Chapter One – Ellen

1975

I

Ellen Randall had never been so furious.  She felt like she could scream so loud she would cause an earthquake, shaking the house apart, and making it collapse on Marianne and kill her dead.

And the roller skates would be hers.

Hers!

She’d asked for roller skates for Christmas, and didn’t get them.

She’d asked for roller skates for her sixth birthday, and didn’t get them.

Then it comes to her older sister Marianne’s ninth birthday, and what does Marianne get from their dad?

Roller skates!

The roller skates Ellen asked for!

And they were the exact type of skates she wanted.  Not the plastic kiddy skates that you put over your shoes – she already had a pair of those, but one of the wheels kept jamming up on the left skate – these were the expensive kind with a whole boot, thick laces, and the toe stop in front.  She could go so fast in those and wouldn’t feel silly having the other kids in the neighborhood see her zooming by.

She wanted to scream.  She wanted to scream so loud that the windows would shatter, that her neighbors would run for their lives, that even their dad, who lived way across town in Shafer Hills, would say “what the heck was that?”

Marianne didn’t even say anything when she opened the box, except to mumble “thanks, dad.”  She didn’t stop to point out the obvious error.  Even after dad drove them back home, she never offered the skates to Ellen, even though she knew that Ellen had asked for them.

Oh, Marianne was playing nice, even letting Ellen sit in the big recliner in the living room, while Marianne took the couch.  She even let Ellen watch “The Jeffersons” without complaint.  Not that Ellen could find it in her to enjoy the show.  George Jefferson was hilarious as ever, but she didn’t even crack a smile.  She was too angry.

During a commercial break, Ellen stomped over to the TV and flipped it off.  She needed to do something, say something, scream something, or she was going to explode into a great big ball of anger.

Before she could say a word, Marianne spoke.  “I never asked dad for roller skates.”

“I bet you did.”

“I didn’t.  I swear.”

Ellen turned to look at Marianne.  She could never tell when her big sister was lying.  Only their mom could.

“I’m disappointed, too,” said Marianne.  “I told dad I wanted a cassette player or some board games.  Instead, he got me something I didn’t even want.  He must have been…” Marianne sighed and brushed her long black hair away from her eyes.  “…confused.”

“If you don’t want them, then give them to me.”

“But they’re the only thing dad got me for my birthday.  If I give them to you, then I won’t have anything.”

“But I’ve been wanting roller skates all year!”

“I’m sorry, Ellen.”

“Don’t be condescending!”  That was a word Ellen had learned last year when her parents were getting a divorce (a word she also just learned last year).  Her dad accused her mom of being ‘condescending’.  Ellen hadn’t been familiar with that word, but looked it up in a dictionary.  She realized that it was how everyone treated her.  Her mom, her dad, her teachers.  Even her best friend Tilly McCoy was condescending, though Ellen didn’t hang out with her so much anymore because Tilly was…well…condescending.  And now her sister was being condescending.  Her wonderful older sister.

“What if I let you use them sometimes?” said Marianne.

The idea seemed reasonable.  But Ellen was in no mood to be reasonable.  “How about you give them to me, and I let you use them sometimes?”

“No.  They’re mine.”  Marianne turned away, looking out the window, though it was too dark to see much outside.  Ellen knew her sister didn’t like to argue.  “How ‘bout I let you use them after dinner tomorrow?”

“Why not before dinner, after school?” Ellen suggested.

“Because I want to try them out first.”

Ellen stomped and threw her arms wide.  “Oh, you didn’t even want them, but now you’re so eager to try them out first?  I want to try them out first!”

“Tough.  They’re my skates.”

“You’re just being selfish.”

Marianne finally turned away from the window.  “No, you’re being selfish, Ellen.  They’re my skates, and I’m offering to share them with you.  And you’re saying my generosity’s not good enough, that you should get to try them out first.”

“But I’m the one who asked for them, so they should be mine.  You said you don’t even want them!”

Marianne grinned.  “Tell you what.  I’ll give you the skates…”

“You will?”

Marianne raised a finger in a gesture to wait.  “If…”

“If what?”

Marianne pointed the finger at her little sister.  “If you go into the Hillfield House.”

II

Ellen pet one of Hilary Hillfield’s cats once. She’d never heard of anyone else ever touching one, even though you probably couldn’t go more than an hour without seeing one skulking about their neighborhood. It was like they were spies, always off hiding in a bush or peering around a corner or up on a house roof, watching what everyone was doing.

They were all black, and looked exactly alike. It was hard to tell how many cats Miss Hillfield had. Some kids thought there was only one, but others had sworn they’d seen more than that. But no one could really be sure. You’d see one watching from a tree, then you’d turn and see one under a car. But when you turned back to the one in the tree, it was gone. So was it two cats? Or only one?  One that could teleport, like on Star Trek?

Freaky.

Some kids thought they weren’t really cats at all, but witches in disguise. Maybe one of the cats was Hilary Hillfield herself, since everyone knew she was a witch.

Hilary Hillfield was old beyond belief. Tilly McCoy’s dad had grown up in that neighborhood, and said Hilary Hillfield was old when he’d been growing up. And there’d been the exact same rumors about her, that she was a witch. Of course, he said she wasn’t really a witch, it was just the kind of thing kids said about people like her – people who were mysterious and old and kept to themselves and had a lot of cats.

But still, he couldn’t explain how she never seemed to get any older than she’d been when he was a kid. Or how her house, the oldest house in the neighborhood, built back in the middle of the 19th century, never seemed to get any older, either. No one ever saw anyone doing repairs on the house, or painting it, yet it looked newer than any other house in the neighborhood.

And, yes, the house really was from the 19th century.  Marianne had found a book at school about the early years of Logan, Michigan, and there was a charcoal drawing of the Hillfield House from 1866.  She’d shown it to Ellen.  It looked exactly the same in the drawing as it did now.

Mr. McCoy said that Hilary Hillfield had black cats when he was a kid, and they acted the same way. Seeming to flit from place to place, almost like magic. It had freaked out his generation of kids also. And none of them had ever touched one.

But Ellen did. Just once.  Almost a year earlier.

She remembered sitting on her porch and smelling the barbecue coming from a neighbor’s charcoal grill from across the street.  The wind was blowing just right, and she could smell it perfectly.  She loved the smell.  Her dad used to barbecue during all the seasons but winter, hamburgers or chicken or sausages.  Ellen loved them all.  It was always her favorite meal.  He’d grill out at least twice a month.  But after the previous winter had passed, the grill remained covered and the charcoal bag remained folder-over on the top.  She didn’t know why, and had asked, but never really got an answer.  He said he would.  “Soon.”  But he never did.  Then before long they divorced, and dad moved to Shafer Hills, an apartment complex out by the Grover Park Zoo.

Ellen’s mom talked (to friends, never to her daughters, though Ellen sometimes overheard) about how things had been “going south” in the months before the divorce.  Ellen had never heard the phrase “going south” before, but her mom’s tone in saying it made the meaning pretty clear.  Ellen hadn’t really noticed much before the divorce, except for that her dad wasn’t barbecuing and was sometimes going out late at night, sometimes with friends and sometimes alone, which he’d never done before.  Ellen asked her mom where dad went at night, but she wouldn’t say.  She’d never heard them fighting, but, in hindsight, she realized they really hadn’t been talking much at all when she and Marianne were around.

—

Anyway, Ellen had been just sitting on her porch, waiting for one of her friends to come by.

Alongside her porch were green bushes with red berries. The black cat was between the nearest bush and the house, peering out at her with green eyes that seemed very interested. It put its paws up on the edge of the porch.

The eyes looked almost human.  Not like they were human eyeballs, though.  They had the weird slits that cats’ eyes have, but there was something in their coloring or depth that made her think of people, not cats.

Ellen put her left hand out above the cat’s head and it looked up at the hand. Ellen brought the hand down upon the cat’s head and scratched. The cat seemed to enjoy it, and appreciate that there was at least one child in the world not afraid to touch it.

Ellen brought her hand down to the cat’s back. When she reached down to grab it by the belly and pick it up, the cat only backed away from the porch and took off down the sidewalk towards the Hillfield house, two blocks away.

III

The Hillfield house wasn’t just the oldest house in the neighborhood, it was also the biggest. Ellen’s mom once joked that no one would dare build a bigger house than the Hillfield House, since the house would be offended, and come and beat up the other house in the middle of the night.

But somehow, Ellen thought that if there was any house that could do it, the Hillfield House could. Maybe not literally beat it up, but whatever powers that caused the Hillfield house to always stay new and in good repair would curse the other house, causing it to get old and fall apart quicker.

Though no really bad things ever happened in their neighborhood. The Hillfield House didn’t seem to be cursing anyone or anything.  Nothing had been “going south” in the neighborhood, except for the marriage of Edward and Martha Randall, and while Ellen didn’t really know much about what caused her parents to split up, it seemed silly to blame the Hillfield House two blocks away.

And though Miss Hillfield had to be a witch, there weren’t any signs of witchcraft going on in the neighborhood. Except for maybe the mysterious cats, but no one remembered them ever causing trouble or even pooping where they shouldn’t.

But Ellen had the feeling that the only reason Miss Hillfield and her house never seemed to cause any harm was, well, kind of like her mom said – no one tried to challenge them. As long as the people of the neighborhood stayed out of Miss Hillfield’s way and didn’t try to build bigger houses or try to hurt the cats, everything would be fine. Everyone just had to play by the rules, even if the rules had never been made clear.

But there was great potential for major problems from Miss Hillfield and her house. To the kids of the neighborhood, that was obvious. She was a witch just waiting for someone to step out of line, to break the unwritten rules, just waiting to unleash hell upon a kid who dared hurt one of her cats, or call her a rude name to her face.

Or sneak into her house.

“Uh-uh” said Ellen. “I’m not going into the Hillfield House, Marianne.”

“Okay, so I’ll just keep the skates.”

“That’s not fair!”

Marianne gave a smug grin.  “They’re my skates, so I can make the rules. And my rule is that you can have them if you go into her house.”

Ellen thought about it. All the grownups said that Hilary Hillfield wasn’t a witch at all, just a lonely old lady. And they were grownups, so they had to be smarter, right?

But maybe when it came to things like this, grownups weren’t really smarter at all. Sometimes grownups could be really stubborn and pretend to be right about stuff even when they know they’re not really right. Maybe this was something like that – just stubbornness.

The kids all knew she was a witch. And they were outside more. They saw more. They saw the mysterious cats. Those weren’t normal cats. They didn’t chase birds or fight each other or poop in the bushes or lick their butts like other cats do. They didn’t even meow.

What kind of cat didn’t even meow?

Grownups didn’t pay attention the way the kids did. Even when the grownups were outside, they were mostly mowing the lawn or talking to each other or washing their cars or cooking on the grill, not looking around the way kids do. Grownups may be smarter, but kids are more observant. And more open-minded, less stubborn.

And they all knew Hilary Hillfield was a witch.

IV

“What if Mrs. Hillfield catches me?” asked Ellen.

“She’s dead.”

“How do you know?”

“Alan saw them take her body out,” said Marianne.  Alan McCoy was Tilly’s little brother, five years old, but he was kind of scrawny and dumb, so he seemed even younger.

“Alan? That brat’s always lying. Don’t you remember when he said that a U.F.O. landed in his backyard?”

“Maybe he’s lying.  Okay, probably.  But…” Marianne fell back on her elbows. “She won’t hear you if you’re quiet enough. She’s so old, she’s probably deaf.”

“What if one of her cats sees me?”

“What about it? They’re just cats. Not like they can go wake her up and say, ‘guess what, you old hag. There’s a bratty little girl in your living room.’”

“Just cats?” Ellen asked, trying to wrap her mind around the idea. If they were just cats, then maybe Miss Hillfield is just an old lady.  “Just go in?”

“Go to the top floor and look out a window so I can see you.”

“Can’t I just go in and come right back out?”

Marianne thought about it for a few seconds. “No, you have to go all the way in, up to the top floor.”

Ellen considered it. “Okay.”

Marianne looked startled for a moment, then relaxed and grinned. Ellen figured that her sister was surprised she agreed to go in, but then decided that Ellen would never really go through with it. Ellen knew what was coming next – her sister would now try to scare her in order to make sure that Ellen didn’t really do it.

And the problem was, Marianne would probably succeed. She was good at manipulating her little sister, and her little sister knew it.

Ellen wouldn’t give her the chance.

“Let’s go,” she said.

“Now?” asked Marianne, surprised.

“Why not?”

“M-mom’s asleep. We aren’t supposed to go outside when she’s asleep.”

“So? Just last week, you snuck out to catch fireflies with Tilly after mom was asleep.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t go sneaking into the Hillfield House.”

“Well, I’m going, Marianne. And you’d better be there when I look out the window.”

V

They slipped into their coats silently, making sure that they did not wake their mother. They trotted out into the cold March air.

“You sure you wanna do this?” asked Marianne, hoping Ellen would finally chicken out.

“Yeah, positive,” said Ellen, walking ahead of Marianne.

“What do you think witches do to little girls who sneak into their houses at night?”

“They punish them by turning their big sisters into frogs.” Ellen hopped twice, shouting  “Ribbet-ribbet!”

“I’ll bet she sics her cats on you, makes them claw you to death. Or maybe she just looks at you until your heart stops beating. Witches can do that. They can kill you just by looking at you.”

“If you’re so worried she’ll hurt me, then don’t make me do this. Just give me the skates.”

Marianne didn’t respond.

VI

The neighborhood was deathly silent as they walked down Baker Avenue towards the Hillfield House. Though they knew it was painted a shade of grey, it looked pitch black, darker than the night itself.

“Stop,” said Marianne as they were passing the house just before Hillfield’s.

Ellen stopped, facing the house, her back to Marianne.

“Don’t do this, Ellen.”

“Give me the skates, and I won’t.”

“No, they’re my skates. I take it back. I won’t give them to you, even if you go in.”

“You can’t take it back, Marianne. That’s not how it works.”

“I’m sorry,” said Marianne. “I shouldn’t have said it. If you go in, you’re going to cause trouble.”

“I’ll be quiet. I won’t wake her up.”

“Just don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think it’s true. They say the Hillfield House protects the neighborhood, it makes it so bad things don’t happen here. But if you go in there, you’re going to be making the house mad. It’ll make bad things happen, and we’ll all suffer. So don’t. Please.”

“You’re older than I am, and you believe that? I thought when people got older, they stopped believing stupid stuff.”

“It’s not stupid.” She wiped a tear from her eye.  “It’s real. I shouldn’t have made you do this.”

“I won’t, if you give me the skates.”

“That’s not fair!”

“It’s not fair that you got them and I didn’t, when I’m the one who wanted them. If you really think this stuff about the house is true, then give me the skates, and I won’t go in.”

“I’ll share them with you. Fifty-fifty.”

“I get one skate and you get the other?” Ellen joked.  She pictured them each trying to skate with a single skate, balancing on one leg, and laughed.

“Every other day. You can use them tomorrow, and I’ll use them the day after. And we keep switching.”

Ellen stared at the house, considering the offer. Truth be told, she was afraid to go in, afraid that the stories were true. Or that maybe there were even worse things that were true about the house and Miss Hillfield, worse than witches and curses.

As she stared, though, Ellen started to feel quite calm. If it’s true that the house was protecting the neighborhood, then maybe it was a good house. Maybe people were silly to be afraid of it. Maybe the house was lonely, and wanted people to come inside. It certainly looked like a nice, friendly house, at least during the daytime. It looked inviting, somehow, like it wanted Ellen to enter and see what the house had to offer.

Come inside, Ellen. Come inside and visit me…

Ellen chuckled. She could almost hear the voice in her ears, though she knew it was just her imagination. But suddenly it wasn’t about getting the skates at all. She just had to know whether the stories were true or not. She always wondered, and now was the opportunity for her to find out whether the fears of the neighborhood kids were justified. If she knew, then she would be better than them, more wise, more informed. She could tell them the real deal about the house.  They couldn’t be condescending to her ever again.

Ellen walked down the sidewalk, then turned down the stone path that led to the patio. She heard Marianne give a quick sob behind her. Her sister was truly afraid.

All of the lights were off inside. Miss Hillfield was either asleep or out of the house. Or maybe Alan was telling the truth, and she was dead.

Come on, Ellen. I’ve been waiting for you…

Ellen almost stopped and looked around at the voice, but realized it was just her imagination playing tricks on her. She’d heard it in her head, not in her ears.

Last Halloween, she wouldn’t even trick-or-treat at this house. Now she was sneaking into it. The treat she sought wasn’t chocolate, but a pretty pair of silver roller skates.

Come on in, Ellen…

Ellen took the wooden steps slowly, looking up for anything, absolutely anything.

She stepped on the second step.

No one trick-or-treated at this house, ever.

For a moment, she forgot why she was trying to sneak into the house. Was it about the skates? Or about the finding out what the real deal was? Or just to prove she was brave? A little of each, perhaps?

Ellen grabbed the small metal handle on the screen door and pulled it open, expecting it to squeak.

It didn’t. No noise at all.

She stepped through the doorway onto the patio and let go of the handle. The door slowly began to close behind her.

She started for the next door, and the patio door slammed behind her.  Ellen jumped, startled.

She heard Marianne squeak in surprise, then turned and shushed her older sister.  She found it quite funny that her big sister was more scared than she was.

Ellen was suddenly very afraid again. Did she really need the skates? Did she really need to know the truth about the house? Did it really matter if her sister thought she was a scaredy-cat?

Heck, she was a six-year-old girl. She had every right to be afraid.  But if she wasn’t afraid, and did go in, then she would be a pretty awesome six-year-old girl.  Her sister would never be condescending to her again.  Ever.

She continued on to the main door and tried to turn the handle.

It was locked.

Ellen smiled. Now she can’t go in and it wouldn’t be her fault, either. She had no way of knowing that the door…

…clicked.

Mrs. Hillfield is at the door! She heard the screen door slam and is now going to find me standing here!

I was…I was just going to…just…..trick or treat!

Ellen couldn’t think of a single excuse to tell Mrs. Hillfield when she opened the door and found Ellen…

The door didn’t open.

She waited, then realized there was no one on the other side of the door.

She tried the door again.

The handle turned.

It was unlocked. It must have been stuck, and loosened when she rattled the handle.

Don’t leave, Ellen. I just unlocked the door so that you can come in and visit us and stay forever and ever and ever and…

Ellen opened the door silently. This one didn’t squeak, either. It was very dark inside, but the light from the street-lamps illuminated enough to see a door to her left and a staircase straight ahead of her.  She could see the outlines of paintings on the walls on both sides, and small tables underneath them.  There was stuff on the table, vases and lamps.  Probably old and expensive.

Ellen started up the stairs slowly. An old-fashioned banister was at hand to provide support. She stopped as something soft brushed past her leg.

She should have been startled, but knew it was just one of the black cats.

“Hi, kitty.”

It passed her down the stairs. She continued up, clutching the banister.  The kitty didn’t seem to mind her being inside, so maybe the house wasn’t mad about it, either.

At the second floor, she had the choice of heading to a room or going up to the third. She was supposed to look out of a window from the upper floor, but did that mean she had to go up to the third, or did the second floor count?  If she looked out of a second-floor window, maybe it wouldn’t count.  She decided to continue up, though she hurried, feeling an urge, almost a prediction of trouble.

VII

Marianne stood in the cold, wishing Ellen would hurry up, wishing she hadn’t started this.

Suddenly a second-floor light went on. Why on earth did Ellen turn on a light? Was she afraid Marianne wouldn’t see her waving?

A figure passed by the window.

Not Ellen.

An old woman.

Hilary Hillfield.

“Oh, no…”

VIII

Ellen stepped off onto the third floor. It was totally dark and it smelled…stuffy, like the air was full of lint.

Ellen put her left hand against the wall. Her hand made a soft brushing noise as she walked.

She felt the edge of a doorway and then brought her hand up to the door to feel for a handle. She found it.

She hadn’t noticed it before, but all of the door handles in the house were lower than usual.

She walked in. The room was dark except for the street lamp light coming in through the far window.

The room had a strange smell. A sour smell.

Ellen opened the window and looked down at Marianne, who was crossing the street.

“The skates are mine,” she said, just loud enough that Marianne would hear her.

“Get out! She’s awake! Mrs. Hillfield is awake!”

Ellen’s throat went dry in fear, and she swallowed.  What would happen if Mrs. Hillfield caught her?

“I’ll try to get past her! Wait for me!”

“I will.”

Ellen closed the window, and heard a noise out in the hallway. “Who’s there?” a voice asked. She saw a light on in the hallway, shining under the door.

Against the wall to her left stood a wardrobe. An old one, carved out of wood.  It had two doors, which opened outwards. It was the only hiding place that she could see.

She sped to the wardrobe and swung its doors open. She stepped inside and pulled one door shut. There was no inside handle, so she couldn’t pull the other door all the way shut.

She pulled it with a single finger until there was only a small space separating the two doors, and then she pulled her finger in.  It would still be open a bit, but hopefully Mrs. Hillfield wouldn’t notice.

The door shut, and several pairs of hands grabbed Ellen.

IX

The inside of the wardrobe suddenly lit up. A red light, which came from nowhere and everywhere.

Dark figures surrounded Ellen. No faces, just robed figures. There were at least twelve, but they somehow fit into the wardrobe as if it was larger on the inside than on the outside.

Ellen screamed.

“A girl. A girl,” muttered a whispery voice.

“Yes. She is here,” agreed another, also female.

Ellen strained at the doors, trying to open them.

The icy hands clutched her shoulders.

“Nooooooo!” screamed Ellen.

“A girl.”

“She wants to leave,” declared a lone male voice, creaky like Ellen’s grandfather.

“Never.“

The doors swung wide and in her haste to leave the evil closet, Ellen fell out face-first, and landed, sobbing, in someone’s arms..

“Hush, child, hush. You’re all right.” The voice was weak and cracked, that of an old woman. She stroked Ellen’s hair, trying to comfort her.

“Noooo,” moaned Ellen.

“They didn’t mean to scare you.”

“They…” Her throat was dry from screaming, but she pointed towards the wardrobe.

“What’s your name?” The old woman gently brushed Ellen’s blonde hair with one hand.

“E-El-Eleanor.”

“Eleanor? Stop crying now, Eleanor. You’re all right, dear. I’m not angry.”

Ellen stopped crying. Upon entering, encountering Mrs. Hillfield had been her greatest fear. Now, she was ecstatic to be in the safety of her arms.  As spooky as she was, she was nowhere near as terrifying as whatever had grabbed her in the wardrobe.

She looked up into the worried green eyes of Hilary Hillfield. Her face was long and narrow, a maze of wrinkles upon wrinkles, with bony cheeks and sunken eyes.

Ellen looked back.  “Who…who are…”

“In the wardrobe? Never you mind, Eleanor.”

As if embarrassed, the wardrobe door swung shut on its own power. Ellen looked at the wardrobe, now just an ordinary piece of furniture. A gas lantern sat next to it, burning brightly.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hillfield.” Ellen rubbed tears from her eyes.

“Call me Hilary, dear.”

“Hilary. My sister, Marianne…”

“I know. She has some roller skates that you want. Not an excuse for your actions, but, child, you are only six years of age, so I can find it in my heart to forgive you. No real harm was done.”

“How did you know about the skates?”

“Does it matter?”

Ellen squinted in curiosity.

Hilary laughed. “I know more than most people. I’ve learned a lot in my hundred and sixty-five years.”

Ellen looked up at the woman, wondering if that was supposed to be a joke of some kind.  “You aren’t that old. It’s impossible.”

“Oh, it’s true. I am.”

Ellen looked back at the wardrobe fearfully. “Who are…”

“Never you mind.”

“I need to know. They looked like…”

“Witches?”

It wasn’t what Ellen had in mind, but, yeah. Not the witches of children’s movies, with pointy hats and warts on their noses, but what Ellen supposed real witches would look like, dark and mysterious.

“They are witches,” said Hilary.

Ellen shot out of Hilary’s arms, backing away. “N-no.”

“Yes. I am a witch, also.”

Ellen wanted nothing more at that moment than to leave the house. She looked at the window, wondering if she would die if she jumped through it.  Would the glass kill her?  Would the fall?

Hilary stepped around her, placing herself before the window. “Eleanor, dear, did you ever see ‘The Wizard Of Oz’?”

“Yes. Twice and a half times.”  She’s fallen asleep the last time she’d watched it, after Dorothy met the scarecrow, but before they met the tin man.

“You remember that there were good witches and bad witches?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I am a good witch.”

Only bad witches are ugly, she remembered Glinda saying in that movie. Hilary was hardly beautiful, but looked like she may have been when she was younger.

“I see,” she said, not sure if she believed Hilary or not. If she was a bad witch, she wouldn’t admit to it, would she? “So you’ll let me leave, then?”

“Of course. Your sister is very frightened. She heard you scream, but isn’t running off to get help yet.  She’s still waiting outside. Just tell her that you screamed because you were startled by a cat, and got past without me seeing you, and don’t mention the wardrobe, or…”  Hilary nodded towards the wardrobe, and Ellen knew she was talking about the…

Ghosts? Witches? Witch ghosts? Ghost witches?

“Okay.” Marianne wouldn’t believe her anyway.

“I know you’re curious, dear. If you would like to talk to me again, I’ll be glad to tell you more. How about tomorrow night?”

“I don’t think my mom will let me.”

“Well, she didn’t let you come tonight, did she? Why don’t you sneak out again? After your sister is asleep, also? Say midnight?”

Ellen nodded, not sure if she would, but wanting to leave.

“Goodbye, Ellen, dear.”

“Goodbye, Hilary.” Ellen shot out of the room and scurried down the stairs, remembering that in some stories, witches ate young children.

X

Upstairs, the closet door swung open and a red light filled the room. Fourteen ghostly figures floated out and surrounded Hilary Hillfield, rising and falling in the air around her.

“The girl! The girl is gone!” protested one.

“You fools!” accused Hilary. “You’ll never convert her like that. She would never sign out of fear! Fortunately, she just may come back tomorrow night. I just may convince her to sign if you all will behave yourselves!”

“We would have had her if you hadn’t opened…“

“Fools! She has to voluntarily take the oath and sign! She is too brave to sign unwillingly.”

“Brave?“

“Absolutely. For a pair of stupid roller skates, she just went into the lair of the wicked witch of the west, didn’t she?”