The Dead Girls of Hysteria Hall

 

“ ‘And though she be but little, she is fierce,’ ” I said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

 

I pulled the salt from behind my back and threw it at my sister’s face.

 

She gasped and tried to block it with her hands, but it was too late. She began to choke, to make sounds as if she couldn’t breathe, and a look of pure rage came into her eyes. She began to stalk toward me, but she was quickly growing weak. Halfway across the room, the life seemed to drain out of her, and she collapsed to the floor.

 

I watched her for a few beats, until I saw her chest rise and sink with a breath.

 

Florence broke the silence with a low chuckle. “Well, sugar, looks like it’s just you and me. I suppose you saw what I did to your friend upstairs.”

 

“I did,” I said. “And she was your friend, too.”

 

“ ‘Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.’ ” She grinned, pleased with herself. “You’re not the only one who knows a little Shakespeare.”

 

“What are you after?” I snapped. “What do you think you’re going to accomplish? What good is it keeping people trapped here?”

 

“Well, honey, on that line of thinking, what good is anything?” she asked, delicately twisting the ends of her hair around a slender finger. “Why question the why of things that simply are?”

 

“Just answer my question,” I said.

 

She patted the sofa next to her. “You come sit down, and we’ll have a nice little talk.”

 

I walked across the room and perched on the edge of the cushion. We both knew I’d listen, that I couldn’t just attack her, because I needed more information about the house if I was going to stop whatever was in it.

 

“I suppose you know Penitence,” Florence drawled. “Everybody knows Penitence. Penitence was in charge of the institute—I mean, under her old daddy, Maxwell. She did her best to run the place, but she was never good enough for him. She tried to be nice to the patients, be their friend. He just thought they oughtta be taught to behave. One day she ran off and got herself married without his permission. And then there was going to be a baby. But her husband fell off a horse and died, and she had to come back. Well, her daddy promised he would welcome her, and he did—but not as the wardress. Oh, no. He thought she needed to learn a lesson, so he admitted her as a patient. And when that baby was old enough to walk and talk, he took it away. He kept Penitence on the second floor and sent her baby to the third floor.”

 

I reeled.

 

Maria.

 

“How do you know all this?” I asked.

 

“I was friends with the wardress who took over when Penitence was committed. She told me all the gossip. She said Maxwell got worse, treating the patients more strictly with every passing year. But Penitence turned as meek as a little mouse, and eventually he trusted her a little. And do you know what I think happened? I think she took that trust and killed him with it. And it just happened to be on the same night that the little brat took a thousand-volt swim with a third-floor nurse.”

 

I nodded.

 

Florence leaned forward, an eager spark in her eyes. “I believe a great power was born here that night. The very ground beneath us was defiled, and it began to drink in the misery, loneliness, and confusion of its inhabitants. It craved the sadness that seeped through the walls of the house like blood.”

 

The way she spoke reminded me of the way my sister used to talk about the boy bands she liked. Florence was totally fangirling the evil spirit.

 

“Things changed. Women who came here—not all of them, but some of them—stopped getting better. Girls who should have gone home after a month or two showed no improvement at all. Some went mad. Some died. Some tried their best to get out, and had to be made to stay, if you know what I mean. What am I saying? Of course you do.

 

“It was the truly troubled girls who had it the worst—not us third-floor girls, but anyone with a secret. Something buried, that was eating away at them. Like our little friend, Eliza, for example. The house latched on to girls like that, girls who carried the scent of pain when they passed through the halls. It took hold and decided not to let them go.”

 

“Were you one of those girls?” I asked.

 

She smiled warmly. “Yes, I was, thank you for asking.”

 

“Why were you locked up, Florence?”

 

“I suppose I was just tired,” she said airily. “In need of a little rest.”

 

“What did you do?” I pressed. “Getting sent to the third floor is a pretty big deal.”

 

“What do you think I did?” she asked. “A pretty little Southern belle … I couldn’t hurt a fly, could I? Gentle as a kitten, wasn’t I?”