The Dead Girls of Hysteria Hall

 

I caught up with my sister on the stairs and stayed a few paces behind as she pushed open the door to the day room. She stood in the doorway for a little while, looking around. Then she circled the room, examining the chairs, running her finger along the dusty window ledge, and staring up at the ceiling. Her thoughtful curiosity read, to me, as confidence. Misplaced confidence. She ought to be just a little careful.

 

She paused by the piano and made a soft Hm sound.

 

She’d found the stack of Aunt Cordelia’s letters that I’d left there four years ago.

 

“No,” I said, hurrying over to her and trying, uselessly, to wrench them from her hands. “Those aren’t for you. Put them down.”

 

But of course Janie, lips slightly parted in surprise, carried them to the small, still-dustless table and sat down to read them.

 

Since I couldn’t stop her, I positioned myself to read over her shoulder.

 

Dear Little Namesake,

 

I hope you had a nice Christmas. It was very cold here and I did not have a tree. By the time I thought to get one, I had run out of time. Anyway, it doesn’t signify much because there would be no one to enjoy it but myself. There is a lovely fir on the lawn that I can see from my desk as I write this, so I pretended that was my tree. Although if Santa Claus left any gifts beneath it, I’m afraid the squirrels must have taken them!

 

 

 

I remembered this one. I’d felt bad for her, for not having a tree or anyone who cared enough to help her get one. In my next letter I drew her the fanciest Christmas tree I could fit on the page, complete with a generous sprinkling of glitter that, in retrospect, probably got all over everything she owned.

 

But what got my attention reading the letter now wasn’t her loneliness—it was the clue. Of course. I needed to find the tree, and that would be one more hint as to where her private office had been. I went back to reading:

 

Did you ever decide which jacket you wanted? Red and purple are both lovely colors. I don’t blame you for having a difficult time with the choice. It’s all right if you decided based on what your friend Nicola wanted. Friends are an important part of life. It’s perfectly fine to depend on others, once they have earned your trust.

 

 

 

—said the woman who spent her whole life living alone.

 

The problem sometimes is learning who you can trust, and who you can’t. Always remember that those around you aren’t always what—or who—they seem to be.

 

 

 

The rest of the letter was basic stuff: weather, mostly, mixed with her usual well-wishes for my family and me. Janie folded it and slipped it carefully back into the envelope. She opened the next one in the stack, which also happened to be the very last letter I’d received from Aunt Cordelia.

 

Dear Little Namesake,

 

It’s wonderful that you are so excited for summer, and that you are hopeful for good marks from your teachers. I was never a very good student. I always wanted to be doing something else besides reciting and memorizing. I do believe things are different now, that they are more aware of what children like and how they prefer to learn.

 

I have been pondering whether to tell you something very important, and I think I have decided that I will, in part because your excellent grade card demonstrates a good deal of maturity. So I will include it either here or in my next letter. I haven’t made up my mind yet.

 

 

 

But at the end of the letter, where the important announcement should have been was a little bit of backtracking and a promise that she would tell me “everything” the next time she wrote.

 

Only there never was a next time. I guess I got too busy to write back to her. I was busy with summer camp, and hanging out with my friends … without the bonus of getting extra credit, writing letters just didn’t seem like a priority. Cordelia must have assumed I wasn’t interested, because she never did tell me her important message.

 

Janie scanned the rest of the letters, pausing when she came to the one with the description of Aunt Cordelia’s little “sanctuary.” She studied the page carefully, then set it on the table and pulled out her phone, examining the familiar hand-drawn map.

 

As she stared at the lit-up screen, there was a rustling sound.

 

All of the letters had fallen off the table.

 

Janie cocked her head, like a curious puppy, and leaned down to pick them up. She set them in a neat pile and went back to the map.

 

Flutter flutter.

 

She jerked her head up to see the empty surface gleaming in front of her.

 

Again, the letters lay in a pile on the ground. Some invisible ghost was messing with my sister. The same ghost that had messed with me years earlier, pushing my sweater to the floor.

 

“Who’s there?” I demanded. “Who’s doing this?”

 

“Sh!”