Who was the screaming woman? What had happened to her? What did the narrator do to try to save her? And how was she saved? Read the fantastic story and you'll get a clear answer to each question.

    My name is Margaret Leary and I’m ten years old. I haven’t any brothers or sisters, but I’ve got a nice father and mother, except they don’t pay much attention to me. And anyway, we never thought we’d have anything to do with a murdered woman. Or almost.
     I have to tell you how it happened. It was a Saturday in July. It was hot and Mama sent me to the store to buy some ice cream. On my way back, I was just walking across the empty lot behind our house, minding my own business, when all of a sudden it happened.
     I heard the Screaming Woman.
     I stopped and listened. It was coming up out of the ground. A woman was buried under the rocks and dirt and glass, and she was screaming, all wild and horrible, for someone to dig her out.
     I ran to my house and there was Mama, calm as you please, not knowing what I knew, that a woman buried alive, a hundred yards away, was screaming bloody murder. “Mama,” I said. “There’s a Screaming Woman buried in —”
     “Don’t stand there with the ice cream,” she said.
     “I’m certain she can wait until after lunch,” Mama replied.
     “Mama, don’t you believe me?”
     “Of course, dear. Now take this plate of meat in to your father. Go on, now, scoot（快走）.”
     I went into the dining room.
     “Hi, Dad, there’s a Screaming Woman in the empty lot.”
     “I never knew a woman who didn’t,” said Dad.
     “I’m serious,” I said. “We’ve got to get picks and shovels and excavate,” I said.
     “I don’t feel like an archeologist, Margaret,” said Father.
     My heart was bursting. Here was Dad, putting meat on his plate, cutting and chewing and paying me no attention.
     “Dad, you just have to help me. I’ll give you all the money in my piggy bank!”
     “Margaret,” said Dad, “I’ll tell you what. After lunch, I’ll come out and listen to your Screaming Woman, free of charge. But you must eat first.”
     Lunch seemed a million years long. Everybody moved in slow motion. I wanted to scream, “Hurry! Oh, please, rush, get up, run around, come on out, run!” But no, I had to sit, and all the while we sat there slowly, slowly eating our lunch, out there in the empty lot was the Screaming Woman, all alone, while the world ate its lunch and the sun was hot and the lot was empty as the sky.
     “There we are,” said Dad, finished at last.
     “Now will you come out to see the Screaming Woman?” I pleaded.
     “First a little more iced coffee,” said Dad.
     “Speaking of Screaming Women,” said Mother, “Charlie Nesbitt and his wife had another fight last night.”
     “That’s nothing new,” said Father. “They’re always fighting.”
     “If you ask me, Charlie’s no good,” said Mother. “Or Helen.”
     “Oh,” said Dad, “I think she’s pretty nice.”
     “You’re prejudiced. After all, you almost married her.”
     “Are you going to bring that up again?” ¹ he said. “I was only engaged to her six weeks. She was sweet, though.²”
     “What did it get her? A brute of a husband.”
     “Dad,” I said. “I’ll give you that. Charlie has a terrible temper,” said Dad. “Remember when Helen had the lead in our high-school play? Pretty as a picture. She wrote some songs for it herself. That was the summer she wrote a song for me.”
     “You never told me about that,” Mother replied.
     “It was between Helen and me. Let’s see, how did it go?”
     “Dad,” I said, trying to get his attention.
     “You’d better take your daughter out in the back lot before she collapses,” said Mother. “You can sing me that song later.”
     “Okay, you come on,” said Dad.
     I took him to the spot. The empty lot was still empty and hot and the glass sparkled green and white and brown all around where bottles lay. “Listen,” I said.
     “Margaret,” said Father. “I suggest you go lie down and put a damp cloth on your forehead.”
     “But she was here, “ I shouted. “I heard her, screaming and screaming and screaming. See, here’s where the ground’s been dug up,” I called frantically at the earth. “Hey there, you down there!”
     “Margaret,” said Father. “This is the place where Mr. Kelly dug yesterday to bury his garbage.”
     Dad walked off. I heard the back door slam. I stamped（跺脚）on the ground. “Darn,” I said.
     The screaming started again. I ran back to the house and banged the door. “Dad, she’s screaming!”
     “Sure, sure,” said Dad.
     Then I ran to the garage, got a couple of shovels and ran to the empty lot. I started to dig, and all the while I dug, the Screaming Woman screamed.
     About ten minutes later, along came Dippy Smith. He’s my age and goes to my school.
     “Hi, Margaret,” he said. “What are you doing?”
     “Digging for the Screaming Lady,” I said.
     “I don’t hear any screaming,” said Dippy.
     “You wait a while and you will. Better still, help me dig.”
     “I don’t dig unless I hear a scream,” he said.
     We waited. A scream came out of the ground.
     “Hot dog!³” cried Dippy. “You got one of those tin ventriloquist contraptions （口技表演的玩意儿）in your mouth?”
     “Y-yes,” I lied, for I wanted him to help. “If you’ll help dig, I’ll tell you about it later.”
     “Swell,⁴” he said. “Give me a shovel.”
     We kept digging and I thought, “Oh, we will rescue her, we will!”
     “Hey,” said Dippy. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go home.”
     “You can’t do that. There’s something I want to tell you. There really is a woman buried here.”
     “Sure there is,” replied Dippy.
     The Screaming Woman began screaming again.
     “Hey!” said Dippy. “There really is a woman here! Let’s dig!”
     “I wonder if she’ll reward us for digging her up.” Said Dippy.
     “Sure.”
     Then a shadow fell across us. It was Mr. Kelly, who owned the lot.
     “Hey, you kids, what do you think you’re doing? Shovel that soil back into that hole.”
     My heart began beating fast again. “But Mr. Kelly, there’s a Screaming Woman —”
     “I’m not interested.”
     “Listen!” I cried.
     The scream.
     Mr. Kelly, listened, shook his head and said, “Don’t hear anything. Go on now, fill it up and go home.”
      We ran for the corner-store telephone to call the police.
     The police knocked on Mr. Kelly’s door five minutes later. Dippy and I hid in the bushes, listening.
     “Mr. Kelly?” asked the officer.
     “Yes, sir, what can I do for you?”
     “Is Mrs. Kelly at home?”
     “Yes, sir. Hey, Anna!”
     Mrs. Kelly came to the door.
     “It’s those blasted kids,” cried Mr. Kelly, angrily. “If I ever catch them, I’ll rip’em limb from limb!⁵”
     “We don’t dare go near that empty lot again,” said Dippy. “Old man Kelly’ll be waiting around with his razor strop（磨剃刀的皮带）and lambast（痛打）heck out of us. And I just happened to remember, Maggie. Isn’t old man Kelly hard-of-hearing?”
     “Oh, my gosh,⁶” I said. “No wonder he didn’t hear the screams.”
     “So long,” said Dippy.
     I was left all alone, with no one to help me, and no one to believe me. I just wanted to crawl down there with the Screaming Woman and die.
     There was only one last thing to do. I went from house to house, all down the street, I rang every bell and when the door opened, I said, “Hello, Mrs. So-and-So, you’re looking fine today.” And once I saw that the lady of the house was home, I just chatted a while to be polite, and went on down the street.
     I was about to give up when I knocked on the last door, that of Charlie Nesbitt. Instead of Mrs. Nesbitt, or Helen as my father calls her, coming to the door, why it was Mr. Nesbitt, Charlie, himself.
     “Oh,” he said. “It’s you, Margaret. What can I do for you?”
     “I’d like to see your wife,” I said.
     “Well, she’s gone to the store.”
     “Listen, kid,” said Charlie. “My wife won’t be back. Not today, that is. She’s going on from the store to visit her mother for a few days.”
     “That’s a shame,” I said. “I wanted to tell her there’s a Screaming Woman buried in the empty lot.”
     “Well,” he mumbled, “I’ll tell Helen your story when she comes home. She’ll be glad to hear it.”
     “Thanks. It’s a real woman.”
     “How do you know it is?”
     “I heard her.”
     “Sure, kid, you, eh, you say anything about this to anyone?”
     “Sure, I told lots of people.”
     “Anybody doing anything about it?” he asked.
     “No,” I said. “They won’t believe me.”
     He smiled. “Of course. Naturally. You’re nothing but a kid. Why should they listen to you?”
     “I have to go,” I said. “It’s late.”
     I went back to the empty lot where the screaming had been and just stood there. The screaming had stopped. I bent down and put my ear against the ground.
     Then I heard it, way down, so faint I could hardly hear it. The woman wasn’t screaming. She was singing. It was something about, “I loved you fair, I loved you well.” She just kept singing, not screaming any more, not caring, just singing. I turned and walked straight across the lot and up the steps to my house and opened the front door.
     “Father,” I said. “The woman isn’t screaming anymore. She’s singing.”
     “You are not telling the truth!”
     “Dad,” I said. “She’s out there and she’ll be dead soon if you don’t listen to me. She’s there, singing, ‘I loved you fair, I loved you well.’”
     Dad grew pale. “Where did you hear that song?” he shouted.
     “Out in the empty lot, just now.”
     “But that’s Helen’s song, the one she wrote, years ago, for me!” cried Father. “You can’t know it. Nobody knew it, except Helen and me. Oh, my God!” Then he ran out the door. The last I saw of him he was in the empty lot, digging, and lots of other people with him, digging.
      I felt so happy. I wanted to cry.
     I dialed Dippy, and when he answered I said, “Hi, Dippy. Everything’s fine. Everything’s worked out keen.⁷ The Screaming Woman isn’t screaming anymore.”
     “Swell,” said Dippy,
     “I’ll meet you in the lot with a shovel in two minutes,” I said.
     “Last one there’s a monkey! ⁸ So long!” cried Dippy.
     “So long, Dippy!” I said, and ran.

(1735 words)