Ghostlight (8 page)

The sun was scorching, and by the time Hilliard House was in view I'd worked up a good sweat to go along with the dread boiling in my belly. Julian wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt while Lily stared at the back of the house.

“It's so old,” she said.

Julian and I followed as she walked around to get the front view. We all stood in silence while she took in the two stories of red brick and the fancy porch with its four white pillars and triangle-shaped roof. The paint was peeling from the trim and a few of the windows were cracked, but the brick was holding steady. Someone had whacked the weeds since Julian and I had been there last.

“It's a lot prettier from the front.” Lily turned to Julian. “But there's no light in the window like in the photograph.”

“If there was a light in the window,” I said, “I'd be halfway back to Grandma's house by now.”

“Really?” Julian studied me. “It bothers you that much?”

I shrugged. “Kind of.”

“Well, you wouldn't see the light in the daytime anyway.” Julian turned to Lily. “And we didn't come all the way out here just to get spooked and run away.”

Lily put her hands on her hips. “But I
like
being spooked.”

“I don't,” I said.

In fact, butterflies flapped in my stomach as I put the key in the lock. It didn't turn at first, and for a second I was sure it would break off in the lock. The thought of having to explain that to Grandma was almost scarier than the prospect of a ghost on the other side of the door.

“This place is starting to seem a little creepy now,” whispered Lily.

“Try pushing on the door as you turn the key,” Julian said.

When I did that, the dead bolt released. My shoulders tensed up as I opened the door, but the only thing to fly out at me was a rush of stale-smelling air.

The door creaked as it swung wide to reveal a hallway and staircase. On either side, a double door opened to a large room. Above us dangled a dusty old light fixture with fake candles. By the looks of the furniture left behind, the room at our right had been a dining room. The room at our left had a large fireplace, so it must have been a parlor.

That meant it was the parlor window Julian had pointed out in his photo—the one that clearly showed a light shining in it. A light in a house that hadn't been occupied for years.

“It smells like old people in here,” said Lily. “And death.”

“Lily, you have no idea what death smells like.” Julian shook his head as he unzipped his backpack.

“I'm pretty sure it smells like this,” she muttered.

The place did have a strong smell—mildew, old newspapers, and rusty pipes came to mind. Definitely a whiff of mouse droppings, but even Grandma found mice in her house sometimes, so that didn't bother me. She always said you couldn't blame the creatures for trying to find shelter, and if they were faster than Weasley, more power to them.

“Does it look the same to you, Avery?”

I jumped a little at Julian's voice. “I was younger than Lily back then, and I barely remember anything except Grandma walloping my backside.” I turned to find him checking his camera. “So what's the plan? Are you taking photos today?”

Julian strapped the camera around his neck and set the backpack by the door. “I thought I might start filming.”

“Filming what? We haven't even started the script.”

And I'd really been looking forward to writing that script because it would finally get us to
my
specialty.

He stared past me, his brow wrinkling. “I want to improvise as much as possible. The film will look more natural that way. Today I'll just film you and Lily exploring the house.”

“I thought that camera was for taking pictures.”

“Did you think I'd be rolling in a full-size camera on a dolly or something? This camera also shoots HD video. And it's all we've got.”

I held up my hands. “Fine.”

He attached a long, foam-covered object to the top of the camera. “On a real set you have a boom operator who holds this big fuzzy microphone on a long stick. His job is to get close enough to pick up the sound while still keeping the boom out of the frame.” He nodded at the foam microphone. “This is the best I can do with what we have.”

“Your camera has a horn!” said Lily, grinning.

“Anyway…” Julian gave her a sidelong glance. “Let's go back outside so I can film you two unlocking the door. We might use it later, or we might not, but best to get it done now. Just remember to act like you're doing it for the first time.”

After we took care of that, Julian told me to lead the way through the dining room. The windows had those old-fashioned paper shades rolled halfway down. Both were torn and crooked, and the windowsills were full of fly corpses. I turned back to the large table, running my hand across its surface to trace the scars and burns. A battered hutch stood against the wall, but it held no plates or glassware.

The mildew and mouse smells were stronger in the kitchen, and some of the cabinet doors hung off their hinges. There was a fridge, but it looked about a hundred years old. I bet Joshua Hilliard spent as little time as possible in the kitchen after his wife died. Probably ate out of cans or made cold-cut sandwiches. The room seemed lonely, as if it didn't know what to do with itself.

“Ewww.” Lily pointed at the floor. “There's a dried-up mouse over here. Get a shot of this, Jules.”

I glanced at Julian. “What does a dead mouse have to do with anything?”

“No, she's right,” he said. “Look how it's mummified.”

He took about twenty close-ups of the mummy mouse. When he turned back around, I raised an eyebrow at him, but he just shrugged.

After that we passed by an empty room and a sad little powder room—more mildew stink and rust stains in the sink—and then made our way back to the parlor.

This room was different. I could feel something shift inside me when we walked through the wide doorway. Maybe it was the huge brick fireplace or the yellowed curtains that still had some prettiness to them, but this room lifted my spirits. Like it was haunted by the ghost of happiness.

Which made no sense at all. Why would a happy person stick around after death?

I went to the fireplace and touched the wood mantel. Dusty cobwebs stretched beneath it, but above it was a framed photograph of an old house with white wood siding and a two-level porch that stretched all the way across. I'd seen a small version of this photo in Grandpa's album.

“This was the first house on the farm,” I said to Lily. “The one that burned down.”

“Did anyone die in the fire?”

“Grandma didn't know.”

Lily frowned. “There could be ghosts here from the old house.” She walked to the window opposite the fireplace. “Was this where the light was shining?”

Julian was still filming, so I answered Lily with a nod. We all stood quiet for a moment, and a nervous twinge started up in my belly. The two of them seemed to be waiting for something exciting to happen, as if the old kerosene lamp on the table would suddenly light itself. A part of me
wanted
that to happen because Julian would be impressed.

Another part of me knew I would pee my pants if that lamp decided to light itself right before our eyes.

Lily yawned. “This room is boring. Let's go upstairs.”

Julian let the camera run a moment longer and then lowered it. “I want to film you two walking up the staircase, but first let me make sure the stairs are safe.”

After testing the steps, he made us walk up the staircase slowly, saying it'd be more dramatic that way. I swear the temperature rose a couple degrees with each step, and by the time we got to the top I felt a little dizzy and a lot sweaty. There were two doors at our left and three at the right. The nearest door opened to a small bathroom with a pedestal sink, a toilet, and a dirty tub.

Lily turned the knob at the sink. After some creepy glugging noises, a glop of brown water spurted out. We both jumped at that. After more sputtering, the water flowed stronger and mostly clear.

Julian lowered his camera. “You'd think the water would be turned off since no one lives here.”

“Grandma must have told the water company to turn it on since she's selling the house,” I said. “We may not have much time to film. She already got someone to trim the weeds outside, so she'll probably be sending someone here to clean any day now.”

Julian fiddled with the tub faucet. Again, there was a spell of glugging before the water spurted out.

“Interesting,” he said. “Once your grandma gets in here and cleans up, the house won't look right for the film. We really can't waste any time.”

Taking this to heart, Lily marched toward the first bedroom on our right, and I followed her lead. This bedroom, and the next, and the one after that, had peeling floral wallpaper and dusty braided rugs on the floor. Each contained some part of a bed—a headboard or frame—but no mattresses. In one room, the old bed frame stood near a fireplace and was draped with a quilt. The binding was frayed and torn, and the quilt needed a good washing, but it was still pretty. Lily shook her head at the old bed and marched right out of the room, but Julian stayed in the doorway filming.

I leaned over the quilt to get a closer look. The quilter had stitched initials in a corner block
—S.F.—
but I couldn't match those letters to anyone in our family. The entire thing was handmade, just like the ones at Grandma's house, and probably made from the scraps of old clothes. The one on my bed in Grandma's attic still had all its stitches and was softer than any blanket you'd ever find in a store. I patted this quilt like it was kinfolk and wondered why it was here instead of in some cousin's home.

“Hey, come in here!” Lily shouted from the other side of the house.

Julian was still filming, and he gestured for me to go around him.

I found Lily in the small corner bedroom, which was papered with a delicate pattern of rosebuds. A twin bed frame stood in the corner next to a chest of drawers.

“This was propped up against the bed.” Lily held out a doll in a pink dress. “Watch the head. It's coming loose.”

I took the doll, cradling her head carefully. She was made of china, with molded golden waves for hair. Her small eyes and mouth were painted on, along with large pink circles on the cheeks. Her arms and legs were china, too, and plain brown boots were painted on her tiny little feet. The pink dress was dusty and faded but not stained, though it did smell mousy.

“Isn't she creepy?” Lily's eyes glowed with excitement.

“Not really. Maybe if she had eyes that opened and closed, or if she spoke—”

“Look under the dress,” Lily interrupted.

I slowly lifted the skirt, only to find a yellowed petticoat and bloomers underneath.

“Lift it higher,” she urged, “but don't drop her, Avery!”

The torso of the doll was cloth filled with stuffing. Or at least it had been once. Something had torn the belly open and pulled the stuffing out. The cavity was dotted with mouse droppings.

“It's like a doll murderer ripped her guts out,” Lily stage-whispered.

I'm not really the squeamish type, but for some reason I had to turn my head away from the doll to take a breath. “You watch too much late-night TV,” I finally said. “A mama mouse made a home in her belly, is all. Maybe some baby mice were born here, all warm and cozy.”

“Ugh! Remind me to wash my hands.” She took the doll and set it on the chest of drawers. “I also found this in the bottom drawer.” She pulled a small frame of tarnished silver from her pocket and handed it to me.

The photo was a faded black-and-white shot of two girls squinting as if they faced the sun. One was small with straight dark hair and a body that was pointy all over—sharp chin, knees, and elbows. The other girl had a little more flesh to squeeze, and I pointed at her dandelion hair, round and light gold, just like the china doll's hair.