Dead Voices

But there were only four of them in the hallway.

It took Ollie a moment to understand. She spun in a circle, searching. “Guys!” she cried. “Look, the mirror! Someone’s here! Someone’s in the hall with us!”

Coco was still clinging to Ollie’s left hand; Ollie had Brian’s cold fingers in her right. She couldn’t see anyone around them. Not in the hallway. Just her and Brian and Coco and Mr. Voland. But in the mirror, a fifth shape stood among them.

“What is it?” cried Coco.

“It’s only in the mirror,” said Brian.

Brian was on Coco’s left, Ollie realized. He wasn’t next to her at all.

“Whose hand am I holding?” Ollie whispered. She looked to her right and saw nothing. “Whose hand am I holding?” she cried. She couldn’t see anything. But icy fingers still gripped hers tight. Ollie looked straight in the mirror to see, dimly, a torn blue ski jacket, a face hidden by a ski mask.

All four of them saw it. They stared, frozen.

Mr. Voland said to the fifth reflection, in a shaken voice, “Whatever you are, can you talk to us?”

No answer. Just a silhouette, black in the darkened mirror.

“Can it hurt us?” Coco whispered.

“I don’t know,” Mr. Voland replied. He took a step closer, peering through his glasses.

“Run!” cried Ollie. “Guys, run—I can’t move—it’s holding my hand!” She tugged, but the thing wouldn’t let go. A creeping horror started to overtake her: a feeling that, if she stayed there long enough, she would become a reflection instead of a girl. She felt herself take an involuntary step toward that dark mirror, then another.

But she didn’t take a third. Instead Mr. Voland pushed her aside, wrapped his jacket around his hand, and smashed the mirror.

The cold grip on Ollie’s hand relaxed and vanished, leaving white spots on her skin, almost like frostbite. The mirror was broken, and they were alone in the hallway. Ollie couldn’t stop shivering.

“Look,” said Coco in a strained whisper. “We were at the end of the corridor, after all. Our door—our door is right here. It was right here the whole time.”

Ollie remembered suddenly the rest of a warning she’d heard in a nightmare.

Stay out of closets. And don’t look in the mirror.

She looked down, but her watch face was still blank. Her hand hurt, and she couldn’t stop shaking.

8

THEY GRABBED BLANKETS, coats, knit caps, and warm socks, and hurried back to the lobby. They didn’t look into any mirrors; they didn’t stop at any closets. Mr. Voland went last, casting cautious glances over his shoulder the whole time. Ollie was grateful for Mr. Voland. A line of cuts ran across his knuckles from the broken glass.

In the lobby, the first thing Ollie saw was the silly canoe with its three paddling raccoons; their unexpected, sharp-toothed smiles gave her a jolt. The canoe was sitting next to the front desk, facing the stairwell, as though the raccoons were guarding the bright bowls of candy and matchbooks on the front desk. Hadn’t the raccoons been over the fireplace before? Maybe Mrs. Wilson had moved them.

Whatever. Ollie, tired of weirdness, marched over to them, grabbed a matchbook and a handful of candy, and shoved them both in her pocket. Never knew when matches would come in handy. And even if she was still cold and shivering from what had happened upstairs, she wasn’t going to be afraid of stupid stuffed raccoons.

The raccoons looked like they were laughing. Ollie swerved away from them, headed toward the double entrance doors, shoved them open, and went outside. She stood in her sneakers under the dry, freezing portico, glad to breathe the outside air, even if it was full of snow. The wind had dropped. But the snow hadn’t let up. Not even a little. It fell down in sheets as fast as rain. It lay in drifts almost as high as the dining room window. Ollie couldn’t even tell which lumps in the parking lot were Susie or Mr. Voland’s car. She scrubbed her right hand, the hand the ghost had touched, hard in the snow.

Coco poked her head out. “Come on, Ollie,” she said. “You okay? Come inside. It’s freezing.” Coco had already put her ski jacket on over her sweatshirt, and she still looked cold.

But Ollie didn’t move; she was staring out over the parking lot with longing. Maybe, she thought, we can dig out Susie and sleep in her, with the heat going. But even as she thought it, Ollie knew they couldn’t. They needed the gas to get home. They were stuck inside the lodge. Reluctantly, she followed Coco back inside.

Ollie’s dad was wearing his ski jacket and knit hat indoors. The tip of his nose was bright red with the chill. “Shut the door!” he called to Ollie as she came in.

Ollie pulled the door shut. Her dad was kneeling in front of the fireplace on the lobby side, and he had gotten the fire going a little better. It glowed yellow instead of red and threw out a small circle of heat. There was the friendly sound of logs snapping. Someone had also collected a lot of battery-powered lamps and set them up around the hearth. The lamps pushed back the shadows, made a ring of warm light. Ollie went toward the fireplace. Brian, Coco, and Mr. Voland were already there, putting down their loads of coats and blankets.

“Thanks for grabbing these,” Ollie’s dad said to them, clambering to his feet. He helped them make a neat stack of blankets and pillows near the fire. “You guys want to be in charge of bed setup later on? Great, excellent.”

He didn’t wait for answers, but headed at once over to the kitchen. They could hear him talking to Mr. Wilson. Since the gas wasn’t working, they had to decide what cold stuff would be best for dinner.