The Dead Girls of Hysteria Hall

 

I thought for sure that she would leave now. I know I would have, if I’d been in her place. But to my considerable surprise (and dismay) she took a deep breath and reached into her pocket, taking out a small paperback book—hardly more than a pamphlet. I printed out the pamphlet you sent, she’d written to that old Walter guy.

 

She unfolded it and started to read, a shade louder than a whisper. “By the authority of nature,” she said, “by the forces of creation. By righteousness and through the power of good, I—”

 

Another huge thud.

 

My sister flinched, but her voice grew stronger. “Through the power of good, I bind you, I bind you—”

 

Four massive bangs, as if there was a rabid gorilla trying to get through the door.

 

“—I bind you,” she said.

 

Everything was silent.

 

And then Janie—who once spent an hour and a half on the kitchen counter because she thought she may have seen a cockroach on the floor—opened the basement door and started down the stairs into near-pitch darkness and the company of a terrifying supernatural creature.

 

Part of me admired her. Part of me wanted to cuff her in the back of the head.

 

I quickly grabbed the metal measuring cup, praying that my sister wouldn’t turn and find herself being haunted by a floating container of salt. I followed her to the center of the room, where she used her cell phone as a flashlight and looked around. Aside from my faint blue glow—which she couldn’t see, anyway—the LED was the only light in the room. Its small circle seemed inadequate against the looming darkness.

 

I stayed as close to her as I dared, scanning the room for the shadow creature, which I knew must be studying our every move. Whatever spell or incantation Janie had read seemed to have some effect—but for how long, I didn’t know. I wondered if she even knew.

 

The basement was apparently the institute’s long-forgotten deep storage. It was cavernous, lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves holding every possible type of domestic item: a herd of mops and brooms, teetering piles of old pots and pans and cooking utensils, decaying metal tins of soap powder, and even an entire array of old silverware and serving platters. I kept an eye out for wrenches.

 

As we went deeper into the blackness, I heard a sound that sent a shot of cold fear through my body. “Delia …”

 

I couldn’t tell where it had come from.

 

I tensed and tried to ready myself for a fight. But a few steps later, illuminated by my pale blue glow, I saw a smoky body silently slamming against an invisible barrier. It was totally freaking out—flailing its legs, even bashing its head into whatever was holding it back. This shadow was bigger and meaner looking than the one upstairs. Its teeth were longer and more jagged in its gaping mouth, and the fog swirling within its outline seemed thicker and heavier.

 

Oblivious to its presence, Janie stood not two feet away, looking around. There was a wary look in her eyes, but behind it was that familiar dogged spark.

 

She walked a little farther into the darkness.

 

The shadow hurled its body against the barrier. But this time, something was different. Instead of just bouncing off, it almost seemed to catch on something. And that got its attention, big-time. It focused all its energy on that one spot, until I could see that the boundary was stretching, weakening.

 

My sister was still only a couple of feet ahead of me. If the monster broke free, it would go after us—first me, then her.

 

I would have preferred to wait until Janie had rounded the corner, so there was no chance she might turn and see what was happening. But as the creature started to make real progress toward escape, I made the call.

 

I drew back the measuring cup and tossed the salt onto its trapped form.

 

Its shriek was an otherworldly mix of agony and fury and a hint of helplessness. Shockingly, the sound gave me a healthy stab of guilt, right in the center of the heart.

 

This creature had been shut up in here for who knew how long—hungry, lonely, angry, and growing more so with every passing year. It hadn’t chosen what it was, any more than I had.

 

It collapsed to the floor in a quaking heap, and I stared down at it until it went still.

 

I’d never killed anything bigger than an ant when I’d been alive, and now twice in a single day I’d brought down these beasts.

 

“I’m sorry,” I said. Tears stung my eyes. I hoped that maybe now it would find some peace, even if that meant not existing. Maybe the absence of torment was its own kind of peace.

 

Meanwhile, my sister hadn’t noticed a thing. I set the empty measuring cup down on an old wooden crate and followed her to the back of the room, where the whole wall was lined with ancient gray file cabinets.