The Most Frightening Story Ever Told (25 page)

“A coma?” said Altaira.

“Yes. That's a profound state of unconsciousness, miss,” the doctor told Altaira. “Or what's also sometimes called a persistent vegetative state. It just means that the person's brain died a long time before their body.”

“I know what a coma is, thank you,” said Altaira.

“Then you'll also know that people can remain in a coma for a very long time before they die. That's what made Billy—I mean William—so famous. Until he died, just about a month ago, William Shivers had remained in a coma for almost forty years. That's what made him infamous. Forty years is the longest coma in American medical history.”

“Crumbs,” said Elizabeth.

“And the house?” asked Mr. Rapscallion. “320 Sycamore?”

“After his family died, it belonged to William. But of course no one could buy it, because he couldn't sell it. Not until he himself died.”

“I see,” said Mr. Rapscallion.

“Do you mind telling me what this is about?” asked Dr. Price.

“If I told you,” said Mr. Rapscallion, “you'd never believe me.” He sighed. “Can I ask you one more thing? Where is Billy buried?”

“He was cremated,” said Dr. Price. “And his ashes were spread on the lake out there. It's what usually happens when the deceased person has no relations to decide these things for us.”

“Thank you.” Mr. Rapscallion's voice was now little more than a whisper.

Altaira had already started to cry.

“Don't cry,” he told his daughter.

“Why not?” she said. “I mean, it's not every day you fall in love with a boy who's been dead for a whole month.”

They went back to the Haunted House of Books.

But on the way, they stopped in at L. B. Jefferies Photographic on Hitchcock High Street to collect the films Mr. Rapscallion and Mercedes had left there for processing.

They took the prints into the Reading Room to take a look at them.

But none of the pictures taken of Billy by either of them in Kansas City or Hitchcock had come out properly. Sometimes there was a sort of blurred figure that was almost there, but mostly there was nothing at all.

Elizabeth selected one of the pictures. “Is that a picture of a ghost, do you think?” she asked.

“It is, as far as I'm concerned,” said Mercedes. “As far as I'm concerned, this picture seems to put the matter beyond dispute. Billy was a ghost.” She laughed. “There was me thinking they didn't exist. And all the time I was hanging out with one.”

“Me too,” admitted Mr. Rapscallion. “I thought I would never see a ghost. And it seems I've been seeing one for four whole weeks.”

“Looks like this shop was haunted after all,” said Mercedes.

“I used to think this shop was the scariest thing,” said Altaira. “But I guess it doesn't look so scary now. Not in view of what's happened. Last night I walked a ghost home. I had coffee with his dead family and then he and I sat out on the porch and watched the moon. If Billy was a ghost, and I think he must have been, he was the nicest ghost anyone could hope to meet.”

She smiled bitterly. “How do you like that for luck? The first boy I fall for and he turns out to be a ghost.”

“Him being a ghost would certainly explain his old clothes,” said Elizabeth. “And his father's. Those are the clothes people were wearing forty years ago. And it probably also explains why they looked so thin and pale in themselves. They were dead, after all.”

“But it doesn't explain everything,” said Mr. Rapscallion. “It doesn't explain why Billy told me that he was so afraid of ghosts. How can you be afraid of ghosts if you are a ghost? And it certainly doesn't explain why those four horrible children, Wilson, Hugh, Lenore and Vito, were so scared of a story that wasn't scary. I don't suppose we'll ever have the answers to all those questions.”

“I'm not so sure,” said Mercedes. “Look.” And she pointed up at the stuffed raven that was sitting on the bust of Pallas just above the chamber door. “Is it my imagination, or is there a piece of paper in the message capsule attached to its leg?”

“Good grief, you're right,” said Mr. Rapscallion. He leaped up from his chair and, fetching a stool to stand on, reached up, removed a small piece of paper from the raven's leg and read out loud what was written there: “
The Modern Pandora,
page sixty-six.”

“The book!” yelled Elizabeth. “The scary story.”

She ran to the shelf where Mr. Rapscallion had placed it carefully after the reading and, ignoring the loud creak as it opened, hurriedly turned to page sixty-six. A sheet of very thin, almost transparent paper floated to the floor like some ethereal thing.

They all looked at it for a moment, hardly daring to pick it up, afraid of what it might say.

“I'm scared to touch it,” admitted Elizabeth.

“Me too,” admitted Mercedes.

“And me,” admitted Mr. Rapscallion.

Altaira bent down and retrieved it from the Reading Room floor. And this is what it said:

Dear Mr. Rapscallion,

Thanks very much for the last few weeks in the shop. I've had a terrific time haunting the place, and you and Mercedes and Elizabeth and the lovely Altaira/Redford have all been very kind to me. As you have probably gathered by now, I'm a real ghost. Yes, we do exist! I decided to hang around after my recent death because the fact is that I was just a little bit scared about moving on into the next world, so to speak.

I think it had something to do with being in a coma for forty years. I'm not sure. After forty years of being neither one thing nor the other, it's easy to get a bit confused. My dad did his best to talk me around to the idea of the afterlife, or whatever you want to call it, but, for a long time, there was something about the idea of being dead and moving on that I didn't like. I suppose I was scared of ghosts because I was a ghost, if that doesn't sound too pathetic. And that was partly why I hung around the shop. I suppose I thought that if I read enough stories about ghosts, then I might not be afraid of being one.

Anyway, I've gotten over all that now. In fact, I got over it just last night when I went down to the so-called Haunted Cellar. You see, there was this tunnel down there, and there was a light at the end of it. Not just any light, you understand, but a really fantastic light that made me feel wonderful. Better than I've felt in a long while. And there was something pulling me toward the light, too. It was about then that I noticed my body wasn't there anymore and that felt just fine. Also there were all these amazing colors, and flowers and stars and galaxies, and yes, it sounds a bit corny, but I sort of knew that I was at one with the universe. My dad was there, too, to help guide me over to the other side. And I wasn't in the least bit afraid. He was a bit reluctant to let me go back again, but I simply had to return for just a few minutes to say goodbye to you in person last night, to write this note and to say goodbye to Altaira of course. Tell her I'm sorry I have to leave her like this just as we were becoming good friends. I'll never forget her. You can also tell her that now that she's met a real ghost, there's no need to be afraid of anything and certainly not some stupid ghost story about a pocket handkerchief.

My dad got the idea of how to bring me through to the other side when I told him about the contest. And from talking to you, Mr. Rapscallion. I expect you've guessed by now, but, of course, it was Dad who assisted you with the reading of the scary story last night. He did all that creepy ghost stuff. He was very grateful to you for helping me out and decided to do the same for you. And to help those other kids, too. He only scared them a bit, just enough to make them behave themselves a bit better from now on. Which I'm sure they will.

Perhaps we'll see each other again one day—in this world, or the next—I don't know. I'm not sure how this ghost thing works yet. My only regret is the way you all had to find out that I'm dead. Sorry about that. I know it must have been a bit of a shock for you all. Especially Altaira.

Well, that's all for now. I'd best be going. My dad will be thinking that something dreadful has happened to me. Not that anything dreadful could really happen to me. Not anymore. But you know what I mean. You can't stop a father from worrying about his son, I guess. Especially when that father loves me as much as mine does. Remember me, if you will, but always try to remember this: that Love is always stronger than Life and Death.

Take care.

Your affectionate friend,

Billy Shivers

p.s. Tell Elizabeth I really enjoyed the story. And Dad says the kids were a lot more scared by it than you'll ever know. They were just pretending they weren't. The way kids do, right? Scaring kids—for that matter, scaring anyone!—is a lot easier than you might think, Mr. Rapscallion. Take it from one who knows.

Everyone was silent for several minutes.

After a while Altaira said, “That was the nicest boy I think I never met.” She smiled tearfully. “If you know what I mean.”

“Absolutely,” said Mercedes.

Altaira looked around the air in the room as if Billy might still be there, unseen. “I'll never forget you, Billy,” she whispered. “Not ever.”

Mr. Rapscallion took off his glasses and wiped a tear from his own eye. “Odd that it should have taken someone who was dead to show me the true meaning of life,” he said.

“Gosh, and me,” admitted Elizabeth.

“All of which means just this.” Mr. Rapscallion took hold of Elizabeth's hand and kissed it. “It means I'm going to write a love song, on the piano. And then I'm going to sing it to you, dear Elizabeth. And if you like it, then perhaps you might do me the inestimable honor of consenting to be my wife.”

“Yikes!” exclaimed a blushing Elizabeth. “This is all a bit sudden. A bit scary. I really don't know what to say.”

“I do,” said Altaira.