Free Skeletons by Al Sarrantonio Page B

Withers Home for Women was on fire. We had fire drills, sometimes in the middle of the night, but the look on Mrs. Garr's face was not one of calm. She looked terribly upset. As she grabbed my arm it suddenly occurred to me that my life was about to change. That tingle that had washed over me had made that seed begin to grow. It both elated and frightened me. Perhaps this little room, and this big, terrible place, would be no more. I think I actually smiled.
    Mrs. Garr looked at me, and a pitiable look came onto her face.
    "Oh, Claire," she said, "I'll take care of you," and pressed me close to her.
    Out in the hall there was chaos. I kept looking for hoses, for water pails. I thought of the shapes I had seen outside near the trees and water and thought they must be firemen. Where were they? Why did I hear no sirens? Then a siren did go off. Many sirens, from the one on the pole just outside the Withers grounds to at least two others I could distinguish in nearby Cold Spring Harbor. That meant the fire must be huge.
    But where was it? As Mrs. Garr dragged me through the halls I saw nothing but confused, frightened faces. Then another siren went off, a large one even farther away, and I thought perhaps an even greater calamity had come. War? We had had those drills, too, mostly the sit-in-the-hall-with-your-head-between-your-knees kind. My elation faded, leaving only fear, and I stopped dead in the middle of the hall.
    Mrs. Garr bent down to look into my face. "Don't worry." She held me to her again, but I felt no comfort. The fear in Mrs. Garr's own eyes was enough to tell me that this was no mere fire.
    Then we were heading into the cellars. All of the chaos in the halls turned out to have purpose. Ragged lines were pushing their way toward the two huge open green doors that led to the basement. We had had one drill here, when I was very young. The drill had been for nuclear war.
    Behind us, somewhere deep in what should have been the emptiness of the building, I heard the sound of breaking glass. What would that be? Had a bomb fallen? I waited for the flash of light, the blast against the building that blew us all away to dust, but nothing came but another shattered pane. The firemen? Who were those figures I had seen by the water and trees? Russian soldiers landing?
    Our turn came, and we were jostled through the big green doors and down.
    There was mumbled talking, but I picked up nothing. Then someone came close in the dark with a pair of headphones and Walkman, and I heard a snatch of radio: an announcer saying very loud that there was fighting in New York City, that there were reports of fighting in Chicago, in Miami, in Atlanta . . .
    The headphones moved away from me in the dark. I had only Mrs. Garr's guiding arms to show me the way.
    Behind us there was a loud crash, near the doors, and yelling from that direction.
    "Close the doors!" someone shouted. It sounded like the vice-principal, Mrs. Carmody . Then an unmistakable voice, the booming of Mrs. Page, the headmistress, rose above all the murmuring.
    "Be quiet!"
    There was instant silence.
    "Mr. Cary," Mrs. Page boomed out, "close those doors immediately."
    We heard a sound at the top of the stairs. Then in the darkness we saw a crack of light as one door was pulled back and then slammed. I heard Mr. Cary, the gym teacher, grunting with effort.
    "I . . . can't get it to close, Mrs. Page."
    "Do it!" Mrs. Page roared.
    "I—"
    Then the door at the top of the stairs was thrown in, showing a huge rectangle of hallway above. Into this stepped something, fully illuminated, that at first made me want to laugh.
    A human skeleton.
    Mrs. Page had jostled her way through the crowd of boarders toward the stairway, and stopped near Mrs. Garr and me. I heard her audibly gasp.
    "Mr. Cary!" she shouted, but Mr. Cary needed no urging, and threw the door closed on the specter. Mrs. Page pushed past us and tramped up the steps, and in a moment she and the gym teacher were pushing