The Dead Girls of Hysteria Hall
By: Katie Alender
He laughed then, a genteel little laugh, and touched his lips with the spotless white handkerchief from his jacket pocket. “My dear, you must believe me when I tell you that, had I known the extent of your inquisitive nature, I would have reconsidered that decision. You’re quite a match for me, and I don’t mind admitting it. It does reflect well on the family, after all.”
I felt a creeping sense of disgust, watching him stand there like he was posing for a magazine ad for ascots or whatever, all while he spoke so casually of life and death and destruction.
And yet, his offer—if it was genuine—did seem shockingly fair. All he wanted was me out of his hair. For that, he was willing to let my entire family escape unharmed. Not to mention that Janie knew I existed now. Who was to say she and I wouldn’t find some way to communicate? I could live with her, be her friend. Like some oddball sitcom: My Sister, the Ghost.
All for the price of … what? Of not causing an explosion that would be the death of my sister or parents—or possibly all of them? Because even if I closed the hatch, Janie would still have to find her way out of a giant burning building.
I could take the deal, get my parents and Janie out of the house, and go. Leave with them. Never come back.
It seemed ridiculously clear. What was I going to do, let them die?
Take the deal.
I looked at Maxwell, who didn’t seem overeager to hear my response; he stood with perfect patience, rocking back slightly on his heels.
“Are you really Maxwell?” I asked.
The question surprised him, though he tried to hide it. “Who else would I be?”
I shrugged. “You tell me.”
He narrowed his eyes and shook his head.
“Because I don’t think you’re Maxwell,” I said. “You’re too friendly.”
He laughed. “Well … thank you? Though I don’t suppose that’s a compliment.”
“I don’t think Maxwell would have negotiated with me,” I said. “I think he would have tried to move the blood himself. But you can’t do that, can you … ? Because you’re just smoke and mirrors.”
A shock of darkness passed through his eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
“You’re only pretending to be confident,” I said. “The real Maxwell wouldn’t have been afraid of me.”
He didn’t answer, but his body shimmered helplessly for a split second.
“You’re not even a real ghost,” I said. “You’re only something horrible, pretending to be a ghost. Without your shadows and smoke, you’re weak. You’re not even strong enough to touch me. You can’t stop the blood, and you can’t stop me … no matter what I decide to do.”
The expression on his face shifted, but as it did, his whole face loosened, like melting wax, as if he were unable to control the mask he hid behind. He tried to snap it back, but it was a clumsy effort. The face I was looking at no longer resembled Maxwell’s.
“If you could stop me,” I said, stepping toward him, “you’d grab my arm before I could slap you.”
Then I drew back my hand and smacked him. Part of me had expected a strong grip on my wrist, a brutal counterblow. But my hand went right through the smoke that formed his face and sent little eddies spinning through it.
“See? I’m stronger than you,” I said. “I’m a pretty powerful ghost, actually.”
He didn’t reply—he couldn’t, because his face had lost its form. It was like the signal was scrambled.
That was fine. I didn’t need to talk anymore. I knew what I was going to do.
But it had to be done quickly.
My parents and sister weren’t going to die today. But I also wasn’t going to run away and abandon the other souls who’d been trapped here for a century or more. I wasn’t going to leave this contaminated building standing, hungry, while more innocent victims were delivered to it like a takeout meal.
For every member of my own family I saved, how many others would die? If I took Maxwell’s deal, how many more best friends, sisters, brothers, mothers, and fathers would suffer for my choice?
No. It was time to fix this. I had to.
Because this was my business.
This was my house.
“Go,” I said, turning away. “Your time here is done.”
The sound behind me was like a cross between a tornado and a scream, and when I looked back over my shoulder, the fog in the room had begun to take form. Maxwell was dissolving, and other bodies were forming from the smoke—an army of shadow creatures, twenty of them at least.
But they weren’t on my time line, so I didn’t concern myself with that fight.
I gently took hold of my sister and pulled her away from the incinerator, positioning her behind a brick-lined pillar near the door. Mindful of Maxwell’s warning, I was unwilling to chance a time speed-up by carrying her to the hall. I’d felt the truth in his speech about decisions and crossroads.
The shadow monsters were almost fully developed.
I closed the incinerator hatch, pulling the lever upright into its locked position, and walked through the brick wall. Inside, I used my own blue light to find the droplet of blood hovering in midair. I scooped it into the palm of my hand, cradling it to my chest as if it were something tiny and precious—which, of course, it was.
Time was going to ramp back up at any millisecond, and I needed to be ready.