father home. She put her foot on the first dark nonstick strip and then the next one and the next.
She climbed the stairs.
The common room was entirely empty. The floor was shining, but in an ordinary kind of way. The piano was silent. There were several scraggly ferns hanging from the ceiling and an unfinished jigsaw puzzle on a small table in the center of the room. The box of the puzzle was propped up to show what the picture would be when the puzzle was done: a covered bridge in autumn.
“Well,” said Martha, “I have to return to my station. Maybe you three would like to take it from here and go down to Isabelle’s room and knock on her door and see if she would like visitors.”
“Okay,” said Raymie.
“Thank you very much,” said Beverly in the same terrifyingly polite voice she had used before.
“I like this room,” said Louisiana. “You could dance on this floor. You could put on a show here.”
“Well,” said Martha, “I suppose you could. There’s not a lot of dancing here, and I don’t believe that we have ever had a show. But perhaps someday. Who knows?” Martha shook her head. And then she clapped her hands. “Okay, girls. You just head down the hallway. Raymie, you know which door is Isabelle’s.”
Raymie nodded. She knew which door was Alice Nebbley’s. That was what mattered.
“Right,” said Beverly when Martha was gone. “Which room?”
“It’s this way,” said Raymie. Beverly and Louisiana followed her down the hallway, and as they got closer, they heard it.
“Take my hand!” screamed Alice Nebbley.
“Oh, my goodness,” said Louisiana. “Let’s go back. Let’s not do it.”
“Shut up,” said Beverly.
Louisiana caught up to Raymie and took her hand, and Raymie had the strange thought that holding on to Louisiana’s hand was like holding the paw of one of the ghost bunnies on her barrettes. She almost wasn’t even there.
But still, it was comforting for some reason, to have Louisiana’s hand in hers.
“Take my hand!” shouted Alice Nebbley again.
“Just get out of the way,” said Beverly. She pushed past Raymie and Louisiana and marched right into Alice Nebbley’s room without knocking. Raymie could see that the room was dark, as it had been before, as dark as a cave, as dark as the grave.
“She went into the room,” said Louisiana to Raymie.
“Yes,” said Raymie. “She did.”
They stood together in the hallway and stared at the dark outline that was Beverly Tapinski. She was standing right next to the bed.
“Arrrgggghh!” screamed Alice Nebbley, and both Louisiana and Raymie jumped.
“It’s under the bed,” called Raymie.
“I know that,” said Beverly from inside the darkness. “You told me that a thousand times. If there’s one thing I know, it’s where the stupid book is supposed to be.”
Raymie saw the dark form of Beverly duck down and disappear.
“There’s no book under here,” said Beverly’s muffled voice a minute later.
“There has to be,” said Raymie.
“It’s not there,” said Beverly. Her shadowy form reappeared. “It’s not anywhere in here. I don’t know. Who knows what old people do with books. Maybe she ate it. Or is lying on top of it.”
And then, instead of coming back out of the room, Beverly moved closer to Alice Nebbley’s bed.
“Never mind,” called Raymie. “Leave it alone. Come back.” She was suddenly afraid that Beverly might do something drastic and unpredictable, like try to pick up Alice Nebbley and look underneath her.
“Arrrrggghhhhh!” screamed Alice Nebbley. “I cannot. I cannot. I cannot stand the pain.”
“Oh, no,” said Louisiana. “It’s too terrible. She can’t stand the pain. I can’t stand the pain of her not standing the pain.” She squeezed Raymie’s hand so hard that it hurt.
“Take my hand!” screamed Alice Nebbley.
And then, just like before, a skinny arm came out from underneath the covers as if it were emerging from a grave. Louisiana
She climbed the stairs.
The common room was entirely empty. The floor was shining, but in an ordinary kind of way. The piano was silent. There were several scraggly ferns hanging from the ceiling and an unfinished jigsaw puzzle on a small table in the center of the room. The box of the puzzle was propped up to show what the picture would be when the puzzle was done: a covered bridge in autumn.
“Well,” said Martha, “I have to return to my station. Maybe you three would like to take it from here and go down to Isabelle’s room and knock on her door and see if she would like visitors.”
“Okay,” said Raymie.
“Thank you very much,” said Beverly in the same terrifyingly polite voice she had used before.
“I like this room,” said Louisiana. “You could dance on this floor. You could put on a show here.”
“Well,” said Martha, “I suppose you could. There’s not a lot of dancing here, and I don’t believe that we have ever had a show. But perhaps someday. Who knows?” Martha shook her head. And then she clapped her hands. “Okay, girls. You just head down the hallway. Raymie, you know which door is Isabelle’s.”
Raymie nodded. She knew which door was Alice Nebbley’s. That was what mattered.
“Right,” said Beverly when Martha was gone. “Which room?”
“It’s this way,” said Raymie. Beverly and Louisiana followed her down the hallway, and as they got closer, they heard it.
“Take my hand!” screamed Alice Nebbley.
“Oh, my goodness,” said Louisiana. “Let’s go back. Let’s not do it.”
“Shut up,” said Beverly.
Louisiana caught up to Raymie and took her hand, and Raymie had the strange thought that holding on to Louisiana’s hand was like holding the paw of one of the ghost bunnies on her barrettes. She almost wasn’t even there.
But still, it was comforting for some reason, to have Louisiana’s hand in hers.
“Take my hand!” shouted Alice Nebbley again.
“Just get out of the way,” said Beverly. She pushed past Raymie and Louisiana and marched right into Alice Nebbley’s room without knocking. Raymie could see that the room was dark, as it had been before, as dark as a cave, as dark as the grave.
“She went into the room,” said Louisiana to Raymie.
“Yes,” said Raymie. “She did.”
They stood together in the hallway and stared at the dark outline that was Beverly Tapinski. She was standing right next to the bed.
“Arrrgggghh!” screamed Alice Nebbley, and both Louisiana and Raymie jumped.
“It’s under the bed,” called Raymie.
“I know that,” said Beverly from inside the darkness. “You told me that a thousand times. If there’s one thing I know, it’s where the stupid book is supposed to be.”
Raymie saw the dark form of Beverly duck down and disappear.
“There’s no book under here,” said Beverly’s muffled voice a minute later.
“There has to be,” said Raymie.
“It’s not there,” said Beverly. Her shadowy form reappeared. “It’s not anywhere in here. I don’t know. Who knows what old people do with books. Maybe she ate it. Or is lying on top of it.”
And then, instead of coming back out of the room, Beverly moved closer to Alice Nebbley’s bed.
“Never mind,” called Raymie. “Leave it alone. Come back.” She was suddenly afraid that Beverly might do something drastic and unpredictable, like try to pick up Alice Nebbley and look underneath her.
“Arrrrggghhhhh!” screamed Alice Nebbley. “I cannot. I cannot. I cannot stand the pain.”
“Oh, no,” said Louisiana. “It’s too terrible. She can’t stand the pain. I can’t stand the pain of her not standing the pain.” She squeezed Raymie’s hand so hard that it hurt.
“Take my hand!” screamed Alice Nebbley.
And then, just like before, a skinny arm came out from underneath the covers as if it were emerging from a grave. Louisiana
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