as loudly as I could, grabbing the arms of the girls each side of me.
Jumbo screamed gratifyingly.
Girls clung to one another in fright.
Gremly fell on her face and pulled her dressing gown over her head, moaning.
“What happened?” someone cried.
I waited for a long moment before I replied. “The damned thing burst,” I said matter-of-factly.
“And the hot-air balloon?” Jumbo asked, making a remarkably quick recovery. “What about the hot-air balloon?”
“Oh, that,” I said. “That was added to his effigy later by the miller’s wife as a sort of allegory.”
“Allegory?” Gremly croaked.
“As a civilized way of indicating to posterity that the stomach gases of the deceased had exploded, as sometimes happened in those days. It was the best excuse his wife could come up with on short notice.”
There was a scraping sound outside in the hall, and something banged.
“Shhh!” Jumbo said. “Someone’s coming! Lights out.”
She blew out the candle and we all sat stock-still in the dark.
There was a knock at the door.
“What’s going on in there?” a voice demanded. It was Fitzgibbon.
We held our collective breath, some of us with hands clapped over our mouths and noses.
We huddled there together in the dark, paralyzed at the thought of what would happen when light was restored and time resumed.
“It’s all right, Matron,” Jumbo called out after what felt like an eternity, putting on a sleepy drawl. “I was having another of those horrid nightmares. I shall be all right in the morning. Good night.”
She was a girl after my own heart.
There was a muttered response, and then footsteps shuffled away in the hall, their sound fading.
“Some story!” Jumbo said when the danger had passed. She laughed lightly, as if she had to; as if it were part of a ritual.
She lighted the candle again, and our faces flared up out of the darkness, the whites of our widened eyes as large as the polar caps.
But something had changed. We were not the same girls we had been just minutes before. In that shared eternity of fright, and in some strange and indefinable way, we hadsuddenly all become sisters. Sisters of the candlelight—and sisters of something else, also.
“Fetch the board, Gremly,” Jumbo ordered, as if a sudden decision had been made, and Gremly, scrambling to her feet, vanished into the shadows.
A moment later she was back with a flat red box. She opened it and, with surprising tenderness, placed a wooden playing board on the floor at the very center of our circle.
It was a Ouija board.
I was quite familiar with the game. Daffy and Feely had dug a similar one out of a cupboard at Buckshaw and had terrorized me for a time by raising the ghost of Captain Cut-Throat, a malicious spirit from the days of piracy on the high seas, who had ratted on me at every opportunity. The captain had informed my sisters, by way of the moving tablet, that I had stolen perfume from one of them (true: I had taken it for a chemical experiment involving the essential oils of civet musk) and that it was I who had caused a certain book to vanish from beneath the pillow of the other (also true: I had nicked Daffy’s copy of
Ulysses
because it was the perfect thickness to prop up the broken leg of my bedside table).
Letter by letter, word by word, and interspersed with his beastly “Har! Har! Har!,” the dead captain had caused the planchette to creep across the board on its three little legs, laying bare, one by one, some of my best-kept secrets—including several of which I was not very proud—until I happened to notice that the old sea dog misspelled the word “cemetery” with the ending “a-r-y”—in exactly the same way as Daffy did in her diary!
I couldn’t help smiling now as I recalled how sweet—and how swift!—my revenge had been upon my smug sisters. Daffy, in particular, had been afraid to close her eyes for a month.
“All fingers on!” Jumbo commanded, and we all pressed the first
Jumbo screamed gratifyingly.
Girls clung to one another in fright.
Gremly fell on her face and pulled her dressing gown over her head, moaning.
“What happened?” someone cried.
I waited for a long moment before I replied. “The damned thing burst,” I said matter-of-factly.
“And the hot-air balloon?” Jumbo asked, making a remarkably quick recovery. “What about the hot-air balloon?”
“Oh, that,” I said. “That was added to his effigy later by the miller’s wife as a sort of allegory.”
“Allegory?” Gremly croaked.
“As a civilized way of indicating to posterity that the stomach gases of the deceased had exploded, as sometimes happened in those days. It was the best excuse his wife could come up with on short notice.”
There was a scraping sound outside in the hall, and something banged.
“Shhh!” Jumbo said. “Someone’s coming! Lights out.”
She blew out the candle and we all sat stock-still in the dark.
There was a knock at the door.
“What’s going on in there?” a voice demanded. It was Fitzgibbon.
We held our collective breath, some of us with hands clapped over our mouths and noses.
We huddled there together in the dark, paralyzed at the thought of what would happen when light was restored and time resumed.
“It’s all right, Matron,” Jumbo called out after what felt like an eternity, putting on a sleepy drawl. “I was having another of those horrid nightmares. I shall be all right in the morning. Good night.”
She was a girl after my own heart.
There was a muttered response, and then footsteps shuffled away in the hall, their sound fading.
“Some story!” Jumbo said when the danger had passed. She laughed lightly, as if she had to; as if it were part of a ritual.
She lighted the candle again, and our faces flared up out of the darkness, the whites of our widened eyes as large as the polar caps.
But something had changed. We were not the same girls we had been just minutes before. In that shared eternity of fright, and in some strange and indefinable way, we hadsuddenly all become sisters. Sisters of the candlelight—and sisters of something else, also.
“Fetch the board, Gremly,” Jumbo ordered, as if a sudden decision had been made, and Gremly, scrambling to her feet, vanished into the shadows.
A moment later she was back with a flat red box. She opened it and, with surprising tenderness, placed a wooden playing board on the floor at the very center of our circle.
It was a Ouija board.
I was quite familiar with the game. Daffy and Feely had dug a similar one out of a cupboard at Buckshaw and had terrorized me for a time by raising the ghost of Captain Cut-Throat, a malicious spirit from the days of piracy on the high seas, who had ratted on me at every opportunity. The captain had informed my sisters, by way of the moving tablet, that I had stolen perfume from one of them (true: I had taken it for a chemical experiment involving the essential oils of civet musk) and that it was I who had caused a certain book to vanish from beneath the pillow of the other (also true: I had nicked Daffy’s copy of
Ulysses
because it was the perfect thickness to prop up the broken leg of my bedside table).
Letter by letter, word by word, and interspersed with his beastly “Har! Har! Har!,” the dead captain had caused the planchette to creep across the board on its three little legs, laying bare, one by one, some of my best-kept secrets—including several of which I was not very proud—until I happened to notice that the old sea dog misspelled the word “cemetery” with the ending “a-r-y”—in exactly the same way as Daffy did in her diary!
I couldn’t help smiling now as I recalled how sweet—and how swift!—my revenge had been upon my smug sisters. Daffy, in particular, had been afraid to close her eyes for a month.
“All fingers on!” Jumbo commanded, and we all pressed the first
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