The Old Willis Place

walls. Rain. And wind creeping through cracks, rattling and banging loose boards and shutters.
    But there was something else—little sounds from behind the closed parlor door. Murmurs and sighs, shuffling noises, the tinkle of something small breaking. She was there all right, trapped in that room. As long as no one opened the door, maybe, just maybe...
    I hesitated, torn between running outside and staying with Lissa, who was already at the top of the steps. "Come on, Diana," she called. I followed her, looking over my shoulder at the parlor door, terrified I'd see it slowly open.
    Lissa went straight to Miss Lilian's bedroom, almost as if she'd been guided there. "Look at all this, Diana!" She pointed to the faded velvet drapes hanging at the windows, the cob webbed chandelier, the fancy marble fireplace, the high-topped walnut bed, the dusty matching furniture.
    Yanking open a closet door, Lissa peered inside. "Her clothes are still here." She pawed through Miss Lilian's silk dresses, her velvet gowns, her wool coats, setting them swinging and swaying like ghosts.
    While I watched, horrified, she held them up to herself and danced around the room, admiring her reflection in the tarnished mirrors. She tried on hats with plumes, straw hats, knit caps, even a cowboy hat from Miss Lilian's riding days. She wrapped shawls around her shoulders, draped herself with scarves, and struck silly poses like a model in a fashion magazine.
    "Here, try this one, Diana." Lissa held up a blue beaded dress, one of Miss Lilian's favorites. The last time she'd worn it, she'd slapped me for spilling a tray of drinks she'd given me to serve the guests.
    I pushed the dress aside, hating the dusty feel of the fabric. The smell of Miss Lilian's perfume still clung to it.
    Lissa shrugged and grabbed a large straw hat covered with artificial flowers, another of Miss Lilian's favorites. She struck a silly pose. "Isn't this the most hideous hat you ever saw?
    "Please, Lissa," I begged, "put those things away. Your father will see the mess and know someone's been in here."
    Reluctantly Lissa began picking up the clothing, but she insisted on wearing the flowered hat. In hope of getting her out of the house, I helped jam dresses and shoes, skirts and blouses, coats and jackets back into the closet. Despite the noise we were making, I heard other sounds from the floor below.
    "Listen," I whispered to Lissa. "Do you hear that?"
    She stopped chattering, her face solemn for a moment. "What?"
    "A sort of rustling and whispering, floors creaking."
    Lissa stayed silent, listening hard, and then shook her head. "It's just old house sounds."
    After I persuaded her to leave Miss Lilian's room, Lissa looked in the other bedrooms, empty except for odds and ends of broken furniture, mildewed books, and faded pictures, things Miss Lilian had left behind, needed no longer.
    "Is this her, do you think?" Lissa held up a framed photograph of Miss Lilian sitting on the lion bench, frowning at the camera, eyes squinted against the sun, a cigarette in one hand and a glass in the other. "She looks like a witch, doesn't she?"
    Taken by surprise, I backed away from the picture. How often had I seen Miss Lilian sitting on that bench, smoking, drinking a glass of wine, her mouth drawn down with disapproval? I even recognized her dress—navy with a prim white collar and cuffs, buttoned tightly. In those days, she'd always dressed for dinner.
    "She was a witch." I spoke without thinking, but Lissa saw nothing out of the ordinary in my words.
    "That's what everyone says." Lissa pitched the photo into the corner. I heard the glass break. "Old witch," she said with a giggle.
    "Can we go now?" I started toward the stairs, frightened by Lissa's recklessness. I had to get her out of the house before she did any more damage.
    But Lissa was obstinate. Grabbing my arm to stop me from leaving, she shined her flashlight up a dark flight of steps leading to the third floor. "Don't you want to see what's up there?"
    "No." I pulled away from her.
    "Diana, don't be such a scaredy-cat!" Lissa caught my arm again and tugged me toward the dark staircase. "I might never get another chance to explore this place."
    At the top, Lissa drew in her breath at the sight of the grand piano. Without a second's hesitation, she ran to it and lifted the lid. It creaked so loudly I jumped.
    "Can you play?" she asked me.
    "Don't touch that," I whispered. "Please, Lissa."
    "Why not? Who'll hear? Who'll