Catherine Fisher: The Ghost Box

Sarah frowned. Sitting on the window seat, she pulled her knees up and hugged them tight. In the window she watched her own reflection, and beyond it the autumn golds and reds of the landscape. She found herself wishing that Matt was staying home, and that shocked her. Why was she so nervous? She had the key. The boy would be free. It would all be all right.

Downstairs, Gareth was waiting by the fire. He had a blue suit on, and a purple tie that matched Mom’s coat.

“Fantastic,” he said as she came in.

Mom giggled. “You’re not so bad, either.”

They grinned, and Mom arranged his tie. Sarah watched them and almost smiled. Then she realized and gave a scowl. She’d have to watch herself. She was getting soft.

Later, standing at the door and waving goodbye with the dogs panting beside her, she watched the car reverse and vanish up the road until only its red tail-light showed.

Then that went too. She was alone.

For a moment she listened.

The darkness was damp and windy. She could hear the shed door creaking and branches being stirred, and far off, the murmur of traffic on the road.

She had never been in the house alone at night before. Suddenly she became aware of how lonely it was. The next neighbors were at the farm three fields away.

Jess nuzzled her hand.

She turned. “All right, girl. I’m coming.”

There was no sign of Matt, so she locked up and fed the dogs and ate dinner and went to bed.

For a long time she lay awake, waiting, then dozed and woke up and dozed again, until in one sudden second she opened her eyes and stared into her pillow.

He was here.

She heard him. Heard a soft slither in the room, smelled that leafy, damp stench. Under the sheets she closed her eyes and breathed a prayer. She was stiff, her body sheened with sweat. Terror hammered under her ribs.

He said, “Sarah.”

Slowly she sat up and saw him.

He was sitting on the stool of her vanity table, a shadow in the darkness. One stripe of light from the moon slanted over him, showing her the angle of his jaw, a glint of the copper ring in his ear.

He stood up and came closer. She saw that leaves and clods of mud fell from him. She snapped the lamp switch on. Nothing happened. The room stayed dark.

“Where is it?” he said.

She knelt up among the crumpled bedclothes. The house was silent. Even the wind seemed to have dropped, and there was no sound from the dogs.

“What have you done to Jack and Jess?”

He shook his head. “They were afraid. The front door opened and they ran out. You’ll have to go looking for them in the morning. Where is it, Sarah? Where’s my key?”

All she wanted was to end this. She slid her hand under the pillow and felt for it. She found the cold touch of metal and pulled the key out.

His eyes lit with a strange light. He held out his hand for it but she said, “You’ll need the box. It’s there, on the desk.”

With a swift movement he turned, took the silver box and brought it over. His hands stroked it, leaving muddy smears on the perfect oak leaves. He sat on the bed and looked at her. “I’ve dreamed of this.”

“Do ghosts dream?” she whispered.

“All day. While the world turns and people work and talk and forget us, the ghosts dream.” He reached out and took the key from her. “And now my dream will come true.”

He put the key into the lock and said in a sly voice, “You must turn it for me. I’m a ghost. I can’t.”

So she turned the key.

Or tried to.

It wouldn’t move. She tried again, shook the box, jammed the key in tight.

It wouldn’t turn.

The boy snatched it from her. He forced it, struggled with it.

And when he looked up, his pinched face was white and drawn. “You’ve tricked me!”

“No! I – ”

“You’ve tricked me. You should never have done that, Sarah.”

In terror, she grabbed at him. Her fingers closed on cold, empty air. But before she could say anything, she looked past him and saw Matt, standing in the open door of her room, holding up a slim, bright key.

“She didn’t trick you,” Matt said. “I did.”

Chapter 9

A Soul for a Soul

Matt had a flashlight, but as he came into the room it failed, and the light sparked out. Quickly Sarah jumped up and grabbed the curtains. As she flung them wide a bright flood of moonlight spilled into the room. She saw the boy fixing Matt with a stare of cold hate.

“What have you done?” he hissed.

Matt held the key tight. “Sarah had a key made, but I took it from under her pillow and put another one there. All that one opens is the padlock on my bike.”

“You’ve spoiled everything,” the boy snapped.

Sarah shook her head. “But why?”

Matt came in and leaned against the vanity table. “He knows why.”

The boy looked down. He clasped his bony hands tight together in silent agony. “I can’t tell you,” he whispered. “If I do I’m trapped here for ever.”

“Well, you’re in luck, here’s someone who can tell her.” Matt nudged the door wider with his foot and with a shock Sarah saw that someone else was standing just outside. A tall man in a dark coat, his glasses catching the moonlight. It was Morgan Rees.

He said, “So it’s true.”

“You!” Sarah was amazed. “How did you ...?”

“He saw me talking to you, and next time I passed there he was waiting for me,” Matt said. “He was worried about you.”

Morgan Rees was staring intently at the ghost of the boy. “I was very concerned. And now, to see him! I read the words on the box, and I have heard of such spells, but I have never seen – ”

“What spells?” Sarah’s voice was sharp with anger. “Explain this to me.”

Morgan Rees stepped into the moonlight. Like Matt, he wore a long dark coat. For a moment she had the crazy thought that they were like master and apprentice.

“I was dismayed when I read the letters on the box. Let me read them to you now.”

“No!” The boy’s face was full of anguish. “If you do … she’ll know.”

“She has to know.” Rees took the box that Sarah held out to him and turned the letters to the light. “This writing is old. The language is Latin. It says that the box is made to hold a soul, and whoever opens the box and frees the soul trapped inside it will, in turn, be punished by having their own soul take its place. This is true, boy, isn’t it?”

The boy was still for a moment. Then his shoulders sagged. “Yes.”

Sarah said, “But you told me ...”

“It was all true, what I told you. Only that the curse was not for all time. It was just until I could get someone to open this, and take my place.” His voice was sullen and miserable. “And I nearly did.”

She stared at him in horror. “You would have let that happen? To me?”

He shrugged and a fragment of mud fell from his shoulders to the floor. “Why should I care who it was? You, him, anyone would do. I’d be free! Free from haunting this darkness, from this terrible cold place! All night I lie in the leaves and the tree sways above me and there’s no one!”

She watched him, half angry, half sorry for him. Then she looked at the box, and at Morgan Rees. “What can we do? There has to be something we can do. If it’s a spell, surely it can be broken?”

“It’s possible.” Morgan Rees said, looking at Sarah. “But it will be a risk. Both for you and your brother.”

“He’s not my brother!”

The tall man frowned. “But I thought ...”

“Step-brother.” Matt’s voice was quiet. “What do you mean, risk? And why us?”