Echoes of Dollanganger by V.C. Andrews Page A

stairway.
    â€œI thought I’d get us something to drink and eat first. Don’t you want a snack? I have—”
    â€œJust water,” he said. “Nothing else. That’s all they had most of the time. We’ve got to try to replicate their situation to really appreciate what he writes when I read it.”
    I felt a flush come over me. It wasn’t excitement, exactly. It was as if he really believed we could do it, that we really could become Christopher and Cathy while we were up in my attic. He saw the look on my face.
    â€œDidn’t you ever hear the expression ‘stay in character’? That’s all I’m saying.”
    â€œOkay.”
    I poured two glasses of cold water, handed him one, and led him up the stairs to my room. After I plucked the diary out from under my pillow, I looked at him. Now that we were about to do it, I half expected him to start laughing and say it was all just a joke, a reason to get me alone with him after school, but he stepped back instead to let me pass.
    I led the way to the attic stairs. When we reached the door, I hesitated. Those creaking steps, those dark shadows, everything made it seem as if I was opening this door for the first time. It wasn’t simply a door to an attic; it was a door to the past. When I did step in,I paused as if I was expecting to see the four Dollanganger children waiting for us.
    â€œPerfect,” Kane whispered, coming up beside me. “There’s furniture and old things. It really is a miniature Foxworth.”
    â€œNot quite,” I said, looking at my mother’s wardrobe. “It’s not all other people’s leftovers and such. My mother’s clothing is in here,” I told him, putting my hand on the wardrobe.
    â€œOh.” He looked guilty suddenly. “I didn’t know. You didn’t say anything. Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested we come up here.”
    â€œIt’s all right. I’ve been up here often. I even wore one of her dresses, remember? That was the night you took me to the River House.”
    â€œOh. Right. But everything else here . . .”
    â€œNothing with any real memories for me, and the rest of it is stuff left by the original occupants.”
    He went over to the small windows and looked out. “Should I open one of these?”
    â€œA little, but let’s not forget to close it before we leave,” I said.
    He opened one and then turned and sat on the sofa.
    â€œCome on,” he said, obviously even more excited now. “Let’s begin.” He held his hand out for the diary. I gave it to him and sat beside him. He thought a moment and then got up and moved to the chair across from the sofa.
    â€œWhy did you do that?”
    â€œBetter this way,” he said.
    I smiled at him. “Why?”
    â€œIt’s more like when Christopher read to them or something. Don’t worry. You’ll understand after we get started,” he said, as if he already knew more about the Dollanganger children than I did. He opened the diary.
    I sat back. I had no idea what to expect or what would happen next, but I couldn’t help being eager to find out.
    He didn’t change his voice, exactly, but as he read, I could see him trying to pronounce every word perfectly and speak like a young boy who thought he was much more intelligent than anyone else around him, including, of course, his mother and grandmother. Kane even changed his posture, assuming that Christopher would never slouch.
    To play along, I sat back and tried to remember what I was like when I was Cathy Dollanganger’s age, when every new little discovery about myself was earth-shattering and when, like her, I needed my mother so much, a mother neither of us had.
    And as he read, I could feel myself slipping out of this world and into theirs.
    I think the realization that it was almost Thanksgiving shocked me as much as if not more than it shocked Cathy.