“Okay, come on, you,” said Dad, and I ran him out of the house.
The empty lot was still empty and hot and the glass sparkled green and white and brown all around where the bottles lay. “Now, where’s this Screaming Woman?” laughed Dad.
“We forgot the shovels,” I cried.
“We’ll get them later, after we hear the soloist,” said Dad.
I took him over to the spot. “Listen,” I said.
We listened.
“I don’t hear anything,” said Dad, at last.
“Shh,” I said. “Wait.”
We listened some more. “Hey, there, Screaming Woman!” I cried.
We heard the sun in the sky. We heard the wind in the trees, real quiet. We heard a bus, far away, running along. We heard a car pass.
That was all.
“Margaret,” said Father. “I suggest you go lie down and put a damp cloth on your forehead.”
“But she was here,” I shouted. “I heard her, screaming and screaming and screaming. See, here’s where the ground’s been dug up.” I called frantically at the earth. “Hey there, you down there!”
“Margaret,” said Father. “This is the place where Mr. Kelly dug yesterday, a big hole, to bury his trash and garbage in.”
“But during the night,” I said, “someone else used Mr. Kelly’s burying place to bury a woman. And covered it all over again.”
“Well, I’m going back in and take a cool shower,” said Dad.
“You won’t help me dig?”
“Better not stay out here too long,” said Dad. “It’s hot.”
Dad walked off. I heard the back door slam.
I stamped on the ground. “Darn,” I said.
The screaming started again.
She screamed and screamed. Maybe she had been tired and was resting and now she began it all over, just for me.
I stood in the empty lot in the hot sun and I felt like crying. I ran back to the house and banged the door.
“Dad, she’s screaming again!”
“Sure, sure,” said Dad. “Come on.” And he led me to my upstairs bedroom. “Here,” he said. He made me lie down and put a cold rag on my head. “Just take it easy.”
I began to cry. “Oh, Dad, we can’t let her die. She’s all buried, like that person in that story by Edgar Allan Poe, and think how awful it is to be screaming and no one paying any attention.”
“I forbid you to leave the house,” said Dad, worried. “You just lie there the rest of the afternoon.” He went out and locked the door. I heard him and Mother talking in the front room. After a while I stopped crying. I got up and tiptoed to the window. My room was upstairs. It seemed high.
I took a sheet off the bed and tied it to the bedpost and let it out the window. Then I climbed out the window and shinnied down until I touched the ground. Then I ran to the garage, quiet, and I got a couple of shovels and I ran to the empty lot. It was hotter than ever. And I started to dig, and all the while I dug, the Screaming Woman screamed.…
It was hard work. Shoving in the shovel and lifting the rocks and glass. And I knew I’d be doing it all afternoon and maybe I wouldn’t finish in time. What could I do? Run tell other people? But they’d be like Mom and Dad, pay no attention. I just kept digging, all by myself.
About ten minutes later, Dippy Smith came along the path through the empty lot. He’s my age and goes to my school.