Wait Till Helen Comes (7 page)

Just as I was hovering on the edge of a nice dream about our old neighborhood, I heard Heather's bed creak and the unmistakable sound of a bare foot on the floor. Without opening my eyes, I sensed her standing by me, watching me. Then she went to the window and shoved the screen up.

I lay still, afraid that she would hear the sound of my heart beating in the silence. But after a few seconds, she climbed quietly out the window and dropped to the ground below.

I waited a couple of minutes, then got up and peered out the window. In the moonlight, I saw her making her way across the lawn toward the graveyard. At the far end, through the hedge, a bluish glow illuminated the leaves of the oak tree. As I watched, Heather disappeared through the gate.

Shivering with fear, I climbed out the window and ran through the grass, already cold and wet with dew. Keeping in the shadow of the hedge, I crept past the gate, staying outside the graveyard, until I reached the black shade of the oak tree. Dropping to my knees, I peered through the hedge at Helen's grave.

Dimly lit by the blue glow I'd seen from the house, Heather held out a jar of wild flowers as if she were making an offering. The silver locket gleamed on her chest, and her eyes glittered.

"Helen," she whispered, "Helen. Are you here?"

Too frightened to breathe, I saw the glimmer of blue light shape itself into the figure of a girl no bigger than Heather. She wore a white dress, and her hair, as dark as Heather's, tumbled in waves down her back. Her features were indistinct, her eyes in shadow, but I knew who she was.

"I'm here," the girl said. Her voice was low and cold.

Heather smiled. "How beautiful you are," she whispered as Helen took the flowers and bent her face to smell their fragrance.

They regarded each other silently for a few moments. Then Heather spoke once more. "They have been cruel to me again," she said. "I've told them you're coming, but I don't think they believe me. Do something soon, Helen. Make them sorry." Heather leaned toward the dim figure, imploring her.

"Soon." Helen's voice was like the winter wind blowing through a field of weeds, dry and cruel. "Very soon."

"And then we'll be together all the time? You'll never leave me? You'll always love me?" Heather gazed at Helen, desperation in her voice and gestures.

"For all eternity," Helen sighed. "You and I, Heather. We'll never be alone again. I promise you." One pale hand, almost transparent, glimmered near the locket, making it shine with borrowed radiance.

"How about Daddy? He'll be with us, won't he?" Heather took a tiny step backward, away from the hand touching the locket.

Helen didn't answer. Her image wavered like a reflection on the water when a breeze ruffles the surface. Then she was gone, and the graveyard seemed to plunge into darkness. Heather cried out, reaching toward the air where Helen's shape had vanished.

"Helen, Helen, don't leave me!" she cried and fell to her knees, knocking over the jar of wild flowers in front of the tombstone. As she began to gather them up, sobbing for Helen to return, I backed away from the hedge toward the safety of the house.

Running across the grass in the moonlight, I was afraid to look back for fear of seeing Helen in pursuit. As soon as I reached the window, I scrambled through, heedless of the noise I was making, and flung myself into bed.

I don't know how long I lay there, shivering with fright, waiting for Heather to come back. When I heard her at the window, I shut my eyes tight, praying that she was alone.

"Just wait, Molly," Heather whispered in my ear in a voice almost as chilling as Helen's. "Just wait till Helen comes. You'll be sorry then for all the things you've done to me."

10

IF I SLEPT any more that night, I don't remember it. As soon as the gray light of dawn glimmered at the window, I slipped out of bed and tiptoed down the hall to Michael's room.

"Go away," he mumbled when I shook his shoulder. "It's too early to get up."

"It's important, Michael!"

"Nothing's that important." He tried to pull the blankets over his head. "It's not even five-thirty, Molly. Are you crazy?"

"Michael, please get up. Please. I saw Helen, I
saw
her!" My voice quivered and my heart beat faster as I remembered what I'd seen in the graveyard. "She was horrible, more horrible even than I imagined."

Michael squinted at me. "Are you having a nightmare or something?"

"Will you listen to me, Michael?" I grabbed his shoulders and shook him again. "Heather climbed out the window last night, and I followed her to the graveyard. Helen was there—I saw her. And I heard her. She didn't have eyes, Michael, just dark holes, and her skin was bluish white like a dead person's. She said she was coming, she'd do what Heather wants; then she vanished." I clung to him, afraid that at any moment Helen would appear, seeking some sort of horrible vengeance. "What are we going to do?"

Michael stared at me. He was wide awake, but I could tell that he didn't believe me. "Come on, Molly," he said, pulling away from me to sit up. "You must have had a nightmare. Maybe because of that picture Mrs. Williams showed us. And then the fight with Dave, and Heather making that big scene. Nobody went to the graveyard last night. Not Heather, not you. You dreamed it." He spoke slowly and calmly as if he were trying to convince himself as well as me.

I looked away, fiddling with my hair, wishing it had been a dream. I shook my head. "No, Michael, I didn't dream it."

"You say Heather climbed out the window. How did she get back in?" He groped for his glasses and settled them on his nose.

"The same way." I stood up as he got out of bed and pulled a sweatshirt on over his pajamas.

"I'll prove you dreamed it," he said confidently. "Come on."

Grabbing his bathrobe, I followed him down the hall and out the kitchen door. The morning mist swirled across the lawn like dry-ice fog in a Dracula movie, hiding the hedge as well as the graveyard. Somewhere a crow cawed, and I shivered as I felt the wet grass under my bare feet. "Where are we going?" I whispered, fearing he meant to lead me to Helen's grave.

Shushing me, Michael went toward my bedroom window. "She could have climbed out," he said, "but she's too short to get back in that way."

"How about this?" I pointed to an old wooden box lying on its side under the window. "She probably stood on it, and it fell over when she got inside."

Michael righted the box under the window. "I guess she
could
have," he said doubtfully.

"You're spying on me again!"

My scalp prickled at the sound of Heather's voice. She was standing inside, her face pressed against the window screen.

"You better leave me alone!" Heather's voice rose shrilly. "I know what you want to do—you want to make Helen go away, but she won't, not unless I tell her to. And I never will!"

I looked at Michael, but he was scowling at Heather. "You can't scare
me,
" he said scornfully.

"She's going to get you!" Heather's voice dropped to a hiss. "Just wait and see. It won't be long now."

"Heather?" Dave came into the room. "What's going on? Where's Molly?"

"Out there," Heather said. "Spying on me." Her voice quavered. "Her and Michael. They won't leave me alone." She was crying now, and I could hear Dave trying to comfort her.

Climbing up on the box, Michael peered into the room. "She's lying!"

Dave came to the window. "How long is this going to go on? Can't you see what you're doing to her? What kind of a little monster are you anyway?"

Michael glared at him. "Why don't you open your eyes and see what she's really like?" he yelled.

"Michael!" Mom took Dave's place at the window. "You and Molly get in here this minute!"

"We didn't do anything to her," Michael said without moving from the box.

"I said, come inside!" Mom frowned at us. "What are you doing out there in your pajamas at six o'clock in the morning? Wasn't last night enough? Do we have to start out today with the same business?"

Hearing the desperation in her voice, I plucked at Michael's sleeve. "Do what she says," I mumbled.

Shaking his head at the unfairness of it all, Michael jumped down from the box and the two of us walked slowly around the house to the back door. My pajamas were wet with dew from the knees down, and my feet were numb with cold. "Do you believe me now?" I asked Michael as we hesitated on the porch, afraid to go inside and face everybody's anger.

"Not about the ghost," Michael said without looking at me. "But I think she did go outside last night."

"And I followed her and I saw Helen." I tried to make him meet my eyes, but he edged away from me and opened the screen door.

"You imagined that part," he insisted. "You heard Heather giving her spiel, pretending to talk to Helen, and you thought you actually saw her. You didn't see Helen, though, Molly. You didn't! She doesn't exist!"

He walked ahead of me down the hall and went into his room, closing the door behind him. Taking the hint, I went reluctantly to my room. Dave and Heather were gone, but Mom was sitting on my bed waiting for me.

"Get dressed," she said, as if the very effort of speaking exhausted her. "You'll catch your death in those wet pajamas." She stood up wearily. "I want to talk to you and Michael later. I'll be in the kitchen."

What Mom had to say wasn't very different from what she'd said the night before. "I thought you were going to cooperate," she said finally. "I hoped you were going to try to be nicer, but what do I wake up to? Heather crying because you and Michael are spying on her. Dave upset and angry. And you two outside in your pajamas. I just don't see how you could do it, not after the talk we had before you went to bed!"

"You don't understand, Mom!" I threw myself at her, trying to climb into her lap. "There's something awful here, and it's making everything worse. It's not Michael and me. It's not even just Heather. It's something out there—" I gestured out the door toward the graveyard. "Under the oak tree, a grave."

"What are you talking about?" Mom grasped my shoulders and held me away from her, staring into my eyes.

"It's Helen," I screamed. "It's Helen!" Then I began crying too hard to talk.

"She thinks Heather has called up a ghost or something," I heard Michael tell Mom, using his mature, scientific voice. "Heather talks about a girl named Helen all the time, but Helen's just something she's dreamed up. You know, to scare us with—not me, actually. Just Molly."

"Oh, Molly, Molly." Mom rocked me, trying to make me stop crying. "Not that ghost business again. If I'd known having a graveyard on our property was going to upset you so much, I'd never have moved us out here."

"It's not my imagination," I gulped. "I saw Helen."

Mom sighed. "Dave says you have a terrible fear of death," she said, "and it's manifesting itself in your belief in ghosts."

"Why don't you ask Heather about it?" I pulled away from Mom, angry that she would turn to Dave for an explanation of my behavior and then actually believe him.

"Ask me what?" Heather and Dave appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"Tell them about Helen." I jumped off Mom's lap and confronted Heather angrily.

Shrinking back against Dave, the little girl looked up at me, her eyes wide and clear. "Who?"

"Helen, your great friend. Tell them what she's going to do when she comes!" I glared at her, furious. "Tell them how you meet her in the graveyard and in the ruins of the Harper House!"

"Daddy, Daddy, what's she talking about?" Heather turned away from me and pressed her face against Dave's side, her arms encircling his waist. "Make her leave me alone. She's scaring me!"

"That's enough, Molly." Dave gave Heather a hug. "It's all right, honey." He and Mom looked at each other as if they were unsure what to make of me. "Are you ready to leave, Jean?" he asked.

"Leave?" I turned to Mom. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, we thought we'd take Heather with us when we go shopping. Dave needs to go to the clay supplier, and I'm low on some of my paints." Mom toyed with her coffee cup as if she were ashamed to meet Michael's and my stare. "We'll be back sometime this afternoon."

"But what about us?" I asked. "Why can't we go?"

"We thought it would be better to separate you two and Heather," Dave said. "You're old enough to take care of yourselves."

As I started to protest, Michael interrupted. "That sounds like a good idea. Come on, Molly." He picked up his empty cereal bowl and glass and carried them to the sink. "Have a nice time," he said to Mom. "With her."

He left the room without looking at anybody, obviously expecting me to follow him. I hesitated for a moment, thinking Mom might change her mind and stay home with us, but she stood up and slung her purse over her shoulder.

"You and Michael behave yourselves," she said. "We should be home around three." Giving me a quick hug and kiss, she whispered, "And please, Molly, no more talk about ghosts." She looked at me as if she were worried about my sanity. "I know you're a very imaginative girl, but don't get carried away."

I stood in the doorway watching them get into the van. As Dave pulled away, Heather peered out of the back window. When she saw me, she stuck out her tongue.

"Molly?" Michael came up behind me, carrying his collecting gear. "Want to go down to the swamp with me?"

Normally I would have said no, but I didn't want to stay in the house by myself. Not today. Not with Helen so close. So I helped him pack lunches, and we set off for the swamp, following the creek away from Harper House.

Although I couldn't help worrying about snakes, Michael assured me we were safe, and slowly I began to relax and enjoy myself. I actually helped him catch a couple of salamanders. He had brought along a plastic bowl which he lined with moss. Adding a little water and a rock, he put the salamanders into their new home and fed them a few insects.

"Are you hungry?" he asked me.

"Sure." We sat down on a fallen tree and ate our sandwiches. A bullfrog boomed every now and then from somewhere in the swamp, and I watched a snapping turtle hoist himself out of the water to bask in the sunlight. Overhead a bluejay screamed and a crow answered.

"Do you really think I imagined seeing Helen?" I asked Michael, unable even here to forget what had happened in the graveyard.

"You must have." Michael took a big bite of his sandwich and chewed it noisily.

"Then why do you think she seemed so real?" I watched the turtle flop back into the water. "She was just as real as you are."

"Maybe—and, believe me, I hate to say it—Dave is right about your being scared of dying."

"But aren't you scared? Isn't
everybody?
"

Michael poked a stick into the water and watched the long-legged skater bugs skitter away from it. "It's like nuclear war, Molly. If I think about it, I get really scared, so I don't let myself. There's no sense in worrying about things you can't change."

I envied the way my little brother could dismiss scary thoughts. "What do you think happens when people die, though? Do you think part of you lives forever?" I watched him stir the water with his stick, frowning down at our reflections. "Or do you think it's just like going to sleep and never waking up?" I persisted.

"I don't know." Michael turned to me. "I told you I don't like to think about things like that."

"Then you are scared. Just like me."

"Maybe. But I don't go around claiming I saw a ghost."

"No." I gazed out across the water. "But suppose you did see one, Michael. If Helen is real, it means something. Think what it would be like to be alone for all eternity." I shivered and drew my knees up to my chest. Hugging them, I realized how unhappy Helen must be. How afraid. How alone.

"If she's alone," I mused more to myself than to Michael, "she must want a friend, someone to keep her company. Those children, the ones Mr. Simmons told us about, suppose Helen lured them into the pond so they'd stay with her forever?"

Michael took off his glasses and rubbed them on his tee shirt. "You're really getting morbid, Molly."

"Suppose Helen wants Heather to be with her too?" I remembered the struggle she had put up when we dragged her away from the pond. "Heather could be the one who's in danger, Michael, not us."

Michael sighed in exasperation. "If I hear much more about Helen, I'm going to get as crazy as you and Heather are!" Rising to his feet, he picked up the bowl of salamanders. "You're really a lot of fun," he added when I started to cry. I just couldn't help it.

"Where are you going?" I called as he walked off into the woods.

"Back to the church," he said without looking at me.