The Spite House(10)

Stacy got bored soon, watching Libby for a long time, feeling every second of it and wishing something interesting would happen. When the door creaked open, though, Stacy immediately wished she could go back to when nothing was happening. Something was wrong, now. Someone was there who shouldn’t be. She couldn’t see them, but she could smell them. Flowers and spice. It would have been pleasant if there weren’t so much of it. Libby smelled it too. She pulled her covers over her nose.

That someone carried a cold with them that made Stacy wish she had a coat. They moved to the bed and whispered to Libby in an old woman’s voice. “Hey there, sweetie. I missed you.”

Libby whined and shook her head.

“Why are you acting like that?” they said. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

Something brushed Libby’s hair, carrying the locks that held her paper bow into the air for a second before letting them fall.

Libby shook her head again. “You’re not real.”

“That’s not nice to say,” the old woman said. “Your mother should have raised you better than to talk back like that.”

For a moment, Stacy felt a small bit of pride, knowing that she was the reason it was possible. That the bow she made created a way for the old woman to be here, and not just in the room, but in this world. Stacy felt good until she realized how scared Libby was, and she felt sick. It didn’t matter that this was just a dream, she didn’t like making anyone feel scared.

Breathing heavily now, Libby was able to calm down enough to say, “If you’re really Grandma, then what’s my favorite story?”

The old woman laughed in a way that made Stacy want to run. “‘The Golden Arm,’” she said. “Do you want me to tell it now?”

“No. No! I told you—”

“Oh, you always told me to read something else, but that story taught you not to be greedy, didn’t it?”

“Why were you so mean?” Libby said.

“I was no such thing,” the woman said, her voice gaining an edge. “You watch what you say about me, young lady.”

“You never liked me.”

“Adults don’t have to like little children. Especially rude little girls spoiled by their mothers.” The woman’s voice changed to something sweeter before she spoke again, like she was a monster wearing a fairy costume. “We’re supposed to love you. And I did. Part of loving someone is teaching them things, even if they don’t want to learn. That’s why I read that story, remember?”

“You just liked scaring me,” Libby said.

“No, I wanted to tell you about what happens to greedy, selfish people who take things without thinking of giving to others. That’s what that story is really about.”

“I want you to go away.”

If Stacy could have turned herself into a bigger, scarier monster and shown herself to the invisible old woman, she would have. She felt responsible even if she didn’t understand why.

Something brushed against the little girl’s hair again. This time, Libby sat up and pulled the paper bow from her head. Libby eyed it like it was dangerous. Like a small, cute animal that could bite one of her fingers off. Stacy recognized it, too. Stacy knew that if Libby got rid of the bow—ripped it up, burned it, or threw it out of her window—the old woman would go away. The bow had some kind of magic in it, like the old hat that brought Frosty to life in the song, but the wrong kind of magic, like if the hat made Frosty into a giant beast with icicle teeth. Stacy didn’t know how she made such a thing, and part of her wanted Libby to give the bow back to her so she could take it to her dad or Dess, see if they knew why it was the way it was, but the bigger part of her wanted Libby to do whatever she needed to do to make the old woman leave.

“You be careful with that, Libby,” the woman said of the bow. “Someone made that for you, didn’t they? It was a gift, and you’re thinking of doing who knows what to it. I see that look in your eye, young lady. I know you better than your own mother knows you. I know what kind of mischief gets into that head of yours, and I will not stand—”

Libby tore the bow in half and the woman stopped talking.

The next thing Stacy saw was the morning. Her sister and father were already up and getting themselves ready for the road. They were going somewhere today, she remembered. Where was it? Oh, right, the skinny house from the newspaper.





CHAPTER 5



Dess



They had come up with a game for the road that Stacy called “ABC’s.” It differed from the more commonly known road trip game where one went through the alphabet by spotting signs along the road that started with the letter A, then B, then on through the rest of the alphabet. Stacy didn’t enjoy that one as much. Dess thought it was because the game only consisted of spotting signs. You needed to be alert, but you didn’t have to think. Stacy liked to stretch her brain and come up with things on her own. So Dess had helped her come up with their family’s version of the ABC’s.

The first person would say a word starting with “A,” the next person would say one starting with “B,” then “C,” and so on. The rules were that your word had to be somehow related to the previous word, but not related in the same way as the previous word was related to its previous word. If you couldn’t change the relationship, or couldn’t think of a word, you would lose a point.