The motorcycle’s roar invaded Meg’s ears. She’d never been on a motorcycle before, but this was louder than she’d imagined. What was it Shep had said about gears? It sounded as if the motorcycle was straining. She was straining too, to hang on. It was a roomy seat, but with Shep and three kids there wasn’t much space. What would her mother think of them tearing off across muddy fields with no helmets or seat belts?
Shep had unlatched the gate, and they were hurtling across McBurney’s first pasture. The stone fence ahead joggled into view. Just one more pasture to cross before reaching the Griffinage.
“Blast it!” Shep yelled and twisted the handlebar grips.
The motorcycle leapt, bumped, then made a thutt-thutt-thutt coughing noise. Their speed dropped. The engine roar sank to a hum. Then the entire motorcycle stuttered forward, Meg slammed against Will’s back, and the engine died.
“Out of fuel,” said Shep.
The motorcycle wheeled forward silently, wobbled, and stopped. Shep put his good foot down to steady it, and the children scrambled off, leaving Ariel draped over the leather seat. Shep glared at the motorcycle. Meg felt her body vibrating from the wild ride. It had been hard to gauge distance with so much bumping, but she could see they’d covered more than half the distance to the Griffinage. McBurney’s second west pasture was next, and it was the smaller of the two. The empty-tanked motorcycle had skidded to a halt a few steps from the stile and gate between the fields.
“It’s up to you now,” Shep said, looking at Meg and Will. “Think you can do it?”
“You mean run for it?” asked Will.
Shep nodded and looked down at his foot.
“ ’Fraid I’m stuck here. I’ll follow as I can.”
Meg stifled a sob. It had been so comforting to have Shep back with them again. It was true he didn’t know everything about ghosts, but he was real, solid, and grown-up. She hadn’t realized how much she’d relaxed just having him with them. It was the feeling of taking off responsibility and just being a kid. A kid in a dangerous situation, but still just a kid following an adult’s leadership. Now it was up to them again.
Will bent down with his back to the motorcycle. Shep placed Ariel on Will’s back, but when Will tried to take a step, he collapsed on the ground.
“I can’t stand up!” he cried with surprise. “There’s something wrong with me. My legs won’t work!” He wriggled on the ground and groaned.
Shep lifted Ariel off Will and rested her on the motorcycle seat again, his arm around her. Will struggled to his feet.
“Let me try,” said Meg.
For some reason, she knew she could do it. Will was good at seeing the ghosts, but she could understand them. The way she’d been able to connect with the ghost girl in the well gave her courage. The manor ghost wasn’t visible to her now, but Meg realized she could still feel her. The deep, wafting sense of loneliness she’d experienced in the well surrounded her again. There was loneliness in the manor ghost too, mixed with another deep aching, a lostness—not being lost exactly, but a loss of purpose.
Meg marched up to the motorcycle. Will stepped aside, opened his mouth as if about to protest, then closed it again. Shep said nothing, but grabbed Ariel under her armpits and hefted her onto Meg’s back. Meg braced both arms against her thighs, her head down.
A crushing weight made her stagger.
She swayed but stayed upright.
“She’s doing it,” she heard Will whisper.
Meg felt the weight seep into her body. It was easier as it spread out more. She took a tentative step. Each time she lifted her foot, it felt as if she were fighting intense gravity. It certainly wasn’t Ariel’s weight. She’d carried Ariel piggyback plenty of times before. A far, far heavier mass was pressing her down. How could a girl and a ghost be so unearthly heavy?
Meg wobbled forward. Ariel’s body hung limp, draped over Meg’s neck. Wedged between Ariel’s chest and Meg’s back was the hard china head of the doll. Meg felt its unyielding head dig into her backbone with every step.
“That’s a girl, Meg,” said Shep.
Shep opened the gate so they wouldn’t have to climb the stile. At first Meg used her hands to lift each leg forward. Her leg muscles alone weren’t strong enough. Lift, step. Lift, step. They’d never get anywhere at this pace. Besides the intense weight, she felt an ache of sadness seep into her body. It seemed to be coming from the ghost. But as the ache poured into her, Meg discovered the weight on her back became more bearable. She stumbled forward faster, each step a little more sure and steady. She was running now. She could do it. The more she opened up to accept the sadness, the faster she could go. The key wasn’t to think about carrying the body—it was to carry the feelings.
“That heavy?” said Will. He was running easily beside her.
“Like nothing I’ve ever carried,” said Meg. “Feels like I’m carrying a car on my back.”
After that, she saved her breath and concentrated on running. Meg ran with her head down, counting on Will to guide her. Every now and then he’d call out a direction—more right; left now—and Meg adjusted and ran on. As she ran, she heard a new sound. A kind of murmuring. It wasn’t Ariel or Will. It sounded like a voice chanting from far away. She couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from. It seemed to surround her.
“What’s that?” Meg asked.
“She’s talking,” said Will. “She’s got her mouth over Ariel’s ear.”
Meg shuddered. What a combination. She was the one who could carry the ghost’s weight, and Will was the one who could see and hear the ghost clearly.
“What’s she saying?”
Will didn’t answer. “More left. Can you go faster?”
Partway across the pasture, Meg leaned against a shade tree to rest. They’d made it across the bulk of the muddy field and the last stile was in sight. Meg’s breathing was hard and jagged. Will felt helpless running unburdened beside her. Why couldn’t he carry the ghost? He looked at Meg, then flicked his eyes away. It was too awful. The ghost’s eyes were bright silver now, her green velvet shining vividly. Those silver eyes landed on him sometimes, bringing back the terror of the night, but the manor ghost didn’t dwell on Will. Her focus was Ariel. After the wild motorcycle ride, her hair was even more untidy and tangled. She looked like a gruesome gargoyle or vulture perched in a dreadful piggyback.
“Can you make it?”
Meg nodded grimly. “How’s Ariel?”
“Fine,” said Will. He didn’t meet Meg’s eyes. One glance at Ariel’s face told him the ghost was getting her way. Were they right to take her away from the hospital medicine—dopamine, or whatever it was? How much could Ariel endure? Did they even have time to get to the well? There was no way to know. They had to keep running.
McBurney’s sheep flock had seen many strange sights. There was the time a fox had snatched a newborn lamb in broad daylight. Once a hawk had dive bombed the flock when they’d grazed too close to her new nest in the oak, and the time Mr. McBurney had bought a new tractor. But nothing had ever spooked them as much as the sight of a creature running hunched over through the pasture with two things latched onto its back. It was a triple human, three bodies stacked on top of one another. The bottom one was groaning and bent over, the middle one was deathly quiet, and the top one was the most fearsome of all. It screeched and shimmered in green light that made the sheep’s spines twitch and their ears flick. The flock shuffled nervously and stamped their front feet.
Then they did what all sensible sheep do when faced with an unknown menace: They panicked.
Will and Meg were two-thirds across the last pasture when they heard a low rumble.
“What’s that?” asked Meg, unable to look from side to side because of the load she was carrying.
“Don’t look. Keep running!” called Will.
Will, however, turned to look. Over the crest of the hill came the rumble. It was the sound of one thousand ovine hooves pounding the pasture.
“Sheep!” called Will.
“What?” asked Meg. The rumble was getting louder, and she couldn’t hear properly.
Hundreds of sheep were running at them. Will gauged the distance to the pasture fence and the stile. An easy run if he were on his own. About fifty yards—the same distance as a quick sprint from the half line to the soccer goal. He’d done it many times. But Meg couldn’t run that fast with Ariel and the ghost on her back. If she set Ariel down, Ariel would surely be trampled. No good saving her life from the ghost just to lose her here in the mud. Maybe they could make it. Will grabbed a stick from the ground.
Will clutched Meg’s arm and dragged her toward the stile, trying to reach the edge of the field before the frenzied flock hit them. The sheep moved in one mass, like a swarm of insects, swaying as a group first left, then right, then barreling down at the children with increasing speed. Will waved his stick, trying to make them swerve.
“Sheep stampede! Run fast!” Will shouted in Meg’s ear.
They ran. Meg stumbled after Will. The thundering noise gained on them. Will turned and saw the clear outline of the black muzzles on the front line of ewes. The sheep didn’t seem to care about his stick. They just came charging forward. The children were still too far from the pasture’s edge. There was nowhere to hide. They would be trampled. Trampled to pieces . . . maybe to death . . . by a crazed fluffy mob.
Meg squeezed her eyes shut. Will stared in dread as the wall of wool coats charged them. He felt a swoosh as if from a storm’s gust, and his feet vibrated from the pounding hooves, but there was no impact. At the last second, the sheep swerved and dodged around the children, leaving a teardrop-shaped hole in the flock’s middle.
“They missed us!” he cried, his face shining.
But as he said it, Meg’s body suddenly lurched. A new sheep had appeared, not running in terror, but charging purposefully with its head down and thick horns curled back. It was Caesar.
Mind you look out for Caesar. Aunt Effie’s words came back to him. Will watched now as Caesar rammed the two girls. Meg hit the ground. Ariel flew off. He saw a flash of green as the girls fell directly in the path of the running sheep.
The sheep kept pounding by. Will couldn’t move. A mass of wool backs surrounded him, flowing by like a lanolin river. He craned his neck to spot Meg and Ariel, but was forced to stay stuck in his place until the last waves of ewes drummed past. When the sheep mob released him, he scrambled over to the girls.
Ariel lay tossed on the ground beside Meg. Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t cry out. The flock huddled at the far end of the pasture, panting, their lambs between their legs. Caesar stood in front of the flock, his head lowered and ears trembling.
Meg sat up and rubbed her thigh. Good, thought Will. Meg’s all right.
“Where is she?” were her first words. “Is the ghost still there? I don’t feel her.”
“She’s off! She’s on the ground between you and Ariel. But stunned, I think. Almost feels like she’s dormant,” said Will. “Whew. Can you believe it? The ram flung her off! And the sheep missed us.”
“We’re not there yet.” At the end of the pasture, the sheep stamped their feet and shifted uneasily. They looked panicked enough to charge again. Caesar stamped his foot.
“Come on. Can you stand? I bet the manor ghost will follow us in a minute. I can take Ariel now that she’s light.”
Together they lifted Ariel over the stile. They’d only been a few feet away from its safety when the sheep stampeded. Thank goodness we weren’t out of the pasture, thought Will. Turns out we needed Caesar. Meg scooped up Ariel and draped her over Will’s back in a fireman’s carry. The doll’s head banged against his ear. Ariel stirred and clutched his shirt collar. Was she whispering his name? “It’s me,” Will told her and patted her leg.
Then Will charged forward. He ran with a burst of new energy buoyed by relief. The ghost was off. Not sucking Ariel’s life any longer. They had some time again. And, incredibly, they’d accomplished the first part of their impossible task.