standing by the water, her back to us, her hair swirling in the wind, absolutely soaked.
"What's she doing?" I whispered.
"I don't know, but she'll catch pneumonia if she stays there much longer." Michael pushed me aside and climbed out the window. "Heather," he yelled. "Get away from that water!"
She turned toward him, her mouth open in surprise, one hand clasping the locket. "Go away!" she shouted as he ran toward her.
I watched him grab her and try to drag her toward the house. She was doing her best to get away from him, twisting and turning, crying and screaming, begging him to leave her alone.
"Molly, help me!" Michael yelled, and I scrambled through the window, slipping and sliding as I ran down the hillside. Grabbing hold of Heather, I helped Michael drag her up the hill and into the house.
"What are you doing here?" she cried, still struggling to escape.
"Looking for you!" I shouted. "You know you aren't supposed to be here! Mom and Dave told you last night to stay closer to the church!"
"I'll go where I want to go!" Heather slumped suddenly, her eyes filled with tears, and she began to cry. "You're hurting my arms," she sobbed. "Let me go."
"Do you promise not to run away from us?" Michael scowled at her.
"Yes," Heather mumbled. "She's gone now anyway."
We let go of her, and she slumped on the floor between us, weeping, her face hidden in her hands. "You always make her go away," she wept, "but you'll be sorry. You'll be so sorry."
"See what I mean?" I turned to Michael. Surely he would believe me now.
"There's nobody here and there never was," Michael said scornfully. "You might be able to fool Molly with ghost stories, but you can't fool me. I know a lie when I hear one."
"Just wait till she comes!" Heather turned a look of pure hatred on Michael. "She'll get you first!"
But Michael just laughed. "What's taking her so long! Why can't she get me right now?"
"The time's not right," Heather said, gazing past us both. She stared out the window at the wind-lashed vines and dark clouds.
Michael laughed again. "Oh, I'm so scared," he said in a fake quaver.
"You should be." Heather stood up then and backed away from us, just as a stone tumbled from the wall above us and crashed at Michael's feet.
"There!" Heather shrieked as Michael and I stared at the stone. "She doesn't want you here. She wants me, just me!"
"Come on, Michael!" I tugged at his arm, trying to get him to leave the house. "Let's get out of here! I told you it wasn't safe."
"It was just the wind, that's all." Michael frowned at Heather. "But Molly's right. We shouldn't stay here in a storm. We're going home, and you're coming with us."
He grabbed one arm and I grabbed the other, and between the two of us we managed to drag Heather out of the house, down the hill, and into the woods. By the time we got to the creek, she was walking sullenly, like a prisoner on her way to a beheading.
When we had almost reached the church, Michael seized the chain around Heather's neck and looked at the locket before she could snatch it back.
"Those are your initials," he said. "You didn't find this anywhere. You had it all along, didn't you?"
"H.E.H," Heather said, a little smile passing over her face. "My initials, but not my name. You want to know whose name they stand for?"
Michael sighed, but I said, "Tell us, Heather. I want to know."
"Helen Elizabeth Harper," she whispered. "My friend and your enemy." Breaking away from us, she ran toward the church, leaving us to follow, soaked to the skin and, in my case at least, too scared to chase after her.
8
"HOW DO YOU explain it, Michael?" I asked him later. We were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking mugs of hot chocolate, still trying to get warm. Although I'd made a cup for Heather, she'd taken hers out to the carriage house.
"It's just a fantasy, Molly. Lots of kids have imaginary friends. Don't you remember Mr. Maypo?"
"How could I forget? Every time you did something bad, you blamed it on
"What's she doing?" I whispered.
"I don't know, but she'll catch pneumonia if she stays there much longer." Michael pushed me aside and climbed out the window. "Heather," he yelled. "Get away from that water!"
She turned toward him, her mouth open in surprise, one hand clasping the locket. "Go away!" she shouted as he ran toward her.
I watched him grab her and try to drag her toward the house. She was doing her best to get away from him, twisting and turning, crying and screaming, begging him to leave her alone.
"Molly, help me!" Michael yelled, and I scrambled through the window, slipping and sliding as I ran down the hillside. Grabbing hold of Heather, I helped Michael drag her up the hill and into the house.
"What are you doing here?" she cried, still struggling to escape.
"Looking for you!" I shouted. "You know you aren't supposed to be here! Mom and Dave told you last night to stay closer to the church!"
"I'll go where I want to go!" Heather slumped suddenly, her eyes filled with tears, and she began to cry. "You're hurting my arms," she sobbed. "Let me go."
"Do you promise not to run away from us?" Michael scowled at her.
"Yes," Heather mumbled. "She's gone now anyway."
We let go of her, and she slumped on the floor between us, weeping, her face hidden in her hands. "You always make her go away," she wept, "but you'll be sorry. You'll be so sorry."
"See what I mean?" I turned to Michael. Surely he would believe me now.
"There's nobody here and there never was," Michael said scornfully. "You might be able to fool Molly with ghost stories, but you can't fool me. I know a lie when I hear one."
"Just wait till she comes!" Heather turned a look of pure hatred on Michael. "She'll get you first!"
But Michael just laughed. "What's taking her so long! Why can't she get me right now?"
"The time's not right," Heather said, gazing past us both. She stared out the window at the wind-lashed vines and dark clouds.
Michael laughed again. "Oh, I'm so scared," he said in a fake quaver.
"You should be." Heather stood up then and backed away from us, just as a stone tumbled from the wall above us and crashed at Michael's feet.
"There!" Heather shrieked as Michael and I stared at the stone. "She doesn't want you here. She wants me, just me!"
"Come on, Michael!" I tugged at his arm, trying to get him to leave the house. "Let's get out of here! I told you it wasn't safe."
"It was just the wind, that's all." Michael frowned at Heather. "But Molly's right. We shouldn't stay here in a storm. We're going home, and you're coming with us."
He grabbed one arm and I grabbed the other, and between the two of us we managed to drag Heather out of the house, down the hill, and into the woods. By the time we got to the creek, she was walking sullenly, like a prisoner on her way to a beheading.
When we had almost reached the church, Michael seized the chain around Heather's neck and looked at the locket before she could snatch it back.
"Those are your initials," he said. "You didn't find this anywhere. You had it all along, didn't you?"
"H.E.H," Heather said, a little smile passing over her face. "My initials, but not my name. You want to know whose name they stand for?"
Michael sighed, but I said, "Tell us, Heather. I want to know."
"Helen Elizabeth Harper," she whispered. "My friend and your enemy." Breaking away from us, she ran toward the church, leaving us to follow, soaked to the skin and, in my case at least, too scared to chase after her.
8
"HOW DO YOU explain it, Michael?" I asked him later. We were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking mugs of hot chocolate, still trying to get warm. Although I'd made a cup for Heather, she'd taken hers out to the carriage house.
"It's just a fantasy, Molly. Lots of kids have imaginary friends. Don't you remember Mr. Maypo?"
"How could I forget? Every time you did something bad, you blamed it on
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