The Secret Bedroom (14 page)

“No!” Lea shrieked and started to run. But the door slammed shut. Spinning around to face Catherine, she screamed at her, “What do you want?”

“What do I want?” Catherine tossed her head back and laughed, scornful, bitter laughter. “I want to be alive again.”

“But, Catherine—”

“I want to touch things from inside a real body, Lea. I want to walk around, feel the ground, smell the air.”

“But I can't do that for you!” Lea wailed.

“Of course you can,” Catherine said, staring at Lea needily, hungrily. “You have to let me in now.”

“What?” Lea didn't really believe what she was hearing.

“You have to let me in now,” Catherine repeated, hovering over Lea. “I helped you this afternoon. Now you owe me.”

“But, Catherine—”

Lea glanced over her shoulder at the door. It was shut tight. Catherine had done that. Maybe she had locked it too.

There was no point in trying to run.

But what
could
she do?

“You have to let me in,” Catherine said softly, her voice pure menace, pure cold menace. “I'm coming in
to stay!”

“No!” Lea pleaded. “Catherine—please!”

But Catherine had disappeared.

And then, Lea could feel the pressure on the top of her head, and she knew that Catherine was slipping inside her.

T
he first time Catherine had inhabited her, Lea hadn't known what was going on. She had felt the weight sinking through her body, had felt the new presence, and then had felt light again, light and out of control of her own body. But the experience had been so new, so terrifying, so completely bewildering that Lea could only stand passively and let it happen.

But now, as she felt her head grow heavy, felt the pressure begin to run down her back, she knew it was Catherine's invasion.

And she tried her best to resist.

“Get out! Get out! Out! Out!” she screamed.

And she concentrated with all her might, concentrated on keeping Catherine out, on keeping control of her own body.

“Out, out—get
out!”
she cried, her eyes shut tight.

Concentrate. Concentrate.

To Lea's surprise, it began to work.

She could feel the weight lifting, feel the pressure lighten.

Her head cleared. She kept her eyes closed, concentrating even harder, more resolutely.

“Let me in, Lea,” Catherine, invisible, whispered from close by. “You owe me, Lea. Let me in.”

“No!” Lea screamed and, opening her eyes, turned and ran to the door.

“Let me in, Lea. You can't resist me. I'm coming in.”

But Lea turned the knob and pushed.

To her surprise, it opened easily.

She darted out into the attic, slammed the door, and turned the key in the lock.

I did it, she thought. I kept Catherine out. I forced her out.

Lea slid down the ladder to the second floor before she realized she was trembling all over, trembling so hard her teeth were chattering.

Calm down, calm down, calm down.

But she couldn't stop trembling.

“Mom!” she screamed, running frantically down the stairs. “Mom! Dad! Please! Help me!”

They came running out of the den, both of them with open mouths, their faces filled with fear and concern.

“You've got to help me!” Lea screamed, unable to stop the trembling.

Her mother ran across the dining room and wrapped Lea in her arms. “Lea—what?”

“It's a ghost,” Lea murmured, pressing her face into the shoulder of her mother's soft sweater. “A ghost.”

“Bring her into the den,” Mr. Carson instructed his wife. “Lea, come lie down on the couch.”

“No!” Lea pulled away from her mother. “I don't want to lie down! I
can't!
There's a ghost in the house. She murdered Marci, and I'm the one who let her out!”

“Lea—” her mother pleaded, her features pinched with worry.

“Lea, you're very upset,” her father said softly. “You've been through a terrible ordeal. Now, just come into the den and—”

“No—I won't lie down!” Lea insisted, knowing she was out of control but unable to do anything about it.

“Then at least come sit down and talk to us,” her father said patiently.

Lea sighed. “Okay.” She followed them into the den and sat down on the edge of the brown leather couch.

Her father clicked off the TV. Her mother stood in the doorway, supporting herself with a hand on each side of the door frame.

“What's the matter?” Mr. Carson asked, sitting down beside Lea on the couch.

“There's a ghost upstairs,” Lea began, trying to sound calm, trying to force her voice to remain normal. “A girl. In the attic. In the room behind the door.”

“The locked-up room?” her mother asked, glancing at her husband.

“It isn't locked anymore,” Lea confessed, looking down at the shaggy white throw rug at her feet. “I pulled off the boards, and I unlocked it.”

“You did? When?” her father asked, sitting very close.

“Several nights ago. I thought I heard someone inside. So I pulled off the boards. I unlocked the room and found a ghost inside. A girl who was murdered in this house. A hundred years ago. And I let her out, and she deliberately pushed Marci over the railing. And now she—she wants—”

Lea's voice cracked. She stared at the rug. She couldn't continue.

“You've been through a terrible ordeal today,” her father repeated. “I don't blame you for being upset. But we have to try to keep a sense of reality here.”

“You don't believe me?” Lea cried, jumping to her feet.

Her parents were exchanging worried glances, signaling to each other.

“Lea, you're shaking all over,” her mother said. “I'm going to find a doctor.”

“No!” Lea cried. “I mean, I don't need a doctor. I'm not sick!”

“But, dear,” Mrs. Carson said, “you're not making any sense.”

“I'm sure you just need to rest, Lea,” her father said, motioning for her to return to the couch. “I'm sure you just need some time to get over what you saw. It was an accident, after all.”

“But that's what I'm trying to tell you!” Lea shrieked, pulling at the sides of her hair in frustration. “It wasn't an accident! Catherine murdered Marci!”

“Catherine?” her father asked, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“The ghost!” Lea screamed. “The ghost in the room in the attic.”

“Lea, sit down,” her father said firmly, standing up and pointing to the couch. “I really don't want to hear any more talk about a ghost.”

“Let me try to find a doctor,” Mrs. Carson said, biting her thumb the way she always did when she was nervous. She started to leave the den.

“Okay. I'll prove it to you,” Lea said, still trembling. “I'll prove it to you.” She grabbed her father's hand and pulled. “Come on. Both of you.”

“You're taking us up to the attic?” her mother asked, following hesitantly.

“I'm going to show you the secret bedroom,” Lea said. “I'm going to prove to you that I'm not crazy. That there's a ghost up there.”

They climbed the stairs, passed Lea's room, and stopped at the foot of the metal ladder, all three of them lifting their eyes to the trapdoor in the ceiling.

“And if there is no ghost up there, will you let me call a doctor?” Mrs. Carson asked tentatively.

“There is a ghost,” Lea insisted.

She climbed up the ladder as she had done so many times in the past two weeks, pushed away the wooden door, and lifted herself into the darkness of the attic.

Her parents followed. Mrs. Carson first and then her husband. “Ugh. It's so cold up here,” Mrs. Carson complained.

It took Lea a few seconds to find the light switch on the wall. She pushed it and yellow light flooded the long, narrow room.

Breathing hard, Lea led the way to the hidden room.

And then stopped short with a loud, disbelieving gasp.

The door was closed and locked.

The boards were all in place, blockading the doorway, nailed sturdily over the door.

Nothing had been touched. It all looked the same as it had the day they moved in.

D
r. Harrison clicked his bag shut. He straightened Lea's blanket, then smiled down at her through his wire-rimmed bifocals. “You'll be okay,” he said, his face expressionless, businesslike. “You've got quite a fever. But we'll bring it down. Stay in bed a few days, okay? At least till the fever is gone.”

Feeling drowsy from the high temperature, Lea thanked the doctor. She turned her face into her pillow.

They don't believe me about Catherine, she told herself bitterly. They think the fever was giving me hallucinations.

Across the room rain drummed against the twin windows. A strong wind drove waves of water against the glass, making the old window frames rattle.

Lea could hear Dr. Harrison out in the hall, talking in hushed tones to her parents. She raised her head
from the pillow and tried to make out what he was saying. But he was talking too quietly.

A few seconds later she heard the three of them go down the stairs. She heard the front door close as the doctor left.

They think I imagined it all, Lea thought.

Maybe I did….

She looked up to see both of her parents enter the room, walking softly, almost tiptoeing. “Still awake?” her father whispered.

“I feel very sleepy,” Lea said, yawning.

“Dr. Harrison says the fever has broken,” her mother said, biting her thumb nervously as she leaned over Lea, studying her as if seeing her for the first time.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Lea said, wondering why her voice was so hoarse.

“You just need to stay in bed for a few days. You know. Rest up,” her father said.

“I feel like I could sleep for a week,” Lea replied.

Her mother leaned down and kissed her forehead. She smelled of oranges. Lea smiled and closed her eyes.

A strong burst of rain against the windows made her open them again. Her parents had gone downstairs. She picked up Georgie from the foot of the bed and held him close. “They think I'm crazy, Georgie,” she told the stuffed tiger.

As if in reply, Georgie's eyes began to glow bright red.

“No!” Lea whispered, and tossed the tiger to the floor.

When she looked up, Catherine was standing beside the bed, bathed in the same harsh red light that had come from Georgie.

“Catherine—what are you doing here?” Lea asked, feeling very groggy. “How did you get down here?”

“This is my room,” Catherine replied, smiling down at Lea.

The red glow faded. All the color in the room seemed to fade until there were just two circles of red light, glowing red light coming from Catherine's eyes.

“Your room? What do you mean?” Lea pulled herself up to a sitting position, leaning her head against the hardwood headboard.

“This is my room,” Catherine repeated, still smiling. “I've been in this room all along.”

“But the room upstairs. The secret bedroom—” Lea started.

“This
is the secret bedroom,” Catherine told her, sitting down on the edge of the bed, her eyes still glowing. “This is my bedroom. You were never in the room upstairs, Lea.”

“Never?” Lea's head spun. She closed her eyes.

I really
am
crazy, she thought.

Rain pounded against the window. Lea felt a wisp of cold air on her face, a draft from the window. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and gripped it tightly, as if it could protect her from Catherine, from what Catherine was telling her.

“You were never in the hidden room,” Catherine explained in her soft, little-girl voice. “You were never in the room upstairs—because
I
was never in the room upstairs. I never left
this
room.”

“I don't understand,” Lea said, opening her eyes, staring back at the pale, ghostly girl.