Free The Ghost of Fossil Glen by Cynthia DeFelice

p.m. Wednesday.
    Seneca Village Police Chief Ron Webster commented, “Every year we warn kids to be careful in that glen, and every year we end up rescuing someone. I sure hate to see a thing like this happen.”
    He added that “there is no reason to believe this was anything but an accident.” Near where Lucy’s sweatshirt was left, police found what appeared to be evidence of Lucy’s slide off the cliff edge. “We couldn’t see clear footprints because of the rain that fell Wednesday night, but there was a long mud slick heading right off the edge of the cliff. I figure that’s where she lost her footing,” he said.
    The search will continue in Seneca Lake. Chief Webster stated grimly, “Except, now, I guess it’s a search for the body.”
    Allie was totally absorbed, reaching for one newspaper after another. The articles became smaller and smaller and less and less hopeful. After five days, the search was abandoned. There was no mention of Lucy Stiles for a week. Then Allie came to an article with the headline: MISSING GIRL BELIEVED DEAD; FUNERAL SERVICES TO BE HELD .
    She read that local, county, and state officials had completed their investigation into the death of Lucy Stiles, ultimately declaring it “a tragic and fatal accident.”
    Lucy’s mother, Rebecca Stiles, reluctantly accepted the verdict that Lucy had not survived. Funeral services were to be held at the Presbyterian Church, followed by a burial in Fossil Glen Cemetery.
    With amazement she read:
    â€œSeneca Heights School officials were unanimous in their praise for Lucy and their sorrow over her death. Mr. Justin Henry, Lucy’s sixth-grade teacher, said, “This has been a nightmare for our whole class. We all loved Lucy, and hoped so much that she’d be back. We will miss her terribly.”
    Allie looked up, feeling dazed. She caught Dub’s eye and motioned for him to come over.
    â€œLook at this,” she whispered.
    Dub’s eyes grew wider as they traveled down the columns of newsprint in one paper after another. When he finished, he let out a low whistle. “Wow. I don’t remember hearing anything about this.”
    â€œIt was four years ago,” said Allie. “We were dumb little kids; we didn’t know anything.”
    â€œI can’t believe she had Mr. Henry for a teacher!”
    â€œLet’s ask him about it,” said Allie. She raised her hand and Mr. Henry came over. Pointing to the newspaper article, she said, “Lucy Stiles was in your class?”
    Mr. Henry nodded, and a shadow darkened his usually sunny face. “That was a terrible time,” he said. “Sometimes I still can’t believe she’s dead. Lucy was great; smart and imaginative.” He smiled at Allie. “You remind me of her, as a matter of fact.”
    Allie blushed at the unexpected compliment.
    He went on. “I had just begun teaching, so Lucy was one of my very first students. When they said she was dead, I—” He stopped for a moment, swallowed, and shook his head. “It was so sad and senseless, the way it happened. She knew that glen like the back of her hand. She wasn’t a careless, reckless kid. That’s why I kept hoping it was all a mistake. But after a while there was no point in pretending she was still alive.”
    Allie and Dub were quiet as Mr. Henry stood by their table, a faraway look on his face. Then Allie asked, “Was she the only kid in the Stiles family?”
    â€œYes,” answered Mr. Henry. “And her father had died a few years before that, so Mrs. Stiles was left all alone.”
    â€œWhere did she go?” asked Allie.
    â€œTo California, I think,” said Mr. Henry. “She had family there. I imagine this town was full of painful memories for her.”
    â€œYeah,” agreed Allie and Dub solemnly.
    â€œThe house just sits there getting more rickety and