She fumbled behind her for the bolt. Couldn't find it.
  The girl closed in.
  Whimpering, Carol turned to the door, seized the
  latch. She sensed the ax rising, into the air behind her and knew she wouldn't have 
time to open the door, and she jerked to one side, and the blade bit into the door just 
where her head would have been.
  With superhuman strength, the girl wrenched the ax out of the wood.
  Gasping, Carol ducked past her and ran into the living room. She looked for something 
with which to defend herself. The only thing available was a poker in the rack of 
fireplace tools. She grabbed it.
  Behind her, Jane said, "I hate you!"
  Carol whirled.
  The girl swung the ax.
  Carol brought the poker up without any time to spare, and it rang against the gleaming, 
viciously sharp blade, deflecting the blow.
  The impact rang back the length of the poker, into Carol's hands, numbing them. She 
couldn't maintain her grip on the iron rod; it fell from her tingling hands.
  The impact did not ring back along the wooden handle of the ax, and Jane still held 
that weapon with firm determination.
  Carol backed up onto the wide hearth of the stone fireplace. She could feel the heat 
against her legs.
  She had nowhere else to run.
  "Now," Jane said. "Now. At last."
  She lifted the ax high, and Carol cried out in anticipation of the pain, and the front 
door was flung open. It crashed against the wall. Paul was there. And Grace.
  The girl glanced at them but was not going to be distracted; she brought the ax down 
toward Carol's face.
  Carol collapsed onto the hearth.
  The ax struck the stone mantel over her head; sparks flew.
  Paul rushed at the girl, but she sensed him coming. She turned toward him, slashed with 
the ax, and drove him back.
  Then turned on Carol again.
  "Cornered rat," she said, grinning.
  The ax came up.
  This time it won't miss, Carol thought.
  Someone said, "Spiders!"
  The girl froze.
  The ax was suspended in midair.
  "Spiders!" It was Grace. "There are spiders on your back, Laura. Oh God, they're all 
over your back. Spiders! Laura, look out for the spiders!"
  Carol watched, bewildered, as a look of stark terror took possession of the girl's face.
  "Spiders!" Grace shouted again. "Big, black, hairy spiders, Laura. Get them off! Get 
them off your back. Quick!"
  The girl screamed and dropped the ax, which clattered against the stone hearth. She 
brushed frantically at her back, twisting her arms up behind her. She was snuffling and 
squealing like a very small child. "Help me!"
  "Spiders," Grace said again, as Paul picked up the ax and put it out of the way.
  The girl tried to tear off her blouse. She dropped to her knees, then fell onto her 
side, gibbering in terror. She writhed on the floor, brushing imaginary spiders off her 
body. Within a minute she seemed to be in a state of shock; she lay shuddering, weeping.
  "She was always afraid of spiders," Grace said. "That was why she hated the cellar."
  "The cellar?" Carol asked.
  "Where she died," Grace said.
  Carol didn't understand. But at the moment she didn't care. She watched the girl 
writhing on the floor, and she suddenly felt overwhelming pity for her. She knelt beside 
Jane, lifted her up, hugged her.
  "You okay?" Paul asked her.
  She nodded.
  "Spiders," the girl said, quivering uncontrollably.
  "No, honey," Carol said. "No spiders. There aren't any spiders on you. Not now. Not any 
more." And she looked at Grace, wondering.
  
  
  
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