I am pleased that I have had the chance to write down everything that has happened while it is still fresh in my mind. Even more pleased that I have hidden the papers, should they cart me off to the lunatic asylum.
One day, my papers will be found. The world will know the truth about sleepers.
We are nearing the end of the seventh day of Gertie’s awakening. And my girl is still hiding in the shadows, here and then not.
When I catch a glimpse of her, she’s pale and shadowy. She’s dressed in the outfit she wore when she left the house on that last morning: her blue dress, wool tights, her little black coat. Her hair is in tangles now. Dirt is smudged on her cheeks. She gives off the smell of burning fat, a tallow candle just extinguished.
Shep is unsettled by her; he growls into the shadows with hackles raised, his teeth bared.
Since I finished writing down our story, I have been talking to her, singing to her, trying to coax her out into the open. “Remember,” I say, “remember?”
“Remember how you and I would stay under the covers all morning, telling each other our dreams?
“Remember Christmas mornings? The time you had the mumps and I never left your side? Your stories of the blue dog? The way you’d run straight for the kitchen when you came home from school and smelled molasses cookies?”
Remember? Remember?
But Gertie has gone again. (Was she ever really here?)
“Please, love,” I say. “We have so little time together. Won’t you show yourself to me?”
I turn and look for her across the room.
And there, over the fireplace, across the brick hearth, is a message written in black with a charred stick:
Not Papa
And just now, as I’m staring at the words, there’s a knock at the door.
A familiar, though impossible, voice calls out my name.
May 2, 1886
My Dearest Sara,
I have promised to tell you everything I know about sleepers. But before you go on, you must understand that this is powerful magic. Only do it if you are sure. Once it is done, there can be no going back.
The sleeper will awaken and return to you. The time this takes is unsure. Sometimes they return in hours, other times, days.
Once awakened, a sleeper will walk for seven days. After that, they are gone from this world forever. You cannot bring someone back more than once. It is forbidden and, indeed, impossible.
If you are ready, follow these instructions exactly.
These are the things you will need:
A shovel
A candle
The heart of any living animal (you must remove it no longer than twelve hours before the deed)
An object that belonged to the person you wish to bring back (such as clothing, jewelry, or a tool)
You must take these things to a portal. There are doorways, gates, between this world and the world of the spirits. One of these doorways is right here in West Hall. I have drawn a map showing its location. You must guard this map with your life.
Enter the portal.
Light the candle.
Hold the object that belonged to the person in your hands and say these words seven times: “_______ (person’s name), I call you back to me. Sleeper, awaken!”
Bury the heart and say, “So that your heart will beat once more.”
Bury the object beside it and say, “Something of yours to help you find your way.”
Then leave the portal and wait. Sometimes they will come to you right then and there. But sometimes, as I have said, it can take days.
There are two other things I must warn you of: Once a sleeper returns, it cannot be killed. It will walk for seven days, regardless of what is done to it. The last thing I must tell you is something I have heard, but have not seen with my own eyes. It is said that if a sleeper were to murder a living person and spill his blood within those seven days, then the sleeper will stay awake for all eternity.
Please use these instructions wisely, and only when the time is right.
I love you with all of my heart, Sara Harrison.
Yours eternally,
Auntie
Katherine
The snow was knee-deep, but they’d stopped at the barn and strapped snowshoes on—the old-fashioned sort made of bentwood with rawhide laces. The procession moved forward, across the yard and field and toward the wooded hillside. Candace was leading them with her headlamp, Ruthie and Fawn in the middle (Fawn shuffling along stoically, holding tight to a dirty rag doll swaddled in covers that she kept whispering to), and Katherine was the caboose.
“Katherine! Don’t fall behind.” Candace turned toward Katherine, her headlamp shining right in Katherine’s face. “You don’t want to get separated from us out in these woods.”
No. No, she did not.
Katherine looked up from the tiny screen of Gary’s camera. He had photographed all of Sara’s missing diary pages, and Katherine had been studying Auntie’s instructions for bringing back the dead. It was difficult to make out all the words exactly, even when she zoomed in, but she got the gist.