Hellfire

“What’s happened?” The look on Phillip’s face told Carolyn that something was terribly wrong.

“An accident,” he replied. “A couple of kids got into the mill after the party this afternoon.”

Beth’s eyes widened, and her fork stopped in midair. Then, as her hand began to tremble, she carefully put the fork back on her plate.

“And what happened?” Abigail Sturgess asked. Her voice, normally strong and commanding, suddenly sounded hollow. When Carolyn looked at her, the old woman was pale, and there was an anxiety in her eyes that Carolyn had never seen before. “Tell me, Phillip,” she insisted. “What has happened?”

Phillip hesitated a fraction of a second. “Jeff Bailey,” he said at last. “He’s — well, I’m afraid he’s dead.”

There was a sudden shocked silence as the name sank in. It wasn’t a stranger — not even someone they had known only casually. It was a boy they all knew, who had been in their home only that afternoon.

“Jeff?” Tracy echoed. “Jeffs dead?”

“But — how?” Carolyn asked. “What happened?”

Phillip shook his head. “I’m not sure exactly. I have to go down there immediately.”

Abigail rose to her feet. All the blood had drained from her face now, and she was swaying, as if she might faint at any moment. “My God,” she whispered. “It’s like your brother. He was the same age as Jeff when he — when he—” She fell suddenly silent, unable to continue.

Phillip stared at his mother. “Like Conrad?” he echoed. “Mother, what on earth are you talking about? We don’t even know what happened yet—”

But Abigail was shaking her head, and her eyes had taken on a strangely empty look, as if she were seeing something far removed from the dining room. “Your father,” she whispered. “He always said something like this would happen. He was always afraid—”

“Mother, please,” Phillip said, taking her arm and guiding her back into her chair. “We don’t even know what happened yet,” he repeated.

“What did they say?” Abigail demanded. “Phillip tell me what they said about Jeffrey.”

Phillip swallowed, and glanced at Tracy and Beth, reluctant to repeat what he had been told in front of the girls. But both girls were staring at him, Tracy’s eyes glinting strangely, Beth’s wide and frightened. “Apparently he tripped,” he said quietly. “There was a pick lying on the floor. He fell on it.”

“Oh, God,” Carolyn moaned.

Abigail gasped, and sank limply into her chair. “Like Conrad,” she whispered. “It’s just like Conrad.” Her eyes seemed to focus again, and fixed on her son. “Phillip, maybe your father was right about the mill. Maybe we’ve made a mistake. Perhaps we should simply board it up again.”

But Phillip shook his head, his face setting grimly. “For heaven’s sake, Mother,” he began. “It was an accident. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Jeff shouldn’t have been in there in the first place. He was—” And then he broke off his own words, the look in Abigail’s eyes telling him she wasn’t listening. Once again she seemed to have disappeared into another world. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he told Carolyn. He kissed her quickly on the cheek, then was gone.

“I must call Maggie Bailey,” Abigail said suddenly. “I must try to apologize to her for what we’ve done.” She started from the dining room, but before she reached the door, Carolyn blocked her path.

“No,” Carolyn said. “If you call Maggie Bailey, it will only be to tell her how sorry you are about Jeff. But you will not begin filling her head with any superstitions about the mill.”

Slowly, Abigail turned to face her. “Superstitions?” she echoed. Then she smiled bitterly. “Well, I suppose that’s easy for you to say. But you don’t remember the last time something like this happened, do you? Of course not — you weren’t even born then. But it was an evening very much like this. And the telephone rang, and the police told us that Conrad Junior had been found in the mill. He’d tripped, they said. Tripped, and fallen on an old tool.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It was the same thing, Carolyn. My husband always said that what happened to our son was not an accident, but I never believed him. But now? What do you expect me to think? It’s happened again, just as my dear husband was afraid it would.”

Almost in spite of herself, Carolyn felt a flicker of sympathy for the old lady. “Abigail, what you’re saying just doesn’t make any sense. The mill is dangerous — we all know that. And it was locked up precisely in order to prevent any more accidents like the ones that happened to your son and Jeff Bailey.”

“But what if it wasn’t an accident?” Tracy suddenly asked. “What if there was someone else in there?”

Carolyn glanced at Tracy, then felt her stomach tighten as she saw that although Tracy had directed the question to her, the girl’s eyes were fixed on Beth. “Just what are you suggesting, Tracy?” she asked, her voice cool.

“Nothing,” Tracy replied with exaggerated innocence. “I was just asking a question.”

Before Carolyn could reply, Abigail spoke again. “Conrad’s last words,” she said so quietly that Carolyn wasn’t sure if she was speaking to them or to herself. “He said, ‘She’s still there. She’s there, and she hates us.…’ ”

Tracy’s eyes brightened. “Who, Grandmother? Who hates us?”

But Abigail shook her head. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “It was the last thing he said. I … I didn’t think it meant anything. But now—”

“And you were right,” Carolyn declared. “It didn’t mean anything. As it happens, I agreed with your husband about the mill — I don’t think it should be reopened. It was an evil place, a place where people were exploited, worked till they dropped, and I think it should be torn down and forgotten. But let’s not start inventing ghost stories. All right?”

Abigail hesitated, then shook her head. “And what if you’re wrong?” she asked. “What if my husband was right? What if there is something about the mill, and the only way we can keep it safe is by keeping people out of it?”

“For heaven’s sake, Abigail, don’t start filling the children’s heads with a lot of nonsense.”

“But I want to hear,” Tracy protested.

“And I don’t want to hear,” Carolyn said firmly. “And neither does Beth. The mill is nothing but an old building that’s been an eyesore in this town for nearly a hundred years. Frankly, I can’t understand why it wasn’t torn down years ago.” Her eyes fixed on Abigail. “In fact, Abigail, I’d like to know why your husband didn’t tear it down years ago when your son died there.”

Abigail’s strength seemed to flow back into her, and she gazed imperiously at Carolyn. “He didn’t tear it down because he always said that it mustn’t be torn down. He always said that it must stand as a reminder to us.”

“A reminder?” Carolyn replied. Suddenly she had had enough, and did nothing to conceal the fury that welled in her as she stared at the old woman. “A reminder of how big a fortune your family once made in that building? A reminder of all the children who spent their lives in that building, working twelve hours a day for next to no money at all so that your family could build this monstrosity of a house and staff it with the few people in town who weren’t working in your mill? Was that it, Abigail? Did he want the mill to stand there forever to remind us all of the good old days? Well, for my family, those days weren’t so good, though I’m sure you’re not aware of that!”

Abigail remained silent for several long seconds, then finally said, “I don’t know what Conrad thought at the end, Carolyn,” she began quietly. “But I do know that he was terrified of the mill. Until tonight, I paid no attention to it. But now I think perhaps we all ought to rethink the matter.” She walked from the dining room, her back straight, her proud old head held high.

A moment later Tracy followed her grandmother, leaving Carolyn and Beth alone in the dining room. There was a long silence, and finally, for the first time, Beth spoke.

“Mom? What … what if she’s right? What if there is something in the mill? What would it mean?”

Carolyn sighed, and shook her head. “It wouldn’t mean anything, sweetheart,” she said. “It wouldn’t mean anything, because it’s not possible. It doesn’t matter what old Mr. Sturgess thought, or what Abigail thinks now. There’s nothing in the mill.” But even as she said the words, a memory flashed through Carolyn’s mind — a memory of that morning the day after the funeral, when she’d been out hiking with Beth.

For a moment, just before she’d fainted, the mill had looked as if it were burning.

But that was silly. The mill hadn’t been on fire, and she hadn’t actually seen anything. It had simply been a delusion, caused by the fainting spell.

She put the memory out of her mind, and began helping Beth and a silent Hannah clear the table. Surely there was a reasonable explanation for what had happened in the mill that day. When Phillip came home, they would know what it was.