She opened the door wider, and stepped out into the corridor, then moved silently toward Beth’s room. When she came to the closed door, she paused, listening again before she tried the knob. It turned easily, and when she pushed the door open, there was no betraying squeak from its hinges. Then she was inside, and a moment later she stood by Beth’s bed, gently shaking her stepsister.
“Wake up,” she whispered as loudly as she dared.
Beth stirred, then woke up, blinking in the dim moonlight. She looked up at Tracy. “Is it time?”
Tracy nodded, then pulled the covers away from Beth. To her disgust, Beth was wearing pajamas. “I told you not to undress,” she hissed. “Hurry up, will you?” Beth reached out to the light on her nightstand, but Tracy brushed her hand away. “Don’t turn on the lights. What if someone sees? Will you just get dressed?”
Beth scrambled out of the bed, and scurried into her closet. In less than a minute she was back, wearing jeans and a gray sweatshirt. On her sockless feet she had a pair of sneakers almost identical to Tracy’s. She sat down at her desk, and quickly tied the laces, then followed Tracy out into the hall. But at the top of the stairs, Tracy suddenly stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Beth whispered.
“The bed. We forgot to fix it so it looks like you’re still in it.”
“But everyone’s asleep,” Beth protested.
“What if they wake up? Wait for me downstairs by the front door.” Then, before Beth could protest, Tracy scurried back to Beth’s room and disappeared inside.
But instead of arranging the pillows under the covers of Beth’s bed, she went to the desk, opened the top drawer, and took the old book out. Opening the book, she laid it facedown on the desk, then hurried out of the room.
She left the door standing wide open.
Downstairs, she found Beth waiting nervously by the front door. She pulled the drawer of the commode out, fished around until she found the right set of keys, then closed the drawer. A moment later they were outside.
They darted across the lawn, and between the twin stone lions that guarded the path to the mausoleum, then paused to pick up the lantern that Beth had sneaked out of the tackroom that afternoon.
“But why can’t we just turn on the lights?” Beth had protested when Tracy had told her what she wanted.
“Are you crazy?” Tracy had replied. “If we turn on the lights, everyone in town will know someone’s inside. But who’s going to see a lantern?”
Now Tracy checked it once more. Its tank was full, and the wick, which she had carefully trimmed, was still undamaged. The knife she had used to trim the wick—an old rusty jackknife that had also come from the tackroom—was safe in her pocket, along with three books of matches.
Carrying the lantern, Tracy started up the trail to the mausoleum, Beth behind her.
The great marble structure seemed even larger at night, and the moonlight shot black shadows from the pillars across the floor. One of the shadows fell across the chair in which the ashes of Samuel Pruett Sturgess were interred, giving the girls the fleeting illusion that the chair had disappeared entirely. Standing by the broken pillar, they gazed out toward the mill.
“Look,” Beth breathed. “It’s burning.”
Tracy felt a derisive laugh rise in her throat, but choked it off. “It’s Amy,” she whispered. “She knows we’re coming.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Beth hesitate, then nod. “Shall we stop at her grave?” she asked.
This time, Beth shook her head. “She’s not there,” she whispered. “She’s still in the mill. Come on.”
Now, with Beth leading, they started down the tangled path that would eventually stop at the river.
“Are you scared?” Tracy asked. They had come to the end of the trestle over the river. On the other side, across River Road, the mill gleamed in the moonlight.
“No,” Beth replied with a bravery she didn’t quite feel. The wooden bridge stretched out before them, seeming longer and higher at night than it did in the daytime. “Are you?”
Tracy shook her head, and started out onto the narrow span, placing her feet carefully on the ties, keeping to the exact center of the space between the twin rails. Behind her, Beth followed her movements precisely, concentrating on staring at the ties, for when she let her vision shift, focusing on the river below, a wave of dizziness passed over her.
Then they were on the other side of the river, and solid ground once more spread away on either side of the tracks.
They paused at River Road, then darted across.
They came to the back of the mill, and Beth pointed to the loading dock. “That’s where she lives,” she whispered. “There’s a little room under there.”
Tracy ignored her, starting up the path along the side of the building. They were exposed now, the full light of the moon shining down on them, and they could easily be seen from any car that might pass by.
The third key Tracy tried fit the padlock on the side door, and when she twisted it the lock popped open. Then, as she pulled the door itself open, she felt Beth freeze beside her. She turned to look, and saw that Beth’s eyes were wide, staring in through the open door. Her whole body was trembling slightly, and in the pale moonlight her skin was the color of death.
“What is it?” Tracy whispered. For a second she didn’t think Beth had heard her, but then the other girl slowly turned, her fearful eyes meeting Tracy’s.
“Daddy,” she said softly. “Look. The moon’s shining right down on the place where Daddy …” Her voice trailed off, and once more her eyes shifted to the interior of the mill.
Tracy followed Beth’s gaze.
Inside the building, the moonlight was streaming through the skylight. The colors of the dome itself were faintly visible, but the moonlight had robbed them of their vitality. Instead of sparkling brightly, they cast a nightmare pall over the interior.
Across the floor lay the huge spider’s web formed by the shadows of the leaded glass above.
Near the center of the rotunda, a single beam of clear moonlight shone down, illuminating the spot where Alan Rogers had died.
Grasping Beth’s hand, Tracy pulled her inside the building, closing the door behind them.
The faint chirping sounds of the summer night disappeared, and silence closed around the two girls. It was as if they’d stepped into another world, a strange dead world that reached out to enclose them, drawing them to its cold bosom.
They started slowly across the floor, unconsciously avoiding the spiderweb shadow cast by the skylight, as if by touching it they could become entangled, to be held prisoner for whatever strange creature might lurk in the shadowy reaches, waiting for its prey.
In the distance, seemingly unreachable, lay the stairs to the basement, and Tracy wanted to run to them, wanted to be away from the strange light and terrifying shadows.
As in a nightmare, her feet seemed mired in mud, each step a terrible effort.
But finally they were there, staring down into the pitch blackness below.
Tracy knelt, set the lantern carefully on the floor, then lifted its chimney off. She struck a match, cupped it in her hands for a moment, then held it to the wick.
The wick sputtered, then caught, the flame spreading quickly along its length. When it was burning brightly, Tracy replaced the chimney, then adjusted the wick. The flame’s intensity increased, but still the light was all but lost in the vastness of the building around them.
“Come on,” Tracy whispered, getting to her feet once more and picking up the lantern.
But Beth hung back, staring fearfully into the darkness below. In her mind, she began to remember the hellish vision she’d seen last time she had been in the little room behind the stairs. “M-maybe we shouldn’t—” she breathed.
But Tracy reached out with her free hand and grasped her wrist once more. “She’s your friend, remember?” Tracy hissed, letting her anger begin to show for the first time since Beth had come back to live at Hilltop. “
You can’t chicken out now. I won’t let you!”
She started down the stairs, holding the lantern high. Beth resisted for only a moment, but as Tracy’s grip tightened on her wrist, she gave in. Her heart beginning to pound, she reluctantly followed Tracy into the basement.
The yawning blackness seemed to open before them, welcoming them.
26
Carolyn rolled over in her sleep, then slowly began to wake up. At first she resisted it, rolling over once more, and keeping her eyes resolutely closed.
It did no good. In a moment she was fully awake, and she sat up, listening, trying to decide what had disturbed her sleep. But there was nothing. The sounds of the crickets and frogs were drifting through the window as they always did, and the faint creaking of the old mansion still complained softly in the background. She glanced at the clock.
One A.M.
She flopped back down on the bed, and felt Phillip stir beside her at the unexpected motion. Once more she tried to go back to sleep. Once more she failed.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, a strange feeling began to grow in her. An uneasy feeling that something was wrong.
The house felt incomplete.
Abigail, she told herself. It’s just that Abigail isn’t here anymore.
But it was more than that, and she knew it.
She got out of bed, slipped into a robe, then stepped out into the corridor and turned on the lights.
Halfway down the long hall, Beth’s door stood open.
Beth’s door, she knew, was never open at night.
Frowning, she hurried down the hall, and switched the light on in Beth’s room.
She saw the covers piled at the foot of the empty bed.
Even though all her instincts told her it, too, would be empty, Carolyn crossed the bedroom and checked the bathroom. There was no sign of Beth.
She felt the first flickerings of panic beginning to build inside her, and firmly put them down. Beth might only have gone down to the kitchen to raid the refrigerator. She left the room, and started toward the stairs, but instead of going down them, she went past them, stopping at Tracy’s closed door. She hesitated, then turned the knob and pushed the door open just far enough to see inside.
Tracy’s bed, too, was empty.
Now Carolyn hurried down the stairs, and searched the house, finally coming to Hannah’s bedroom off the kitchen. She rapped softly on the door, then harder. At last there was a stirring from inside the room, the door opened a crack, and Hannah peered out at her, her eyes still red with sleepiness.
“Hannah, I need your help. Something’s happened to the girls.”
“Our girls?” the old servant asked, opening the door wider, and wrapping her robe tightly around herself. “What do you mean, something’s happened to them?”
“They’re not here,” Carolyn replied. “They’re not in their rooms, and they’re not down here, either.”
Hannah’s head shook, and she made a soft clucking sound. “Well, I’m sure they’re here somewhere,” she said.
“They’re not,” Carolyn insisted. “I’d better get Phillip. Will you look downstairs?”
Hannah nodded, saying nothing as she started shuffling toward the basement stairs.
Less than a minute later, Carolyn was back in her bedroom, shaking Phillip awake.
* * *
Tracy stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and looked around. The lantern’s faint glow was quickly swallowed up by the maze of pillars supporting the main floor, and her mind began to play tricks on her as she gazed into the darkness beyond the lantern’s reach. There could be all manner of things lurking there in the darkness.
She could almost feel eyes on her, watching her.
Tendrils of fear reached out to her, brushing against her so that her skin began to crawl. When she heard Beth’s voice, she turned quickly away from the threatening darkness.
It’s back here,” Beth was whispering. “Behind the stairs.”
Tracy held the lantern up once more, and its orangish glow spread out in front of her. She saw a large metal door, hung from a rail, standing partly open. And beyond that was the room where Beth was so certain that a ghost dwelt.
To Tracy, the room looked perfectly ordinary. It was empty, and its walls were blackened as if there had been a fire here sometime long ago. In fact, she thought as she stepped inside, she could still almost smell it. There was something in the air, a faint smokiness, that made her wrinkle her nose.
“Where is she?” she asked, still whispering despite the fact that they were alone.
“She’s here,” Beth said. “I always just came down here and waited. And after a while, she sort of—well, she just sort of came to me.”
Tracy set the lantern on the floor, then looked up at Beth.
In the light of the lantern, Beth could see Tracy smiling at her. The way the light struck her face, the smile looked mocking, and Tracy’s eyes seemed to have the cruel glint in them that Beth hadn’t seen for months.
But that was silly.
Tracy was her friend now.
And then Tracy spoke.
“You really are crazy, aren’t you?” she asked, reaching into her pocket and fumbling with something.
Beth’s breath caught in her throat. “Crazy?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “I thought—I thought—”
“You thought I believed you, didn’t you? You thought I was dumb enough to think there was really a ghost down here.”
Beth froze, her heart pounding. As she watched, Tracy pulled the rusty jackknife out of her pocket, and unfolded its blade. “Wh-what are you doing?” Beth whimpered. She started to back away, but then realized that Tracy was between her and the door.
“You killed him, didn’t you?” Tracy asked, her eyes sparkling with hatred now. She moved slowly toward Beth, the knife clutched in her right hand, its blade flashing dully in the light of the lantern. “You killed him just so you could come back and take my father. But I’m not going to let you.”
“No,” Beth whispered. “I didn’t do anything. Amy—it was Amy—”
“There isn’t any Amy!” Suddenly moving with the speed of a cat, Tracy leaped at Beth, the knife flashing out.
A stinging pain shot through Beth’s left arm, and she looked down to see blood oozing out of a long deep cut. She stared at it for a moment, almost unable to believe what she was seeing. And then she felt a movement close by, and looked up. The knife was arcing toward her, and behind it was Tracy’s face, contorted with fury.
“I hate you!” Tracy was screaming. “You’re crazy, and I hate you, and I’m going to kill you!”
Beth ducked, and the knife glanced off her shoulder, then ripped down through her right arm. She tried to twist away, but Tracy’s left hand was tangled in her hair now.
“No!” she screamed, the word almost strangling in her throat. “Please, Tracy! Nooooo!”
But it was too late.
Tracy’s right arm rose, and then the knife came down once more, plunging into Beth’s chest. Tracy twisted at it, then yanked it free, only to plunge it in again.
“Noo …” Beth moaned. “Oh, please, no …”
Tracy suddenly let go of her hair, throwing her to the floor. Bleeding from both arms and her chest, Beth tried to scramble away, but Tracy’s foot shot out, kicking her in the stomach.
As she doubled up, the knife came down again, ripping through her back. Tracy jerked it out, then dropped to her knees, grabbing Beth’s hair once again.
Pulling Beth’s head back, she tightened her grip on the knife, then pulled it with all the strength she had across Beth’s exposed throat.
The knife cut deep, and suddenly there was nothing left of Beth’s screams but a sickening gurgling sound as the blood, pumped from a severed artery, mixed with the air being exhaled from her lungs.
For a moment Tracy froze where she was, staring down into Beth’s open eyes, etching in her mind every detail of the fear and pain that had twisted Beth??
?s face in the last seconds of her life. Then she dropped the corpse, letting it roll away from her as she rocked back on her heels.
The bloody knife dropped from her hand.
And then, in the flickering light of the kerosene lantern, her clothes stained with her victim’s blood, Tracy Sturgess began to laugh.…
Phillip came awake slowly, then stared up at his wife’s worried face, shading his eyes against the brightness of the chandelier. “What is it?” he asked. “What time is it?”
“Early. It’s a little after one-thirty. Phillip, the girls are gone.”
Phillip came instantly wide-awake, and sat up. “Gone? What do you mean?”
“They’re gone.” Quickly she explained what had happened. “Hannah’s looking in the basement, but I’m sure they’re not there. When I woke up, I had a funny feeling that something was wrong, that something was missing. It’s the girls. I haven’t searched the whole house, but I’m almost certain they aren’t here at all.”
Phillip, already out of bed, was pulling on a pair of khaki pants and a golf shirt. With Carolyn at his heels, he strode down the hall, first to Tracy’s room, then back to Beth’s, where Carolyn was waiting for him.
“They’ve got to be here,” he said.
“But they aren’t!” Carolyn insisted.
“Did you look upstairs?”
Carolyn shook her head. “No, of course not. It’s all closed up. There’s nothing up there—”
“Well, they have to be somewhere. They wouldn’t just take off. Not in the middle of the night.” He started down the hall toward the back stairs that led to the long-empty third floor of the old house. Carolyn was about to follow him, when something caught her eye.
On Beth’s desk, there was an old leather-bound book.
She stared at it. She’d never seen it before, and she was positive it didn’t belong to Beth.