continued to dance, while the neighbors watched with bodies made heavy with terror, till the candles burned low and the clock struck midnight. Then Conrad said, "You came back for one night, and we danced all night. Surely we've danced to your heart's content," and he made to push Marjorie away.
But still Marjorie wouldn't let go, and Marjorie wouldn't stop dancing.
Hour after hour the dogs continued to howl and the Sharpes continued to dance, while the neighbors watched with minds made numb by terror, till the candles burned out, past the setting of the moon, till the sky began to grow light with dawn. Then, pleased with himself, for he was sure that he had gotten the best of Marjorie's ghost, Conrad said, "You came back for one night, and we danced all night and into the next day. Surely you've danced to your heart's content," and this time he gave Marjorie a great shove.
But still Marjorie wouldn't let go, and still Marjorie wouldn't stop dancing. She danced Conrad out the door, no matter how he struggled, and down the front walk and into the street.
None of the neighbors dared follow, and the last they saw of Conrad was through the open door; they saw his pale face, and they saw the tails of his new coat blowing in the wind as he danced with Marjorie down the street.
A few minutes later, all at once, the neighbors' dogs stopped barking.
Once the sun was high in the sky, the neighbors followed the footprints in the snow. Down the street those footprints led, and over the hill, and they didn't stop till they came to the cemetery, where the dirt was mounded neatly over Marjorie Sharpe's new grave, just as it had been left the day before.
And there the footprints stopped.
In the years that followed, come cold dark nights as autumn turned to winter, the townspeople often asked themselves what had become of Conrad. But no one dared dig up Marjorie's grave to learn the truth, for fear of what they might see.
Shadow Brother
My brother, Kevin, may or may not have come back from the dead for any one of several contradictory reasons, depending on which of my relatives you assume is most reasonable. Personally, I wouldn't consider any of us particularly reliable.
Since Kevin was a boy, and since he was born five years before I was, we had few common interests. That meant we didn't consider each other competition, and that, for the most part, kept us from finding it useful or especially gratifying to persecute each other.
The only time he was put in charge of me was when I was in first grade and my parents told him he had to walk me to and from school. This he did without trying to lose me. No running and cutting through people's backyards and climbing fences, which some of my friends' brothers (and sisters) did.
I submit that as Exhibit A in the case against Kevin becoming a malevolent ghost. (Though I'd be the first to admit that death changes everything.)
When I was in second grade, the people three houses down got a dog that would come to the very edge of their yard and growl whenever I passed. Though Kevin was no longer officially in charge of me, he put himself between me and that dog, and he growled back. The dog slunk away. From then on that dog knew I knew he was a coward, and he didn't bother me anymore, even when Kevin wasn't with me.
Exhibit B. For anyone who's keeping track.
For all of that, Kevin and I didn't think alike: I was a fen of the Beatles; he liked the Rolling Stones. My favorite TV show was Dr.
Kildare;
Kevin said Ben Casey was the better doctor and
The Defenders
was a better show. But different tastes in music and TV are not important One of the big ways we differed was our reactions when our father talked about being in France during World War II. Dad had been part of the OSS. His group would parachute behind enemy lines to help the French Resistance fighters, and one of his stories was about the time one of his men landed badly, breaking a leg. They couldn't bring the wounded man with them,
But still Marjorie wouldn't let go, and Marjorie wouldn't stop dancing.
Hour after hour the dogs continued to howl and the Sharpes continued to dance, while the neighbors watched with minds made numb by terror, till the candles burned out, past the setting of the moon, till the sky began to grow light with dawn. Then, pleased with himself, for he was sure that he had gotten the best of Marjorie's ghost, Conrad said, "You came back for one night, and we danced all night and into the next day. Surely you've danced to your heart's content," and this time he gave Marjorie a great shove.
But still Marjorie wouldn't let go, and still Marjorie wouldn't stop dancing. She danced Conrad out the door, no matter how he struggled, and down the front walk and into the street.
None of the neighbors dared follow, and the last they saw of Conrad was through the open door; they saw his pale face, and they saw the tails of his new coat blowing in the wind as he danced with Marjorie down the street.
A few minutes later, all at once, the neighbors' dogs stopped barking.
Once the sun was high in the sky, the neighbors followed the footprints in the snow. Down the street those footprints led, and over the hill, and they didn't stop till they came to the cemetery, where the dirt was mounded neatly over Marjorie Sharpe's new grave, just as it had been left the day before.
And there the footprints stopped.
In the years that followed, come cold dark nights as autumn turned to winter, the townspeople often asked themselves what had become of Conrad. But no one dared dig up Marjorie's grave to learn the truth, for fear of what they might see.
Shadow Brother
My brother, Kevin, may or may not have come back from the dead for any one of several contradictory reasons, depending on which of my relatives you assume is most reasonable. Personally, I wouldn't consider any of us particularly reliable.
Since Kevin was a boy, and since he was born five years before I was, we had few common interests. That meant we didn't consider each other competition, and that, for the most part, kept us from finding it useful or especially gratifying to persecute each other.
The only time he was put in charge of me was when I was in first grade and my parents told him he had to walk me to and from school. This he did without trying to lose me. No running and cutting through people's backyards and climbing fences, which some of my friends' brothers (and sisters) did.
I submit that as Exhibit A in the case against Kevin becoming a malevolent ghost. (Though I'd be the first to admit that death changes everything.)
When I was in second grade, the people three houses down got a dog that would come to the very edge of their yard and growl whenever I passed. Though Kevin was no longer officially in charge of me, he put himself between me and that dog, and he growled back. The dog slunk away. From then on that dog knew I knew he was a coward, and he didn't bother me anymore, even when Kevin wasn't with me.
Exhibit B. For anyone who's keeping track.
For all of that, Kevin and I didn't think alike: I was a fen of the Beatles; he liked the Rolling Stones. My favorite TV show was Dr.
Kildare;
Kevin said Ben Casey was the better doctor and
The Defenders
was a better show. But different tastes in music and TV are not important One of the big ways we differed was our reactions when our father talked about being in France during World War II. Dad had been part of the OSS. His group would parachute behind enemy lines to help the French Resistance fighters, and one of his stories was about the time one of his men landed badly, breaking a leg. They couldn't bring the wounded man with them,
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