ADVENTURE OF OCRACOKE ISLAND; CHAPTER 3: DELIA GETS A STRANGE MESSAGE FROM HER MOTHER IN THE NIGHT (THIRD IN 14 PARTS)

The story so far: It is Delia's first night on Ocracoke Island. On the boat ride over, Capt. Haskell hinted about a terrible evil threatening the island, but Aunt Hetty and Grandpa don't mention it and Delia is too nervous to ask. While they all settle in for a stormy night, Delia goes upstairs to bed. When she gets there, a pale, ghostly figure appears by the window.

Cold with fear, Delia sat on the bed and pulled the quilt over her lap. She closed her eyes. Then she heard a soft voice say, "Delia."

Slowly she opened her eyes and looked at the gentle, glowing figure. She knew who it was.

"Mama," Delia said. She rubbed her eyes.

Her mother smiled at her. "Delia," she said again. "Don't be afraid." Her voice was like whispery music. She came forward and embraced Delia. It was like being held by air.

Delia asked, "Mama, are you a dream?"

"No, Delia. I'm really here." She said. "I'm always here."

"Can you stay with me?" Delia asked.

"I'll be here, even when you can't see me," her mother said in her musical voice, "but I came to tell you that there is something you will have to do here. It will frighten you, but I'll be with you."

Delia said, "What, Mama? What do I need to do?"

"You will need to help someone," her mother whispered. "I will tell you in time, my darling. Don't be afraid." She started to fade away. "I'll be back." Then she was gone.

The room grew dark again, lit only by the little halo from the lamp on the washstand.

Delia got up from the bed. "Mama?" she whispered. There was no answer but the wailing wind.

Was her mother with her always, as she had said? It must be true, because Delia didn't feel so alone anymore.

She took a deep breath, smelling the woody, cedar scent of the room, and looked around. The room was simply furnished with old things: the high, carved bed, the wardrobe, the long dresser, the washstand with the white porcelain pitcher and bowl, and the mirror that hung above it. The glass in the mirror was blotched and watery with age.

Delia crossed the room and stood before the mirror. She looked at her own face, pale and uncertain in the dim light. "What do I need to do?" she whispered to herself. "How will I know?"

It was odd, she thought, how often people told her she looked like her mother. Capt. Haskell had said it, and Aunt Hetty had said it. Many people had said it at her mother's funeral.

I may look like her, Delia thought, but I'm different inside.

"She wasn't afraid of anything," she whispered to her reflection.

She poured water from the pitcher into the bowl and patted some on her face. The icy chill was a shock. Quickly she washed her face and brushed her teeth.

On the wall was an old photograph of Aunt Hetty and Delia's mother at the beach when they were children. They were wearing long bathing suits that looked like nightgowns. In the corner of the photograph, someone had written: "Harriet and Irene, Summer 1917."

"Goodnight, Mama," Delia whispered to the picture.

Then she slipped into her nightgown, said a quick prayer, and climbed back into the creaky bed. It had a tall headboard carved with roses and leaves, which Grandpa has made for her mother when she was a girl.

She pulled the heavy quilt over her. She lifted the edge to her face to look at it. In the lamplight she could see that it was made up of small strips of material stitched together to make squares. It was worn and frayed in spots.

It was mostly blue, with patches of red and yellow. There were red flowered pieces from the dress that Aunt Hetty had worn that day, and there were pieces of blue that matched Grandpa's shirt. There also were strips of yellow calico that looked like her mother's favorite old dress. Delia liked the thought of sleeping under all the familiar fabrics.

Grandma had made this quilt with her daughters many years ago. She had once told Delia that, in the days when fabric was scarce, the seafaring men would bring back bolts of material from their trips, and it was like they had brought gold.

"You could see people all over the island wearin' the same cloth," she had said. "Maybe a woman's dress, or a baby's bonnet, or a man's shirt, all different families. Nobody minded."

Just before Delia's mother died, she had started a quilt for Delia, but had finished only one square. Someday, Delia had told herself, she would finish it herself. She could not sew nearly as well as her mother had, but she was improving. Aunt Hetty said she would help her.

For Christmas, Delia's father had made her a box painted with tiny cedar boughs and redbirds. She glanced at it, sitting now on the dresser. Her mother's quilt square lay inside it.

As she turned down the lamp's wick, Delia wondered what was ahead of her. With her head on the cold pillow, she looked at the window. The twisted cedar swayed outside, its shadow moving across the pane. The rain was falling harder now.

Before long, Delia was asleep.

Sometime in the night she had a terrible dream. She was out in the ocean. There was fire and screaming, and all around was the wild, cold water. The waves rose like dark mountains, crested with icy foam, and they broke and crashed around the little boat that swirled with Delia in it.

It seemed that she was trying to reach something. But when she stretched out her arms, she started to fall.

Delia woke in a cold sweat, her heart racing like a rabbit.

She felt for the matches by her bed and lit the lamp. The flame pointed and bobbed, making the shadows move. The small clock beside it said it was 1:30 a.m.

The wind still raced around the house.

"It was only a dream," Delia told herself.

Suddenly, from outside somewhere, there was an explosion. It was so loud that the glass in the window broke like ice and fell to the floor.

Delia screamed.

NEXT WEEK: Chapter 4: Danger in the Dark.