Comes the Blind Fury

“Seen the ghost lately?” she asked.

“There isn’t any ghost,” Michelle said, her voice barely audible.

“But you saw it the other night, didn’t you?” Susan’s voice was louder now, insistent.

“It was a dream,” Michelle said. “Only a dream.”

“Was it? Are you sure?”

Michelle glared at Susan, but Susan returned her gaze unwaveringly. Michelle could feel anger begin to well up inside her. What is it? she asked herself. Why do I always make her mad at me?

“Can’t we talk about something else?” she asked.

“I like to talk about the ghost,” Susan said serenely.

“Well, I don’t!” Sally Carstairs exclaimed. “I think talking about the ghost is dumb! I want to hear about Michelle’s little sister.”

Michelle smiled gratefully at Sally. “She’s beautiful, and she looks just like my mother,” she said.

“How would you know?” Susan Peterson’s voice was icy; her eyes flashed with a gleeful malice.

“What do you mean?” Michelle asked. “Jennifer looks just like my mother. Everybody says so.”

“But you don’t even know who your mother is,” Susan said. “You’re adopted.”

Suddenly Michelle could feel all the children watching her, wondering what she would say next.

“That doesn’t make my parents any less my parents,” she said carefully.

“Who said it did?” Susan replied. “Except the Pendletons aren’t really your parents, are they? You don’t know who your parents are, do you?”

“They are too my parents,” Michelle shot back. She stood up, facing Susan. “They adopted me when I was just a little baby, and they’ve always been my parents.”

“That was before,” Susan said. She was grinning now as she watched Michelle’s anger grow.

“What do you mean, before?”

“Before they had their own baby. The only reason people adopt babies is because they can’t have one of their own. So what do your parents need you for anymore?”

“Don’t say that, Susan Peterson,” Michelle shouted. “Don’t you ever say that. My parents love me as much as your parents love you.”

“Do they?” There was a sweetness in Susan’s voice that belied the expression on her face. “Do they really?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Michelle wished she hadn’t said them. She should just ignore Susan — just get her stuff, and walk away. But it was too late. All the other children were listening to Susan, but they were watching Michelle.

“Don’t they spend more time with the baby than they do with you? Don’t they really love her more? Why shouldn’t they? Jenny’s their real child. All you are is some orphan they took in when they thought they couldn’t have any kids of their own!”

“That isn’t true,” Michelle cried. But even as she spoke, she knew she wasn’t as certain as she was trying to sound. Things were different now. They had been ever since Jenny was born. But that was only because Jenny was a baby, and needed more than she did. It didn’t mean her parents didn’t love her. Did it? Of course it didn’t. They loved her. Her parents loved her!

Suddenly Michelle wanted to be home — home with her mother and her father — home, where she would be close to them, part of them. She was still their daughter. They still loved her — they still wanted her. Of course they did! Without bothering to pick up her things, Michelle turned and started running down the beach toward the trail.

Sally Carstairs jumped to her feet and started to run after Michelle, but Susan Peterson’s voice stopped her.

“Oh, let her go,” Susan said. “If she can’t take a little teasing, who needs her?”

“But that was mean, Susan,” Sally declared. “It was just plain mean.”

“So?” Susan replied carelessly. “It wasn’t very nice of her to throw that octopus at me, either.”

“But she didn’t know it would scare you.”

“She did too,” Susan replied. “And even if she didn’t, she shouldn’t have done it. I was just paying her back.”

Sally sank back on her blanket, wondering what to do. She wanted to go after Michelle, and bring her back, but it probably wouldn’t do any good. Susan wouldn’t quit — now that she knew how to get to Michelle, she’d just keep at it. And if Sally kept being friends with Michelle, Susan would start in on her, too. Sally knew she couldn’t take that.

“She sure can run, can’t she?” Sally heard the rest of the kids laugh at Susan’s question, and looked up. Michelle was almost at the foot of the trail. Sally decided that even if the rest of the kids were going to watch, she wouldn’t. Besides, she couldn’t If she did, she knew she would start crying, and she didn’t want to do that. Not in front of Susan.

Susan Peterson’s words pounded in Michelle’s ears as she ran down the beach.

What do they need you for?

Don’t they really love her more?

It wasn’t true, she told herself. None of it was true. But as she ran, the words seemed to follow her, swept on the wind, poking at her, prodding her.

She readied the trail and started upward.

Her breathing, already labored from her anger and running, came harder and harder. Soon she was gasping, and she could feel her heart pounding.

She wanted to stop, wanted to rest, wanted to sit down, just for a minute, to catch her breath, but she knew she couldn’t.

They would be back there, on the beach, watching her. She could almost hear Susan’s voice, sweet and vicious:

She can’t even make it up the trail.

She forced herself to look up, to see how far she had to go before she would be safely at the top, out of sight of the beach.

Far.

Too far.

And now the fog was coming in.

It was just a grayness at first, a slight mistiness that blurred her vision.

But then, as she forced her feet one after the other up the trail, it gathered around her, cold and damp, closing her off, isolating her, leaving her alone, no longer within sight of her tormentors on the beach, but far from home as well.

She must be close to the top. She had to be!

It was like a bad dream, a dream in which you have to run, but your feet, mired in some kind of mud, refuse to move. Michelle could feel panic closing in on her.

It was then that she slipped.

It seemed like nothing for a split second — just a slight wrenching as her right foot hit a loose rock and twisted outward.

Suddenly there was nothing beneath her foot to support her. It was as if the trail had vanished.

She felt herself starting to fall through the terrifying gray mist.

She screamed, just once, and then the fog seemed to tighten itself around her, and the gray turned into black.…

“Dr. Pendleton! Dr. Pendleton!”

Cal heard the voice calling to him. The terror it conveyed made him drop his hammer and dash into the kitchen. He reached the back door just as Jeff Benson leaped up onto the porch.

“What is it? What’s happened?”

“It’s Michelle,” Jeff cried, his chest heaving, his breath coming in heavy pants. “We were on the beach, and she was coming home, and — and—” His voice broke off, and he sank to the top step, trying to catch his breath.