The Secret by R.L. Stine Page A

pulled his mother inside and closed the door. “No, Mama,” he said, desperate to soothe her. “You must be dreaming.”
    â€œI am not dreaming, Jonathan.” His mother’s voice was firm now. “She is in the backyard. My little girl…”
    Jonathan opened the door and peered outside. It was a warm, clear night, well lit by the moon. He saw no one outside. No sign of Abigail.
    â€œNo one is there, Mama,” Jonathan said. “Please, you must go back to bed.”
    He put an arm around his mother’s shoulders and began to lead her back to the stairs. She struggled against him.
    â€œNo!” she cried. “Abigail needs me!”
    Jonathan was stronger and guided his mother upstairs. “You cannot go outside—you will catch cold. You had a bad dream, Mama. That is all,” he said. “Just a bad dream.”
    But no matter what he told her, Jane refused to believe that her dead daughter hadn’t called to her.
    She allowed herself to be taken upstairs, but still she was frantic with grief and worry. She went to bed, and at last, exhausted, fell into a deep sleep.
    Jonathan shut the door to his room and went to his window to look out. The yard, with the woods behind it, stretched quiet and peaceful in the moonlight.
    In the morning the Fier family went about their chores as if it were any other day. Neither Jonathan nor his mother said a word to anyone about what had happened the night before.
    It was almost as if it really
had
been a dream. Jonathan knew better.
    Mama has been shaken since Abigail died, Jonathan thought. But it has always been a matter of a momentary confusion. She has never gone this far before.
    The next night he lay awake, waiting for a noise. Hours passed in peaceful stillness. Jonathan’s body began to relax. Then, just as he began to feel drowsy, he heard it.
    Creak.
    â€œAbigail! Abigail!” came the whispered cry.
    He heard his father’s heavier tread on the floorboards.
    â€œJane, come back to bed,” Ezra whispered. “You will wake up the children.”
    Jonathan heard his father take his mother back into their room and shut the door. He heard their muffled voices, then his mother crying.
    Jonathan’s mother stayed in bed all the next day, and the next. But at night she roamed the house, calling for her dead daughter.
    â€œI want to do something for her,” Rachel told Jonathan. “Something to cheer her up.”
    Jonathan sighed. He doubted anything he or Rachel could do would make their mother happy.
    â€œWhat about the trellis?” Rachel suggested. “We could plant roses. Someday they will grow so high they will reach her bedroom window.”
    â€œAll right,” Jonathan agreed. He was glad to get out of the house, at least.
    Jonathan took a shovel and Rachel took a spade. They began to dig holes for the rosebushes.
    Feeling a light tap on his shoulder, Jonathan whirled around to see who was there.
    He found himself staring into Delilah’s pretty face.
    â€œGood afternoon,” she said.
    â€œGood afternoon,” Jonathan answered.
    â€œHello, Delilah!” Rachel called.
    Jonathan wiped his dirty hands on his work pants and wished Delilah had not found him so muddy. But she did not seem to mind.
    â€œDo you two have time for a visitor?” Delilah asked.
    â€œOf course,” said Jonathan.
    â€œI need a rest anyway,” Rachel said. “I am tired of digging.”
    â€œShall we sit in the shade?” Jonathan suggested.
    Jonathan and Delilah sat under an apple tree while Rachel ran off and was soon back with a pitcher of lemon water.
    â€œI have come to see how the two of you are doing,” said Delilah. “I have been worried about you.”
    Jonathan was silent. But Rachel said, “Oh, Delilah—Mama is not well. She walks through the house every night, calling for Abigail. We think she sees Abigail’s ghost!”
    Delilah’s eyes