The Ghost of Fossil Glen (6 page)

Later that night Allie lay on her back in bed, still and helpless, as someone's hands tightened menacingly around her neck. Slowly and with great strength, the hands closed tighter and tighter. Allie felt her lungs about to burst in her chest. Finally, in a frenzy, she managed to struggle free. She had a brief moment of relief before, gasping for air, she felt herself falling, falling, falling from a great height.

She fell for a long, long time, it seemed, and as she fell, a peculiar thing happened. At some point, it was no longer she who was plunging through the air, but someone else. Allie was standing above, watching another girl drop slowly from a high precipice. Black curly hair blew about in a tangled mass, then fell away to reveal the girl's face. Her eyes were wide and filled with fear—and something else, a terrible anger.

Allie was vaguely aware of a threatening presence somewhere near her, but she couldn't pull her eyes away from the awful, mesmerizing figure of the tumbling girl, who was about to hit the ground.

Allie's hands flew to cover her eyes and she awakened with a cry, her nightgown soaked in sweat, her heart pounding wildly. She tried to rise, but she was tangled in the covers and had to fight her way free. With a gasp, she threw the blanket to the floor and sat up on the edge of the bed. She shuddered as the cool breeze from the window hit her damp skin.

Struggling through the hazy layers of sleep, she realized that she'd been dreaming. She reached to touch her throat, and the nightmare came rushing back. She remembered the feeling of hands closing around her neck, the desperate struggle for breath, the sickening sensation of falling. Allie moaned. “What a horrible dream.” She rubbed her eyes. It had seemed so real. The girl herself had seemed real.

It was the same face that had appeared to her the day her journal arrived in the mailbox.

Who was she?

Allie got up and headed down the hall to the bathroom. She heard the murmur of her parents' voices as she passed their bedroom. On her way back to bed, she heard her own name and stopped to listen.

“—think she should see someone about it?” said her mother.

“What do you mean, someone?” said her father. “Like who?”

“Like a counselor.”

“A psychiatrist?”

“Or a psychologist.”

“Do you think it would help?”

“I don't know. I don't even know if it's really a problem. She's always had an active imagination. It's not something I want to discourage, exactly. It's just that I hate to see her lose friends over it.”

“So do I. And I worry sometimes that she doesn't know the difference between what's real and what isn't. This thing about the words appearing in her journal…”

“I know. It's peculiar, to say the least.”

There was silence for a minute. Allie waited expectantly.

Her father spoke again. “Let's give it a while. She's really such a levelheaded kid. And she seems okay except for this thing with Karen and Pam.”

“You know, sixth-grade girls can be cruel to one another for no good reason,” Mrs. Nichols said thoughtfully.

“Maybe that's what's going on,” said Mr. Nichols.

“She gets along fine with Dub.”

“And her teacher seems quite fond of her. Her grades are good.”

“You're right,” said Allie's mother. “I'm probably worrying too much, making a mountain out of a molehill.” There was a long silence, during which Allie anxiously held her breath. Finally, her mother said, “Let's keep a careful eye on her for a while, though, shall we?”

“Good idea.”

Quietly, Allie let out a sigh of relief. Her parents weren't going to make a federal case out of the situation—at least for the moment. She tiptoed back to bed, vowing not to give her parents any further reason to worry about her.

At school the next day, Mr. Henry handed back the students' journals. The room grew quiet as everyone studied Mr. Henry's comments. Eagerly, Allie read:

Allie smiled. Mr. Henry had liked her journal entry. He had praised her imagination! Of course, she thought, he doesn't know I'm writing about things that really happened. He thinks I'm making up a story. But he found it “intriguing.” Allie thought that was a good word to describe what was going on.

She raised her head as Mr. Henry began to speak again. “I noticed that some of you had a little trouble getting started,” he said. “I'm hoping that writing in your journals will come to be a pleasure, not a chore. I really meant it when I said you may write about anything you like. You're not writing to please me but to stretch your imaginations and to talk to yourselves about the things that are going on in your lives.

“Some of you wrote about private thoughts and problems, which is fine. Others of you wrote very unusual pieces.” He looked at Allie. “Allie, how would you feel about reading your entry out loud? You don't have to say yes. I was just thinking that your story would be a good example of an entry that was a little different.”

Allie hesitated. Mr. Henry's request had caught her by surprise. She felt torn between pride and embarrassment.

“Come on, Allie,” said Joey. “Let's hear it.”

“Yeah, Allie. Read,” other voices urged.

“You don't have to if you don't want to,” Mr. Henry repeated.

“It's okay,” said Allie. She looked around at her classmates. Most of them were regarding her with great interest. Dub was grinning encouragingly. She glanced toward Karen and was immediately sorry. Karen's arms were folded across her chest and she mouthed the words, “Teacher's pet.”

Allie looked away and, reluctantly, began to read. “‘I am L.' The words appeared, mysteriously, on the opening page of my journal. I sat down to write and there they were. But that is not the beginning of the story.”

Allie continued reading until she came to the end: “‘Who is L? I plan to find out.'”

There was a brief silence before the class broke into spontaneous applause. All except for Pam, who was looking at Karen, and Karen, who was staring off into space with a bored expression on her face.

“Cool story, Al,” said Brad.

Other voices echoed, “Yeah.”

“What's going to happen next?” asked Trisha.

“Who cares,” Allie heard Karen mutter.

“I don't know,” said Allie. Boy, was that the truth!

Mr. Henry was beaming at her. “Thanks, Allie. I enjoyed it even more the second time. After hearing that example of imaginative writing, I hope all of you will cut loose in your journals and express yourselves as freely as you like.

“But now please put your journals away and let's head down to the library,” Mr. Henry said. “I talked with Mrs. Foster about your interest in Fossil Glen and she had a terrific idea. She suggested that we alternate field-study trips to the glen with research trips to the library. She's all set to help you find answers to the questions we raised yesterday. So get your pencils and notebooks and let's go.”

As they walked through the hall to the library, Mr. Henry fell into step beside Allie. “I hope I didn't put you on the spot, Allie,” he said. “I really wanted the rest of the class to hear your work.”

Allie shook her head. “It's okay,” she said. “I didn't mind.” They walked a few steps in silence. Then Allie said, “Mr. Henry?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think anything like that could really happen?”

“Do you mean something like what happened in your story?” asked Mr. Henry.

“Yes.”

Mr. Henry looked into Allie's face for a moment before answering carefully. “I think this, Allie: The world is a very complex, interesting place. Sometimes things happen that we don't understand. It doesn't mean there isn't an explanation. We simply haven't found it yet.”

Allie thought about that. It made sense.

“Why do you ask?” said Mr. Henry. He wasn't making fun of her; he looked serious, as if he really wanted to know.

For a second she thought about confiding in Mr. Henry. Then she remembered her parents' conversation the evening before. If they talked to Mr. Henry…

No, she'd better keep quiet. For now. They were approaching the library door, anyway. “Oh, I don't know,” she answered. “I just wondered.”

“Well, keep wondering,” said Mr. Henry with a smile. “That's how we learn.”

They walked into the library. As usual, it was a busy place, filled with children choosing books, watching filmstrips, listening to cassettes, working on projects, and clicking away on the computers. Mrs. Foster, the librarian, was everywhere at once, it seemed, answering questions and offering advice on how to find things. There was a table piled high with materials she had gathered for Allie's class.

“Mr. Henry tells me you want to know
everything
,” she said with a smile. “So I've pulled out information on fossils, lake and stream ecology, and the Seneca Indians, for starters. There's a pile of newspapers, too, containing articles about the recent and not so recent history of the glen. Come to me if you have any questions, and I'll be happy to help you.”

After looking through the stacks of materials, the students scattered to tables to work. Mr. Henry had told them each to think of one question about Fossil Glen and try to find the answer. That afternoon, they would share what they had learned.

Allie headed straight for the information Mrs. Foster had gathered about fossils. She was about to reach for a book called
Secrets in Stone
, when she heard the voice inside her head.

“
Look at the newspapers
,” it said.

Allie froze.

“
The newspapers
,” repeated the voice.

Forcing herself to act natural, Allie walked toward the table that held a stack of old editions of the local paper,
The Seneca Times
. She riffled through the pile. A photograph of a young girl with dark curly hair caught her eye.

It was the girl from her nightmare, the girl whose face had appeared to her in the kitchen!

The headline blared in large black letters:
RESCUE WORKERS SEARCH FOSSIL GLEN FOR MISSING GIRL
. The paper was dated Thursday, May 19, 1994. Allie began to read.

Lucy Stiles! Allie's mind flew to the small, lonely grave she and Dub had found in the cemetery. With a mixture of curiosity and dread, she continued reading.

Allie refolded the paper and grabbed the next day's edition, marked Friday, May 20, 1994. The headline announced:
LUCY STILES STILL MISSING
. The article continued:

Allie was totally absorbed, reaching for one newspaper after another. The articles became smaller and smaller and less and less hopeful. After five days, the search was abandoned. There was no mention of Lucy Stiles for a week. Then Allie came to an article with the headline:
MISSING GIRL BELIEVED DEAD; FUNERAL SERVICES TO BE HELD
.

She read that local, county, and state officials had completed their investigation into the death of Lucy Stiles, ultimately declaring it “a tragic and fatal accident.”

Lucy's mother, Rebecca Stiles, reluctantly accepted the verdict that Lucy had not survived. Funeral services were to be held at the Presbyterian Church, followed by a burial in Fossil Glen Cemetery.

With amazement she read:

Allie looked up, feeling dazed. She caught Dub's eye and motioned for him to come over.

“Look at this,” she whispered.

Dub's eyes grew wider as they traveled down the columns of newsprint in one paper after another. When he finished, he let out a low whistle. “Wow. I don't remember hearing anything about this.”

“It was four years ago,” said Allie. “We were dumb little kids; we didn't know anything.”

“I can't believe she had Mr. Henry for a teacher!”

“Let's ask him about it,” said Allie. She raised her hand and Mr. Henry came over. Pointing to the newspaper article, she said, “Lucy Stiles was in your class?”

Mr. Henry nodded, and a shadow darkened his usually sunny face. “That was a terrible time,” he said. “Sometimes I still can't believe she's dead. Lucy was great; smart and imaginative.” He smiled at Allie. “You remind me of her, as a matter of fact.”

Allie blushed at the unexpected compliment.

He went on. “I had just begun teaching, so Lucy was one of my very first students. When they said she was dead, I—” He stopped for a moment, swallowed, and shook his head. “It was so sad and senseless, the way it happened. She knew that glen like the back of her hand. She wasn't a careless, reckless kid. That's why I kept hoping it was all a mistake. But after a while there was no point in pretending she was still alive.”

Allie and Dub were quiet as Mr. Henry stood by their table, a faraway look on his face. Then Allie asked, “Was she the only kid in the Stiles family?”

“Yes,” answered Mr. Henry. “And her father had died a few years before that, so Mrs. Stiles was left all alone.”

“Where did she go?” asked Allie.

“To California, I think,” said Mr. Henry. “She had family there. I imagine this town was full of painful memories for her.”

“Yeah,” agreed Allie and Dub solemnly.

“The house just sits there getting more rickety and creepy-looking,” Dub said. “I wonder why she never sold it.”

“It had been in her husband's family for generations,” Mr. Henry answered. “Maybe she couldn't part with it for that reason.”

Allie was struck by a sudden perplexing thought. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “The newspaper said Lucy was going to be buried in Fossil Glen Cemetery. Dub and I saw her grave. But if they never found her body…” Her voice trailed off in bewilderment. “Who's buried there?”

“It's—what would you call it?—a
symbolic
grave, I guess. Since there was no body, the family buried a box of mementos. The students in my class all wrote letters saying their goodbyes to Lucy. Other people added things, too,” said Mr. Henry.

Allie and Dub thought about that for a moment. Mr. Henry glanced around the library and saw that Joey's hand was raised, indicating that he needed help with his research. “Well, you two,” he said with a sigh, “I guess you've learned a bitter truth: Fossil Glen is beautiful and interesting and peaceful at times. But it can be plenty dangerous, too.”

Dub and Allie looked at each other as Mr. Henry walked away.

“Poor Mr. Henry,” said Allie. “It must have been awful for him.”

Dub nodded. “Think about Mrs. Stiles,” he added.

“What about
Lucy
?” Allie said. “No wonder her spirit can't rest.”

“Do you mean what I think you mean?” asked Dub, his eyebrows lifting with excitement.

“Yes!” said Allie. For she was sure now. “‘L' is Lucy. She's the ghost. I saw her falling in a dream last night, just the way it says in the newspaper! Dub, she looks exactly like that picture!”

“Wow!” said Dub. “So what does she want from you?”

“I don't know,” said Allie. “But I hope I'll find out soon.”