Haunted Canada Read online

  Now that she knew it was possible to find such a place, a new rule began to take shape in her mind. Once I find it, I can’t move until something invades it, she thought.

  “But that won’t take long,” she added aloud. “Something always comes along.”

  Kit lay still, staring upward at the seamless blue canopy, waiting for that something — a plane, a cloud, a bee buzzing by. She waited and waited, but nothing intruded into her empty place.

  “Amazing,” she repeated softly, relishing the moment.

  Then her neck began to itch. Bet I’ve got a sunburn, she found herself thinking. Hope Mom brought the Noxzema. Don’t be silly. Mom always remembers to bring the Noxzema … and the sun block.

  Mom always remembers the air mattress, too. And a brand new jigsaw puzzle. Always a new puzzle. Wonder how many pieces this one will have? And the new game? What’ll it be? Balderdash? We don’t have that yet. Gotta wait to find out, though. It has to be a surprise …

  Kit realized she was looking forward to finding out which games Mom had brought along. Okay, so maybe doing puzzles and playing games with the family isn’t so bad, she thought. Maybe I won’t be totally bored out of my mind.

  Kit scanned the empty sky again. Her neck was getting stiff, and she wanted to stand up and brush away the sand that was starting to make her skin itch. Okay, I’ve had enough. Time for something to break into the emptiness. Time to go home.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she called.

  Maybe I goofed. Maybe I can see something, she thought, and forced her eyes from side to side as far as they could go. But she’d picked her spot well. Without turning her head, she couldn’t see past the sandy patch where she had flopped down.

  How long have I been here? she wondered. A long time. Shouldn’t have pulled out that plant. Then I could have seen it — and I could have got up. Maybe I’ll cheat. Turn my head a bit. I’m sure there was some tall grass just past the strawberry leaves. I remember that.

  She checked the sky one last time. Empty. That’s it, then. Time’s up, she decided, and turned her head to the side. No tall grass there. She turned the other way. There was nothing there either.

  “That’s weird,” Kit said softly. I was sure it was there, she thought. Oh well, I moved my head so the game’s over anyway. I may as well get up.

  Kit sat up and looked around. She rubbed her eyes and looked again.

  Impossible, she thought, and scrambled to her feet.

  She stared in disbelief. For as far as she could see, there was absolutely nothing, nothing but the occasional wild strawberry runner clinging to the dry brown ground. It was as if this empty spot had spread out around her until it met the sky. The sweat trickling down her neck felt suddenly cold. It sent a shiver up her spine.

  For a long time, Kit stood transfixed. Then she began to turn slowly, desperately scanning the horizon for anything that would help her get her bearings. She became frantic, looking — and looking again — for a familiar landmark. All she could see were acres of sand meeting the endless blue of the empty sky.

  Feeling dizzy, she stopped turning and looked up again. The sun still shone, but it was much lower in the sky. Still, it couldn’t help her. She had no idea whether the cottage lay north, south, east or west.

  She wanted to run again. But she didn’t know which way to go. For the second time that day, Kit felt like crying. She broke into sobs, feeling very lost and alone.

  She had no idea how much time had passed when she began to notice the breeze brushing against her tears. Gentle at first, it grew stronger with each gust. Thick white clouds edged with grey began to roll in, gobbling up the blue. Kit’s heart raced. She could smell the approaching storm. Run, her mind screamed. Run. Run. Run.

  Kit started to run, then turned and began to run in the opposite direction. “Which way? Which way?” she yelled into the terrible emptiness. Despairing, she stopped again, choking back her sobs.

  It was then that she saw it. It was only a speck at first, a pinpoint of black in one of the last remaining patches of blue. When it disappeared behind a cloud, Kit thought she’d imagined it. But, seconds later, it was back, soaring and diving, its widespread wings riding the wind. Closer and closer it came, until it was directly overhead. It hovered for a moment, suspended in space. Then, with a mighty flap of its wings, it veered sharply back into the wind, struggling to return the way it had come.

  Suddenly Kit realized where it had come from — and she knew where it was going. The voice inside her head became a chorus. Run. Run. Run. Kit began to run again, this time after the hawk.

  They were going home.

  PASSWORD TO MYSTERY

  I like my little sister, Jasmine. She’s okay for a seven-year-old. So when I saw how upset she was that Mom didn’t believe her, I felt I had to do something. For her sake — and for Mom’s, too — I had to find out what really happened the day the garage burned down.

  It wasn’t that Mom — or anybody else — blamed Jasmine for the fire. The fire inspector said afterwards that a possum probably ate through the wiring and the old wooden building just went up like a tinderbox.

  Besides, Jasmine wasn’t anywhere near the garage when the fire started. And that’s really what caused all the trouble — and plunked us into the middle of a mystery straight out of The Twilight Zone.

  After school, Mrs. Bellamy, our next-door neighbour, babysits Jasmine until Mom gets home. When Karen and David Bellamy, who go to a different school, get home, the three of them — Jasmine, Karen and David — go out and play.

  Most days they play … well, used to play … in our garage. We don’t have a car anymore, so Mom let us kids use it. There was a bench, three chairs, a table, an old radio and a bunch of other stuff in there.

  On the day of the fire, the garage was already toast — burnt toast — by the time Mom got home from work. Fire trucks were everywhere.

  The first thing Mom did was look for Jasmine, who was nowhere to be seen. And when Mrs. Bellamy said that she hadn’t checked in after school, they both assumed the worst. Mom was a basket case and Mrs. Bellamy wasn’t much better.

  So when Jasmine came strolling up the street, licking the drips off an ice-cream cone, they were both ecstatic. Mom gave Jasmine a huge hug, holding on to her as if she would never let go.

  Once the fire trucks left and all the neighbours went home, though, things really started to get crazy. That’s when Jasmine told Mom that she wasn’t in the garage because she’d gone off with a stranger.

  This little piece of news sent Mom right through the roof. And when Jasmine tried to calm her down by explaining that she only went with the woman because that’s what Mom wanted, it just made things worse. In fact, Mom totally lost it.

  She was sure Jasmine was making up the whole story to get out of explaining where she’d really been after school. She accused her of lying and sent her to bed right after dinner.

  “When you’re ready to tell the truth, young lady, you can come downstairs again,” she said grimly.

  What with Jasmine bawling in her room and Mom slamming dishes and pots around in the kitchen, the house was pretty tense. So I decided that it was time to step in and persuade Jasmine to come clean. And that’s how I ended up sitting on the end of her bed listening to a really strange story.

  “Vinnie,” she said, snuffling into a soggy Kleenex, “the lady came up to me at the schoolyard gate and said Mom wanted me to go with her. She said, ‘Unicorn,’ so I knew it was okay.”

  “Unicorn” is our password. Mom picked it because she loves unicorns. She has lots of them. She used to collect them when she was young. She has two stuffed ones, a plastic one, a poster of one, a silver one, and her favourite — a tiny crystal one that sits on her dresser. Jasmine’s always holding it up at the window so the sun can shine through it and make rainbows dance on the wall. But she’s really careful because she knows how much Mom likes it.

  Jasmine also said that the woman knew a lot about Mom.
“She knew lots of stuff, Vinnie. She knew Mom likes black cherry ice cream and cheeseburgers and red flowers.”

  “Did the lady say how she knew this stuff?”

  “Nope,” Jasmine answered miserably.

  “Well, what did she say?”

  Jasmine blew her nose again. “Well, at the park, when we passed the roses, she asked if Mom still loves the red ones best.”

  “Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Are you sure she said ‘still loves the red ones?’”

  Jasmine nodded.

  “Now think hard, Jasmine. Try to remember exactly what she said when you first saw her.”

  “She was over by the gate and she said my name and I went over. Then she said, ‘Your mom wants you to come with me.’ So I asked her for the password, like I’m supposed to, and the lady just smiled … and then she said it. ‘Unicorn.’ So I went with her … to the park … and then to the ice cream store and …”

  “Hold on, back up a minute. Did your friends see the lady at school?”

  “I dunno. Maybe.”

  “Well, didn’t you explain why you weren’t walking home with them?”

  “Nope, I already told them I was going to run home by myself.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause I wanted to glue the sparkly stuff on the popsicle-stick box I made for Mrs. Bellamy. I left it on the table in the garage last night and I wanted to finish it and give it to her. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

  My stomach tightened. “Jasmine, do you understand what a close call this was? Do you know what would have happened if you’d gone to the garage like you planned?”

  “I know, Vinnie,” she howled. “But I didn’t and I didn’t burn up because I went with the lady.”

  Jasmine was pretty convincing. Besides, if she was going to make up a lie, why would she pick such a stupid one? One Mom and I would see right through the minute she opened her mouth?

  I decided that I believed her. But I needed to find a way to convince Mom. If I could find out who the woman was, then Mom could check Jasmine’s story with her — and the mystery would be solved. But I needed more information.

  “Okay, Jasmine, who saw you with the lady? Maybe some other kids in the park? Or maybe the man at the ice cream store?”

  Jasmine shrugged glumly. “I don’t know. The lady gave me the money for the ice cream — a double scooper — and waited for me outside on that little white bench. You know the one I mean?”

  I nodded, then had another thought.

  “You mentioned cheeseburgers. Did you go for a cheeseburger? Did someone see you there?”

  “Nope. I still had my ice cream. When we passed Best Fries, the lady asked me if I liked cheeseburgers, just like Mom. I said yes and she asked if I wanted one. But I still had my ice cream and, besides, I said I’d be too full to eat dinner. That’s when she disappeared.”

  “Disappeared? You never said anything about her disappearing before.”

  “Well, you never asked me.”

  “Okay, so I’m asking now. What happened?”

  “Well, when I said the stuff about being too full to eat dinner, the lady looked at her watch. Then she said, ‘I think you’ve been gone long enough,’ and then I saw Vanessa and …”

  “Hold on,” I interrupted. “She said, ‘You’ve been gone long enough’? You’re sure that’s what she said?”

  “I’m sure.”

  I was confused. Why, I wondered, would the woman say something like that? Long enough for what? It didn’t make any sense. Neither did the bit about her disappearing. Could Mom be right after all? Was Jasmine making it all up?

  “All right. Go on. You saw Vanessa and then what?”

  “Vanessa was across the street with her mom, so I waved and showed her my ice cream. And when I turned around again, the lady was gone. She was just … gone. So I came home … and the garage was on fire and Mom was crying and hugging me. And then later, she said I was lying and …”

  Jasmine started bawling again. I waited until she calmed down a little, then tucked her in.

  “Go to sleep now, you hear?” I said. She peeked out over the sheet and nodded.

  As I was getting up to leave, I thought of one more question.

  “Jasmine, what was the lady’s name?”

  Jasmine gave a little shrug.

  “Didn’t she tell you? Didn’t she say ‘Hi, I’m so-and-so’ or something?”

  “I forget,” Jasmine whispered, rolling over to face the wall, “and I’m too tired to remember …”

  The next morning, the house was still pretty miserable. Jasmine’s eyes were swollen from all the crying she’d done and Mom was still pretty grim.

  When I got home from school, I slipped up to Mom’s bedroom and called some of Jasmine’s friends to ask if they’d seen her with a stranger. The only clue I got was from Carla Muir.

  “No, I didn’t see Jasmine with anybody,” she said. “The last time I saw her, she was standing at the gate of the schoolyard and then she just walked away by herself.”

  I went downstairs and found Jasmine at the kitchen table, her math workbook open in front of her. She was staring out the window, watching Karen and David Bellamy playing in the driveway.

  “Want a popsicle?” I asked, opening the freezer.

  “Nope.”

  “Suit yourself, but I’ve got a question. Remember yesterday when the lady met you at the gate?”

  Jasmine nodded, but didn’t look up.

  “Well, how long did you wait before she came along?”

  “She was there when I came out.”

  I was getting frustrated. “Look, Jasmine. Carla just told me she saw you at the gate — by yourself.”

  “I wasn’t by myself,” Jasmine said stonily. “The lady was there. I was talking to the lady.”

  Her face screwed up and I could tell the tears were about to flow again. I threw up my hands and went back upstairs. Jasmine’s story wasn’t hanging together. I decided to make one last phone call. After that, I didn’t know what I was going to do.

  Vanessa’s mother answered on the fourth ring. “Mrs. Hall, do you remember seeing my sister yesterday afternoon, outside Best Fries?”

  “Oh, yes. Vanessa and I were on the way to the library. Her books were overdue.”

  Finally, I thought. Now I could get some answers about the mysterious stranger.

  “Did you happen to notice who she was with, Mrs. Hall?”

  “Who she was with? She wasn’t with anyone, Vinnie. She was just standing there, by herself, eating an ice cream cone.”

  “She wasn’t with a woman?”

  “No … but, wait, let me think … maybe there was someone inside the restaurant. Jasmine did seem to be talking to someone, though I couldn’t see who it was. She was waving her ice cream cone around and smiling.”

  “That’s great, Mrs. Hall. Can you remember anything else?”

  “Not really. Jasmine just waved to us, then stood there looking around. Then she walked away. Why are you asking all these questions?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, Mrs. Hall.”

  I thanked her and got off the phone. But I wondered why I’d said thank you. What I’d just heard left me more uncertain than ever. If Jasmine had gone off with someone, she was the only one who had seen her. Either that, or Jasmine had started talking to herself in a big way. Somehow, the mess I’d set out to clear up was becoming more muddled than ever.

  Later that night, after Jasmine was in bed, I told Mom what I’d found out. She was puzzled, too. We went round and round in “maybe” circles — maybe Jasmine did this, maybe she did that, maybe she, maybe, maybe, maybe. Nothing made sense. Finally, Mom came up with one more “maybe.”

  “Vinnie, maybe Jasmine just imagined the lady, like little kids sometimes imagine a playmate. I did when I was little. And so did Dawn. You remember me telling you about Dawn?”

  Mom paused for a moment, lost in thought. She hadn’t mentioned her best friend, Dawn, in years. Not since s
he’d gotten the news that Dawn and her two little boys had died in a fire. Jasmine had been a baby at the time and Dad had still been around, too.

  I remember the day the letter arrived. I came home from school and Dad was there, holding Jasmine. Mom was sitting on the couch holding the letter and wiping tears from her eyes …

  Our thoughts leaped back to the present. Mom walked over to the buffet and took her old photograph album from the bottom drawer. She came back to the couch and began slowly turning the pages. Finally, she stopped at a picture of two young girls grinning at the camera, each clutching a stuffed unicorn.

  “That’s me and that’s Dawn. We were ten then. It was amazing, Vinnie. We both loved the same things, even unicorns. Can you believe it? She gave me that little crystal one on my dresser just before she moved to Guatemala.”

  She flipped to a picture of two young women wearing gowns and mortarboards. They were smiling for the camera and clutching diplomas.

  “She was such a special friend, Vinnie. We were always there for each other until …”

  She stopped when she heard the footsteps on the stairs. Jasmine appeared, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  “What are you doing up, honey?” Mom asked, motioning for Jasmine to join us on the couch. “Did you have a bad dream?”

  Jasmine nodded and snuggled between us. Mom put the photo album on the coffee table and turned to give her a cuddle. But Jasmine suddenly squirmed away.

  “You found her, you found her!” she whooped.

  “Found who?” Mom asked.

  “The lady! There.” Jasmine was pointing at the graduation picture of Mom and Dawn. “You found her, didn’t you, Vinnie? I knew you would.” She threw her arms around my neck.

  Stunned, I looked over her head at Mom. Mom stared back at me, then looked back at the picture. Finally, she broke the silence.

  “Jasmine, come here,” she said, patting her lap. Jasmine shifted over. “Now, look at me. Are you saying this is the lady you went with after school?”

  “Yes, yes, yes!” Jasmine bubbled.

  This time, it was Mom who looked over Jasmine’s head at me. She looked confused, maybe even a little frightened. I know that’s how I felt. I felt goosebumps on my neck. Had Dawn really come back from the grave to save my little sister?