The Dead Girls of Hysteria Hall

 

 

“That’s right,” Florence said. “She was dead long before I came, and I died in aught-two.”

 

This time I didn’t have to ask. Nineteen aught-two. “Thanks again for saving me,” I said. “And I’m sorry I was rude before.”

 

“Oh, that’s all right, I understand. Those first few days are a real head-spinner. Besides, that was a long time ago.”

 

My heart sank. “How long?”

 

“Six months,” she said, glancing out at the snowy landscape.

 

Six months? I’d been lying outside for six months? I wondered if Theo had passed by, seen me there with my eyes closed … and decided I wasn’t worth waking.

 

“Has anyone come looking for me?” I asked.

 

Florence stared at me blankly, then figured out what I meant. “Your family? No, sugar. Sorry. The police spent some time here in the fall, but not a soul since then. Well—you know what I mean.”

 

“Earlier,” I said slowly, “you offered to show me how to go through the wall … Is there any way you could help me out with that? I mean, Maria can do it unconscious, and I can’t even manage no matter how hard I try.”

 

Florence’s face lit up. “Right! That’s it. Come over here.”

 

When we were close to the wall, she came up to me. “Now close your eyes. And keep ’em shut.”

 

I did. Then she took me by the shoulders and turned me around and around and around, until I was too dizzy to tell which direction I was facing.

 

“Sorry in advance if this hurts a little,” Florence said.

 

Then, without warning, she shoved me, hard. I fell backward and landed on the floor with an impact that sent a stunning ache through my backside.

 

I looked up to complain, but I was alone.

 

In the hallway.

 

Florence popped through the wall, beaming. “You did it!”

 

“Oh yes,” I said, getting to my feet and rubbing my rear end. “I totally did it. What talent. I’m clearly a genius.”

 

“You didn’t know the wall was there, so you didn’t know it could stop you,” she said. “Perception rules our kind. That’s why—have you ever heard of people putting salt in their windows to repel spirits?”

 

“I … guess so?” I said.

 

“It works because there’s no ignoring salt when you’re a ghost. The smell is so strong that you can never forget it’s there long enough to get past it. We can’t even touch it.”

 

I sat back. There was so much I didn’t know about being dead—about “our kind.” It was basically relearning the rules of reality. “So I’m supposed to just … forget that the wall is there?”

 

Florence gazed thoughtfully off to the side. “It’s simpler than that. The key is not to try. Just go through, because you can. When you walk down a hallway, you don’t think, Oh, Lord, let me make it down the hall this time. You just go, right? That’s how this works, too. Doors and walls are only barriers because you let them be.”

 

I faced the wall. Then I closed my eyes and walked forward.

 

I’m just walking, I thought. Walking walking walking. Nothing to see here.

 

When I opened my eyes, I was back in the lobby. Maria was gone, her sheet now discarded on the threadbare sofa.

 

“Nice work!” Florence said, walking into the room. “You’re a quick study.”

 

I tried to suppress my goofy grin, but I couldn’t. It was the first time since I died that I felt a modicum of happiness.

 

“There you go,” Florence said. “See, it’s not so bad here.”

 

What else didn’t I know? I wanted to learn everything there was about being a ghost. Despite my failure at the gate, some part of me was sure that if I tried hard enough, I could find a way off the property. Away from the house. Back to my family.

 

“Do you want to hang out a little?” I asked Florence, and then I realized that in 1902, people probably didn’t hang out. “I mean, you know, spend time … together?” I felt awkward, like I was asking Florence on a friend date.

 

“Well, I was just going to—” Seeing my disappointment, Florence’s face froze slightly, and then her smile softened. “Tell you what, let’s go see what Eliza’s getting herself up to.”

 

*

 

Eliza, it turned out, was in the nurses’ dormitory, getting herself up to lying on one of the beds and gazing at the wall.

 

When we came in, she sat bolt upright.

 

“I believe you two have met,” Florence said. “Eliza Duncombe, Delia Piven.”

 

“Yes, we’ve met,” Eliza said, staring right at me. “Delia’s the new girl with the etiquette problem.”

 

I was about to apologize, but Florence went over and sat next to her. “Now, come on, Eliza. You don’t want to be one of those cranky old ghosts. Be gracious. We don’t get much company. It’ll be nice to have a new face to look at, won’t it?”

 

Eliza looked at me through narrowed eyes. “I’m perfectly content with the faces we’re used to.”