The Old Willis Place

The Old Willis Place

A Ghost Story

Mary Downing Hahn

CLARION BOOKS
New York

Novels by Mary Downing Hahn

Deep and Dark and Dangerous
Witch Catcher
Hear the Wind Blow
Anna on the Farm
Promises to the Dead
Anna All Year Round
As Ever, Gordy
Following My Own Footsteps
The Gentleman Outlaw and Me—Eli
Look for Me by Moonlight
Time for Andrew
The Wind Blows Backward
Stepping on the Cracks
The Spanish Kidnapping Disaster
The Dead Man in Indian Creek
The Doll in the Garden
Following the Mystery Man
December Stillness
Tallahassee Higgins
Wait Till Helen Comes
The Jellyfish Season
Daphne's Book
The Time of the Witch
The Sara Summer

Clarion Books
a Houghton Mifflin Company imprint
215 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10003
Copyright © 2004 by Mary Downing Hahn
First Clarion paperback edition, 2007.

All rights reserved.

For information about permission to reproduce selections from
this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Company,
215 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10003.

www. clarionbooks. com

Printed in the U.S.A.

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:

Hahn, Mary Downing.
The old Willis place : a ghost story / by Mary Downing Hahn,
p. cm.
Summary: Tired of the rules that have bound them ever since "the
bad things happened," twelve-year-old Diana ignores her brother's
warnings and befriends the daughter of the new caretaker, setting
in motion events that lead to the release of the spirit of an evil,
crazy woman who once ruled the old Willis place.
ISBN:0-618-43018-0
[1. Ghosts—Fiction. 2. Haunted houses—Fiction.
3. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 4. Friendship—Fiction.] I.Title.
PZ7.H125601 2004
[Fic]—dc22 2004002345

CL ISBN-13: 978-0-618-43018-5
PA ISBN-13: 978-0-618-89741-4

VB 10 9 8 7 6

For Ann, Tom, and Jocelyn Ingham—
who know the old Willis place far
better than I ever will
—M.D.H.

Chapter 1

"They're coming, they're coming!" My brother, Georgie, ran up the shady driveway, almost too excited to speak. "Hide, Diana! Hide!"

I didn't need to ask who was coming. Scooping up my cat, Nero, I plunged into the tangle of vines and weeds lining the drive. Georgie was right behind me. Together we squatted down and watched a pickup slowly approach, bumping over the ruts. The sun and leaves patterned the windshield, hiding the people inside. Their belongings were piled haphazardly in the truck bed, held in place with ropes. Wedged among mattresses, bed frames, chests, tables, and stacks of cardboard boxes, a big golden dog panted and lurched around, excited by the smells of the woods.

"The new caretaker," I whispered. "Who's in the truck with him?"

Beside me, Nero tensed his long black body and twitched his tail, his green eyes wide with curiosity.

Georgie was still breathing hard from running to warn me. "A girl about your age. I couldn't see her very well, but the man got out of the truck to unlock the gate. He was tall and skinny and he was wearing baggy shorts. His legs were long and white." Georgie almost choked with laughter. "And he had big knobby knees."

I giggled. "He sounds like the heron we see at the pond."

"Yes, that's exactly what he looked like—long neck, pointed nose, and his hair stuck up in a crest." Georgie bumped against me, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "Heron Man, that's what we'll call him."

"Shh, shh," I hushed him. "The dog's looking this way."

The dog barked, but no one in the truck noticed. I imagined he barked often. Dogs are foolish. They bark so much at nothing that people don't pay attention, even when they should.

The truck passed us. I glimpsed the driver's birdy profile and suppressed a giggle. Soundlessly we followed the truck, keeping the trees and brambles between us and the lane. We knew where it was going.

The truck slowed almost to a stop as it approached the house. The old Willis place everyone called it, though its true name was Oak Hill Manor. The front lawn was a field of knee-high weeds and thistles the size of small trees. Paint peeled from the front door and wood trim. The steps and porch had rotted long ago. Shutters hung crooked from the boarded windows; some had fallen off and leaned against the house. Slates from the roof littered the yard. Two tall double chimneys tilted to the right, giving the place an unstable look, as if it might topple over at any moment in a tumble of bricks.

I wondered how much the new caretaker had been told about the old Willis place. Georgie and I had been watching the house long enough to learn quite a bit. For instance, we knew the owner, Miss Lilian Willis, had been dead for about ten years. It was common knowledge she hadn't left a will, so the county owned the property now. Workmen had patched up the house in a temporary way, covering the windows with plywood and draping the leaky roof with sheets of heavy blue plastic. They'd put chains and padlocks on the doors and posted "No Hunting, No Trespassing" signs at the gate.

They'd also hired a caretaker to live in a trailer parked near the house. He hadn't done much work or stayed long. Neither had the others the county hired, one after another, too many now to remember all their names. Maybe night noises scared them—the barking of foxes, the shrill screech of owls, the rustle of unseen deer in the woods. Maybe they didn't care for the solitude. Maybe they believed in ghosts. Or came to believe in them. At any rate, after a few months, one would leave and a week or so later another would come. Where the county found them I can't imagine. They were a sorry lot. Old and grumpy. Lazy, too.

Now we had a new caretaker to spy on. And he had a daughter. I could hardly wait to learn more about her. What books did she read? What games did she play? What did she do when she thought no one was watching? If only she could be my friend, if only—

Georgie interrupted my daydreams with a jab of his elbow. "When do you think they'll get out of that truck?" he whispered, full of impatience as usual. "Heron Man just sits there and talks and talks."

"He must be telling the girl about the house," I said. "And Miss Lilian."

Georgie cowered beside me, suddenly fearful. "Don't say that name, Diana. It's bad luck." As he spoke, he peered at the house's boarded windows. Nothing moved except the vines rippling over the walls and the shadows they made.

I shivered, knowing my brother was right. We never spoke the old woman's name out loud, just as we never went too close to her house. Miss Lilian was the snake in the garden, the witch in the gingerbread house, someone to fear even though she was dead.

At last, the truck moved on and parked next to the trailer. We scurried after it and hid in a thicket of dead vines and pokeweed. Unseen, we watched the man and his daughter get out of the truck.

As Georgie had said, the man was just as tall and scrawny as a person can be, a human heron if I'd ever seen one. His shorts looked three sizes too big and so did his T-shirt. But he had a pleasant face and a nice smile.

I knew at a glance he wasn't like the other caretakers. Which made him more dangerous, I supposed. He was the sort who noticed things.

The girl was pretty, small and slender, about eleven or twelve years old. My age. Her hair hung down her back, smooth and wavy, so dark it shone with blue highlights in the sun.

The first thing the girl did was get the dog out of the truck. He was a big mutt, part golden retriever, part shepherd maybe. I couldn't tell if he was fierce or not, but he hadn't caught scent of Georgie and me yet.

"Give MacDuff some water," her father said, "but keep him tied, Lissa. I don't want him running off into the woods."

"Lissa," I murmured. It was a pretty name—a whisper, a sighing sound like a breeze blowing through a field of wheat.

I watched Lissa tie MacDuff to a tree and bring him a bowl of water. Leaving the dog lapping sloppily, she helped her father lift a shiny blue bicycle off the truck.

"A bike." Georgie nudged me. "Wouldn't you love to ride it?"

He didn't bother to hide the longing in his voice. Our bikes had disappeared a long time ago, soon after the bad thing happened. Despite the warm fall sunshine, I shivered at the memory.

"Maybe she'll leave it outside," I said, "and we can borrow it after dark for a moonlight ride."

"We could go a long way on a bike like that," Georgie said. "Miles and miles, on and on and on—"

"Yes, all the way to the gate and back," I reminded him.

He sighed and plucked a blade of grass to chew on. "I know, I know. I was just daydreaming, that's all." He sounded so sad that I was sorry I'd said anything. But I couldn't let him forget the rules.

Lissa leaned her bike against a shed. "Will it be safe here, Dad?" she asked.

"Sure," he said. "We're a mile from the road, and the gate's locked. Who'd take it?"

Georgie and I pressed our hands over our mouths to keep from laughing out loud. They'd learn soon enough what was safe and what wasn't.

"Give me a hand with some of these boxes, Lissa," her father said.

We watched them come and go, carrying things into the trailer. To Georgie the best thing was the television. What pleased me most were the books, boxes and boxes of them. It had been a long time since I'd had anything new to read. Or anyone to talk to but my brother.

Without thinking, I said, "Wouldn't it be fun to be friends with Lissa?"

Georgie stared at me, wide-eyed with shock. "Friends? We can't be friends with her. You know that, Diana."

I gazed past him at the trailer. I'd never wanted to break the rules before. Not once. For as long as I'd known what we could and couldn't do, I'd accepted the rules completely. I'd stayed hidden, I'd never gone beyond the gate at the end of the drive, I'd kept away from Miss Lilian's house. But now, for the first time, I was tempted.

I looked at Georgie. "How can it hurt to have a friend?"

He scowled. "I can't ride that bike past the gate, and you can't have a friend. We're not allowed."

Suddenly angry, I pinched his arm. "What can happen if just one little time—"

Georgie pulled away and rubbed his arm. "You'd better not talk like that," he whispered. "You'll ruin everything."

"Ruin everything?" I glared at him. "It seems to me everything's already ruined."

Without answering, Georgie moved deeper into the shade. Behind him, the sun shone on a field where corn once grew. My brother and the trees were dark against the brilliance.

"Where are you going?" I was torn between following him and staying where I was, watching Lissa and her father.

"Nowhere." Then he was gone.

Sometimes Georgie was such a baby. I hadn't really hurt him. One little pinch. He deserved it for being such a spoilsport. Who did he think he was, telling me what to do? I was older than he was. He had no right to boss me around. If I wanted to break the rules, he couldn't stop me. So I stayed put, with Nero beside me.

Through the trailer's open windows, I heard Lissa and her father debating where to put their things. I'd been inside and knew how small it was—two bedrooms, a tiny bathroom, a small kitchen, an eating area, and a living room. It was good they didn't have much furniture.

After a while, Lissa's father took the dog inside. I heard Lissa showing him his new sleeping place. "Right here in Daddy's room," she said. "I wish you could sleep in my room, but it's not big enough."

I waited a while, but when Lissa didn't come back outside, I slipped into the woods to find my brother. He'd gone to our hideout, an old shed almost covered by the wild grape, honeysuckle, and brambles growing around and over it.

When he saw me, he frowned. "What do you want?"

"I'm sorry I pinched you." I squatted beside him on the shed's dirt floor. "But you made me mad."

Georgie rubbed his arm. "You hurt me. Your fingernails are sharp."

I looked at my nails. Georgie was right. I'd let them grow long and sharp like claws. I flexed my fingers and made scratching motions like a cat. "Pfssst," I hissed at him.

Georgie edged away as if he didn't quite trust me. "You won't really break the rules, will you?"

"I'm sick to death of those stupid rules," I said. "Aren't you?

Georgie shrugged and picked up a stick. I watched him practice writing his name in the dirt. "I don't want to get in trouble," he said. "I don't want to be punished. Things could be worse, you know."

I sighed. It was hopeless to argue with Georgie. "But don't you miss friends and—"

Georgie pressed his warm hand over my mouth. "We promised not to talk about those things."

I pulled away from him. "But—"

"We promised, Diana!" Georgie got to his feet and covered his ears with his hands. If I said one more word, he'd run off again.

"All right," I said, "all right. Forget Lissa." Which of course I had no intention of doing.

Georgie grinned in relief. "Let's go down to the creek and catch minnows. It's cool and shady there."

I followed him across a field grown wild with milkweed and goldenrod. Purple-crowned thistles shot skyward. Bees droned around us, eager to get the last of the nectar before winter set in.

We saw a vixen and her kits playing in a hollow near their den. They watched us pass without running for cover. We meant them no harm and they knew it.

"You'd better be careful," Georgie called to the foxes. "A new caretaker has come. The last one set traps, remember?"

"And the one before that had a shotgun," I added.

The vixen pricked up her ears as if she intended to take heed of our warning. The kits tumbled about her feet, yelping and nipping at each other, too young to listen. What was danger? What were rules?They had no idea.

We passed a family of rabbits grazing on clover; a groundhog; a deer and her fawn. We told them what we'd told the foxes. It was silly, I supposed, but it made us feel better. We knew how to spring traps and ruin a hunter's aim, but we had no idea if we'd need our skills this time. We hadn't learned the ways of the new caretaker. But we'd find out, the way we always did—by watching and following ... and waiting.