The Dead Girls of Hysteria Hall

 

Perhaps disturbed by the presence of the living among us, the third-floor spirits crowded the hallway. Even the shiest ghosts, sad-looking girls and women wearing limp asylum nightgowns, had come to investigate. A few reached out to Janie, whispering or moaning—I watched tensely but didn’t interfere. Most seemed ultimately harmless. A couple, though, looked more dangerous—more focused.

 

At one point, Maria scuttled by on all fours.

 

I moved to walk in front of Janie, turning sideways so I could watch her.

 

Studying her map, my sister walked to the door marked THERAPY … and started searching the key ring for the key to unlock it.

 

I’d never been in that room before, so I went through the wall to check things out before my sister could get herself into trouble. But just as I stepped in, Janie got the door open.

 

“Holy …” she whispered, awed into speechlessness.

 

It looked like a medieval torture chamber. A wooden chair in a permanent reclining position dominated the center of the room, and next to it was a complex board covered in dials and buttons. Connected to that by wires was an elaborate frame, and dozens of wires with small electrodes at their ends dangled from the frame.

 

In a dubious effort to make the room more cheerful, the walls had been painted a pale blue. But they were barely visible between the hundreds of taped-up newspaper and encyclopedia articles. Stacks of books overflowed on the counters and filled the scratched white sink basin.

 

Pushed up under the window was a small writing desk, its contents neatly organized in marked contrast to the chaos of the rest of the room: a little pen jar, a box of stationery, and a leather desk blotter. A small swivel chair was neatly parked under the desk.

 

Janie had found Cordelia’s office.

 

I started to cross toward the desk, but halfway there, Bang! I smashed right into an invisible wall.

 

An acrid scent seeped into my nose. I looked down and saw a thick line of white granules on the floor.

 

I recalled Florence telling me about salt—about its power over us ghosts. Just being near it turned my stomach, so I retreated, watching helplessly as my sister pressed on toward the desk.

 

Janie paused, her fingers spread wide like a spider’s legs, gently resting on the blotter. She inspected everything with a care I myself would not have used. In fact, I was beginning to grow impatient with her minute examination of the pens, the stationery, the blotter itself …

 

Until her attentiveness paid off. Something I would never have noticed caught her eye. She lifted the corner of the blotter to reveal a piece of paper covered in writing that I recognized as Aunt Cordelia’s old-fashioned scrawl. Another letter.

 

The first line, unmistakable even from halfway across the room, read:

 

Dear Little Namesake,

 

 

 

“That’s mine—bring it here!” I demanded. Without thinking, I lunged forward but slammed into the invisible barrier again. This time, the impact sent a shock of pain through me, and I stumbled backward, knocking into the counter.

 

A stack of books tumbled to the ground.

 

Janie whipped around to look in my direction. Wariness clouded her face when she caught sight of the mess.

 

She glanced back at the letter for a moment, then tucked it into the front pocket of her jacket and started for the door.

 

As she tread on the salt, there was a slight crunching sound. She knelt to look at the white line, which she’d tracked across the floor in the sole of her shoe. I hoped she would brush it out of the way so I could get closer to the desk, but instead, she very carefully repaired the line and stood up.

 

She took one step forward, then stopped short and swung back. She crouched down and, using her pointer finger, separated a thin line of salt from the thicker line. Then she leaned down and brushed it into her palm, until she held a decent handful of salt.

 

I tested the barrier that remained and found it just as strong as before.

 

I followed Janie out of the room and down the hall. The ghosts that had come out earlier to watch her were all gone … but the hallway still had an air of occupancy.

 

Something was there with us. I just wasn’t sure what it was.

 

Back on the second floor, Janie disappeared into the ward just as our mother came into the day room, loaded down with her wheeled suitcase, her laptop bag, and the tote full of books.

 

After setting everything down just inside the door, Mom took a minute to look over the room. A shudder set her body trembling, but she took a few slow, deep breaths and seemed to calm herself down.

 

“You can do this,” she said softly. “It’s only a week.”

 

“Do what?” I asked. “What are you trying to do?”

 

There was a soft, cackling laugh, and I looked over at Penitence, who bent over her work.

 

“She can’t hear you,” she said.