The Ghost Sonata by JENNIFER ALLISON Page A

comes one of your urban legends.”
    â€œWhen they did the autopsy, there was a hair ball the size of a meteorite in her stomach.”
    â€œThank you for the disgusting image. Anyway, my point was that there must be some reasonable explanation for this weird feeling I keep having.”
    Wendy was used to participating in Gilda’s investigations from a distance, from which she could offer objective advice while remaining slightly skeptical of the whole project. She hated the notion that she was now becoming an irrational, weak person. She certainly never expected to be in the role of someone who needed Gilda’s help—the kind of person who needed protection from some invisible, potentially sinister force. This feeling I keep having isn’t based on anything real , Wendy reminded herself. The tarot cards don’t mean anything, and drawing the number nine was just a little coincidence. “Look, I’d better get some sleep,” she said, determined to finally put an end to her first day in England. “The competition starts really early tomorrow.”
    â€œOkay,” said Gilda. “Knock on my door if I’m not up by eight, okay? I want to get up early so I can walk with you to the competition. Don’t forget—I’m right across the hall if you need me.”
    Wendy stood up and picked up her toothbrush. “I’ll be fine.”
    â€œGary is right next door, too,” Gilda added. “I’m sure he’d be up for a slumber party. Maybe he’d even let you play with his Luke Skywalker action figure if you ask nicely.”
    â€œGood night, Gilda.” Wendy gave Gilda a little shove out the door. “Don’t oversleep, because I’m leaving early tomorrow.”
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    When she returned to her room, Gilda felt as if she had crashed into a wall of fatigue. She knew she should put on her pajamas and brush her teeth, but she suddenly felt too chilled to function, as if she were fighting a case of the flu. I’ll just lie down and get warm for a minute , she told herself. Without turning out the dim overhead light or changing into her pajamas, she kicked off her shoes and crawled under the thin duvet cover.
    Gilda huddled under the covers and listened to the gurgling and rumbling of pipes and the hissing of radiators in the old house. It’s like being trapped inside the digestive system of an old, gassy person , she thought. Through the thin walls, she heard Gary blowing his nose, followed by water running noisily into the bathtub. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the sound of splashing, trickling water.
    Despite the noisiness of the house, Gilda quickly drifted into sleep and dreamed that she was turning pages as Wendy performed her piano music. The odd thing was that the two girls were in motion, as if they were riding on the back of a truck—as if the piano itself were a kind of vehicle. As Wendy played faster, the piano moved faster, until Gilda had a giddy sense of terror; they were in danger of losing control.
    â€œSlow down,” said Gilda.
    â€œYou missed the turn!” Wendy snapped angrily.
    Gilda turned the page, but it was too late. They suddenly lurched forward into a deep ditch and crashed down into what seemed to be a bottomless pit.
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    Gilda awoke to the unpleasant sound of water trickling through a pipe in the wall. She peered at her surroundings through half-opened eyes and found herself gazing into a face. It was a boy’s face, and it seemed to be watching her from a few feet above the ground. Then, the face gradually dissolved like an image being erased from a strip of film.
    As if hypnotized, Gilda watched the spot where the face had been. Did I just see a ghost?
    Despite her many experiences receiving messages through dreams, séances, and automatic writing, Gilda had never actually seen a ghost before.
    Gilda sat bolt upright in bed. “Who’s there?” she whispered