MRS. SHEVVINGTON RENTED A charming, antique maid’s costume for Anya. It was a long, black cotton dress with a starched lacy white apron and cap. “That’s sick,” cried Christina. “You should make her wear school clothes and go back to school. Not dress her like a maid!”
“She’s happy, Christina,” said Michael irritably.
“I think she looks pretty neat,” Benjamin added. This was amazing. Benj never expressed the slightest interest in girls or their looks.
Christina tried to explain her point to the Jayes. Benjamin, Michael, and Dolly Jaye frowned at Christina, an impenetrable family unit.
Mr. Shevvington said sadly, “Can’t you rejoice when poor Anya has a moment of pleasure? Must you always keep happiness for yourself?” He put an arm around the trio of Jayes and the other arm over Anya’s black shoulder.
Christina, the outsider, flushed.
Benj and Michael teased their little sister, told her to have fun, and dashed out before the guests arrived. The girls came in a clump, giggling and pushing. Including Gretchen and Vicki; Katy, who never got invited anywhere; and Dolly, who wasn’t in seventh grade at all.
The first game Mrs. Shevvington organized was Pin the Tail On The Donkey.
“Mrs. Shevvington,” protested Gretch, laughing. “Nobody’s played that since they were little. That’s a baby game.”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Shevvington, “but we need to be in a certain order, and however well you do in this game is the order in which you will enter the second game.”
Christina was not surprised when Gretch won, Dolly came in second, and Vicki third. She was not surprised when Mrs. Shevvington lined up the girls in order of winning, so that fat Katy was marked the loser, last in line, while Dolly stood up front, between Gretch and Vicki.
“Everybody pair up now!” ordered Mrs. Shevvington. “Next game is in pairs!”
“I get to play with Gretchen!” cried Dolly joyfully. She beamed at Gretchen, who said to her, “I love your red hair, Dolly. And your name! It’s so sweet. You are sort of a dolly.” Gretchen and Dolly held hands and talked about dancing class.
Christina stood with Katy. We’re the losers, she thought.
She gave Mrs. Shevvington the dirtiest look she could. Mrs. Shevvington said loudly, “Why, Christina! As hostess I expect you to make sure every guest has a good time. Are you complaining about your partner?”
Poor Katy bit her lips and stumbled. Her plain face turned splotchy red and her eyes welled up with unshed tears.
Dinner was wonderful: huge platters of lasagna, soft hot rolls with sweet butter, and salad for greenery. “Nobody is actually required to eat any salad, of course,” said Mr. Shevvington, smiling down at the girls, “because this is a fun time, and we want even vegetable haters to have fun all night long.” The girls applauded Mr. Shevvington, who bowed and escorted each girl into the formal dining room. During dinner Mr. Shevvington told wonderful scary stories about the sea captain who built the house and his bride, who flung herself to a horrible death from the cupola of this very house, exactly one hundred years before. “Tonight, when it’s dark,” he whispered, “I’ll tell you what happened to the sea captain after his wife vanished in the terrible tides of Candle Cove.”
Gretch and Vicki screamed with delight. “Horror stories!” shouted Vicki. “I love them.”
“You are one,” muttered Katy.
Christina laughed for the first time that night. Katy had potential.
After supper they popped popcorn and made caramel popcorn balls. They sang crazy songs — the sort with twenty verses you learn in summer camp. Mrs. Shevvington had them play Charades of brand names. Gretch did Wrangler jeans; Vicki got Coca-Cola; Dolly got Burger King. Mrs. Shevvington explained that Christina would go last, because the guests always came ahead of the hostess. Then, when it was finally Christina’s turn and she was aching to act, Mrs. Shevvington said everybody was bored now, and they would do something else.
Mr. Shevvington looked across the popcorn at his wife. Mrs. Shevvington looked back. Their smiles seemed to fit in midair like a key and a lock. Their eyes slid around the room and landed on Dolly. Dolly was sitting between Gretch and Vicki. Vicki was feeding Dolly a popcorn ball, Vicki holding it, Dolly nibbling. Gretch talked about Dolly as if she really were a doll. “Isn’t she adorable?” giggled Gretch.
“She’s so sweet,” agreed Vicki, stroking Dolly’s braids as though she had just purchased Dolly in a department store.
Dolly preened.
“We’re going to play,” said Mr. Shevvington softly. “Murder.”
The girls all screamed joyfully.
“Now you must listen to the rules very carefully. Especially the first one. This is a big house and a scary one. You must not go into the cellar. Is that absolutely clear? Everybody repeat the promise. ‘I will not go into the cellar.’ ”
They all promised.
There is something down there, Christina thought. They don’t mind if I am trapped by the thing. They don’t mind if it comes and goes from the school and the cellar. But they mind if people like Gretch and Vicki find out.
“Next rule,” said Mrs. Shevvington. Her eyes never left Dolly. She was smiling, her little corn teeth lying between her thin lips. “You will all hide in pairs.” She was breathing heavily, excited about things to come.
Christina thought how the stairs narrowed on the third floor and the balcony tilted. “If we hide in pairs,” Christina shouted, “I want to be Dolly’s partner.”
“No way,” said Gretch, irked. “She belongs to me.”
“I’m with Gretchen,” Dolly agreed. “You stay with Katy, Christina.”
Katy hung her head. “You don’t have to stay with me, Christina,” she murmured. “You can find somebody else.”
Mrs. Shevvington looked at Christina. Every girl at the party could read that expression. Really, Christina — can’t you be nice to that poor, ugly, little fat girl for one evening?
They’ve won a round, Christina thought. They’re making me look like the bad guy when they’re the bad guys. “They’ll never find us, Katy,” said Christina. “I know all the best spots in the house. Stick with me! We’ll get that Murderer.” She lifted her chin, staring into Mr. Shevvington’s eyes, blue tonight. But Mr. Shevvington looked youthful and innocent, as if all he had in mind was a silly game in a silly house with silly girls.
But Mrs. Shevvington’s lips curled, like an animal preparing to eat raw meat. It’s her, Christina thought. She’s the dangerous one.
Mr. Shevvington explained the complex rules of Murder. They had to keep on the move, avoid being killed, and yet find out who the killer was. They had to stay with their partners. They could not get in large groups.
Mr. Shevvington put a cassette into the stereo and flipped the switch, which played the music in every room. The slithering strings of violins trembled in the air like old ghosts.
Mrs. Shevvington turned out the lights.
The guests scattered through the house, banging their shins on furniture. The stairs creaked as they dashed up and down. Crazy giggles ricocheted like bullets.
In the dark, Christina could watch nobody. Katy held so tight to her hand Christina thought her bones might break.
Wherever it would happen, it would happen up high in the mansion. So Christina dragged Katy up the first flight of stairs and then up the second. “I don’t wanna be up here,” Katy wailed. “It’s too scary up here.”
“Sssssshhh,” Christina said.
“Let’s hide under the dining-room table, Chrissie,” Katy whispered.
“Shut up,” Christina hissed.
The house began to fill with screams as heavy hands and cold fingers unexpectedly touched a player in the dark.
Then the girls began screaming just for the fun of it. Somebody turned the eerie violins up higher.
Anya began screaming for real: the ghastly high scream Christina remembered so well. Once, screaming like that, Anya had tried to step out the third-floor window, seeing fire where there was only fog.
Anya screamed like an animal. Christina imagined Anya frozen with fear in the dark. Was Anya to be the victim, not Dolly? Had the Shevvingtons seen Anya’s improvement after all? Was playing with Dolly just intended to confuse Christina?
“Chrissie! Chrissie! Chrissie, where are you?” screamed Anya.
Once Anya’s fears had pulled her to the edge of the cliffs. Now — during the slumber party — was something pushing her instead?
“I’m coming, Anya!” She abandoned Katy, racing in the blackness down the stairs. “Stand still, Anya, so I can find you. It’s all right, it’s just a game; don’t be afraid.”
“Christina, shut up!” Gretch yelled from some other location. “You’re ruining the game. Let her scream. It’s wonderful. She has the best scream of all.”
Christina felt her way into the kitchen, to the source of the screams. “I’m here, Anya.” Christina edged forward. A white splotch appeared in the dark. Anya was only inches away. Christina reached for the lace trim on the apron.
Too late, Christina heard the giggle.
She caught desperately at the wall, at chairs, at anything — but there was nothing to hold.
The giggle turned into a groan.
The white vanished. The dark turned into a black hole.
And it was Christina who fell. Down the cellar stairs. Hitting the steps, hitting the rail, hitting the stone floor.
Down into the waiting giggle.