phone.
“This is Dr. Carson.”
“It’s Bertha Carstairs, Joe. Something terrible has happened. Sally and Alison Adams just came in, and they told me that Annie Whitmore is in the playground. Joe — they think she’s dead.
“She’s under the swings. Sally said it looked as though she’d fallen off. Like it was an accident or something …”
Her voice trailed off, and Carson knew she was holding something back.
“What else, Bertha? There
Bertha Carstairs hesitated, and when she spoke again, she sounded almost apologetic.
“I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “It might not be important — it might not mean anything at all — but, well. …” She paused a second, then her words came clearly over the line. “Joe, Sally saw Michelle Pendleton today. She was walking along the road, coming from town. And Sally said that last week Michelle and Annie were playing together quite a bit, and what with Susan Peterson, and Billy Evans — well, I don’t know. I hate to say it …” Again, Bertha’s voice faded away.
“I understand,” Carson said. “It’s all right, Bertha.”
He hung up the phone and turned to the four people who were watching him. “It’s Annie Whitmore,” he said. “Something’s happened to her.” He told them what Bertha Carstairs had said, leaving out nothing.
“Dear God,” June moaned when he was done. “Help Michelle. Please help her!” Then her eyes widened and she leaped to her feet.
“But where is she?” she cried. “If Sally saw her coming out this way, she must have been coming home.” Her eyes suddenly wild, she ran toward the hall. “Michelle? MICHELLE!”
They heard her repeat her daughter’s name as she ran up the stairs. Suddenly there was a silence, then they heard her coming back down again.
“She’s not here. Cal, she’s not here!”
“It’s all right,” Cal told her. “We’ll find her.”
“Lisa!” Tim’s voice was choked, but only Corinne knew what he meant.
“She was with Sally and Alison,” she said. “Uncle Joe, did Mrs. Carstairs say anything about Lisa?”
Josiah Carson shook his head. Tim grabbed the phone. “What’s her number?” he demanded. “Quick, what’s the Carstairses’ number?”
Snatching the telephone from him, Corinne dialed. The phone rang once, twice, then twice again before Bertha Carstairs’s harried voice came on the line.
“Mrs. Carstairs? This is Corinne Hatcher. What about Lisa Hartwick? Was she with Sally and Alison? Did she come home with them?”
“Why, no,” Bertha said. “Just a minute—” There was a silence, then Bertha came back on the line.
“She stayed out at the Bensons’. She and Jeff were going down to the cove. I wish the kids wouldn’t play down there — the currents are so dangerous—”
But Corinne cut her off. “Never mind,” she said. “I’m out at the Pendletons’, and I’m sure we’ll find her.” She hung up the phone and turned to Tim.
“She’s out here somewhere. She and Jeff Benson were going down to the beach.”
“It’s that doll,” June suddenly screamed. “It’s that damned doll!” They stared at her, but only Josiah Carson understood what she was saying. “Don’t you see it?” she cried. “It all started with that damned doll!” Once again June rushed up the stairs and burst into Michelle’s room. She looked around frantically, searching for the doll.
Amanda!
It was all Amanda’s fault.
If she could just get rid of the doll!
And then she saw it, propped up on the window seat, its glass eyes staring emptily out toward Devil’s Passage. She crossed the room and picked it up. But as she was about to turn away from the window, a flicker of movement caught her eye.
She stared out, trying to see through the rain-blurred glass.
Out by the bluff, north, close to the cemetery.
It was Michelle.
Standing on the bluff, leaning against a boulder, staring down toward the beach.
But she wasn’t leaning against the boulder.
What was she doing?
She was pushing it.
“Oh, no,” June gasped. Grabbing the doll, she dashed out of the room.
“She’s outside,” she called. “Michelle’s outside! Cal, go get her. Please, go get her!”
The fog was gathering quickly around Michelle, and the beach had disappeared. All she was aware of was Amanda, standing close to her, touching her, whispering to her.
“They’re coming. I can see them, Michelle. I can see them! They’re coming closer … they’re almost there.… Now! Help me, Michelle. Help me!”
Michelle reached out, touched the rock. It seemed to vibrate under her fingers, as if it were alive.
“Harder,” Amanda hissed. “We have to push it harder, before it’s too late!”
Again, Michelle felt the rock move, then watched as it teetered. She wanted to pull away from it, but couldn’t. She felt it slip, lurch a little, then come free.…
It was a low sound, almost lost in the crashing of the surf, but Jeff heard it, and looked up.
Above him.
The sound had come from above him.
Then he saw it, plunging toward him.
He knew the rock was going to hit him, knew he had to move quickly, jump to the side — backward — anywhere. But he couldn’t move. His mouth quivered, and his stomach tightened. He was going to die — he knew it.
But he was frozen. Only at the last second did his muscles suddenly obey him. Too late.
The boulder, four feet across, hit him. He buckled to the ground, feeling the crushing weight of it, and he thought he could hear it, grinding him under its mass.
And he could hear something else, too. Laughter.
It floated over him as he died, and he wondered where it was coming from. It was a little girl, and she was laughing at him. But why? What had he done?
Then Jeff Benson died.
Michelle heard the laughter, too, and knew it was Amanda. Amanda was pleased with her, and that made her happy. But she wasn’t sure why Amanda was pleased.
The fog began to clear, and Michelle looked down. She could see the beach again.
There was a girl on the beach, standing still, staring at the fallen rock. It could have hit her, Michelle realized. But it hadn’t.
Then why was the girl screaming?
It was the boulder. Something was sticking out from under the boulder. But what was it?
The last traces of the fog drifted away, and Michelle could see clearly.
It was a leg. Someone’s leg was sticking out from under the rock.
And Amanda was laughing. Amanda was laughing, and saying something to her. She listened carefully, straining to hear Amanda’s words.
“It’s done,” Amanda was saying. “It’s done, all of it, and I can go now. Good-bye, Michelle.” She laughed once more, happily, and then the sound of her voice faded away.
There were other voices now. Michelle could hear them. Voices calling to her, shouting at her.
She turned. There were people running toward her, calling her name.
She knew what they wanted.
They wanted to catch her, to punish her, to send her away.
But she hadn’t done anything. It was Amanda who did it. All she had done was obey Amanda. How could they blame her? But they would — she knew they would.
It was like her dream.
