The Dead Girls of Hysteria Hall

 

 

He kept staring, and I became convinced that he was looking at me, he had to be looking at me. I felt myself growing enraged by the thought that he was only pretending not to see me.

 

“I’m sorry, Delia,” Dad said, starting to cry again. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“No!” I roared. “No! Apology not accepted! No!”

 

“Delia,” Theo said, his voice insistent. “Stay away from the gate.”

 

He tried to grab my hand and pull me back, but I shook him off.

 

“Don’t touch me!” I snapped, feeling utterly humiliated.

 

He stepped away.

 

I turned to apologize, but his features were set. His jaw clenched and his eyes gazed up into the sky. “You’re not the only one, you know,” he said, his voice jagged. “We all had people we wanted to see again. We’ve all been left behind. We’re all forgotten. Everyone I ever loved, everyone who ever loved me, is dead. You’re … you’re not the only one.”

 

The car started up again and turned left onto the highway, where the heat from the glaring summer sun turned the air wavy, like a mirage—a vision you could see but never touch.

 

I watched until the car was gone from sight, and then I stood for a long time staring at the empty stretch of road.

 

“Come on,” Theo said, almost pleading. “Don’t keep standing here.”

 

“No,” I said. “Leave me alone. Please.”

 

“Okay,” he said. His voice sounded hurt, and I knew I’d broken whatever fragile friendship we’d begun. After this, he might never want to speak to me again.

 

Feeling more regret than I would have expected, I watched him go. As he passed by a patch of trees, a strange light flickered high in the branches, and after a moment, I recognized it as the dancing light I’d seen coming through the window of the day room. It had been Theo I’d seen, back then.

 

Florence smelled of buttercups. Eliza sounded like bells. Theo looked like light. How many other ghosts had I caught hidden glimpses of? How many of the strange sights and odd little sounds were secret signals that I was surrounded by dead people?

 

Theo’s light moved with him, like a shadow. He passed the house, his reflection glinting off the stone and shimmering off the windows. I watched him until he came to the crest of the low hill and then descended the other side, down into what had to be the graveyard. I knew I should find him and apologize, but I thought I would rest first.

 

So I lay down in the grass and closed my eyes.

 

When I opened them a moment later, the world had turned white.

 

 

 

 

 

Is this heaven?

 

No—

 

It wasn’t the pure whiteness of paradise. It was the grayish, interrupted whiteness of winter. Around me, long blades of dead grass lay draped over low piles of snow. A few feet away, a set of delicate animal tracks led toward the trees. Bands of gray clouds rested over the hillside and blended into the snowy landscape, reducing the sun to a weak red ball of light.

 

I turned back to see the institute. It looked like a picture from an old-fashioned holiday card—the roof draped with white, snowdrifts piled against the front wall. Vignettes of frost clouded the windowpanes. A picturesque winter wonderland beautifully hiding the unrest inside.

 

I stood and started up the driveway, the frigid air slicing through me like a knife. Knowing I was already dead and couldn’t freeze didn’t relieve the painfully exposed feeling.

 

The front steps were iced over, but I ascended toward the front entrance without slipping. Then I stood staring at the door.

 

How on earth was I going to get inside?

 

If I called for Eliza and Florence, would they hear me? More than that, did they even care if I was stuck outside? Would they even come?

 

But as I wondered, the door crept open.

 

“Hello?” I called out, walking inside and listening for the sound of bells. “Eliza?”

 

From behind me came a rustling sound.

 

I sagged with relief. “Thank you,” I said, turning around. “I guess I really need to learn how to—”

 

But what was behind me wasn’t Eliza or Florence—it was a ghost.

 

I mean, it was a person dressed like a last-minute Halloween costume ghost, with a sheet draped over its head and covering its whole body—its very short body. Was it a child?

 

Then I realized—the sheet was solid. The feet peeping out beneath it were not. So … it was a ghost dressed up as a ghost?

 

I took a step forward. I was a little nervous, but this—this thing looked no bigger than a ten-year-old.

 

“Hello,” I said.

 

As I reached my hand out to touch the sheet, it swayed slightly, like the little girl inside was nervous. A pang of loneliness went through me as I thought of Janie—poor, sweet, sad little Janie.

 

“Don’t!”

 

The word was spoken with a distinctly Southern twang. The scent of buttercups crept into my nose.

 

Florence.

 

“Back away,” Florence said to me. “Very slowly, back away.”

 

The tension in her voice was all I needed to convince me to obey. I stepped backward.