The Old Willis Place (5 page)

Again she called the dog, louder this time, her voice shrill and shaky with fear, her eyes fixed on me.

MacDuff heard Lissa this time. He started to run to her, but when he saw me, he swerved across the field in my direction, barking fiercely. In desperation, I turned and fled into the woods, stumbling over roots and stones, crying as I hadn't cried for years.

Chapter 5

Behind me, I heard Lissa call the dog back. I leaned against a tree, breathing hard. Before I'd caught my breath, Georgie crashed out of the bushes, his face fierce.

"She saw you," he screamed. "You let her see you!"

"Oh, Georgie," I began, but he flung himself at me, pum-meling me with his fists. I'd never seen my brother so angry.

"You stepped right out in plain sight," he shouted. "You did it on purpose!"

I shoved him away, grabbed his shoulders, held him at arm's length. "I'm sorry," I cried. "I'm sorry."

He struggled to escape, twisting and flailing like Nero when he didn't want to be held. "Why did you do it, Diana? Why did you break the rules?"

"I told you." I started to cry again. "I wanted to be Lissa's friend, but she was afraid of me. She sicced the dog on me. Why was she scared? What's wrong with me, Georgie?"

"How should I know?" With one huge effort, he broke free of me and ran into the woods.

"Wait!" I called. "I'm sorry, Georgie. Don't be mad."

By the time I caught up with him, Georgie had gotten over the worst of his anger. He got mad quickly and easily, but at least he didn't stay mad long.

"Lissa doesn't know who I am," I told him. "She doesn't know where I live. She's never even seen you. What harm can she do?"

Georgie thought for a while, his forehead creased with concentration. At last he said, "If you stay away from her, maybe she'll think she imagined you. That's what her father will tell her."

I pictured Lissa running home, screaming about something she'd seen in the woods. How would she describe me? I couldn't imagine. But Georgie was right—whatever nonsense she spouted, her father most likely wouldn't believe her. He'd say it was kids playing tricks on her. Maybe he'd tell her to stay away from the old house. Maybe he'd remind her of what the policeman had said about the woods.

Georgie picked up a stick and began drawing little figures in the dirt. "If we stay away from the trailer, maybe nothing bad will happen. Lissa doesn't want to be your friend. Promise not to let her see you again." He dropped the stick and grabbed my wrists so tight it hurt. "Promise"

I mumbled something. At that moment, I had no desire to go near Lissa or the trailer. She'd been scared of me, repulsed. She'd called me a thief, sicced her dog on me. I didn't want to be her friend anymore.

***

That night, long after Georgie settled down to sleep, I lay beside him, thinking about Lissa. I saw her face again, heard her call the dog to run me off as if I were disgusting, maybe even dangerous. A trespasser. A thief.

What had she seen when she looked at me? What had frightened her? If only I could talk to her—surely I could convince her she was wrong to fear me. But doing that would mean breaking my promise to Georgie. Hadn't I just told him I'd stay away from the trailer?

I looked down at my brother. In the dim light, I saw fear flit across his face as if he were dreaming about the bad thing. "No," he muttered, "no, no. Mother, Mother..."

He rolled away from me and curled into a tight little ball, hugging Alfie. I stroked his back gently, soothing him, chasing away the nightmare. "Diana," he murmured, and fell into a deeper, more peaceful sleep.

As quietly as possible, I slid out from under the covers. Nero raised his head, blinked at me, and then cuddled closer to Georgie as if he, too, disapproved of my plans.

Outside, a curl of mist floated above the ground at the edge of the woods. The albino deer, my favorite, stood chest deep in the mist watching me. He let me come within a foot or two of him. Then he turned and ran, his pale body sliding through the shadows like milk.

From across the dark field, the trailer's windows glowed, beckoning me as if I had no more willpower than a moth drawn to a candle's flame. How I wished I could be inside with Lissa, playing checkers or reading. We'd swap funny stories that made us laugh till our ribs ached. I'd tell her about Stephen and that kiss. She'd tell me about a boy who'd kissed her. It would be like having Jane back—a friend who'd laugh at the same things I laughed at.

The trouble was Lissa didn't want to be my friend. She didn't want to share her secrets with me.

But I knew how to discover them.

I waited in the cold till the lights went out, one by one, and the trailer was dark. Even then, I lingered to make sure everyone, including MacDuff, was asleep. At last, I stepped carefully onto the cinder block and looked in Lissa's window. On the table beside her bed I saw what I'd come for—her diary.

With Georgie's skill, I slid the window open and climbed into Lissa's room. How still she lay. How peacefully she slept. I longed to wake her and tell her I meant no harm, but if she opened her eyes, I had no doubt she'd scream, more terrified of me in the dark than she'd been in the daylight.

I took the diary and tiptoed back to the window. Making almost no noise, I crawled out. Then I ran across the field. After a quick stop to get Mr. Allesandro's flashlight from the tree, I returned to the shed. Georgie still slept quietly, but Nero had gone off into the dark to hunt.

Blocking the flashlight's beam with my hand, I opened the diary and read the first entries. Most of what Lissa had written I already knew or had guessed. Except for the teddy bear. I hadn't realized he was special. I felt a slight pang of guilt, which vanished when I pictured Lissa's array of stuffed animals and dolls. She had so many. And Georgie had none. Surely he should be allowed to keep Alfie.

I turned the page and found the entry I was looking for.

Dear Dee Dee,

Wait till you hear this—it's so scary you might not even believe me. Dad doesn't. He thinks I imagined the whole thing, but it's true, I swear it is—every single word!

I took MacDuff to the old house today. If Yd known what was going to happen, I wouldn't have gone near the place. I walked around it and found an old terrace at the back. It's in ruins like everything else, but I sat on this pretty lion bench and tried to picture how it must have been once, with flowers and shrubbery and green grass stretching downhill to the woods. Soon I felt those kids watching me again, that same old prickle. I ignored them for a while, but I was getting madder and madder. They'd stolen Tedward and my new bike and my favorite book. So I started yelling at them. Thieves, that's what I called them.

The bushes rustled. They were coming. I was kind of scared, but I screwed my face up into a scowl and waited. And then a monster came out of the trees.

Oh, Dee Dee, I've never seen anything so horrible in my life. It was filthy and ragged and its hair was tangled with twigs and leaves. It didn't even look human, Dee Dee. I don't know what it was. Bigfoot maybe. But smaller.

It was really and truly hideous. And it was coming straight toward me.

I was so scared I shook all over. Though I never have, I thought I might faint. I could hardly call MacDujff. My voice just dried up. But he came running and he chased the monster away. As soon as it was gone, I called him back because I was afraid he'd get hurt or maybe killed. Who knows what that thing was? Or how many of them might be hiding in the woods?

I ran all the way home and told Dad, but did he believe me? No, of course not. He said someone must be playing a trick on me. A kid dressed up in a weird outfit maybe. I asked him if he'd please call the police to search the farm and catch it, but of course he just laughed. He said if he called the police for every little thing, he would be like the boy who cried wolf. If something really bad happened, the police would think it was another false alarm and not come.

Dad must hate me. How can he expect me to live here now? I'm
never
going outside again. Dad says fine, I can spend the whole day on my stupid home-school lessons. If only I could go to a real school and meet real kids instead of ogres in the woods.

Oh, Dee Dee—what was that horrible creature? And what did it want? Does it have Tedward and my bike and my book? What will it
take next? What if it's outside right now, watching me through my window? Why won't Dad at least buy me some curtains?

I am really, really scared.
Love, Lissa
WHO DID NOT IMAGINE THE MONSTER

I read the entry two or three times, scarcely able to believe what Lissa had written. How could she think such terrible things about me?

In my mind's eye, I tried to see myself as she had. It wasn't an easy thing to do. I hadn't thought about my appearance for years. When I'd stepped out of the woods, I'd been wearing what I wore now, what I always wore, a blouse and skirt that had once belonged to Miss Lilian. I'd forgotten how they looked—torn by brambles, stained and faded to the color of earth and moss, fluttering in rags and tatters.

I spread out my hands and examined them. My skin was grimy with dirt, my nails long and ragged. Briar scratches crisscrossed my arms and hands, as well as my legs and feet. My hair hung below my hips in an unwashed mass of tangles, matted with twigs and leaves and mud.

Till that moment I hadn't cared what I looked like. No one saw me except Georgie. We were used to each other, he and I.

But Lissa wasn't. Her clothes were clean and fresh. So were her hands and face. Her hair shone from shampoo.

Burrowing even deeper under my covers, I wept softly. Once I'd been as clean as Lissa. I'd worn nice clothes, too. My hair had been brushed and combed and shiny. I'd had a mother and a father and a home. And friends. But then the bad thing happened and everything changed. It wasn't my fault. Or Georgie's.

I poked my head out of the covers and took a good, long look at my brother. He, too, was a wild child, dirty and ragged, his hair a long mass of tangles. In fact, we looked like feral children, raised in the wilderness by wolves. Romulus and Remus. Mowgli with a sister.

It was enough to make me cry all over again. How had I let this happen to us? Georgie was my little brother. Why hadn't I taken better care of him?

Thoughts raced through my mind, one after another. Finally, I slipped out from under the blankets and found a pencil in Georgie's and my box of useful items.

Stealing glances at Georgie from time to time, I began to write on a blank page in Lissa's diary:

Dear Lissa,

I did not mean to scare you. Please accept my sincere apologies. I am not a monster. I am a twelve-year-old girl. My name is Diana.
I
am very lonesome. I hope to be your friend, but after today Vm afraid you have the wrong idea about me.

It's true that my brother, Georgie, and I have spied on you and laughed at you and borrowed certain items, but if you knew us,you would understand. At least I hope you would. We lead a strange and lonely life. It is hard for us to keep clean and nice-looking, but I promise that the next time you see me I will look better. You won't be scared of me.

I hope you do not mind that I have read your diary. I am well aware that diaries contain secrets and are not meant to be shared with others, especially strangers (I once kept a diary myself), but I had to know what you thought of me. I promise I will never read it again. Cross my heart and hope to die if I do.

If you wish to meet me, go to the lion bench tomorrow afternoon and wait for me.

Please do not tell your father. No one must know about Georgie and me. We are not allowed to make friends.

In hope,
Diana

I read over what I'd written. In sixth grade, Miss Perry had insisted we all learn to compose proper letters in formal language. She would have been impressed with my grammar and spelling, though she might have found fault with my penmanship. Due to lack of practice, it was a little crooked but far neater than Lissa's large, round, loopy handwriting.

I hesitated. The terrace—was it safe to meet Lissa there? But where else? Not the trailer—her father would see me. Not in the woods—Georgie might see us. It had to be the terrace. As long as Miss Lilian stayed in the parlor, she had no way to watch the terrace.

With the flashlight in one hand and the diary in the other, I stole once more through the woods and across the field to the dark trailer.

I'd planned to return the diary to Lissa's room, but when MacDuff began barking, I tossed it on the picnic table and ran.

The old Willis house loomed ahead, dark and crooked against the starry sky. What I was about to do terrified me, but I could think of no other way to show Lissa I was a girl like herself.

Chapter 6

I sneaked around the side of the house and crawled into a thicket of bushes growing wild by the wall. There, unknown to any of the caretakers, was a small broken window. Back in the days when Miss Lilian and her cats inhabited the floor above, Georgie and I used it to sneak inside. Cautiously I wriggled through and dropped into the cellar.

A breath of cold, dank air met me, the smell of an old musty cellar shut away from sunlight. I shivered and shined the flashlight into the darkness. The basement was full of snakes, but that didn't worry me. Neither did the rustle of mice in the corners. I feared vague sounds—faint footsteps, mournful sighs, low whispers.

Hoping I was truly alone, I made my way around boxes, barrels, piles of newspapers, and broken furniture. I took care to avoid the dark recesses of the cellar and the door to the storeroom, still locked, its key long lost.

I'd never been in the house without Georgie. By the time I reached the rickety stairs leading to the first floor, my skin was clammy and my legs were shaky. Taking a deep breath, I put my foot on the first step, then the second. Slowly I climbed the stairs, stopping every time one creaked. At the top, I eased the door open and stood on the threshold, peering down the dark hall, first toward the kitchen and then toward the front of the house. No sound. No movement. On tiptoe, I edged along the wall, heading for the main staircase.

The air stank of cat pee and mildew. The floors and walls murmured to each other in creaks and groans. Wallpaper hung from the plaster in long, loose strips. Every now and then a current of air lifted them and their dry whispers joined the other sounds.

At last, I stood at the bottom of the once grand flight of stairs that led to the upper floors. I remembered Miss Lilian descending the very same stairs, dressed in gray, one thin hand grasping the rail, her head high, her eyes scornful. Behind her, my mother knelt and swept the carpeted steps with a whisk broom, collecting the dirt in a dustpan and watching me anxiously.

"You, girl, don't play here," Miss Lilian said. "Your mother's working. She can't be bothered with you now."

The vision was so real I almost ran outside, the way I used to. But tonight the staircase was empty. No one was there. Not Miss Lilian. Not Mother.

As fearful as if the old woman still barred my way, I ran up the steps, staying so close to the wall I brushed against the family pictures hanging there, dusty, fly specked, faded to pale shades of brown.

Miss Lilian's bedroom was at the end of the hall, the biggest and brightest, with a view of fields and woods and the road beyond. I walked toward the closed door, wincing every time a board creaked under my feet. She wasn't in her room, I told myself. She'd died downstairs with her cats as witnesses. If she'd lingered—and I was sure she had—she'd be in the front parlor, behind its closed door. I knew the rules.

But I also knew the exceptions.

Taking a deep breath, I turned the knob slowly and pushed the bedroom door open.

Again I saw Miss Lilian as I remembered her, sitting in her big bed, watching my mother set down the breakfast tray, waiting while she poured the tea, finally spying me in the doorway. "Go away, thief. You're after my jewelry, but you won't get it. Not while there's breath in my body!"

The bed was as empty as the stairs, its sheets frayed by mice. The jewelry had disappeared years ago, but the closets still held Miss Lilian's clothing—skirts, blouses, and dresses long out of style but of fine quality except for moth holes.

I grabbed some clothes and stuffed them into a pillowcase, too scared to think about what would look best. No time to be choosy. Anything was better than the filthy rags I was wearing.

Half expecting Miss Lilian to stop me, I ran to the bathroom. Although the water had been turned off, Miss Lilian's soaps and shampoos, her combs and brushes and towels, lay where she'd left them, dusty and cob webbed but still usable.

As I dumped toiletries into the pillowcase, a movement caught my eye. Miss Lilian stood a few inches away, watching me. She was wilder and stranger than ever, her hair long and tangled, her clothes in rags. I gasped and stepped backward and so did she, her face twisted in fear. I thrust out my hands to keep her away and she did the same. Close to fainting, I leaned against the wall and stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. No wonder Lissa had been scared when I stepped out of the woods.

Lugging the bulging pillowcase, I hurried to the steps. It didn't matter how much noise I made now. I had to get out. The next time, it might really be Miss Lilian I saw.

At the bottom of the stairs, I stole a quick look at the parlor's closed door. Behind it, I heard barely audible movements and a low sigh.

Clutching my bundle, I fled down the hall to the cellar, tripping over newspapers and boxes in my haste. At any moment, I expected Miss Lilian to scream, "Stop, thief! Do you hear me? Stop!"

I shoved the pillowcase through the cellar window and scrambled out after it. Dropping small things as I ran, I fled into the woods. It was almost dawn. The trees were swathed in morning mist and the fallen leaves were damp and slippery underfoot. A rabbit leapt across my path, and I caught a glimpse of the albino deer in the field. His antlered head turned in my direction.

Before I reached the shed, Georgie came rushing to meet me. "Where have you been, Diana? I had a bad dream. And you weren't here."

I hid Miss Lilian's belongings behind my back and tried to edge past him. "I couldn't sleep," I said. "So I went for a walk."

"What's that?" Georgie grabbed at the bundle. I thrust him away. "Nothing," I lied, "just some stuff from the trailer."

"I thought we were never going there again."

"Just this one last time."

"But what is it?" Georgie lunged at me again. "I want to see!"

This time he caught hold of the bundle and yanked hard. Out fell the brush, the comb, the soap, the shampoo, all rolling away in different directions.

I scurried around, picking everything up. "I can't stand being dirty anymore, that's all."

Georgie backed away from the soap as if it were poison. "I hope you don't expect me to use that junk!"

"It wouldn't hurt you to take a bath."

"Are you joking? I haven't taken a bath for ages, and neither have you."

"Don't you remember how nice clean clothes feel?"

"I like my clothes the way they are." He sniffed his shirt. "They smell like me."

"Maybe you smell bad," I suggested.

"So what if I do?"

"Look at Nero." I pointed to the cat, sitting in a patch of sunlight, carefully licking his paws and rubbing his face. "He washes."

Giving me a sly grin, Georgie licked the back of his hand and rubbed his face with it. "There, that's my bath."

"I'm ashamed of you," I said. "You're absolutely filthy and you don't even care. What would Mother think?"

Georgie's smile vanished. "Don't say that! Don't! Mother's gone, Diana. She doesn't care what happens to us anymore!"

I glared at him, unable to think about what he'd just said. "Stay dirty, see if I care."

Leaving Georgie to sulk, I ran across the field to the pond. Stripping off my clothes, I let them fall to the ground in a filthy heap. If I washed them, they'd fall to pieces. I waded into the pond, shivering as the cool water rose higher on my legs.

By the time I was belly deep, my skin was a mass of goose bumps, but it didn't bother me the way it once would have. Georgie and I had gotten very tough in the years we'd lived on our own. In fact, nothing ever really hurt us. At least not for long.

Taking a deep breath, I sank under the surface and then stood up, wet all over. I began to scrub. And scrub. And scrub.

When my skin glowed pink and clean, I began working on my hair. At first I made no headway against its obstinate mats and tangles. I shampooed and brushed, shampooed and combed until my scalp throbbed. If I'd had a pair of scissors, I'd have cut it all off.

At last, I managed to pull the comb through my hair from roots to ends. Satisfied I'd done all I could, I waded out of the pond and sat in the sun. As soon as my skin was dry, I pulled on a flowered skirt. It settled on my hips and trailed in the grass. Like the skirt, the blouse I'd taken was several sizes too big, but at least both things were clean and neither was torn or stained. Surely Lissa wouldn't be afraid of me now. Why, even without shoes, I felt almost civilized.

My hair was still wet, so I sat and combed it, tugging at the last of the tangles till I was sure no sticks or leaves clung to it.

Suddenly, Georgie stepped out of the woods and stopped, clearly astonished at the sight of me. "Diana," he whispered. "Is that you?"

"Of course it's me, silly." I laughed and tossed my hair. With no tangles to weigh it down, it flew free around my face, as clean and sweet with shampoo as Lissa's.

Georgie came closer and touched my hair. "I forgot it was so light."

"Yours would be the same color, too, if you'd let me wash it."

Georgie backed away fast. "You're not touching me!"

I spread my hands. "Okay, okay. But if you change your mind—"

"No chance of that." Georgie scrutinized me from a safe distance. "Where did you get those clothes?"

I stood up and twirled so the long flowered skirt floated around me. "Isn't it pretty?"

Georgie stared at me, his eyes fearful. "You didn't get that stuff from the trailer," he whispered. "Those are
her
things. Her clothes. Her soap. Her comb. Her brush. You went in her house, didn't you?"

I shrugged. "We've gone in there before."

"Not since she died," Georgie whispered. "What if you disturbed her?" Under the grime, his face looked pale. "Did you see her?" he persisted. "Or hear her?"

"No." I fidgeted with my hair, unable to meet his eyes. Uneasily, I remembered the faint sounds behind the parlor's closed door and the terror I'd felt as I ran through the dark cellar.

Forgetting his fear of a bath, Georgie came closer. "Something scared you. I can tell."

I shook my head. "Mice," I said. "There was nothing there but mice." Near my foot a grasshopper clung to a tall weed, his antennae turned toward me. I nudged the weed and watched him jump away.

"What made you go inside?" Georgie's voice rose. "You never cared about being dirty before."

I looked at him and wrinkled my nose, deliberately insulting him. "You smell bad, you know that?You stink!"

Georgie drew in his breath sharply. "Its because of Lissa. You still want to be her friend, don't you?"

"No," I lied. "I just don't want to be dirty like you!"

"I hate Lissa." Georgie's eyes filled with tears, streaking his cheeks as they ran down his face. "Nothing's been the same since she came. We never used to fight. I hate her, I hate her!"

Instantly sorry, I reached out for him, but he was already running toward the woods. In a moment, he'd vanished and I was alone in the sunny field.

Maybe I should have run after him and apologized, but he'd made me angry talking like that. I'd gone into the house and taken only what I needed, just a few little things. No one had stopped me. Nothing had happened. At least not yet.

So instead of following Georgie, I sat in the sunshine and braided my hair into a long single plait, as thick and heavy as rope, and tied it with string. When I was done, I felt calmer. Georgie would get over his anger. He'd see I hadn't done anything so terrible.

Nero sat nearby, watching me, his tail flicking. I picked him up and burrowed my face in his soft black fur. "Now I'm as clean as you. And I smell good, too."

The cat twisted out of my arms. In a flash he was gone, bounding through the weeds in pursuit of whatever small animal might cross his path. Maybe he preferred my old familiar smell. Well, let him play with Georgie, then. Persnickety old thing—what did I care? Soon I'd have a new friend, a real friend, a girl to talk to and laugh with.

I squinted at the sun. It was past noon. Had Lissa found her diary? Read what I'd written? Did she plan to meet me at the terrace? Would she really and truly be my friend?

I ran across the field and into the woods, eager to see what she was doing. Near the trailer, I heard Mr. Morrison's voice. I dropped to my knees and crawled noiselessly through the underbrush until I was close enough to see and hear. Lissa sat at the picnic table, surrounded by books, her diary among them. Her father sat across from her, drilling her with math problems. MacDuff lay at his feet, dozing peacefully in the sunlight.

"Come on, Liss," Mr. Morrison said patiently. "You're not concentrating."

Lissa frowned at the page in front of her. "I don't care whether car A or car B gets to Chicago first. Its a boring problem."

Mr. Morrison sighed and pulled a pipe out of his shirt pocket. I watched him light it. The scent of tobacco drifted across the grass and I breathed it in, reminded of my father. He'd often smelled of the same sort of tobacco, aromatic, a little strong, but, unlike cigarette smoke, pleasant.

I wished I could go closer, join Lissa and her father at the picnic table, sit between them as if I were part of a family again. Filled with longing, I wiped tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. Wish all you want, I told myself, it won't happen.

"You'll never finish the problems at this rate," Mr. Morrison said. "And you've still got science, history, and French to go.

Lissa grimaced and bent her head over the paper. Mr. Morrison leaned on his elbows and smoked, gazing at the fields and woods as if they were his own personal estate. For a moment, he looked right at me. I ducked lower, ready to run, but apparently he was too absorbed in his own thoughts to realize I was just a few feet away.

After a while, Mr. Morrison stretched his long skinny arms and stood up. "Can I trust you to sit here and work on those problems while I go inside and write?"

"Sure." Lissa watched him return to the trailer. The moment the door banged shut behind him, she opened her diary. She read what I'd written, I was certain of it, and then looked right at my hiding place.