The Dead Girls of Hysteria Hall

 

But Penitence was back in her seat at the table, a wretched expression on her face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I would have helped. But I’ve never been able to leave this spot. Not in a hundred and thirty years.”

 

“No,” I said. “You’ve never chosen to leave that spot. There’s a difference.”

 

She bowed her head.

 

“It’s fine,” I said. “Everyone has to fight their own demons. Next time I just won’t bother asking for your help.”

 

Behind me, the door to the day room opened. Mom called, “Jane? I’ve got your Cheetos. Will you help me—”

 

She stopped short at the sight of Janie lying on the floor. Dropping the grocery bags, she fell to her knees by my sister’s side. “Jane? Janie? Are you okay?”

 

Janie opened her eyes, then reached out and grabbed Mom’s hand, holding it as tightly as a little child.

 

“What happened?” Mom stared down at my sister’s blood-covered fingers. “What happened to you?”

 

Janie looked at the window, where the screen was pulled away from the wall. The wall itself was streaked with fresh red blood.

 

Mom followed her gaze and gasped.

 

“There’s something here, Mom,” Janie said. “I don’t think Delia killed herself … It’s time to go home.”

 

*

 

Mom helped Janie to her room and was going to help her pack, but my sister insisted she’d be all right. Mom’s room was only twenty feet away, and she needed to pack up, too. My mother moved as if there were a fire burning beneath her feet, running from room to room, collecting their scattered possessions and shoving them willy-nilly into bags. Every couple of minutes, she came back and checked on Janie, who was resting comfortably, and seemed, actually, more relaxed than she had since they arrived.

 

Finally, Mom came into Janie’s room, drenched in sweat. “Done,” she said. “I’m going to start loading the car.”

 

Janie kicked her legs off the side of the bed and stood up. “I’ll help.”

 

Mom looked torn. I could tell she wanted to keep my sister close but also wanted her to take it easy. “No, honey—you hit your head, and I’d rather you rest. It’ll only be a couple of trips.”

 

I stayed with Janie. I didn’t plan to take my eyes off her until she and Mom were safely clear of the property. She sat up and tucked her phone into her purse, then got to her feet and dragged the old red suitcase out to the day room. Standing there, all of a sudden, she made a little squeaking noise, and pressed her fist to her mouth. Her body trembled, and fat tears rolled from her eyes.

 

“I’m sorry, Delia,” she said. “I’m sorry for what I did. I hope someday you’ll forgive me. But if it makes you feel better … I’ll never forgive myself.”

 

“You dolt!” I said. “How could that possibly make me feel better?”

 

She went on crying, until she leaned against the doorframe and slid to the ground. And then she cried some more. I wanted to wrap my arms around her but couldn’t bear to feel her body slip through my touch.

 

There was nothing I could do.

 

Being dead really sucks sometimes.

 

After a couple of minutes, I realized that something was wrong. Mom should have been back by now.

 

Moments later, Janie reached the same conclusion. She wiped her eyes, then called, “Mom?”

 

No answer.

 

My sister got to her feet and started walking toward the day room door.

 

My heart began to pound.

 

I couldn’t let her open that door.

 

“Stay back!” I said sharply, positive it wouldn’t work.

 

But to my surprise, Janie stopped in her tracks. She stared at the door for another moment, then took a few backward steps.

 

“Stay,” I said to Janie, the way you’d say it to a dog. And though she couldn’t hear me, she wandered back to the piano bench and sat down.

 

I crossed the room toward the stairwell, a heavy, hot feeling in my chest.

 

“Something’s wrong out there,” a voice said. I turned to see Penitence sitting nervously, helplessly, in her seat.

 

“It’s okay,” I said. “Watch my sister. Call for me if something happens.”

 

I stepped through the door.

 

The stairwell was completely filled with oily black smoke, so dense I couldn’t see. Its bitter flavor invaded my nose and mouth.

 

Fear rolled through me—I was paralyzed by the memory of being trapped in this fog once before, and the horrific outcome.

 

Suddenly, I felt a gentle touch on my back. Then a hard shove. I stumbled and lost my balance, and felt myself falling—toward the stairs, toward a swirling black hole of fog below.

 

But at the last second, someone grabbed my arm and interrupted my fall.

 

I looked up. Penitence was standing over me. When she saw that I was steady on my feet, she disappeared.

 

As the smoke began to clear, I spotted a figure standing in the stairwell with me. I recognized the wavy light-brown hair. The open-knit gray cardigan.

 

It was my mother.

 

And she was looking right at me.