The Swallow (22 page)

Polly

I never walk with the twins. When we leave for school, they’re either ahead of me or behind me. They ignore me and I ignore them. Unless they want to torment me about something.

But this time they stuck to me like glue, all the way home, one on each side of me. I guess it was part of this “Hunt Polly” game they were playing. When we got to the cemetery, I started to slow down, hoping to see some ghosts, but they each grabbed one of my arms and started to hurry me along the street, almost running.

“Stop it!” I said, trying to break free, but they wouldn’t let go. They kept looking over their shoulders at the cemetery and acting kind of nervous.

“What is wrong with you guys?” I said, still trying to pull away. “What are you scared of? Ghosts?”

I was kidding, but they looked even more nervous, and Matthew said, “Yes,” in a small voice.

Mark gave him a dirty look.

“Wait a minute, you guys can see ghosts?” I said, finally shaking my arms free.

“Yes,” said Matthew. “That’s how we can see the Ghost Girl. No one else can see her. Except you.”

“Come on,” said Mark, grabbing my arm again. “Let’s get out of here. They’re coming, Polly.”

I stopped and peered through the iron railings. “I don’t see anything.”

“No, Polly!” said Mark. “They’re dangerous. Please. Come on.”

They both looked so scared that I stopped struggling and let them rush me along. We turned the corner to our street and slowed down.

“What do you mean, no one else sees Rose?” I asked.

They exchanged a twin look.

“Have you ever seen her talking to anyone else?” said Mark.

“Well … no … except Kendrick. I’ve heard her talking to Kendrick. Their housekeeper.”

“What housekeeper?” said Matthew.

“You know, that old lady who’s lived there forever,” I said.

“She died,” said Mark.

“Last spring,” said Matthew.

Rose

As I turned down the last block to our street, I heard footsteps behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder. The light was so dim, I could
barely make out the tall, dark figure that was approaching, moving much faster than me and quickly catching up.

I stepped behind a tree and hid, holding my breath.

The figure stopped just before it reached my tree. It stood there for a moment. Then it spoke.

“Rosie,” it said in a broken voice. My father’s voice.

What was he doing here? I thought he was in Montreal.

I peeked out around the other side of the tree. His face was illuminated by a streetlight. He looked tired, and his shoulders were slumped, as if he were carrying a great weight.

“Winnie,” he said and covered his face with his hands.

I moved carefully back into the shadows.

THE WITCH

Polly

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Which old lady are you talking about? You must be thinking of Rose’s grandmother. She died last spring. Kendrick is the housekeeper. She’s always coming in and out carrying groceries.”

Another twin look.

“Oh, that one,” said Matthew. “She’s scary. She comes out and yells at us if we even put one foot inside their backyard.”

“Well,” I said, “she may be scary, but she’s not a ghost, and I’ve heard Rose talking to her, so that proves that—”

“That proves nothing, Polly,” said Mark. “That old lady could be a witch, and witches can see ghosts!”

“She’s a witch for sure,” said Matthew. “Look at her eyes sometime. They’re all small and beady, and I bet she puts spells on people who go in her backyard and—”

“Stop!” I cried. “Enough with the witches! Rose is my friend and she won’t hurt me, ghost or no ghost.”

“She is definitely a ghost,” said Mark stubbornly. “We see her sitting at the back window for hours, just staring out. And no one ever sees her or speaks to her, except you and us. She’s invisible.”

“And if you see her talking to someone, it must be someone who can see ghosts,” piped up Matthew.

“Like us,” said Mark.

I stared at them. “How long have you two been able to see ghosts? How come you never told me?”

Another twin look.

“A while,” said Matt. “Just a while. We don’t like ghosts like you do. We don’t wanna see them, do we, Mark?”

“No,” said Mark carefully.

We’d reached our house.

“I think I’ll just go call on Rose,” I said. “Ghost Girl or not, she was supposed to meet me and I want to see if she’s all right.”

“
NO
!” said both of the boys. “You’ve got to stay away from her, Polly!”

Just then my mother stuck her head out the front door.

“There you are! Where have you two boys been? I told you to come straight home from school. You’ve got Cubs in fifteen minutes. We can just make it if we leave now.”

“But, Mum—” whined Matt.

“We can’t—” said Mark.

“In here, right now, no arguments,” she said firmly. “And I’d like you to tell me what happened to the chocolate cake I left on the counter.”

“Cake?” said Matthew, looking at his brother. “What cake?”

I laughed. Mark shot me a look as they headed up the stairs.

“Stay away from her, Polly,” whispered Mark over his shoulder. “You don’t understand.”

Rose

I waited till I heard my father’s footsteps fade away and then started slowly after him. My stomach felt funny. Why had he said “Rosie” like that, as if it hurt him to say my name? And then “Winnie,” right after?

I could see the lights of cars crossing the Bloor Viaduct through the bare trees. I bent my head so I wouldn’t have to look at them. The box seemed strangely warm and heavy in my arms.

Polly’s house was dark. That was strange. It always seemed to be the center of various activities, day or night.

I walked up my front steps and opened the door. The house was very still. Quiet. As if no one was home. The light in the hallway was dim, and deep shadows filled the corners. My head felt light, the way it had on the bridge the night before. I seemed to be floating across the hall, making no sound. It was as if I had no control over my body but was just moving along a path that was laid out before me. I put the box down on the hall table as I passed and then stopped in the doorway to my father’s study.

My father was sitting slumped at his desk, staring blindly into space. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of his face, which was etched with lines of care and distress I had never seen there before.

A movement behind him caught my eye. It was Winnie, stepping out of the shadows. She was wearing her long black dress with the white collar and staring at my father with that same hungry, longing look that I recognized from the eyes of every ghost I had ever seen. The look that always made me run.

EMPTY

Polly

I glanced at Rose’s house. There was no sign of life. Where was she?

I decided on a bold move and walked up her steps to ring the doorbell. If Kendrick answered it, I could say I was taking orders for Girl Guide cookies. And I could study her very carefully and try to figure out whether or not she was a witch.

No one came. I knocked, hard.

Still no answer.

I tried the door. It was locked.

I wandered back to my house. Nobody was home. Mum must have taken the twins to Cubs, but I had no idea where everyone else was.

An empty house, twice in one day. Unbelievable! I sat myself down by the window in the sitting room where I could watch for Rose coming home. It was pretty dark out there, but a streetlight cast a small pool of light on the sidewalk.

It was nice to just sit there in the quiet house, with nobody bothering me. I didn’t have to hide away to be alone. I had the whole house to be alone in.

Rose

Winnie raised her head and our eyes met.

It was just like on the bridge: I could have been looking into a mirror. Winnie reflected everything I was—lonely, weird, angry—but hungry more than anything else. A hungry ghost. Not hungry for food, like the Breakfast Ghost. Hungry for something else.

I no longer had a choice. I took a deep breath. “I’ll do it,” I said.

EGGS

Polly

My head hurt. It was like the ghost of a headache: a faint throbbing behind my eyes. It reminded me of something. I closed my eyes for a moment.

Eggs. It reminded me of eggs.

Rose

My father looked up at the sound of my voice.

“Rosie?” he said, frowning. “Is that you?” He peered at me.

The desk lamp made a little island of light around him, but the rest of the room was in shadows.

“Winnie?” he whispered. “Rose?” He passed his hand over his forehead. “For a moment I thought …”

Now even he couldn’t tell the difference.

I stood in front of him, the box held tight to my chest. I felt like I did when I was little, before I learned how to talk. I opened my mouth but no sound came.

My father waited, looking at me.

I felt as if I was standing at the edge of a cliff and my father was far away, on the other side of the gulf. How was I going to get to him, except by jumping?

THE MESSAGE

Polly

That stupid fight with my father, about the eggs. Or the lack of eggs, to be precise. That was the day I had the headache, the day I met Rose. It seemed so long ago now.

I sighed. The circle of light on the sidewalk was empty. No Rose.

The ghost of the headache was getting stronger. And now my stomach felt sick. Another echo: the day I had that awful headache, my stomach was upset too.

There was something tickling at the back of my mind. Some memory to do with the headache and feeling sick. What happened that day? I tried to remember, but the headache was making my mind fuzzy.

I had gone up to the loft after Dad blew his top and ordered me to leave the breakfast table. I was hungry at first, because I hadn’t eaten, but then I felt sick. I went to sleep in the loft and when I woke up, the twins were looking for me. And that’s when I went up to the attic for the first time and heard Rose singing.

Rose

“It’s about Winnie,” I said. My voice was cracked and scratchy, as if I hadn’t used it before.