WILLIAM BELLAIR

Day 8—Early Monday morning

Harper stood in front of the foyer mirror staring intently into every corner, wondering if she would find someone else staring back. Fifteen minutes later, she conceded defeat and sat down on the bench.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” she sighed.

An odd glinting in the mirror caught her attention. She peered at it, wondering what it was. The slight shimmer across the mirror reminded Harper of how a heat wave would distort objects in the distance. Mesmerized, she kept watching the shifting movement, lulled into a trance until she felt herself pulled in, as if she were falling into the mirror.

Harper found herself in a dreamlike state. She was outside, staring at a very white, very new-looking version of her house. She could hear the voices of boys playing in the backyard. She moved toward the noise, where she found the two boys from her previous dream chasing a ball. The big boy, William, would snatch the ball from the younger one, Jonathan, and then kick it far away. Jonathan kept chasing the ball until they finally reached a section of the backyard that was fenced off with chicken wire. William pulled the wire aside and walked over to what appeared to be an abandoned well, boarded over. The planks weren’t all nailed down and William removed two of them, tossing them aside as he peered down into the hole.

“William, Mommy said never to go near there,” Jonathan said.

“But there’s a poor little kitty that’s fallen in and needs our help,” William said. “Can’t you hear it crying?”

“Oh, poor kitty!” Jonathan said.

Harper lunged forward, trying to stop what she knew would happen, but there was nothing she could do. She watched as Jonathan ran to William’s side. Just as he came near the edge, William shoved him, sending Jonathan toppling into the well. At the last second, Jonathan grabbed hold of a long pipe that ran across the top of the opening.

“Help, William! Help me!” Jonathan cried. “I’m going to fall!”

“Then fall already!” William shouted. Leaning forward, he stomped on Jonathan’s hand. Jonathan shrieked in agony but didn’t let go. Suddenly, the wooden board William was stepping on collapsed, sending him plunging into the well. Their mother came rushing out of the house and covered her mouth with her hands, muffling her screams. She carefully crawled forward on her stomach and dragged Jonathan to safety. Holding on to a hysterical Jonathan, the mother stared down into the well to see William’s broken body, his eyes open but unseeing.

“Oh, William,” she whispered. Hugging her crying son, she ran to her neighbors, shouting for help.

Harper stood at the edge of the well, staring down at the dead boy. Suddenly, the corpse lunged up at her with a deafening scream. His face was all rage, a contorted mask of hate. His small hands curled into claws that wrapped around Harper’s neck, pulling her down into the well. Screaming, falling, never ending.

The sensation of falling was so severe it jolted Harper out of her trancelike state. Her body was covered in sweat.

Harper spent the morning wide awake in her room, shaken by her vision. As soon as she could, she walked to Dayo’s house, anxious to see her friend. Her mother had given her a box of chocolates to bring over to the house and a bag of gourmet doggy treats. At first her mother insisted on driving her, but Harper didn’t want to wait. She needed to get out of the house. After assuring her mom that she was all right, Harper headed out.

At the door, Mrs. Clayton greeted her with a smile.

“Just in time to be my taste tester for a new cookie recipe,” she said.

Harper took a big whiff. “Mmmmmmm, your house always smells so good.”

Dayo came down carrying Pumpkin, whose tail wagged as soon as she saw Harper.

“Ooooooh, chocolates!” Dayo said. “Can I have one now?”

“Maybe later,” Mrs. Clayton said. “Come taste my molasses-and-ginger marshmallow cookies and tell me what you think.”

Dayo pulled a face at Harper. “They’re not my favorite,” she whispered.

“I heard that,” Mrs. Clayton hollered from the kitchen.

Dayo snickered. “So what’s up? You okay?” she asked.

Harper sighed. “Dayo, do you really believe in ghosts?”

Her friend nodded vigorously. “Sure do,” she said. “What’s not to believe? When people die, not everyone makes it to where they need to be. Some get stuck and some don’t want to go. At least, that’s what my grandma says.” She looked at Harper with widening eyes. “You saw something, didn’t you!”

They were at the dining room table where Mrs. Clayton had piled up a plate of cookies and two mugs of hot tea with milk and honey. Dayo put Pumpkin on the floor and sat down, waiting impatiently for her mom to leave the room.

A soft nudge and then a warm wet nose nuzzled against Harper’s bare leg. Looking down, she saw Pumpkin sitting at her feet, making puppy eyes at her.

“Pumpkin, I’m so glad to see you feeling better,” Harper said, reaching down to pet the little dog.

“She’s fine now, she’s just been sleeping a lot. But don’t let her get any of my cookies! She’s been getting way too many treats lately,” Mrs. Clayton said. “Between her puppy eyes and her cast, no one can resist her begging.”

Harper found herself melting under the cuteness of Pumpkin’s pose. “Sorry, Pumpkin, I’m too selfish to share, but you can have one of the special treats I brought later,” she said. She took a big bite of her cookie and gave Dayo’s mother two enthusiastic thumbs-up.

Before Mrs. Clayton could respond, Dayo made a big irritated noise. “Mom, will you go back into the kitchen? We’re trying to talk here.”

Mrs. Clayton rolled her eyes and ducked away.

Drumming her fingertips on the tabletop, Dayo glared at Harper. “Well? Tell me what you saw!”

Harper polished off her second cookie with a big swig of her tea before answering.

“Remember when you told me about the families that lived in my house before us? You mentioned that a boy named William had died years ago, right?”

Dayo nodded.

“This is going to sound crazy but I think I’ve been having visions of him in the house.”

“How do you know it’s the same William?”

“Because the visions are from a long time ago—I saw how he died.”

Dayo gasped as Harper launched into an explanation of what she’d seen. When she was done, Dayo jumped to her feet.

“Wait here,” Dayo said. “I’ll be right back.”

Harper kept eating cookies until Dayo came back with her laptop.

“Let me look at the facts.” She searched online for a few minutes before gasping out loud once again. “I don’t believe it.”

“What is it?” Harper asked.

Dayo turned the laptop screen so Harper could see what it said. Harper read the paragraph Dayo was pointing to and she could barely contain her shock.

In 1925, the Bellair family moved in and suffered a terrible tragedy when their older son, William, died in an accident. William, 8, and his younger brother, Jonathan, 5, were playing near a boarded-up well when the wooden planks broke. The older Bellair child plunged to his death.

The two girls stared at each other in amazement.

“Harper, if you are seeing visions of the Bellair boys, then that means your house really is haunted.”

Both girls shuddered in unison.

Dayo once again jumped to her feet and ran into the kitchen, only to run back with a large empty water bottle.

“We need to get you some more holy water,” she said with grim determination.

“Do you really think it will help?” Harper asked.

Her friend nodded. “It will protect you before things can get much worse.”

Thinking about Michael, Harper wondered if the worst had already happened.