The scariest part was turning around. I kept expecting that horrible white face—with no eyes—to pop out at me.
I talked myself down the hall past Momma’s room. Deep cleansing breath.
Momma was always telling me that.
“Deep cleansing breath, baby. If you’re scared at school or on the bus or when you run errands for me, you just take a deep breath. It’ll help get all the evil out of your body. You’ll be able to think more clear.”
Through my dried out lips I sucked in dusty air.
Bam!
Behind me my bedroom door slammed shut.
The scream that came out of me, I know could have been heard down to the library. I stumbled forward, hitting into Momma’s door, trying to get away.
“Help me.” My voice was shrill. “I can’t do this alone.”
And then …
“Help me.”
My words, but not from me.
A deep, low voice.
Granddaddy’s voice.
My dead grandfather.
The words from Aunt Linda’s room.
“I can’t do this alone,” he said, repeating me. “You need to help me.”
“Momma? Where are you? Help me,” I said, my voice soft. Again I forced myself to move. I took a step toward Aunt Linda’s door. Took a step toward my dead grandfather.
“Momma,” he said. “Help me. I can’t do it alone.” Such a rumbling voice.
“Aunt Linda.” I cried so hard now I shook. My whole body shook.
“Linda. Linda. Linda,” said Granddaddy.
I took another step. Now all I had to do was reach out. Touch the knob. Turn it.
And Granddaddy would be there. Could tell me where Momma was.
“Do you know,” I said, “where she is?”
“Do you know? Linda. Linda. Linda.” A voice like gravel.
Step. Reach out. Hand on the knob. Slippery with sweat. Turning. Turning. “Granddaddy?” I said. “Where’s my momma? I lost her today.”
Tears all over my face. My nose running. My hands sweating. The flashlight leading the way.
Door open.
“I can’t do it alone, Linda,” came the voice. “Help me.”
Into the room went the light. And I followed it to find my grandfather.
XV
The whole room looked fake in the flashlight beam. Like something from a movie. Not real. Books torn up and everywhere.
But it was real. And happening to me.
“Granddaddy?” My voice trembled, like my words were afraid to leave the safety of my mouth.
“Granddaddy.” This came from the other side of the room.
I swung the flashlight toward the sound.
Nothing but words taped to the wall. So many words.
I took a step into Aunt Linda’s bedroom. I thought I might puke.
“I’m here about Angela,” I said. My voice sounded scared to my own ears. And old like the pages taped up in this room.
“Angela’s gone.”
I turned the flashlight again, twisting around to see where the voice came from. My heart pounded so hard it hurt.
“I know,” I said. My tears had stopped. Somebody watching might not think I was scared beyond anything I had ever been in my life. But my hands—they gave me away. I clenched the flashlight with both, like maybe I held on to a rope that would pull me from this darkness if I was careful. The beam of light shook like crazy, bouncing around like the little dot on kids’ videos showing which word should be sung in a song. “I know she’s gone, Granddaddy. I gotta find her. She’s alone.”
I half expected Granddaddy to step out of Aunt Linda’s clothes closet. Walk through the door or something. Come out and help me find his missing daughter.
But nothing happened.
I moved the beam along, lighting circles of words. Past the covered window. Over the closet doors. Toward the dresser where drawers were taped shut with more words. To the bed.
It was hard to look there. That mannequin frightened me something awful. I didn’t want to see it again. It had looked so much like a dead Aunt Linda that I was still afraid to let the light rest there.
But I did. The glow showed the shape of the mannequin.
And another shape. One that moved, just a little. Covered completely.
It felt like someone had kicked all my breath away. My mouth opened and at that moment the second shape began to rise.
Then all I heard was me screaming. I took a step backward and hit the dresser. I dropped the flashlight. It bounced twice, throwing light around the room in a funny arc. Then it went out.
The room was black.
Rustling sounds came from the bed.
I dropped to my knees, onto the wool rug. Felt along for the flashlight. Tried to breathe at the same time. Couldn’t seem to take in air.
Where is it? Where is that flashlight?
Inside me I could feel another scream growing. Like a wave on the beach. Getting bigger. And bigger.
Now I heard footsteps. Light like someone walking on tiptoe. I hadn’t realized that ghosts touched the ground when they walk. Where is that flashlight? My hands felt around. Frantic. Got to find that. Got to. Oh, help me.
My breath came in gasps. My nose stuffed up from early tears. Hands out. Fingers reaching. Touching. Something warm. Alive.
Or dead as a ghost.
I threw myself backward with a holler. Crashed into the dresser.
“Momma!” My cry was louder than anything I had ever screamed before. It tore out of me.
“She’s gone,” Granddaddy said.
“No!” I scrambled around. Trying to get away. Out of the room. Away from dead people. Away from here. And at last found the flashlight. Pressed the button. Snap, it came on. Lit up the carpet showing old roses.
I swung the light around. Aiming right at Granddaddy’s face.
“Where is my mother?” It was a scream.
He turned from the light.
Ghosts don’t do that, do they?
Reached down for me.
Getting close enough for me to see.
Momma in my memory. “Daddy and me almost looked like twins. Same black eyes. Same dark hair.”
“Momma? Is that you?”
Her hands out. Taking hold of my arms. Shaking. Pinching. Hurting.
“Momma?”
“She’s gone.”
But this was my momma. Now that I was so close, I could see that it really was her. I could see her soft skin. See the dark circles under her eyes. The deep scratches on her cheeks. Blood
