Spirited (16 page)

“Don’t be ridiculous. I bought it at a thrift store.”

Sky narrowed her eyes. “I bet Father would love to hear my version of how you snagged a fifteen thousand dollar dress to wear to the prom tonight.”

Something inside Willow snapped. She refused to give in to Sky again.

“Get out!” Willow squared her shoulders and pointed toward the door.

But Sky leapt on Willow, knocking her to the floor. The two girls rolled in a tangled mass of flailing arms and legs. As Sky kicked out, the standing mirror crashed onto the floor. Then Willow’s head slammed into the dresser. The room spun, tilted. Sky fled.

Willow sat, but the movement caused an intense pressure in her head. She closed her eyes and clutched her temples, willing the room to stop revolving. When she no longer felt as if she were on a tilt-a-whirl, she opened her eyes.

The dress was gone.

~*~*~

Willow’s bedroom succumbed to the gray shadows of dusk. An orange glow from the outside security light shone through the blinds. Willow still sat on the floor stunned by what had happened, the fight with Sky, the missing dress… She wished this day were over. Clothes, shoes, and her coverlet littered the floor. She crawled to the toppled mirror. A jagged crack ran diagonally across the glass. The mirror had belonged to her mother. Whenever Willow glanced into the looking glass, she believed her mom was there watching her, looking out for her, sharing her life. Willow knelt in front of the glass, placed her hand on the surface, and righted the mirror.

“Mom, I miss you so much.” A single tear dropped onto Willow’s arm.

A knock sounded at her bedroom door.

“Come in,” Willow choked, wiping her eyes. She stood, but the inside of her head was like a jar of marbles, all wobbles. She placed a hand on the dresser to steady herself.

Abby rushed in holding a small purple duffel and carrying a garment bag over one shoulder. She skidded to a stop. “You haven’t showered yet? What’s wrong?”

“I’m not going.” Willow dropped onto the bed with a heavy sigh.

“Nonsense.” Abby hung her dress up on the closet door and dropped her duffel beneath it. She sat next to Willow. “Where’s your dress?” Abby brushed Willow’s hair back. “Have you been crying?”

Willow’s lip quivered as she nodded.

“Is this about Leslie? I wouldn’t let a little ghost scare me from a wonderful evening with Cole. Besides—”

“It’s gone. The dress is gone, and I don’t have another. I’m not going. Could you please call Cole? I don’t have the heart to do it.”

“You’re going.” Abby frowned. “Sky’s not here. Nobody is. I let myself in.” She stood. “I have an idea. Wait here.”

Minutes ticked by. Willow made her way into the shared bathroom and swiped at the dark streaks of mascara on her cheeks. She wasn’t sure why she was bothering, but a little light of hope filled her. When Abby had a plan, there was no stopping her. Willow smiled. She added some cleanser and washed her face completely. Deciding she was up for a shower, she stepped into the refreshing stream. The rhythmic dance of the droplets renewed her spirit. Sky wouldn’t win this fight after all. Willow was going to the Spring Fling, with or without the cursed dress.

Willow exited the bathroom dressed in her robe and found her best friend grinning at her. Abby waved her hand, indicating dresses in a variety of colors and styles covering the bed, including Sky’s brand-new Leslie Lyle knock-off.

“I raided Sky’s closet. If I’d known the riches buried in her room, I would have suggested it earlier,” Abby said with a glint in her eye. “Your sister is a mall.”

“Stepsister,” Willow corrected. She picked up a light blue dress. Her heart had been set on the color. It was a fairy princess gown with a heart-shaped bodice that cinched at the waist. The skirt billowed with layer upon layer of taffeta and netting. Tiny rhinestones twinkled like stars on the bodice and skirt. “This is the one. I hope it fits.”

“It will. I’m playing Fairy Godmother after all.”

~*~*~

An hour later Willow and Abby stood in front of the dressing mirror, hair piled up in long cascading curls, faux jewels dripping from their necks and ears. Willow’s smile was back on her rouge-colored lips.

Abby rested a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You look marvelous, my dear,” she said in a funny little voice as she twirled Willow around.

“So do you.” Then Willow’s bottom lip quavered as she pointed a trembling finger at the mirror.

Abby shifted her gaze from Willow to the elaborate mirror. A shrill scream escaped her. She stepped backward, dragging Willow with her.

A girl stood in the cracked mirror. Her face was ghastly white, and dark hollows ringed her eyes. Her hair was stringy and dull. Willow had seen that face a thousand times, plastered on every tabloid and fashion magazine. Leslie Lyle was hard to forget. Even in death, she was unmistakable. The spirit took a step forward, escaping the mirror. The temperature in the room dropped. Willow shivered as her breath came out in little puffs.

“Give it back,” the phantom moaned. “My dress, I want it back.”

Pictures thrummed against the wall. Objects in the bookcase toppled and fell. A gust of wind scattered loose papers in a small cyclone.

“Give it back.”

“I don’t have it,” Willow shouted.

The ghost clutched Willow with her bony hands. Abby screamed and flung a book at the ghost, but Leslie flicked a wrist, and the book hit the wall.

“Death. The dress is death.” Leslie’s voice was hoarse as if she was having trouble speaking. Her needle-like fingernails burrowed into Willow’s shoulders.

“I don’t have it. My sister stole it.”

“Po…i…sss…on,” Leslie hissed.

Abby took several steps back. “What???”

Leslie croaked out the word once more. “Poison.”

“The dress is poisoned? Is that how you died?” Willow asked.

The ghost nodded. “The jewels…” She faded from view.

“One of the stones pricked Sky earlier. She could die!” Willow raced to her nightstand. Fingers shaking, she picked up her cell phone and dialed Sky’s number. “I got her voice mail!” Willow gasped. “Sky, take off the dress! It’s poisoned! Leslie was murdered!”

“She isn’t going to believe you.” Abby dug her own cell out of her purse. “We need to call someone else.”

“Who?”

“I’ll text Alex while you try Sky again.”

Willow dialed Sky’s cell a second time.

“What do you want?” Sky snapped on the third ring.

“Sky, take the dress off. It’s poisoned. Leslie was murdered.”

“Nice try. It looks fabulous. Much better than it would have on you. Don’t worry, Weeping Willow, Alex is dying to get the dress off me too.” Sky giggled.

“Sky, I don’t care about the dress.” Willow tried to keep her voice calm. “You’re in danger. Come home now!”

“No.” Sky’s voice was a bit slurred. “I don’t… bel…ie…v.”

“Sky” Willow shrieked. “Don’t hang up! Sky!”

Muffled movement sounded on the other end of the line. Willow’s heart thrummed in her throat. It was all her fault, if she had never bought that dress…

A beep indicated the end of the call. The line went dead.

Abby took the phone from Willow and hugged her. “Alex didn’t answer. Sky’s probably fine.”

“Leslie tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen.”

Someone flung the front door open downstairs. Heavy footsteps pounded into the house.

“Hello?” a panicked male voice shouted. “Mr. Martin? Someone help me!”

Willow and Abby raced down the stairs. Alex gently laid Sky on the floor. “We were outside talking in my car, and she… collapsed…”

“Call 911,” Willow ordered.

Sky’s eyes fluttered open. “Wil…low… help… me…” Sky’s breathing grew shallow. “I’m sorr…” A tremor shook her body. Then she went inert.

Willow placed her ear on Sky’s chest. “She’s not breathing. We’re too late.”

~*~*~

Willow stood under the big black umbrella and shivered, but not only from the cold. Rain ran down the slick granite of the tombstone. The graying sunlight obscured the newly carved name. Tears slid down her cheek as she placed a single white rose on the freshly turned earth.

A hand caressed her shoulder. Willow didn’t turn, but leaned back for support. The symphony of steady droplets drowned out their soft sobs.

“So sad, taken in her prime. She was so young.”

“Yes.” Willow muffled a cry. She brushed the raindrops from the stone. Her fingers lingered as she whispered words only the dead could hear.

REST IN PEACE

“Thank you for saving me,” Sky murmured.

“What are sisters for?” Willow leaned toward the headstone and added, “And thank you, Leslie, for saving both of us.”

Leslie Anne Lyle

1990–2011

Beloved actress and friend

Willow glanced up at a movement by the bank of trees. Even in the rain, the figure was distinct. Head covered in her trademark silk scarf, Leslie Lyle lowered her sunglasses and winked.

Leslie had been right. Not everyone had a happy ending. But some people did.

The Oast House

The scattering of fallen oak leaves sheltered a thin layer of frost covering what little grass hadn’t already been scorched by the pale autumn sun. Every step toward the oast house sent my feet sliding forward as if I were hurrying home. But the oast, I knew, could never be my home.

The three-story octagonal rag-stone building had been sitting in the heart of the Chapel Hill fields since before my grandparents were born. The slate roof rose like a spire piercing the sky, and although the place had been converted to a dwelling nearly half a century ago, sometimes the acrid aroma of dry hops overwhelmed me when I walked through the front door.

The derelict brewery to the south of the oast had undergone no such conversion, and the numerous windows kept vigil over the fields, now the color of golden wheat. An avenue of oaks lined the drive up to the oast house. Years before, the tree limbs had been pruned to form a cathedral-like canopy, and even now, after the leaves had fallen, the sight still awed me. I shuddered from the cold and reached the mudroom entrance just before the rain started.

“Did you get them, Ty?” my father asked. He didn’t look up from where he sat with his crossword puzzles at the kitchen table. I threw a small paper bag down to him, and several washers spilled out and rolled in circles. Like him, I didn’t offer a greeting. Like him, I didn’t know how.

Lately the only sound that broke the silence between us was the incessant dripping of the bathtub faucet. We had been here for close to three weeks, and every night I’d lie awake as the drops of water pinged into the enameled cast iron tub. I’d tried spreading a towel in the bath, but the muted impact of the water pounded on the soaked material. One more night of the infernal dripping would drive me insane.

I climbed to my room on the second floor. Most of my things were in boxes in the attic, but I still had my music, so I put my headphones on to drown out Dad’s silence.

When I came out of my room at dinnertime, the soft pattering of rain against the window on the landing was accented by a dull gust of wind that made the leaves on the oaks shiver and flitter. Across the fields, the brewery loomed like a hulking shadow. Seeing it swathed in the eerie glow of dusk reminded me of the stupid stories circulating at school about ghosts and hauntings. But at the end of day when the building was reduced to a barely-standing pile of rubble, it was easier to believe the only ghost around here was me.

And then it hit me. Silence pervaded the oast. He’d replaced the washer.

I headed into the bathroom, where time and neglect had transformed the once-white tiles to a mottled gray, and the constant dripping had eroded a permanent rust stain through the enamel of the tub. As I stared at myself in the mirror, the grime and smokiness of the glass gravitated toward the center and nearly obliterated my reflection. Soon I wouldn’t be able to see myself at all.

But by that time we wouldn’t be living here. The oast house was only temporary. Once she’d sorted out her problems, she would tell me and Dad to come home. She had to.

When I got down to the kitchen, Dad was putting dinner on the table. As usual he’d only set one place. He took his work jacket from the back of his chair and walked to the door.

“Lock up after me,” he said.

I nodded, but it was too late. He’d already gone.

Dad worked nights as a security guard and usually got home after I’d left for school. He seemed to like it that way. He’d never worked nights when we were back home, but we all had some changes to get used to. Some just seemed easier than others.

The hours ticked by slowly, and by the time I’d finished all of my homework, I could hardly keep my eyes open. I stumbled upstairs and collapsed onto the bed. Moonlight stole in through the window, battling the darkness.

As I relaxed and drifted toward sleep, something tugged at my consciousness. My eyes shot open.
Plink. Plink.
The sound wound its way from the bathroom and along the hall to my room.
Plink.
The dripping seemed to be growing louder.