The Dead Girls of Hysteria Hall

 

 

“We never figured it out. I saw one in the basement once, and I’ve heard rumors that one lives on the third floor. Florence told me that Maria was a perfectly normal little girl—I mean, dead, of course, but normal—until she had a run-in with one of those.”

 

Before I could ask anything else, a bloodcurdling, inhuman screech filled the hallway, and almost at once my nose filled with a scent like a pile of three-week-old dead fish.

 

We ran back to my sister’s room. Eliza crouched low to the ground and peered inside. After a moment, she sat up, startled. “Well,” she said. “You needn’t worry about it bothering Jane. It’s died. You’ve killed it.”

 

I sat in stunned silence.

 

“Good riddance.” Eliza stood and folded her arms in front of her chest. “Your sister will be safe in this room now—once the smell goes away.”

 

I knelt and looked inside. The dark, still body seemed to be growing fainter.

 

“To business, then, since that’s settled,” Eliza said. “I think it’s time you, Florence, and I talk. Form a concrete plan to get your family out of here … before something bad happens.”

 

Something bad. Because having to fight my way out of being trapped in a tiny room with a vicious, formless creature was apparently just another day at the office.

 

I sighed. “Okay. Let’s go talk to Florence.”

 

*

 

Florence and I sat on the couch in the lobby, while Eliza paced before us like a military tactician. “All right,” she said. “How long do they plan to stay? Do we make an active plan to chase them away, or simply try to keep them safe until they go?”

 

As deeply as it pained me to think of never seeing Mom and Janie again, I was eager to get them out of the house. “Active plan,” I said. “Preferably before any more shadow monsters show up.”

 

Florence had practically swooned with dismay at the news of the creature’s reappearance. Having seen her face off against Maria, I was fairly certain the delicacy was an act, but she seemed to be enjoying the drama, so I didn’t bring it up.

 

“Have you seen any more?” she asked, looking from me to Eliza. “Did you look in the basement?”

 

“No,” I said. “But I think it’s fair to say we’re on their radar.”

 

Blank looks.

 

“I mean, they’re aware of us—maybe aware that we’re aware of them,” I said. “But if we’re prepared, we can fight them. All it took to kill the thing was to throw salt on it. The key is not to be caught off guard.”

 

Florence and Eliza glanced at each other. “That’s just it,” Eliza said. “We can’t touch salt. I couldn’t pick it up and fling it if I had a steam shovel. Your ability to move it must stem from your possessing some degree of authority here. As the former owner.”

 

Basically meaning I was on my own. The idea of fighting the shadows by myself didn’t exactly thrill me, but I was resolved to protect Mom and Janie. “Okay, then,” I said. “Point me toward the salt, and I’ll take care of them.”

 

Florence looked a little faint, so Eliza gave her a bracing thump on the back.

 

“That would be lovely, and we’ll take you up on it,” Eliza said. “But you should know that the shadow creatures are only a symptom. The real core of the problem—the root—must lie somewhere else. Discovering that may prove more of a challenge.”

 

“We don’t have to discover it,” Florence said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “We just need to make sure it doesn’t discover the little Gothic girl, right?”

 

“It’s already discovered her,” I said. “That must be why it sent its monsters to her room.”

 

Eliza let out a frustrated little sniff.

 

“Sugar, you’re worrying me,” Florence said to her.

 

Eliza fidgeted awkwardly in place, then looked pleadingly at Florence. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, would it … ? To know what’s trapped us here, and why?”

 

Florence’s jaw dropped. “You’ve been happy for ninety years, and just like that you’ve changed all your convictions?”

 

“No,” Eliza said stoutly. “Not all my convictions. But there has to be a reason for our being stuck, and I’d like to know the reason. That’s all.”

 

There was an uncharacteristically earnest note in her voice—a tiny break that hinted at years of loneliness and helplessness.

 

As scary as the unknown was—the idea of ceasing to exist—it was easy to appreciate the full horror of being left behind, trapped here, while everyone you love withers and dies.

 

Florence stared despondently at the threadbare rug beneath our feet. “Maybe it doesn’t want us to know,” she said. She lowered her voice as if she were about to say something scandalous. “What if you just make it mad?”