in the ashes from the fireplace. It gave me the idea to have a funeral. I made two dolls that look just like them and burned the effigies in the fire with six coins to send them on their journey. And the yurei departed.”
“Six coins?” Holly asked.
“For the River of Three Crossings, from this world to the next. But there are many kinds of yurei, Holly.” She had the faraway look Jack sometimes had, blank and distant. “The funa-yurei are ghosts of those who died at sea, and they are horrible creatures who want to bring the living under the water with them. Sometimes they appear as flames; and sometimes they are men with horrid faces, floating through the air above the waves saying ‘bring me a hishaku,’ and when they are given a ladle, they fill the victim’s boat with seawater.”
“Good God,” Holly said, and Miss Tiramaku chided her with a wagging finger.
“You mustn’t tell Father about the spirits,” she said. “He doesn’t believe.”
Holly put the car into gear, grabbed hold of the steering wheel, and eased onto the road. “We should get going. Maybe I could use a cup of your tea, and you can meet that boy of mine. And his little friend.”
“He has a friend?”
“Nicholas Weller. The neighbor boy we’re watching. His parents went off on a cruise for a week. Second honeymoon, a chance to start over. Nicholas is really Jack’s only friend, and we’re lucky to have him. They’ve known each other since they were babies.”
“A friend,” Miss Tiramaku said, the astonishment in her voice resounding the rest of the way.
iii.
The morning after he had seen the babies on the wall, Nick made sure to wake up earlier than Jack Peter. Moaning quietly to himself, he tiptoed over to the desk to see the drawings from the night before. Even in the blue light of early morning, all of the pages on the desk were blank as new snow. Nothing upon nothing, but Nick clearly remembered Jack Peter hunched over the page, furious pencil in hand. The drawings had to be there still. Hidden somewhere. Quietly he opened the desk drawer, but there were only a few clean sheets of paper.
A small trash basket sat on the floor next to the toy box, and in it, curled like a nest of snakes, were strips of torn paper. He gathered the pieces into a loose ball and looked for a place to stash the evidence till he had time and light enough to inspect what Jack Peter had drawn and destroyed. From the bed, his friend grumbled in his sleep. Nick shoved the scraps into the pocket of his robe hanging by the door, and then sneaked back beneath the covers to wait for a more natural waking hour.
At nine o’clock Mr. Keenan came in and threw open the drapes. In came the brilliant sun, its light bouncing off the mirror, doubling the brightness inside. Disoriented, the boys woke slowly. “Rise and shine,” he encouraged them. “Don’t let the whole day slip away.” Just as soon as they had vacated the bed, he stripped the sheets and pillowcases for the wash. He was about to toss Nick’s bathrobe in the basket of clothes when the boy cried that he needed the robe because it was so cold.
“You’re getting soft in your old age, Nick.”
“That’s because I’ve been stuck inside.” He wrapped himself in the terry cloth and knotted the belt. “Would it be okay if I went out for a bit today, took a walk after breakfast?”