Dead Voices

OLLIE LAY STIFF and open-eyed on her hard bed of blankets. There was the smell of new carpet under her head. Her dad had turned the last battery-powered lamp off to save it from just dying on them. Ollie had worn her hoodie to bed, along with her beanie, a long-sleeved shirt, flannel pants, and long, thick socks. Even under the blankets, all that was barely enough to keep her warm.

The fire burned a sullen dark red. Ollie lay still, watching the slow waltz of the red light across the ceiling of the dining room.

She couldn’t sleep. She felt like every single one of her nerves was strung as tight as the lines of the storm-wrapped ski lifts outside. She was waiting. Listening. Beside her she could feel her friends, as tense and as open-eyed as she was. For a while they heard the murmur of the adults’ voices; once, Ollie’s dad laughed softly.

But slowly the adults went off to bed; their voices dropped away. Then it was only silence that filled the lobby and the dining room of Hemlock Lodge. Silence except for the sound of the storm. It was so strange, Ollie thought vaguely, how the storm could sound just like a person. Now, for example, the wind sounded like a soft, steady whimpering, going on and on and on, like a human voice circling Hemlock Lodge, looking for a way in.

And then Ollie must have fallen asleep, even though she’d told Mr. Voland she wouldn’t. Because now she realized that the whimpering wasn’t the wind at all. It was a girl in a long white nightgown, crouching in a corner of the dining room, her arms wrapped about her skinny knees, crying.

In her dream, Ollie got up and went to the girl. All around them, Hemlock Lodge wasn’t a newly renovated ski lodge anymore. It was a ruin. Ollie saw holes in the wall; her feet crunched on broken glass. The splintery floor snagged on her socks. In her dream, she shook with cold.

“Why are you crying?” Ollie asked the girl in the corner.

The girl lifted her face. Ollie couldn’t suppress a shudder at the bloodless skin, the nose black with frostbite.

“I want to go home,” said the girl.

Ollie knelt down beside her. “Where is your home?” she asked.

The girl gnawed on her lower lip. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I can’t remember. But it’s somewhere. It has to be somewhere, doesn’t it?”

“It’s somewhere,” said Ollie soothingly. “I’ll help you find it.”

The girl made a strange, broken sound, halfway between a laugh and a whimpering sob. “How?” she demanded. “Home’s not here. There’s nothing but dark here. I can’t get out!” The girl’s voice rose suddenly to a scream. “I can’t get out! I can’t leave until I find my bones. But they’re nowhere.”

Ollie was desperate to stop the girl’s sobbing. “No,” she said, stammering. “No, don’t cry. I’ll help you get out. I’ll help. I’ll help you find your bones.”

The girl stared at Ollie with huge eyes as black as dead coals, and she laughed, a low, terrible sound. “Help me?” she whispered, with freezing scorn. “You help me? How? You’re trapped just as much as me.”

“No,” Ollie started to say. “No I’m not—”

But the girl had leaped to her feet. “Trapped!” she screamed. Her mouth fell open; her teeth and tongue were blackened. “Trapped, trapped, trapped! You dummy! You’ll stay here forever, until you’re old bones just like me!”

She

whirled and sprinted across the dining room, her nightgown a spot of white in the gloom. Ollie clambered to her feet and tried to follow. But she found her way blocked. A woman, dressed all in black, stood in front of her.

“Where do you think you’re going, missy?” A bony hand closed on Ollie’s arm.

Ollie tried to scream and lurched awake, gasping. For a few racing breaths, she did not know where she was. Then she remembered. She was lying in a bed made of blankets. Dining room. Hemlock Lodge. Mountain. Storm. Ghosts.

Mom.

With that, Ollie’s head cleared. She was so tired of nightmares. She sat up slowly.

Mr. Voland was still sitting at his table a good distance from the hearth, just at the edge of the farthest reach of the firelight. The low scarlet coals of the fire threw strange shadows over his face, and reddened his skin. Everything was completely still. Ollie wondered how long she’d slept. She could hear her dad snoring faintly. Ms. Zintner slept curled up, an arm over her head.

Mr. Voland saw Ollie awake, put a finger to his lips, and beckoned, wordless.

Ollie nodded and turned to shake Brian and Coco. They sat up, not talking, rubbing their faces sleepily. They were going to have to be as quiet as they possibly could, to not wake anyone up, Ollie thought. Be quiet, she mouthed at her friends, then got up and went to Mr. Voland.

“Has anything happened?” she breathed.

Mr. Voland didn’t say anything in reply. Instead he cupped a hand over his ear and put a finger over his lips at the same time. Hush and listen, he was saying. Brian and Coco had followed Ollie across to where Mr. Voland waited.

Now they listened.

The lodge was still, except—what was that? It sounded like the wind. The storm wind crying around Hemlock Lodge, just like it had been doing all day.