John Saul - Comes the Blind Fury

“I don’t understand,” she whispered. It doesn’t say when she was born, or when she died, or her last name, or anything. Who was she?” Her eyes wide, Michelle stared up at Sally, who quickly knelt down beside her.

“She was a blind girl,” Sally said, keeping her voice low. “She must have been one of the Carsons, and she must have lived here a long time ago. My mother says they think she fell off the cliff one day.”

“But why isn’t her last name on the stone, or when she was born, and when she died?” Michelle’s eyes, reflecting her fascination, were fixed on the pitted granite slab.

“Because she isn’t buried here,” Sally whispered. “They never found her body. It must have been swept out to sea or something. Anyway, Mom told me they only put this marker here as a temporary thing. But they never found her body, so they never put up a real headstone.”

Michelle felt a chill pass through her. “They’ll never find the body now,” she said.

“I know. That’s why they say the ghost will always be around here. The kids say Amanda won’t leave until her body’s found, and since the body won’t ever be found …”

Sally’s voice trailed off, and Michelle tried to absorb what she had just heard. Almost involuntarily she put her hand out and rested it on the stone for a moment, then pulled it quickly away and stood up.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” she said. “Come on, let’s go home.”

She started purposefully out of the cemetery, but when she realized Sally wasn’t following her she paused and looked back. Sally was still kneeling by the strange memorial, but when Michelle called out to her, she stood up and hurried toward Michelle.

Neither of the girls spoke until they were out of the cemetery and on their way back to the Pendletons’.

“You have to admit, it’s weird,” Sally said.

“What is?” Michelle said evasively.

“You choosing that name for your doll. I mean, that could have been her doll, lying on that shelf all these years, just waiting for you to find it.”

“That’s dumb,” Michelle said flatly, not willing to admit that what Sally had just said was exactly what had been going through her own mind. “I could have named the doll anything.”

“But you didn’t,” Sally insisted. “You named it Amanda. There must have been a reason.”

“It was just a coincidence. Besides, Jeff’s lived here all his life, and if there were a ghost, he’d have seen it.”

“Maybe he has,” Sally said thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s why he won’t go over to your house.”

“He doesn’t come over because he’s busy,” Michelle said quickly. “He has to help his mother.” Her voice was becoming strident, and she felt herself getting angry. Why was Sally talking like this? “Can’t we talk about something else?” she asked.

Sally looked at her curiously, then grinned. “Okay. I’m starting to scare myself, anyway.”

Grateful for her friend’s understanding, Michelle reached out and gave Sally’s arm a friendly squeeze.

“Ouch!” Sally yelped, flinching and pulling away from Michelle.

Her arm , Michelle thought. Her arm’s hurting again, just like it did last week. But nothing happened to her, not today . A shiver passed through Michelle, but she was careful not to let her sudden feeling of unease show.

“I’m sorry,” she said, touching Sally’s arm lightly. “I thought it was all better.”

“I thought it was, too,” Sally replied, glancing back at the cemetery. “But I guess it isn’t.” Suddenly she wanted to get away from there. “Let’s go back to your house,” she said. “This place is giving me the creeps.”

The two girls hurried toward the old house on the bluff. As they reached the back door, Michelle shivered a little, and watched the afternoon fog gather in the air above the sea. Then she pulled open the door and followed Sally inside.

“Dad?”

The Pendletons were gathered in the front parlor, a room they had quickly adopted as a family den, since the living room was too cavernous to suit them comfortably. Cal was sitting in his big chair, his feet resting on an ottoman, and Michelle was stretched out on the floor near him, a book open in front of her. She was lying on her elbows, her chin propped up in the palms of her hands, and Cal couldn’t understand why her neck wasn’t hurting her. Flexibility of youth, he decided. In a frightfully hard-looking antique chair next to the fireplace, June was industriously knitting a sweater for the baby, alternating the stripes — blue and pink — just to be on the safe side.

“Um?” Cal replied, his concentration still on the medical journal in his lap.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Cal’s eyes left the page he had been reading. He glanced at his wife and saw that June had abandoned her knitting. He turned to his daughter, a tentative smile on his face.

“Do I what?” he asked.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Cal’s smile faded as be realized Michelle was serious. He closed the magazine, wondering what had brought on such a strange question.

“Didn’t we talk about this five years ago?” he asked mildly. “About the same time we talked about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny?”

“Well, maybe not ghosts,” Michelle said haltingly. “Not like that, anyway. Spirits, I guess.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” June asked.

Michelle began to feel foolish. Now, in the warmth and comfort of the den, the thoughts that had been worrying her all afternoon seemed silly. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned it at all. She considered for a moment, then decided to tell them what had happened.

“You know that old graveyard between here and the Bensons’?” she began. “Sally showed it to me today.”

“Don’t tell me you saw a ghost in a graveyard,” Cal exclaimed.

“No, I didn’t,” Michelle said scornfully. “But there’s a strange marker there. It — it has the name of my doll on it.”

“Amanda?” June said. “That is strange.”

Michelle nodded. “And Sally says there’s no body in the grave. She says Amanda was a blind girl who fell off the bluff a long time ago.” She hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to continue. Sensing her indecision, Cal urged her on.

“What else did she say?”

“She said some of the kids think Amanda’s ghost is still around here,” Michelle said quietly.

“You didn’t believe her, did you?” Cal asked.

“No …” Michelle said, but her voice made it clear that she wasn’t sure.

“Well, you can believe me, princess,” Cal declared. “There’s no such thing as ghosts, spirits, boogeymen, haunts, poltergeists, or any other such nonsense, and you shouldn’t let anyone tell you there is.”

“But it’s weird, me naming the doll Amanda,” Michelle protested. “Sally thinks the doll might even have belonged to her …”

“It’s just a coincidence, dear.” June picked up her knitting, quickly counted her stitches, and resumed her work. “Those things happen all the time. That’s how ghost stories start. Something odd happens, purely by coincidence, but people don’t want to believe it was just chance. They want to believe there’s something else — luck, ghosts, fate, whatever.” When Michelle still looked unconvinced, June set her work down once more.

“All right,” she said. “How did you happen to choose the name for your doll?”

“Well, I wanted an old-fashioned sounding name—” Michelle began.

“Okay. That lets out a lot of names right there. Yours, and mine, and lots of others that don’t sound old-fashioned. The old-fashioned ones, like Agatha, and Sophie, and Prudence—”