Judith
September 1971
“Who are you talking to?”
Judith slipped the shell in her pocket but didn’t turn around. If she ignored him, Art might go away.
It’d been weeks since she first heard the voice in the shell, and nothing since that one word: Hello. It’d been so long that she started to think maybe she’d imagined it, which made her sad. Art had a habit of bugging her most when she was sad. She thought coming down here, to Dead Man’s Cove, would somehow make something happen, to prove that she was special, that this was important.
She sat at the edge of the beach, perched on a rock, with her feet buried in the sand. She liked how the waves drifted up her calves and pulled away, like they wanted to pull her out to sea with them.
“I heard you,” Art said. Then, “Are you ignoring me now?”
She shrugged.
“Do you want to see what I did with that crab claw?”
She shrugged again. Yeah, she wanted to see, but she wanted to talk to the voice in the shell more. David still wasn’t home, and they hadn’t gotten a letter from him in weeks. She worried something had happened to him and hoped the voice could help. Judith imagined the voice reaching all the way across the ocean and popping up into the air from the foam. The voice could tell her David was okay.
Art squatted next to her and pulled something out of his pocket. It was a necklace, with the crab claw cleaned and painted a beautiful gold with copper wire twisted around it. “What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s pretty,” she said.
He barely nodded, but his cheeks had gone pink.
“Who’s it for?”
A shrug. His whole face was as red as the claw used to be. “No one.”
Judith turned back to the water. The waves had slowed, and in between them she could see straight down to the floor where tiny mussels dug in the sand. She nudged one with her toe. Art tucked the necklace away. It only hurt a little that the necklace wasn’t for her.
“Well. Guess I’ll leave you alone, then.”
“Good.”
“You’re okay, though, right?”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s just, your mom wanted me to ask because she said you’ve been acting weird.”
If anyone was acting weird, it was Mom. She was the one who wouldn’t stop talking and redecorating and cleaning everything over and over again. It was like someone had stuck one of those giant batteries in her chest.
“I said I’m fine,” Judith said.
“Okay. Fine.” Art kicked a small chunk of driftwood before going back the way he came.
She waited a long time, making sure he’d really left and hadn’t just walked a little ways up the hill so he could watch her, and then dipped the shell in the water. She swirled it around. Filled it and emptied it a few times. Then she cradled it in her hands and held it so close to her lips she could almost taste the salt on it. “Why won’t you talk to me?”
She’d just tilted it toward her ear when the voice finally, finally came through. “Talk to me.”
She dropped the shell, almost losing it in an oncoming wave. Heart beating hard, she scooped it up just before the water carried it back out to sea. The water, she thought. Does it maybe need the water to speak?
“I have been talking to you. You don’t answer.” When the voice didn’t respond, she said, “Is it because I could see you?”
“Can’t see you,” the voice murmured.
“I’m right here.”
“Here.”
“On the beach.”
“Not the beach.”
Judith hesitated. “Should I go in the water?”
“In the water.”
A wave crashed against the tiny mound at the center of the cove where a shadow moved slowly behind it. “Okay,” she said. “I’m coming.”
Cupping the shell in one hand, she kicked off her sandals and wriggled out of her shorts and T-shirt. At first, her stomach hurt knowing that anyone could traipse down the cliff and see her in her underwear, but the longer the wind caressed her skin, the better she felt. Why did people wear clothes anyway?
She stepped into the water—it was cold, but not bitterly—pausing when it reached her ankles.
This didn’t feel right.
The water didn’t feel right.
It felt thick. Viscous. It clung too long to the small hairs on her legs before dripping back down again. Ice-cold currents cut across the tops of her feet, and when the breeze blew through the cove, it carried with it a stink like old food left too long in the sun. She felt the pull of the voice banging around like an echo in her head, but she resisted going any farther.
Beware mysterious figures in the dark.
David’s warning tone drifted from somewhere at the back of her mind.
Before he went to war, David was going to be a writer. Sometimes he would wake her up with his middle-of-the-night tapping on the typewriter, the end of the line ching coming faster and faster. If she was very quiet when she sneaked out of bed, she could watch him from his doorway for a long time before he noticed, and if he’d had a good night with lots of words flowing from his brain like water, he’d read his stories to her.
One night, days before his number was called and everything changed, he read her a story about a ghost.
“But you have to promise you won’t tell Mom about it,” he’d said.
“Why?” she’d asked. Mom usually liked his stories just as much as her.
He’d shrugged. “She just won’t like this one.”
It didn’t make sense, but she’d agreed anyway because if it was a story so scary it would freak Mom out, then Judith definitely wanted to hear it.
Beware mysterious figures in the dark, it began.
In David’s story, a young girl had been buried in her mother’s garden, her spirit trapped beneath the soil. Every spring, dozens of daisies grew on her grave. But the daisies were deformed, the petals blackened and withering, so no one wanted to pick them. Except one day, another girl came along and saw the beauty in the flowers. She picked one, not knowing the roots of that daisy grew in the girl’s mouth. With the roots free, the girl was able to speak. As a thank-you, she granted the living girl a wish.
Shivering in the cold water, Judith now held the shell back to her ear. A soft whisper of air came through, like breath.
The entire surface of the water seemed to breathe, the waves rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts. It was waiting.
She was waiting.
Judith’s skin prickled as she realized the voice had to belong to a spirit—a ghost. Maybe she was a girl like Judith. Like the girl in David’s story. Maybe she was trapped. And Judith had given her her voice back, held gingerly in the shell.
“A wish,” Judith said.
As though in response, the water hummed around her ankles. A heavy current followed a wave that reached as high as her knees, and as it flowed past, it hooked around her legs, nudging her forward. The foam fizzling on the top of each wave grew darker. One wave carried a fish the size of Judith’s forearm, clearly dead, the entrails floating bloated and red beside it. A chill snaked down her body, but she kept her feet planted.
“I just want my brother safe,” she said through chattering teeth. “Can he come home? Please?”
It didn’t sound very much like a wish, but the ghost girl must have heard her anyway. The water stilled, and an eerie quiet fell over the cove. A gull flew overhead, mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out, and as the waves lapped the shore behind her, the only noise was a gentle rasp. Like labored breath.
Judith’s heart pounded in her ears. She stepped backward, suddenly anxious to get out of the water, but the sand pulled at her feet and seaweed tangled around her ankles and between her toes, cutting the delicate skin there. She sucked in a breath, the sting instant and sharp, and automatically reached down, but she didn’t see the wave moving toward her, the foam acrid and sickly brown. It pushed her backward, under the water.
The cold was like a shock. Her muscles seized, and her eyes flew open only to burn with the salt. Her feet were still trapped in the sand, so she scrambled, bent over backward, trying to right herself. Just as the wave pulled back and she could just start to claw her way back to the surface, she saw her.
The ghost girl floated just above the ocean floor, hair like knotted seaweed. She tilted her head back at a sick angle, and her eyes opened slowly, revealing black holes. The water blurred everything else, but Judith saw the gaping blackness clearly. The longer she looked, the less her body seemed to need air. The pain in her feet and back were faraway feelings.
The girl reached out with a broken-fingered hand. Judith stretched toward her. Yes, she thought. The girl is going to grant my wish. If only she could reach. If only she could touch her. But another hand latched on to her arm, hard, like a vise. The girl fell away, and Judith lifted up, up, up, until finally, her face broke the surface. She tore at the hand—a warm, alive hand—and breathed in deep, only to gag and vomit salt water. She pulled away from the grip on her arm, but it refused to let her go.
“Judith! Calm down. You’re okay. Relax! It’s me.” Art’s voice broke through the cloud muffling her head.
She blinked away the water, the pain in her feet starting to intensify into a sharp burn.
His face purpled as he hauled her to shore.
He pulled her up to the beach, and though it was like knives ripping up her legs with every step, she scrambled for her shirt and covered her naked chest. She knew better than to let boys see her without clothes on. Even Art.
“Go away,” Judith said, her voice and throat raw.
He ignored her. “You could’ve died! What were you thinking?”
She shook her head. She wouldn’t have died. The girl didn’t want her to die. She wanted to grant Judith’s wish.
Sighing, he turned away so she could finish pulling on her shirt and shorts. Panic seized her when she realized she’d dropped the shell. She’d never be able to speak to the girl again. Breathing fast, she bolted toward the water, only for Art to catch her around the waist.
“Whoa, hold on, what are you—”
“My shell! I have to get it!”
“Judith! Stop!”
She bent forward and bit his hand so hard she tasted blood. He shouted, pulling away just long enough for her to break away and stumble to the shore. She didn’t have to go far. The shell was there, on the edge, where sand met water, waiting for her.
***
She’d bitten him so deep he needed stitches. Art’s dad, Uncle Jon, was none too happy about it.
“They gave him a rabies shot,” he said to Judith’s mother. “Can you believe it?”
“That seems excessive,” Judith’s father said.
“I had to tell them an animal bit him,” Uncle Jon said.
“I’m not an animal,” Judith muttered. Though with her hair still matted and stinking of fish even after her mother scrubbed her beneath a scalding hot shower, she looked the part.
“Close enough,” her mother said. “God, I’m so sorry, Jon.”
“I’m fine,” Art said, but no one was really listening.
Judith was sorry, but she was still mad at him for pulling her out of the water. What if the ghost girl wasn’t going to grant Judith’s wish now?
“You know better,” Mom said. “You know you don’t go near the water without someone with you.”
“I wasn’t in deep.”
“That’s not the point.” Mom’s voice shook.
“But I saw—”
“No.” Mom raised her hand like she might slap Judith, lowering it only after taking a few deep breaths. “You didn’t see anything. Hear me?”
“We’ll pay for the medical bills,” her father interjected, his face sagging under the weight of more money strain. “I’ll write you a check.”
Uncle Jon hesitated a painful minute before turning him down. “Don’t worry about it.”
Judith’s father nodded, but even she could see the relief on his face.
It didn’t look like she was going to get off that easy, though. Uncle Jon shooed Art out of the living room and turned to Judith. “You really could’ve hurt him, you know.”
“He should’ve let go.”
Wrong answer. Uncle Jon’s expression twisted into something mean. “We’re fishermen. You know what that means, Judy?”
She hated when he called her that. “That you fish.”
“That we fish. Yes. And do you know what you need to fish?”
“A fishing pole?”
“Two. Hands.” He gripped hers so tight they started to turn pink.
“Jon,” her mother started.
He cut her off with a flick of his head. “If we can’t fish, we don’t make money. You’re old enough to know about money. Without it, you don’t have food or a roof. You starve. You freeze. Get what I’m saying?”
She imagined Uncle Jon and Art huddled in the boathouse, icicles hanging from their noses and tongues, blue skin and bloodshot eyes and—
“Sorry,” she said.
He patted her shoulder, but it felt more like a slap. “Just be grateful my Art was there in the first place, eh? Who knows what could’ve happened to you?”
“Enough, Jon!” Mom said, startling them both. “There’s nothing…” She paused, rubbing her face. “I’m sorry about Art. Really. But you should go now. We’ll handle Judith.”
***
Uncle Jon left after practically forcing her dad to promise he’d help on the next trip out to deep water for free. Everyone knew Dad hated going to deep water with Uncle Jon, but Judith guessed that was probably the point. She was a kid, so he couldn’t make her suffer without someone stepping in, but no one would come to Dad’s rescue. At dinner, she turned down a second helping so Dad could have more. Roasted chicken was his favorite.
She should’ve known it wouldn’t help.
She wanted to try to explain, but every time she tried to tell her mom about the ghost, about the wish, she shut her down.
“There’s nothing in the water, Judith. Nothing,” she said, spearing a carrot with her fork.
“But I’m not the only one who thinks so.” And she wasn’t. In the time she spent in her room—sent there to think about what she’d done—she realized she wasn’t the only one who’d seen the ghost girl. Except that wasn’t what everyone called her. “There’s no mermaid. Everyone just thinks that’s what she is, but she’s not. And if I can get to her and…” And what? Touch her? Talk to her? “She’ll grant my wish. She’ll bring David back.”
Mom ignored her, stuffing her mouth with bite after bite, not even chewing, just shoveling food until her lips could barely close.
“Stop making up stories,” Dad said carefully. “You’re upsetting your mother.”
“I’m not upset,” Mom said, words barely audible around the food bulging her cheeks. She chewed and chewed, but swallowed most of it whole. Judith watched it travel down her throat. It reminded her of a snake. Mom gasped. Coughed. When she spoke again, she was quieter. Calmer. She smiled, all teeth. “Who’s up for ice cream?”
***
While Mom started the dishes, she shot Dad a look that usually meant Judith needed talking to and it was him who needed to do the talking. When it came to punishment, Judith preferred getting it from Dad. He often softened the blow with promises of candy or trips into town once the punishment ended. This time, though, he didn’t take his time escorting her to her room. He didn’t ruffle her hair or poke her shoulder to let her know everything would be okay.
He sat on her bed and waited for her to join him.
She hadn’t even gotten all the way up on the bed when he said, “I’m so disappointed in you, Judith.”
Her stomach sank and she forgot all about her tingly hands. “I said I was sorry.”
“I’m not talking about Art. Lord knows that kid could use a biting every once in a while.” He sighed. Rubbed his face. “Your mother would kill me for telling you this, but it’s the only way I can make you understand.” He didn’t look at her while he talked. She didn’t know if she wanted him to. “We haven’t heard from David in weeks. It’s not like him not to write, which forces your mom and me to draw the worst kinds of conclusions. You going out to the cove on your own, almost drowning… What do you think that does to her?”
“But I did it for her!”
“Judith.”
He was quiet for a long time. Finally, he shook his head, his frown deep as a frown could go. She’d never seen him this sad.
“Don’t tell your mother that.”
“But why?”
“Don’t tell anyone, okay? You sound like…” He paused. She knew what he was going to say. She sounded like Grandma Beth. Art said she went crazy, but Judith didn’t think so. She met her grandma once, the summer before she died. She didn’t talk much. Judith figured she wasn’t crazy, just sad. “It’s all a story. Okay? Just a story. Between your mother and Jon…I thought you’d be the sensible one. I really did.”
“Did Uncle Jon see her too?” Her heartbeat skyrocketed. “When?”
“A lot of people think they’ve seen her. It. But that doesn’t mean it actually happened.”
“Dad—”
He waved his hand. “The point, and I want it to be crystal clear here, Judith, is that you are never to go to that cove without your mom or me there with you. Understand?”
Hot and cold flashes worked their way down her body, and she started to rock. It was like her body had taken control of itself; if she kept moving, she couldn’t fall apart. Tears spilled down her face.
If she couldn’t go alone, then the girl might never come to her again.
“Dad, please—”
“There’s no pushing me on this one, okay? It’s for your own good.”
She bit down on her lip hard, drawing blood, to keep from screaming.
Dad didn’t seem to notice, patting her bed once, and then left her room without so much as a look over his shoulder.
Angry tears puddled in her lap. They didn’t care about her. They didn’t care about David either. If they did, they’d want her to do everything she could to make sure he came back. Liars, all of them.
It was up to Judith to get David back. To make them see that she was right.
She set the shell on her nightstand. It seemed…deader. The opal sheen had faded a little, and sediment had caked around the inside. She had to believe she hadn’t lost her chance. The ghost girl was still out there. If Judith closed her eyes, she could almost feel her out in the water, waiting.