Project 17 by Laurie Faria Stolarz Page B
Authors: Laurie Faria Stolarz
Tags: Fiction, General, Horror, Juvenile Fiction, Children's Books - Young Adult Fiction, Interpersonal relations, Children: Young Adult (Gr. 7-9), Psychiatric hospitals, Performing Arts, Horror Tales, Motion pictures, Horror & Ghost Stories, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Haunted places, Mysteries; Espionage; & Detective Stories, Film, Motion pictures - Production and direction, Production and direction, Ghost Stories (Young Adult)
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Did I mention that I hate the drugs here? The pills I take make me jumpy all the time. Everybody tell me that I'll get used to the medication, that soon I'll settle in and make this place my home.
But I'll never call this place anything else but hell. The only good thing is that I've become friends with this one girl, Becky, who's in here because she kept plucking out all her hair. She wears a wig now, and her dad visits her at least a couple times a week. We go out on the terrace together sometimes for a smoke and talk about what we'll do once we get out of this place. She has all these ideas, but I can't think of one, so I just listen, and she doesn't see to mind. She has a doll that she carries around all the time. It's made of cloth and year, so the nurses let her keep it. Plus, it's missing the button eyes, so there's nothing she can use to hurt herself. Yesterday, Becky asked me to draw eyes on the doll for her. I did using black
126
and blue fine-point markets, giving her the biggest, longest eyelashes a girl could every have. Becky was so happy with the job I did, with the sparkly shade of blue I shoes, that she renamed the doll after me-calling her Christy.
More tomorrow.
P.S. Tomorrow is my birthday. I'll be seventeen. Happy Birthday to me.
I close the journal and take a deep breath, wishing this were all one big dream that I could wake up out of, wondering how a girl my age could end up here. I glance toward Christine's watercolor again, focusing a moment on all the missing pieces--an arm, a hip, her mouth, the feet, her heart--and then I flip it over to look at the date. She painted it almost one full year after her first journal entry, making me wonder if this place only made her worse.
"What do you think?" Mimi asks.
My heart jumps just hearing her voice--realizing that she's been watching me all this time. The shadow of a candle flame flickers against her chin and crawls up her face, cutting it in two.
"Are you okay?" Derik asks, sensing my anxiety.
I nod, grateful for his concern. Contrary to what I'd heard about him prior to coming here, he's been really sweet to me, asking me how I am at every ten-minute interval. And sticking close by me.
"I think she haunts this place," Mimi says. "I think
127
she wanted someone to find her picture and journal."
"And I think you've been watching too many scary movies," Derik says, passing me an opened box of Cheez-Its.
I frown at it--at the idea of eating products that contain hydrogenated oils--but I take a handful anyway to be polite.
I go to pass the box to Tony, but he and Greta are way too busy arguing over some storyboards that he made up. Apparently Tony has his own ideas for how Derik's film should look.
"Who says this Christine chick is even dead?" Derik asks, distracting me from eavesdropping.
"That graffiti we saw on the wall," Mimi says. "Remember ... the writing that said her body is buried out in the garden."
"But who even knows if that was true?" I ask for my own benefit. "Maybe it was someone who saw her journal and decided to be funny."
"Maybe. Maybe not." Mimi arches her eyebrows, like she can sense my discomfort--and enjoys it.
"Speaking of graffiti," Chet begins, "You know what I think is really weird?"
"The writing in the hydrotherapy room?" Mimi answers.
Chet nods, totally in sync with her. "Nothing like taking a whiz in front of a sign that says 'I've been waiting for you.' Talk about pressure."
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"But it's true," Mimi says. "They have been waiting for us."
"Who?" I ask, somehow already knowing the answer.
"The spirits that linger here, the ones like Christine who can't move on."
"Do you think Christine's the one who wrote that graffiti?" Chet asks her.
"Are you kidding me, man?" Derik says, giving Chet's shoulder a push, "I can't believe you're getting sucked into this. I mean, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but last I heard, ghosts don't graffiti walls."
"How do you know?" Mimi asks. "Ever ask
Did I mention that I hate the drugs here? The pills I take make me jumpy all the time. Everybody tell me that I'll get used to the medication, that soon I'll settle in and make this place my home.
But I'll never call this place anything else but hell. The only good thing is that I've become friends with this one girl, Becky, who's in here because she kept plucking out all her hair. She wears a wig now, and her dad visits her at least a couple times a week. We go out on the terrace together sometimes for a smoke and talk about what we'll do once we get out of this place. She has all these ideas, but I can't think of one, so I just listen, and she doesn't see to mind. She has a doll that she carries around all the time. It's made of cloth and year, so the nurses let her keep it. Plus, it's missing the button eyes, so there's nothing she can use to hurt herself. Yesterday, Becky asked me to draw eyes on the doll for her. I did using black
126
and blue fine-point markets, giving her the biggest, longest eyelashes a girl could every have. Becky was so happy with the job I did, with the sparkly shade of blue I shoes, that she renamed the doll after me-calling her Christy.
More tomorrow.
P.S. Tomorrow is my birthday. I'll be seventeen. Happy Birthday to me.
I close the journal and take a deep breath, wishing this were all one big dream that I could wake up out of, wondering how a girl my age could end up here. I glance toward Christine's watercolor again, focusing a moment on all the missing pieces--an arm, a hip, her mouth, the feet, her heart--and then I flip it over to look at the date. She painted it almost one full year after her first journal entry, making me wonder if this place only made her worse.
"What do you think?" Mimi asks.
My heart jumps just hearing her voice--realizing that she's been watching me all this time. The shadow of a candle flame flickers against her chin and crawls up her face, cutting it in two.
"Are you okay?" Derik asks, sensing my anxiety.
I nod, grateful for his concern. Contrary to what I'd heard about him prior to coming here, he's been really sweet to me, asking me how I am at every ten-minute interval. And sticking close by me.
"I think she haunts this place," Mimi says. "I think
127
she wanted someone to find her picture and journal."
"And I think you've been watching too many scary movies," Derik says, passing me an opened box of Cheez-Its.
I frown at it--at the idea of eating products that contain hydrogenated oils--but I take a handful anyway to be polite.
I go to pass the box to Tony, but he and Greta are way too busy arguing over some storyboards that he made up. Apparently Tony has his own ideas for how Derik's film should look.
"Who says this Christine chick is even dead?" Derik asks, distracting me from eavesdropping.
"That graffiti we saw on the wall," Mimi says. "Remember ... the writing that said her body is buried out in the garden."
"But who even knows if that was true?" I ask for my own benefit. "Maybe it was someone who saw her journal and decided to be funny."
"Maybe. Maybe not." Mimi arches her eyebrows, like she can sense my discomfort--and enjoys it.
"Speaking of graffiti," Chet begins, "You know what I think is really weird?"
"The writing in the hydrotherapy room?" Mimi answers.
Chet nods, totally in sync with her. "Nothing like taking a whiz in front of a sign that says 'I've been waiting for you.' Talk about pressure."
128
"But it's true," Mimi says. "They have been waiting for us."
"Who?" I ask, somehow already knowing the answer.
"The spirits that linger here, the ones like Christine who can't move on."
"Do you think Christine's the one who wrote that graffiti?" Chet asks her.
"Are you kidding me, man?" Derik says, giving Chet's shoulder a push, "I can't believe you're getting sucked into this. I mean, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but last I heard, ghosts don't graffiti walls."
"How do you know?" Mimi asks. "Ever ask
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