Dead Voices

“No,” whispered the girls, like a chorus of snakes.

Ollie flung Gretel’s oil lamp at Mother Hemlock. It was the only thing she could think of. But it didn’t work. The lamp rolled past and away under a bed. The glass broke; the fire went out. And then the room was lit only by moonlight. Gretel cried out, “No! My light!” and knelt weeping by the broken glass.

Ollie looked left and right. There was nowhere to run. They were hemmed in by beds, by Gabe, by the little ghost girls with their eyes frozen shut but somehow still watching.

“Time for bed,” said Mother Hemlock, coming closer. “Time for you to sleep like good little girls.” Her voice was gentle now. “I won’t even put you in the closet. Just lie down.”

“No!” Gretel screamed, looking up. “No, I don’t want to.”

Ollie charged straight at Mother Hemlock, hoping to get past her, maybe go down the basement stairs again. Something. But a large cold hand grabbed her arm as she ran past.

“Troublesome girl!” said Mother Hemlock. “Go to sleep.”

To her horror, Ollie felt her eyelids growing heavy. She turned to look at Gretel. Gretel stared back at her, desperation in her face. Frost was stealing up over her eyes, sealing them shut. Ollie screamed when she felt the frost creeping up over her own face.

“Go to sleep,” said Mother Hemlock. “Soon you’ll be ours forever, and I’ll have done all he wanted. He’ll give me this place to be mine forever. Just sleep till dawn.”

No, Ollie screamed. No, I won’t. You can’t make me.

But she realized she was only screaming in her head. No sound came out. Her eyelids were heavy as marbles. She felt herself sinking to the floor. Dad, she thought, right before a thick sleep claimed her, I’m sorry. I hope Coco and Brian are okay. I tried. I really tried.

Then she thought, If I was stuck here, like Gabe, maybe I would have done it too.

And finally she thought, Mom?

Then nothing.

16

COCO THOUGHT SHE saw a door in the basement wall. Just caught a tiny glimpse of a narrow door with a tarnished handle. Her triumph didn’t last long. Just as she reached for it, the oil lamp went out and the glass part shattered, sending shards everywhere, cutting her fingers. Coco gasped and nearly dropped the lamp.

It was completely dark now, and her lamp had broken out of nowhere. What had happened? Coco froze. Listening, since she couldn’t see. But this time she heard nothing. There was no cold breeze, no strange voice, no footsteps. Why had the lamp broken? Coco wished she’d grabbed matches from the lobby desk earlier, like she’d seen Ollie do, so she could relight it.

Well, at least she’d found the door before her light went out. She was just going to have to climb in the dark. Coco took a tighter grip on her broken oil lamp, unwilling to leave even the possibility of light behind. Groping ahead, she opened the basement door and started stumbling her way up the stairs.

There was no light. None at all; she had to climb by touch, feeling the steps with her toes, straining her ears. Her imagination turned every creak of the staircase into another person’s footsteps and every hiss of her clothes into ghostly, whispering voices. Coco wiped her palms on her flannel pants and kept going, gritting her teeth. It was the worst possible situation for a clumsy person. The staircase was very narrow, and the steps seemed to be all different heights. She kept catching her feet painfully on taller-than-expected steps and almost falling.

It didn’t help that her toes and fingertips were numb. The lodge was freezing.

She was so busy concentrating on not stubbing her toes that the door at the top took her by surprise. In fact, she ran into it face-first with a bang and nearly knocked herself out.

She almost fell backward down the stairs, caught herself, and then just stood there in the dark for a second, panting. She tasted blood, realized that she’d split her lip on the door. She thought a couple of very bad words. Then, scowling ferociously, she put her hand on the doorknob and came stumbling out.

She stopped short in surprise. She’d come through the door into her and Ollie’s room.

“Okay,” she muttered. “That’s weird.” Then the sound of her own voice made her jumpy, so she didn’t say anything else. She tried the light switch. Didn’t work. Figured.

But Coco could still see just fine. The room was full of moonlight. After the inky darkness on the stairwell, the moonlight was bright enough to make her blink. The storm must be over. Stepping cautiously, she crossed the room and threw wide the half-closed curtains. Beyond the window was the huge sweep of mountain and trees and ski lift, and the huge heaps of snow, still and sparkling. Coco took a deep breath. It was good to see the sky.

Then she noticed that, even with the curtains wide open, the moonlight fell in stripes across the room, as though there were bars across the window. But there weren’t.

Coco spun, looking around the room. The moonlight was bright, but tricky; she had to squint into the corners, looking for anything out of place. Like a shadow with nothing there to cast it.

But everything seemed normal. Her and Ollie’s stuff was on the floor, Ollie’s spread out and messy, the way they’d left it that morning. The sight hurt. Coco clenched her fists and kept looking.

Then movement caught her eye. Coco’s head jerked up. Something was moving in the big mirror over the dresser. Coco went closer. “Ollie,” she whispered. Ollie was in the mirror. She was standing, facing gray-faced Mother Hemlock. Behind her stood the guy in the ski mask. Gabe. He was blocking the door. Keeping Ollie in the room.

He wasn’t helping Ollie, Coco thought in rising horror. He was helping Mother Hemlock, helping Seth.