She’s gone!” cried Meg. “She’s just gone!”
One moment Ariel was walking in front of them. The next second she’d dropped from sight. Vanished. A tuft of grass quivered in the spot.
The ghost girl left the wall. She flew this time, buzzing in a direct line, and hovered over the exact spot where Ariel had been. The ghost girl crouched, hanging in the air, and peered down intently.
Then she clapped her hands and, with a swoop, dove into the earth.
Will choked on a fading hiccup and put out his arm to stop Meg. They’d reached the walnut tree, quite close to the spot where Ariel had disappeared. Meg grabbed his arm and stood panting beside him. “Shh!” said Will.
They both froze and listened. It was a cry. Small and muffled, as if coming from a great depth.
“A hole!” cried Will.
“That’s her! I heard her!” screamed Meg. “Ariel!” She tried to rush forward, but Will grabbed her back. If one sister could disappear, another could too. The land must be highly unstable. They’d have to spread out their weight. Will dropped to his stomach and crawled forward.
“Hold my legs!” he called. He inched forward and was relieved to feel Meg grip his ankles. Just ahead, soil began to drop and disappear. Will slowed. His belly bounced as he hiccupped again, though he could tell his hiccups were subsiding. They were smaller and spaced farther apart. Then his hands touched something. Solid stone. His fingers had found a hard edge. Past the stone border, there was only air. He was at the brink of the hole.
He scrabbled at the rim to pull away grass and brush to define the edge. If he knew where the edge was, he couldn’t fall in it. Will waved to Meg and she crept beside him. Together they stared into the pit. Below them yawned a deep, stone-lined shaft that reached into utter darkness. There was no sign of Ariel.
“Ariel! It’s Meg! Can you hear us?”
“It’s an old well, or something,” said Will. Where had it come from? He’d never noticed it before out by the walnut tree.
“She fell down a well?! What if she drowns? Arielll!” Meg yelled.
Her voice echoed. But no other sound came from the pit.
This was the area the storm had churned up. The area Aunt Effie had told them to stay away from. The dirt was soft and raw, pushed up as if a giant mole had burrowed underneath and upset the quiet underground world. The pit was about three feet across, dank and earthy smelling.
Will gripped the stone edge and squinted into the blackness. The darkness seemed complete: stones going down in an endless circle, losing all color, vanishing to black.
“We need a light,” said Meg. “Any light.”
“Look.” Will pointed, his arm trembling.
Down the well shaft, a light was glowing. A shimmery sort of white with tinges of blue that illuminated the walls and slowly cast shadows into the stone crevices.
“That’s good,” said Meg. “Now we can see.”
“No, that’s bad,” said Will. “Very bad.”
The light grew brighter. He knew exactly what it was. The ghost child was down there, and if she was like the manor ghost, getting brighter meant she was touching Ariel.
“There she is!” Will grabbed Meg’s arm in excitement.
They could see Ariel. She hadn’t fallen far at all. Her body lay partway down, out of reach, but resting on a ledge of some sort. Or partially. Her torso lay on the ledge. Her right arm dangled off it, and worse, her right leg hung precariously, swaying over the pit’s emptiness. The ghost girl hovered next to her, her glowing fingers interlaced in Ariel’s hair.
Will couldn’t see anymore. He blinked. He was crying. Okay, he told himself sternly, wiping away tears. We don’t know yet. We don’t know if she’s alive. He took a shaky breath.
“How deep do you think it is?” asked Meg. She wasn’t crying. Her voice was tight but steady.
At least someone was still thinking straight. Not like him. How could he have stupidly fallen asleep when he was supposed to be watching Ariel? Whatever happened to Ariel, it would always be his fault. He heard Meg’s voice again.
“Wells are deep, right?” she said. “Could be a hundred feet. Maybe three hundred.”
“Deep,” he croaked.
“Too deep.”
They both knew what that meant. If Ariel fell off the ledge, she could not survive the next fall. Uncle Pierre in Quebec had fallen off a ladder and died, and that ladder was only sixteen feet high. The thought of his uncle, however, steadied Will and helped push his fear away. Falls were regular things. Not magical. They could get help for a fall.
“We’ll call 911!” said Will. “This is definitely an emergency. A real one with a well that grown-ups can understand.”
“911. Yes! That’s it. Oh! No, we can’t,” Meg said. “We’re not home, remember? 911 won’t work. It’s a different country! With a different number.”
“What number?”
“I don’t know,” said Meg, miserably. “Ahhh! The ghost’s right on her. We have to do something!”
As they watched, the ghost child wrapped her body over Ariel and stroked her arms. Or was she tugging on them? Will looked again. Yes, she was definitely pulling now. It was almost as if the ghost child wanted her to fall, though luckily the ghost’s tugs weren’t strong. That’s it. She wanted her to fall because she wanted her . . . dead. Dead like her. The thought shot through Will with a sickening jolt. He scrambled to his feet.
“Where are you going?”
Will didn’t answer. He sped to the garden toolshed. He knew there was rope there, and also a ladder. If ladders worked for ice-skating rescues on Minnesotan ponds, they’d work for a well rescue in England.
Will snatched a coil of rope, slung it over his shoulder, and hoped it was long enough. It would have to be. He gritted his teeth and grabbed the ladder. Meg joined him. They ran with the ladder bonking their knees, then laid the ladder across the well’s opening like a bridge. It clattered as it hit the stone rim and more dirt fell. The ladder’s clatter echoed down the well. Deep inside the shaft, the light flickered. It seemed to be rising. Will’s stomach clenched. Did that mean the ghost had won and Ariel was a goner, or . . . His stomach dropped. Or was it coming to get him and Meg?
The ghost was rising toward them. Will veered back as the ghost rose right out of the well. Will threw up his arms to defend himself, and beside him Meg’s body trembled. Will braced himself for a repeat of last night and felt a wash of intense cold pass through his veins and arteries.
“Will! Open your eyes.”
He cracked his eyes open, not realizing he’d snapped them shut. The ghost had floated past him and Meg and kept going. His heart surged at this piece of luck. Maybe it wasn’t trying to attack them. Only Ariel. Not exactly lucky, but it made things easier. Ariel was alone now.
“Ariel!” yelled Meg, sticking her face into the pit.
A faint moan came from the well.
“She’s alive!” Now it was Meg close to sobs. “Oh, Will, hurry! The ghost’s gone, and Ariel’s hurt. We have to get her out.”
Will said nothing. The ghost girl hadn’t gone. She was sitting in plain view. He could see her blue-white glow among the tree branches. Meg must not be able to see her anymore. The girl was kicking her shoes together, or rather one shoe and one stockinged foot. He didn’t have any hiccups. Maybe I don’t hiccup when the ghost is visible, thought Will. She’s not dormant, though. Just nervous. Something spooked her. Maybe the ladder noise. Something spooked the spook.
He swallowed hard and turned back to the well. Meg was busy with the rope, running it around the walnut’s trunk and tying a bowline on the ladder rail.
Will stood by helplessly. He was rotten at knots. His knots always came out weak and sloppy and usually slipped. Meg’s knots were good, tight ones. She’d learned from their dad, who said everyone ought to be able to tie a bowline behind their back with their eyes closed. Meg took him seriously and practiced. Will still couldn’t do it with his eyes open. He waited, trying to be patient. At least he could climb down the well pit. He could do that part. He was good at climbing.
“I’m ready,” he said.
“Don’t be crazy,” retorted Meg. “How do you expect to tie a knot around Ariel when you get down there?” Her voice began to shake. “I’ve got to be the one.”
Will looked at Meg. She hated dark places. She even hated hiding in the hall closet for hide-and-seek. But now her eyes were hard and her chin jutted with fierce determination. He’d been about to ask, “Are you sure?” but the words dried up in his mouth.
Meg stared down the dark pit and shuddered. Without the ghost, the well shaft was pitch dark. Of course, she preferred an impenetrably dark well shaft without a ghost to one with a ghost, but still.
She concentrated on tying the rope. She tried to remember how a harness for the climbing wall worked at the school gym. Under the legs somehow, plus around the waist. She looped and tied the rope around each thigh, then made a waist loop and cinched everything tight. She yanked and tested the knots. They all held. She forced a wan smile in Will’s direction.
“Ready?” said Will. “I’ll lower you down.”
He was standing near the well pit with the rope braced around the walnut tree to take off some of the weight. If their plan worked, he’d be able to inch her down by degrees, keeping tension on the rope and paying it out bit by bit. If he dropped it . . . Meg shook the thought out of her head. If he dropped it, the knot on the ladder would just have to hold.
“Ready,” said Meg. She didn’t feel ready at all. She felt like climbing into bed and putting her head under ten pillows. She forced herself to sit on the edge of the well shaft. Steady, Meg, she told herself. Then she grabbed the ladder with both hands, closed her eyes, and swung out into the darkness.
The knots around Meg’s waist and legs squeaked as they tightened under the strain. Will had a firm grip on the rope. She kept one hand on the ladder’s rail, groped for the rope with the other hand, then leaned back in a diagonal position until her feet bumped the stones on the shaft’s opposite side.
“I can reach the wall,” she called up.
“I’ve got you!” answered Will.
Here goes. Meg sucked in her breath and let go of the ladder’s safety. Instantly, she dropped. The rope cut into her skin. Her body jerked, and she fell her own body length. Then she jerked again and fell more. The rope tightened around her stomach, then . . . blessedly held.
She let out her breath. She’d stopped falling. Will must have gained control of the line above. Meg took a tentative breath and looked about.
She was hanging suspended in blackness. Where was the ledge? How far had she dropped? Up above she could see a starkly bright patch of sky at the top of the shaft. She blinked and looked down again. Looking at the sky would not help her eyes adjust to the dark. She couldn’t do that again. She needed to focus in the well. Gingerly, Meg reached her hand into the inky darkness. Stone walls, slightly moist. There was nothing above her, so the ledge must still be below.
“Lower me down some more!” Meg called up.
He did. Slowly, this time, to Meg’s great relief. He must be getting used to the rope’s pull. Her foot touched something solid. She jerked back. She’d have to be careful not to tip Ariel off the ledge. If her foot nudged her the wrong way . . .
“Stop!”
Will stopped the rope. Meg swayed gently. She was level with Ariel, she knew it. The pit felt warmer, more alive, definitely different. It even smelled different. The air was earthworm-y and gave off a strong scent of soil, surprisingly mixed with something that made her think of kitchens, the soft scent of butter and jam. Her fingertips explored the ledge, whatever it was Ariel had landed on. There was stone, almost a stone shelf of sorts. That’s what Ariel was lying on. But how had she landed so perfectly? Why hadn’t she cracked her head on its harsh stone? Or missed it altogether? Then Meg’s hand touched something round, rough, and sinewy. Instinctively, she grasped it with a trembling hand. It held steady. Not only steady, but warm and encouraging, as if she had a friend down here in the pit. Meg heaved a sigh and instantly felt better. She was still in the dark, still suspended above a pit, still with an injured sister and a ghost hovering around, but now she had a firm handhold, not just a rope, and that simple fact made a huge difference.
Meg tightened her grip and wriggled up next to Ariel. As she did so, she knocked against Ariel’s foot. For a moment, she felt the familiar rubbery sole of Ariel’s Croc. Then it wobbled, dropped, and after a short delay she heard a splash. Ariel’s shoe. The other one was already gone. She could feel her bare feet.
Meg moved more carefully now. The ledge wasn’t big enough for both of them, but she could stand with her body straddling Ariel’s. It was an odd ledge, part flat stone, part twisted and earthy. Wood. What was wood doing down here? Ariel’s weight seemed to be resting on a stone outcropping, but on top of the stone she was cradled in a gnarled nest of wood.
“I’m at the ledge!” Meg called up the shaft. “I’m standing on a tree root or something!”
Meg ran her fingers over Ariel’s face. Ariel was breathing. Her forehead felt wet, and her eyes were closed. Meg slid her fingers around the side of her sister’s head and loud-whispered in her ear once she located it. “Ariel!”
“Oh, it’s you Meg,” said Ariel, in a drifty, dreamy sort of way. Then she stopped talking and Meg couldn’t rouse her.
Meg took a deep breath. She tried not to think about the drop below them, or the splash the shoe made when it fell. They only had one rope. She would have to untie her own rope in order to put it on Ariel. That was the horrible part. Then she’d have to keep her balance while Will hauled Ariel out. And wait. Alone in the dark well.
It’s only for a minute, she told herself. I’ll just be alone for a minute. If only there had been more than one rope in the toolshed. Meg felt in the darkness for something to brace herself with. A sturdy tree root grew along the shaft wall, and she wrapped one arm around it, entwining the root in an awkward embrace. She could still use both hands this way, with her arm wedged behind the root. She hoped the tree was steady. It must be the old walnut up above. It was certainly big, but had looked tippy after the storm. Maybe under the bark it was rotten. Meg pushed that thought from her mind and picked at the knot keeping her safe until the cord around her own waist loosened. Then she slipped it off and fastened the rope around Ariel.
An ache of deep loneliness suddenly filled Meg’s heart. She tugged on the new knots to tighten them. By now she had Ariel tied in three places—waist, legs, and armpits. Ariel was lighter than she was; the knots would surely hold. But as she thought this, the loneliness and despair grew stronger. It invaded the pit, sweeping forward in a great rush. Meg froze and leaned against the stone wall to steady herself.
She wasn’t alone. Besides Ariel, there was something else in the pit.
Meg craned her neck to look up and trembled. The top of the well shaft was brightening to blue. The ghost was back. There was nowhere to hide. She shrank against the ledge, precariously balancing and trying to shield Ariel. The light plunged down toward them.
The gold Mini passed Hembridge and Huxham Green, and was heading toward the River Brue on the A37, when Uncle Ben threw back his head and howled. He could sense the girl, her mark still lingering on the car seat. The scent drove him into a panic.
“Now, Ben!” called Aunt Effie from the driver’s seat. “Quiet! Nobody’s in danger. Just behave yourself back there.”
Uncle Ben barked and lunged at the side of the Mini. The car rocked. He whined, then lunged again, sending the Mini skittering in its lane. Aunt Effie yelped and clutched the steering wheel in both hands, then pulled over to the side of the road in exasperation. She flung open the door.
“Ben . . .”
With a blaze of brown fur, Uncle Ben leapt from the back seat and landed with a thud on the road’s shoulder. Behind him he heard Aunt Effie yelling, calling his name. Uncle Ben barked in reply. Then he left the road and struck out across the pastures, running at full tilt.
Meg cowered on the ledge. The light descended until it shone directly across from her. The glare was blinding after the enveloping darkness.
The ghost was floating next to the ledge. She could see it: mostly blue light, but also the human shape of a girl. It put out its arm and reached for Ariel’s hand.
“No!” Meg cried, trying to bat it away.
The ghost paused. Then it shifted.
It dropped Ariel’s hand and reached for Meg.
Meg felt a chill spread across her skin. Fingers, fleshless but firm, gripping her arm. Time suspended when they touched. Meg was swimming in time, swimming in loneliness.
She couldn’t see the ghost, the well, or her sister anymore. She could only feel. She was lost in deep, unending waves of despair and isolation. She felt the cool touch on her hand spread to her shoulder. She shivered. She wanted her mother. She wanted someone’s arms to wrap around and comfort her.
What happened next, she couldn’t explain. She was still in the well, but she wasn’t Meg anymore. The bells were sounding. Above, she could hear more shouts. They were all looking, looking, but never looking for her. The lonely feeling deepened. How much longer? How much longer until they found her? Until they realized their little girl was missing? She called out: “Down here! I’m in here! Look down the well!” Only the bells answered. Time passed. Her voice was raw from shouting. She was thirsty. The bells rang. The pain in her head throbbed. She thought of Cook’s Cottage and her bed in the alcove. How good it would feel to be tucked up under the blankets there. The bells sounded again. Something tugged and wanted her to lift away, to glide away and leave the well, but she shrank back. “I don’t want to be alone. Please, come. Someone be with me.” The bells rang back, chanting, mocking: no one is coming, no one is coming, no one cares . . .
A tug jerked Meg. It was the rope she’d tied around Ariel, which she was still holding in her hands. Meg heard more shouting, but this time it was Will calling from above. The feeling of loneliness lingered, but it wasn’t inside her anymore. Next to her, the ghost girl hung suspended, clear down to the detail of sagging stockings and smudged pinafore.
“You’re a lonely little girl,” murmured Meg, with sudden understanding. “Just lonely and scared.” Her voice came out soft and soothing. The ghost glowed more brightly, making the stone walls radiate blue, and for an instant Meg thought the loneliness in the pit began to ease. The girl stared at Meg and they locked eyes—Meg’s green-brown ones and the girl’s stark silver ones.
“You don’t want her,” Meg began. The ghost cocked its head, listening.
“She won’t make you happy. She doesn’t belong here.”
The ghost did not stir. If I can only keep her attention away from Ariel, Meg thought.
“I’m sorry you died. I know it’s awful in here. . . .”
The ghost’s silver eyes flashed. Ariel let out a ragged breath, and the ghost slid to her side. The tenuous connection Meg shared with the little ghost was broken. Now the ghost flashed cobalt blue and touched Ariel’s hand. Ariel cried out.
Meg’s own fingers flew fast, tugging the knots in one final test. She shouted for Will to pull up.
“I don’t care how lonely you are,” she said. “You can’t take my sister.”
For several eternal minutes, Ariel’s body hung between the ledge and the ladder. Then Will gave a final heave and Ariel’s body bumped against the well’s rim. She was up! Now to get her fully out. He wished he had a second person to help him. It was hard to hold the rope taut and grab Ariel at the same time, but he’d just have to do it. He reached across the ladder, gripped Ariel by the arm, and hauled. She moved, then slipped. Will heaved again, and this time her legs scraped against the stone rim, and she was out. Out of the well. He’d done it.
Despite the ropes and bumpy ride, Ariel was not awake. She was breathing, though, and amazingly, still had the doll clenched in an iron grip under one arm. How was that possible? He tried to push it out of the way, but it wouldn’t budge. It would have to stay. Will set to work untying Meg’s knots. At least he was good at untying, and knew how to do it: bend the knot back to loosen it. But untying knots took time. He chafed at how slowly his fingers worked. He wished he could check Ariel for broken bones, but that would have to wait. Meg needed the rope. He needed to take care of the knots first.
The final knot came free. Now for Meg. Will’s neck prickled, causing him to look up. He was just in time to see the ghost girl shoot out of the hole. Will froze.
She moved in a jerky fashion, and appeared highly agitated. She didn’t rise up to the walnut tree this time. Her unnerving eyes glared at him, shining more brightly than her body, as she advanced to where Will crouched next to Ariel.
It’s just a girl, he tried to tell himself. So small, so young, so much like Ariel. Could she really mean to harm them? The silver eyes glinted at him and his hands began to shake. His encounter with the manor ghost flooded back. Yes, she could.
From a muffled distance, Will heard Meg shouting for him. He wanted to go to her. He wanted to run. Instead, he stood up, grabbed the rope, and whirled the end like a lasso toward the ghost. It was all he could think of. The ghost ignored the flying rope. She dodged around it, glided forward, and stretched out her hands. Will backed up and tripped on the rest of the rope jumbled in a pile. He hit the ground and covered his head with his hands. I’m sorry, Meg. I couldn’t do it. We’re all stuck now. She’s coming for me. First me. Then Ariel. Then you. Will pressed his head to the ground and waited for the inevitable cold touch. But none came. The ghost girl bypassed him and moved directly to Ariel. Then the ghost took Ariel’s head in both hands and began to hum.
La de de la da.
F, C-sharp,C, high F, C.
Will sprang up. That was his tune, at least the beginning of it. The ghost was singing the old bell song. The ghost had given him that song. A strange pounding mixed in with the song. The pounding grew louder. It didn’t seem to be coming from the ghost, it was coming from the pastures. Will turned. From McBurney’s fields, a blur of brown fur streaked toward him. The pounding was a giant dog running at full speed.
Uncle Ben! In a mass of fur, he lunged at the ghost girl. The girl shot off Ariel before he landed, and Uncle Ben, who couldn’t stop in time, rammed into Will.
They slammed into the ground, dog and boy. Uncle Ben was barking, covered in burrs, his underbelly slathered in mud. Will didn’t care. He flung his arms around the dog’s broad neck and cried “Oh, Ben, Ben.”
The ghost girl retreated up the walnut tree in a fast float. Will’s relief was so great he didn’t notice at first what Uncle Ben was doing. Ben had crawled off Will and was nosing Ariel’s body.
Ariel’s face had turned a ghastly white. Her eyes rolled back, open, and now they stared at nothing. Sweat beaded her forehead. She needed help. Medical help. Grown-up help—at once. He’d never seen a face look like that before. He’d have to go for help. Leave Meg. Hope Uncle Ben could keep the ghosts at bay. Meg would have to hold on.
“Stay!” he ordered Uncle Ben. Will set off at a run.