Burning Bright

 

 

They say that when you die, your whole life repeats. At least, it seems that way. From the moment you were born to the moment you utter your last breath, everything you experienced flashes before you like a movie. Well, I can tell you that it doesn’t. Death is a nightmare; all your failures, all your misery, everything you ever did wrong tumbles back down on you like an avalanche, crushing you, smothering you. Killing you. But the worst thing of all? The real pain starts after you’re already dead.

***

 It happened the day before I turned seventeen.  Mom was screaming at me about something. I think I heard the words ‘Don’t make me come up there!’, but I chose instead to roll over and ram a pillow over my face. I had no intention to go to school that day, and nothing Mom said was going to make me change my mind.   
   My alarm clock started blaring for the seventh (I counted) time, and I hit the snooze button again. In the morning, my logic doesn’t really extend to getting up and physically turning the alarm off. The snooze button is bigger and provides instant relief.
   My door starts rattling on its hinges. “Alyssa MacDonnell, I don’t have time for this! If I have to come in there and drag you out of bed you’re gonna regret it!”
   I groan, kicking the covers off myself and stomping to the door. I fling my door open just in time to catch Mom with her fist mid-knock. “I am not going to school today and you can’t make me.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it still quivered a little. Dammit, she was going to ask me what was wrong. Oh god, I could feel it coming. Her forehead was already crinkling with concern.
   “Aly? Are you sick?” She moved to touch me but I pulled away.
   “No, I just don’t feel like going to school. End of.”    |
   The wrinkles disappeared. “Don’t tell me you’re going to start with the rebellious teenager act already. It’s only 7:30 in the morning for goodness sake. I haven’t had enough coffee to deal with this yet.”
   “Fine, don’t deal with it. You go to work and I’ll stay here.”
   She planted her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing. “Very funny. Term’s ending next week, why the sudden urge to start skipping school? And you better give me a decent excuse.”
   I raked my mind for something, anything to say.  For a fleeting moment I thought of telling her the truth, but that would only result in a long-winded lecture—or worse, Sympathy Mom—and that was almost a fate worse than death. But the more I tried to think of an excuse, the more my mind wandered. It was only 7:30 in the morning for goodness sake! My brain was only capable of thinking about cream-cheese covered bagels.    “I…” I blew a wisp of hair out of my face. “I don’t have to tell you.”
   Mom rolled her eyes and tutted—a bad sign. “Aly, if I have to march you down to school in just your pyjamas I will. Now, are you going to do this the hard way or the easy way?”
   “God, I hate you so much sometimes!”
   “And don’t I know it. Now, get some clothes on and be downstairs in 5 or else. There might even be some pancakes in it for you if you cooperate.”
   My mind pricked up at the mention of pancakes. Sure, they’re not bagels, but they’ll do. I slam my door just loud enough to illustrate my annoyance, and then set about finding an outfit to wear.
   I pick up a pair of discarded jeans from the floor and shimmy into them. I rummage through my closet until I find my favourite red cashmere sweater, and throw that on over top. A lick of mascara and a dab of lip gloss and I deem myself respectable enough for Jefferson High.
  True to her word, Mom has a plate of pancakes set out on the table. I power through them like a pro, only pausing to breathe or take a sip of OJ. Mom is giving me that look again, that half-smile look where I can’t tell whether she loves me, or just thinks I’m insane. Probably a little of both.
   I wipe the last pancake crumbs from around my mouth, and give Mom a quick kiss on the cheek before I sling my backpack over my shoulder and duck out the door. She yells the obligatory ‘Love ya!’ after me as I leave, hanging in the air like a whisper.
   I hunch against the cold breath of the wind, wedging my hands into my armpits to conserve some semblance of warmth. Spring my ass! Seattle seasons can be a joke sometimes. I let myself fantasise about moving to Cali someday, trying to ignore the ice-cold rain just starting to drizzle down from the sky.
   I get to school just as the bell rings for home room. Typical. I have no desire to run through the halls like an idiot, so I take my time, enjoying the rare silence blanketing the corridors. I get to my locker, trying not to grin when I notice Cassie leaning against it, inspecting her hair for split ends.
   “Ohh, watch out! Got a badass truant over here.”
   Cassie sticks her tongue out at me, her purple and blue tongue-ring glinting in the fluorescent light.
   “As if I’d be seen dead sitting in homeroom by myself. I’d rather risk getting detention from Mr Douchebag.”
   “Well then you’re lucky I actually showed up today,” I say, punching my combination into the locker and tugging it open. “Lying in bed all day seemed way more tempting.”
   “Are you joking? You know you can’t abandon me without at least texting first!” She pauses to sweep her blond curls into a high bun. “Are you still cut-up about the whole Spring Fling thing?”
   “Ohh, you’re a poet you just don’t know it!” I laugh as she crinkles her nose. Trust Cassie to know I wanted to bail on school today because of the Spring Fling. I didn’t even want to go tonight, but I knew Cassie would make me. The humiliation of not having a date was almost too much to bear, but to go to a dance where your on-again off-again boyfriend was with another girl? Mortifying.
   “Ryan’s a moron, you’re a babe, forget about it. You’ll have a ton of guys lining up to woo you, trust me on this.”
   “Woo?”   
   “Yeah, woo. I’m talking old-school chivalry. Knight in shining armour types. Am I ever wrong?”
   I bite my tongue, tempted to point out all the times that she has in fact been very wrong, but I resist. “I suppose not. Promise me you won’t spend the whole dance with Kyle? If I have to watch you two PDAing on the dance floor I might puke until I die.”
   “Love you too, sweetie! But of course not. I’ll help you pull a hot guy, I’m your wingwoman, remember?”
   The bell rings for first, cutting my reply off mid-word. Cassie loops her arm through mine as we thread our way through the streams of people to our bio class. We deliberately chose all the same classes so we’d never have to be apart. We’d been joined at the hip since I stole her fruit cup at the park when we were three. She was everything I wasn’t; tall, curvy, blonde, where I was short, pale and had the body of a pre-pubescent boy. Somehow that’s what made us perfect, though. She was like my other half.
   We grabed our usual seats in bio, right at the back. I could barely hear myself think over the noise in the classroom. A paper plane whizzed past my face, and the two guys responsible for it burst into laughter. I roll my eyes and turn to Cassie, who has her feet propped up on the desk tapping out a tune only Cassie can hear.
   I open my mouth to speak, but am drowned out by the sounds of a wooden ruler slamming against the whiteboard. Cassie hurriedly drags her feet off the desk, and I snap my attention to the front of the classroom. Mr Edwards is fuming, his face the brightest red I had ever seen it. “Please people! Can we try to behave like educated adults, and not farmyard animals, just once?”
   Someone makes an oinking noise, and Mr Edwards’ moustache twitches. “Out!” He points at the door, lips pressed together in a thin line. “Get out of my classroom!”
   Mitchell Rodgers sheepishly gets to his feet, his chair making a shrieking noise as it scraps against the linoleum. He pushes his nose up with his finger as he leaves, mimicking a pig behind Mr Edwards’ back. A couple of boys snigger, and Mr Edwards glares at them until the noises subside.
   He sighs, straightening his tie. “Today we’re going to learn about osmosis. Can anyone tell me what that is?”
   No-one moves.
   “I didn’t think so. See? This is why we must pay attention in biology, no?” He turns to the whiteboard, drawing a diagram in faded red ink. “Osmosis involves the—”
   The door swings open, connecting with the inner wall with a sharp crack. Mr Edwards turns to glare at the doorway, clearing his throat in anticipation. “Can I help you?”
   The guy in the doorway is someone I have never seen before. Tall, with a mop of shaggy brown hair falling over his face, thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his jeans. He retrieves a crumpled slip of paper from his pocket and hands it to Mr Edwards.
   “I see…” Mr Edwards puts the paper on the desk and turns to the classroom. “This is Mason Greene, and he’ll be joining our classroom today. Take a seat, Mason.”
   Mason weaved through the desks until he came to an empty one in front of me. He dumped his bag on his desk, staring at me through strands of auburn hair. His eyes were intense, and I had to fight the urge to look away.
   “Take a picture, it'll last longer," I say, smirking as I hear Cassie struggling to restrain herself. A low hush of laughter sweeps the classroom.
   He gives me a wan smile, eyes never leaving mine. He finally takes his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning far back in his chair. He couldn’t have looked like he cared less if he tried. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Cassie scribble out a note behind the textbook shield she had constructed. She pressed the paper into my palm, looking ridiculously suspicious.   
    Hottie alert! It read. Potential date for tonight?!
   I snorted, writing Hell no in block letters beneath her girly scrawl. Mason didn’t look like the kind of guy I wanted to get involved with.

   Cassie turned to me, doing a twirl. “What do you think?”
   “You look gorgeous, obviously,” I said. And I wasn’t lying. Cassie’s blue silk dress clung in all the right places, making her body look even more voluptuous than usual. Her hair was arranged in a loose up-do, with a few stray ringlets hanging down to frame her face. She had a shock of silver shadow on her eyelids, accented by a delicate flick of liner.
   “Not so bad yourself,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. “But you need some more paint on your face.”
   “No, don’t you dare!” I squealed, putting my arms up to shield myself against her. “I don’t want any more makeup on!”
   “Aw c’mon, just some blush at least. You look like a vampire.”
   I huffed. “Fine, just don’t make me look like a stripper.”
   “If you looked like a stripper you’d get more dates.”
   “Cassie!”
   “Haha okay, okay. Pretty and subtle, I get it.”
   I watched Cassie with suspicion as she laid out various tubs and brushes in front of me. She stuck her tongue out in concentration as she slicked a layer of blush on my cheekbones, followed by a sweeping of eyeshadow and a lick of colour on my lips. Nervously, I checked out my reflection. I’ll admit it, she did a good job. The purple eyeshadow brought out the green in my eyes, as well as accenting my silver dress. And the nude lipstick made me look sophisticated and grown-up.
   “What do you say?”
   “You did gud,” I said, an inside joke.
   “You did gud, kid!” she let out a scream of laughter. “Alright, we need to go. Places to be, guys to wow. You know the drill.”
   Cassie barely stopped talking during the drive to the dance. She was going on about Kyle and music and adding a special ingredient to the punch, but I barely paid attention. My find was fixated on Ryan, on having to see him there with Sabrina, having to watch them dance together, his hands on her waist, her head on his shoulder. No amount of eyeshadow or lipstick in the world could make me feel better about the Ryan situation.
   The hall seemed to be pulsating from the outside, scores of people milling about in the parking lot, or filing through the double doors. I scanned the crowd for Ryan and, thankfully, didn’t see him. I felt Cassie’s hand close around mine, and she was tugging me out of the car and into the biting night air. I rubbed my arms to try and generate some kind of warmth, but still the goosebumps sprung up, undeterred.
   The dance was a blur of limbs, of flashing neon lights and pounding music. It was so dim I could barely make out the faces a few feet away, and I let out a small sigh of relief. As long as I kept my eyes on the floor, I might not have to see Ryan.
   Cassie wrapped her arms around my shoulders, swaying to the music. “See anyone you like?” she half-said, half-yelled into my ear. I shrugged her off, shaking my head. “Stop obsessing over Ryan, please! It’s depressing.”
   Cassie walked around to my side, giving me a quizzical look. “Please try to have fun tonight. Promise me.”  
  “I promise,” I lied. The more time I spent here, the more I regretted it.
   Cassie squealed. “Kyle! Kyle, we’re over here!” She waved her arms, disappearing into the throbbing crowd. I hung back, standing awkwardly by myself, pretending to dance and failing. So much for not abandoning me, Cassie.
   I fiddled with my necklace, trying to look busy or at least, less bored. Still no sign of Cassie, typical. I tried to make my way through the crowd, but by now dance floor was so packed I couldn’t get through. I admitted defeat and made my way to the drink stall, digging around in my clutch for my mobile phone. Cassie wouldn’t hear her phone ringing in here, but with some luck she’d check for texts when she realized I was gone. Hopefully.
   “Look what the cat dragged in.”
   I would recognize that voice anywhere. It’s the same voice that used to call me Smelly Aly all through middle school. The same voice that always had a sarcastic remark about any outfit I wore. Sabrina.
   “Seems kind of weird to come to a dance without a date, don’t you think?” Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, eyebrow cocked, her posse of bitches spread out behind her. “Shouldn’t you be at home with your cats or something?”
   “Maybe I’d have a date if you didn’t steal him,” I said, trying to blink away the misting of tears that was already forming. “But, as they say, once a cheater, always a cheater.”
   “What’s that supposed to mean?” Her perfectly rouged lips formed into a scowl, but even then she was still beautiful. Her jet-black hair was dead straight, hanging down to the middle of her back. As much as I despised the girl, I couldn't help but feel a little jealous.
   “It’s supposed to mean, don’t expect Ryan to stay faithful to you when he didn’t stay faithful to me," I was trying to muster up all the courage I could, puffing up my chest and looking Sabrina dead in the eye. Oh god, where was Cassie. Cassie would have something smart and bitchy to say.
   I heard a low chuckle from behind me, and I spun around, face-to-face with a smirking Ryan. I tried to shrink away, and bumped into Sabrina, who pushed me forward again.
   “I didn’t cheat on anyone,” Ryan drawled, that stupid smirk contorting his features. “We were never actually together, since you don’t put-out," his eyes were boring into mine, roaming my face, my chest, my legs. I'd never felt so scrutinised before in my life. It was like he was surveying a slab of meat, not his former girilfriend... His first girlfriend. His slicked-back blond hair made him look like a villain, and that damn smirk wasn't helping, either.
   I felt like he’d slapped me. Weren’t together? We dated for almost a year. He was my first kiss. First boyfriend. First love. He used to tell me he loved me, too. Was that all a lie? I forced away the lump in my throat as I watched Ryan wind his arms around Sabrina’s middle and plant a wet kiss on her lips. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Suddenly it was like the whole world was pressing down on me, squeezing the air out of my lungs. I stumbled backward, tearing my eyes away from Ryan and Sabrina, who were still sucking face. I pushed my way through the crowd, hot tears slipping down my cheeks and falling down into the unknown.
   I burst out of the gym, into the cold night and into the stinging rain. I didn’t know when it had started raining, and I didn’t care. I needed to get away from that place, I needed to get as far away from Ryan as I possibly could.
   My heels splashed in the rain puddles as I ran, water seeping through the straps and making my feet slip against the soles. I bent my head against the rain, trying to shield my face with my clutch and failing. Rain was falling in from all directions like spears; cold, sharp spears.  
   The thumping music from the dance faded away until it was just a dull throb in the distance. I blindly fumbled my way onto the footpath, setting off in the direction of home. I knew it would be a fair walk away, but the walk would give me a chance to clear my head. To forget, maybe. I pulled my phone out, scrolling down to Cassie's name. I opened a new text, tears blurring my vision so much I could barely see what I was typing.
   Suddenly a flash of bright white flared in front of me, burning starkly against the inky black of night. I was aware of the screech of tyres on wet tar, of a searing pain bursting to life, taking over my whole body, of being flung up into the air like a doll. And then, nothing.

Darkness

 

 

   Darkness. All around, crushing down from all sides. Palpable, tangible, darkness. I was suspended in it, surrounded by suffocating darkness and silence. And then the memories started to trickle through, dim at first, then bright and loud, like a train screaming through the empty night.
   I'm pushing Julia Sidwell over, her tiny child's body crashing through her sandcastle, destroying it. She cries in its ruins, and I can still remember how strong I had felt, how in control. Sand clung to the wet tears on Julia's face, bright blue eyes staring up at me in wonder. I'd laughed as she scurried away, head bent against the sun, to hide beneath the branches of a large oak. And I hadn't felt a shred of shame or regret as I laid claim to the sandpit, making my own castles and grinning at Julia as she watched from afar.
   Fast-forward three years, and I'm standing in Clark's Discount Outlet, keeping one eye on the sales clerk and one eye on my prize. I stuff it into my sweatshirt's pocket, feeling the cool touch of the metal warming against my clammy fingers. I nod to the girl behind the counter as I leave, summoning my most innnocent smile, before making a break for it. The wind had slapped against my face as I ran, the world around me blurring into a haze of people, cars, streetlamps and signs. It wasn't until I got home that I let myself retrieve the necklace, to trace its delicate edges with my fingertip, to admire the way the emerald stone gleamed against my skin.
   Same year, different month. My Dad's face crumples when he realizes I'm not going to accept his hug. His arms drop to his sides like dead weights, his mouth cocked slightly downward. As he picks up his suitcase I murmur, "I hope you die," beneath my breath, just loud enough for him to hear. He shakes his head as he steps out the open doorway, the breeze tugging at his greying hair. He didn't even look back as he left. My last glimpse of him was as he ducked into the taxi, coat drawn tightly against his frame.
   And then there I am at the dance again, watching Sabrina's face pull up into a smile, red lips burning against alabaster skin. Ryan's arms are around her waist, and that smirk still hasn't left his face. I'm beginning to forget what he looks like without a smirk. I want to scream, to lash out and claw at the both, the rage that bubbles up within me is so intense. And then they fade away, and the darkness seeps in again, crushing me.
   I'm still trying to fight against the dark. I'm fighting against the memories, I'm fighting against the omnipresent nothingness that bears down all around me, but most of all I'm fighting against myself. I'm fighting against the regret and the heartache, and of all the things that it's too late to go back and change.
   And then light starts to bleed through the inky darkness, smudged and unsure of itself. It grows in colour, flashes of blue and red crying out against the shadows.
   I can make out an ambulance, shrill sirens blaring into the night. A large crowd has gathered against some kind of object on the ground. As I get closer I realize it's me, lying broken and crumpled against the wet, shining road.
   A paramedic has his fingers pressed against my neck, which is bent at an unnatural angle. I feel a wave of nausea rush over me, like a hard punch to the gut. Am I really dead? How can I be dead? Surely they can bring me back!
   I force myself to look away as the grim-faced paramedic lifts my limp body onto a stretcher, pushing me towards the ambulance. The shocked faces of the crowd stare back at me; some have pale hands pressed against open mouths, others have fresh tears glistening on their cheeks.
   I can hear shrieking, and with a jolt I realize it's Cassie. She's straining against the mass of people, her eyes wild with fear and panic, screaming my name.
   "Let me through that's Aly, that's my sister!" Her screams sound almost inhuman, like a dying animal. I've never seen her look so afraid. "Oh god, please don't let that be Aly."
   I watch as she falls to the ground, knees giving way beneath her. Her silk dress is soaked with rain and mud, clinging to the shape of her legs. She swats Kyle away as he tries to lift her, her shoulders shuddering with the force of her sobs. She's still screaming for me as the ambulance pulls away, tyres spraying up sparkling droplets of rain in its wake.
   I try to go to her, but my body feels strange. It feels... Light. Like I'm floating in a pool, gravity dulled and useless. I struggle against the air, waving my arms like a fish out of water. As the crowd disperses, all that's left is Cassie's trembling form curled on the ground, and broken shards of glass shimmering on the road like stars.

 

 

Weightless

 

 

  By the time the sun comes up, I'm still trying to get used to my new, weightless self. I've figured out how to get to the ground at least, and from here it seems a little easier to move. It's almost midday by the time I'm able to move confidently, and the first place I go is home.
   It's strange to not actually walk, but glide. I don't want to call it 'floating', because that seems too ghost-like, and I don't want to admit that I'm a ghost. I don't want to say the world out loud. I'm still Aly, I'm still sixteen (although technically seventeen now... Do the dead age?), and I still feel like I'm meant to be at school right now, sitting in English with Cassie and oogling Mr Braxton everytime he turns to write something on the whiteboard.
   I find I move faster since I don't actually have to physically step on the ground. My feet graze just above it as I move, but they dip through it if I get too low. I feel like smoke, seeping into things and getting lost against solid objects. I make a conscious effort not to get too close to the ground.
   I don't know why, but a part of me was expecting to see at least a couple other ghosts on my walk―glide―home. If I'm in the afterlife now, shouldn't a ton of dead people be hanging around? It almost feels like I'm on the wrong side of the Apocalypse, like everyone is still living and I'm the only one who's dead.
   I still duck out of the way of cars as they come towards me on the road, even though nothing would happen if they hit me. Reflex, I guess. If only I'd had better reflexes last night. None of this wouldn't have happened. But I can't think about that now. What-ifs don't make anything easier, I learned that a long time ago.
   By the time I get home, the sun is just starting to dip beneath the horizon, casting a muted orange glow up into the pale-blue sky. For a moment it makes me think about Heaven, and I feel cheated that I'm not there. I'm not sure how I'm going to handle roaming the earth alone. Hopefully I can hook up with some more ghosts. I feel my stomach churn at the thought. My carefree attitude towards death is barely masking my true terror.
   The door to my house is ajar, yellow light spilling out onto the doorstep. I can hear voices coming from inside, and I slip through the opening, not wanting to touch the actual door. I'm probably just being paranoid, but that scene from Ghost keeps popping into my head, and I have no desire to see the insides of my door just now. I remember the first time Cassie and I had watched that movie together, and I feel a pang of sadness. I miss her already. How am I going to exist without her?
   I can see my Mom's shadow stretching out from the lounge. She's standing beside the fireplace, arms wrapped around her body and clinging to her shoulders. She turns at the sound of a male's voice, and I can see just how tired she looks. Her face is drawn tight across her features, like she's been crying all night. She looks ten years older than she did yesterday. More than anything I want to rush up and hug her, to tell her that I'm alright, but I know that I can't.
    But seriously, who the hell is this guy in my house comforting my Mom? I see him get up from the couch and put his hands over hers. His voice sounds so familiar, though. Mom didn't have a secret boyfriend, did she? Although, if I'm dead, I'm glad she has someone, I guess.
   I move more into the room, getting a closer look. With a start I realize the stranger isn't an exotic lover, or the pastor or even a kind-hearted neighbour: it's my Dad.
   I feel a surge of anger at the sight of him. I haven't seen him since the divorce, since he walked out on me and Mom and never looked back. Again I glimpse the sight of him hopping into the taxi, how much I had wanted him to look back at us, and how he never did. I want to run up to him and pound on his chest, to scream at him and tell him to get out of my house. How dare he show up now? He wasn't with me in life, so why should he be with me in death? And more to the point, why the hell is Mom letting him in here? Mom's the one he hurt the most when she caught him screwing her friend, Sandra. So what is he doing here?
   Mom turns to my Dad, face sallow and sunken, sharp cheekbones jutting out from beneath frail skin. To my surprise, she buries her face in his chest and gives in to the full force of her sobs. Neither of them say a word. They just stand there, locked in their mournful embrace.
   I can't stand to mutely witness their grief any longer, so I turn and go upstairs. My bedroom is exactly as I left it; even the messed-up bed is the same. I float there for a while, wishing I could crawl into bed, go to sleep and wake up as if this had never happened. But I can't even touch my bed. I feel so impotent.
   A textbook is lying open on the ground where I last threw it (in frustration, probably), and because it's the only thing around to do, I hover above it and read the pages. It's all about rearranging algebraic equations, and as mind-numbing as it is, it's enough to distract me from everything that's going on around me.
   I've read these same two pages almost eleven times before I notice the light go on above me. I jump out of my skin, annoyed and surprised at the same time that I can still get a fright when I'm already dead. I turn to see my Mom standing in the doorway, eyes blood-shot and puffy, her hands wringing at the hem of her sweater.
   She does a lap of my room, pausing every now and then to pick up an ornament, or run her fingers across a discarded item of clothing. She buries her face in my pyjama top and inhales deeply, a fresh rush of tears springing to her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. She opens my wardrobe, standing between its doors for what seems like an age. Finally, after digging around at the very back, she finds my Snuggy Bunny and crawls into my bed with.
    I'd almost forgotten I still have that Snuggy Bunny. It was my favorite toy from the ages of three to nine, and I never went anywhere without it. Embarassing, maybe, but whatever. And seeing it again now makes me want it even more. I just want to touch something―anything!―and not have my hand go right through it.
   Watching my Mom curled in my bed clutching my Snuggy Bunny is almost too much too bear. She looks like a lost child, clinging to the toy for the slightest shred of comfort she can. My chest constricts, the urge to cry overwhelming, but I can't. Being here is too painful. It just reminds me of everything I've lost, and everything that I'll never have again. Before I leave, I plant one, whisper of a kiss on my Mom's cheek, and drift out the window.

Wide Awake

 

 

   Well, this is dull. No, seriously, who knew being dead would be so boring? So far I've 'snuck' into the cinema to watch movies in the dark, I've read books over peoples' shoulders in the library, I've even drifted to the top of the Space Needle and let myself fall again, just to see what it would feel like. And, after all that, it's only been a week. I've seen all the new releases―okay, maybe more than once―I creeped myself out with the library thing, and there's only so many times you can freefall from 600 feet without losing that adrenaline rush edge. So that's how I ended up here, sitting outside Jefferson High, waiting for the bell to ring.
   I know what you're thinking: you're dead and you're still going to go to school?! And I know it's pretty ridiculous, but it's the last thing left I can think of to pass the time. I know, I could probably fly to Paris and hang off the top of the eiffel tower if I wanted to, but that's just it; I don't want to. I feel drawn to this place, and more importantly I feel drawn to the people who live here. Mom, Cassie, even Ryan. I don't think I'm ready to leave them just yet.
   I'm attempting to balance myself on the edge of the Jefferson High sign―and falling through it―when I notice Cassie hop out of her Dad's Land Rover. Wow, she looks crappy. Okay, that's mean, but it's true. She's so pale she's almost translucent, her normally luscious hair hanging flat and lifeless beside her face. Oh god, this is worse than when Mom dug out my Snuggy Bunny. Cassie's meant to be the strong one out of the two of us. I can barely believe she looks so run-down.
   She tugs self-consciously at the strap of her bag before trudging towards the school gates. I hop down from my place above the sign and trail behind in her wake, wishing she could see me but also somehow glad that she can't. Cassie pauses before Jefferson's doors, her hand gripping the handle so hard her knuckles turn white. I reach out to touch her shoulder, and as my hand falls through I notice her shudder as if struck by a cold breeze. Did I do that? Jeez, I've got to remember not to touch people.
   I continue following her as she makes her way through the corridors. Kyle's hovering beside her locker with knitted brows, chewing on his bottom lip. Cassie looks up as we pass, and Kyle moves to hug her. She pulls away harshly, and Kyle stumbles as his arms fall down on thin air. Cassie plasters her eyes to the floor, ignoring Kyle as he calls out behind her. I'm suddenly struck by the image of Cassie lying crumpled and alone on rain-slicked tar, and I wonder if that's why she's mad at Kyle. I can't imagine him ever abandoning her like that, but what if he did? If he did he deserves a hard punch to the jaw, but I can't do that anymore. Unfortunately.
   Cassie picks a seat right at the back of homeroom, and she slumps into the uncomfortable wooden chair like she's trying to make herself disappear.
   "What are you doing, kid?" I say, hovering cross-legged above the desk next to her. "This ain't gud, kid."
   She doesn't reply, of course. She makes no indication that she's heard me speak. She doesn't even shudder like she did earlier. But that's when I notice that new kid, Mason Greene. He's staring right at me―smirking!―like he's in on our joke or something. His eyes are locked right on mine, even though I'm hovering several inches in the air.
   "Take a picture, it'll last longer," I say sarcastically, and as I do, he looks away, his auburn hair tumbling down to cover his eyes. Weird. Probably just some crazy coincidence.
   As the rest of the class starts to shuffle in, I notice Cassie shrink away further, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She buries her face in her arms just as the bell rings.
   Mitchell Rodgers is giggling about something with Dylan Gunner. Those two are usually laughing about something though, being self-designated class clowns. Little do they know, no-one else finds them funny. To the rest of us, they're just immature dorks. But they like to live in their little bubble of quasi-hilarity, and people don't bother them much.
   But today they're acting different. They're desperately trying to repress the escalating laughter that's reverberating between them, every so often casting a look back over their shoulders at Cassie like she's the butt of their latest joke. Usually they're obnoxious about something they find funny, but today they seem to be trying to hide it.
   They're laughing too hard to stop it now, though. The teacher's not here yet, and they're taking full advantage of it. Dylan mimes out something with his hands, two fingers stuck up on one and the other curled into a fist, knocking the fingers over like bowling pins. Mitchell lets out a sharp, raucous laugh and shouts, "I know! Who'd be stupid enough to get hit by a car, anyway?"
   He's obviously said it louder than he intended, because he instantly reddens and shuts his mouth. Even Dylan looks a little disturbed, and buries his hands in his lap like he's trying to conceal evidence. But it's no use. Cassie's heard them, and somehow manages to go paler than she already was. She presses her lips into a thin line, looking royally pissed. She calmly gets out of her chair, walks up to Mitchell and whispers, "What did you say?"
   "N-nothing, just joking around."
   "You were talking about Aly, weren't you," oh boy, you knew Cassie was mad when she spoke so softly.
   "Uhh no, don't be a tard. It's none of your business, anyway."
   "You know what, I think it is my business."
   Before Mitchell could respond, Cassie grips a fistful of his hair and slams his face against the desk. Hard. The whole classroom echoes with the sound of it. Mitchell lets out a whining sort of cry, his hands cradling his face. A few of his pimples have burst, staining his skin a pinkish-red. A slow trickle of blood slithers out from his nose, pooling above his quivering lips.
   "Talk shit about my bestfriend like that again, and it'll be way worse," Cassie basically growls. She spun on her heel and made her way back to her desk, crossing her arms over her chest and blowing some wayward strands of hair out of her face.
   A hush descends upon the classroom. No-one says a word as Mitchell half-staggers half-runs from the classroom, moaning and clutching his nose. Ms Sayers give him a quizzical kind of look as he rushes past her in the doorway, almost spilling her mug of coffee.
   "Please children," she sighs, setting her mug on the desk. "Do refrain from maiming eachother before first period."
   Ah, typical Sayers. Cassie and I always said she's only in this job for the paycheck. Poor Cassie. Her face is buried in her arms again, and she looks like she's trying not to cry. The last time I saw Cassie cry was when Craig Donovan called her fat in the seveneth grade. After that day she'd sworn she'd never cry over a guy again. I wasn't about to let her break that oath, and besides, a lame remark made by Mitchell Rodgers was hardly a reason to break down in tears.
   "Don't listen to him," I say, willing Cassie to look up at me. "He's hardly qualified to make comments on my stupidity, anyway. Remember that time he locked himself in a cubicle in the girl's bathroom 'cause he was trying to spy on Sabrina getting changed? I'm pretty sure half the school could hear him crying to be let out."
   I heard a loud snort of laughter, but it wasn't from Cassie. It was from that Mason kid. What the hell? I glared at the back of his head, watching as he tried to subdue himself. Even Ms Sayers was staring at him, which I suppose is warranted when a kid starts laughing out of the blue in your classroom. In teacher language, that means he's either stoned or attention defecit... Or both.
   I storm around to the front of Mason's desk, planting my hands on the wooden surface and struggling to stop them falling through. "So you can hear me! I knew it. Can you see me as well? Huh?"
   Damn I wish I could grip solid objects. I'd rattle this desk so hard just to get a rise out of him. Of course now he isn't responding, just gazing out the window like he's admiring the weather or something. Earth to Mason! It's Seattle, there's nothing but drizzle and gray clouds out there.
   "I'm not fooling around here, douchebag. Either you tell me how and why you can see me, or I'll haunt you for the rest of your life. Do you really want that? Do you really want a deranged sixteen-year-old following you around for all eternity?"
   "Excuse me, Ms Sayers?" I think it's the first time I've heard Mason speak. "Are we done here yet? I have band recital to get to. Y'know how it is, big perfomance coming up and all that."
   Wow, he lies like a pro. I guess this isn't his first attempt at bunking off school. Ms Sayers looks at her watch, squinting at the gold face shining back at her from the inside of her wrist. "There's five minutes left."
   "Yeah, but the music hall is on the other side of the school. I mean, we're really awful. We could use all the practice we can get."
   Ms Sayers sighs, smoothing a loose strand of dark red hair back into her bun. "Fine," he says, waving her hands in Mason's direction. "You can go. But make sure you get some kind of note from your music teacher next time."
   "Oh, there won't be a next time," Mason flashes her an award-winning grin. "Thanks a bunch Mrs S! You've just saved my ass big time."
   She frowns. "Just get out of here already."
   I tap my foot impatiently as Mason gathers up his bag and confidently strides from the classroom. As soon as the door wheezes shut behind him, I latch on like an attack dog. "So what's the deal, mister? Tell me or I'll go Poltergeist on you!"
   Mason laughs, making his way down the hall. "There's no deal, there's no secret conspiracy against you. It's just one of those things."
   I speed in front of him, trying my best to block his path. "What's that supposed to mean?"
   Mason walks through me like I'm nothing, and I feel a surge of nausea hurtle through me as he does. Ouch. Let's not do that again please.
   "If you don't mind," he says, casting a look over his shoulder and grinning at me. "I'd rather have this conversation someplace else. I don't want to be the new kid and the crazy kid who talks to himself in the school halls."
   Hmph, he has a valid point. I follow behind him, trying not to glare but doing it anyway. This guy is acting way too suspicious. I mean, who can just see ghosts and pretends like it's a casual thing? I don't buy it.
   We spill out into the sharp spring air, dappled sunlight just beginning to peek out from behind sombre clouds. The wind is beginning to pick up again, and the oaks that line the pathway start to creak and moan as they're buffeted from all sides.
   Mason still isn't talking, and it's really starting to infuriate me. Every now and then I voice my annoyance, but he just hums loudly to himself to drown me out. Ugh, what a jerk! Of all the 'ghost whisperers' out there, I get stuck with this guy? What a joke.
   "Woah, woah, woah, are you kidding me? I'm not going in there," I say, as it dawns on me just where Mason's leading us.
   Mason shrugs. "What's the big deal? You're dead, they're dead, you'll all get along nicely."
   I indicate towards the cemetary, flapping my arms furiously. "Not funny, Mason! If you think you can stuff me into one of those gravestones and get rid of me, you've got another thing coming!"
   "... 'Stuff' you into a gravestone? What kind of weird B-List movies have you been watching?"
   "I don't know about anything of this, okay? I've only been dead a week!"
   "Look, I'm not trying to be sinister or morbid here. A cemetary makes sense. I can talk to you and people will just assume I'm talking to a dead relative or something."
   I shoot him a skeptical look. "Why can't we just go to your house?"
   "Mom doesn't like it when I, y'know... Bring people like you home."
   I roll my eyes. "So you're Mom's in on it too, great."
   "Yeah, it's pretty obvious there's something wrong with your kid when he starts talking to thin air."
   "Fine. Graveyard it is. But don't think I wasn't lying about that Poltergeist threat if you try to pull something in there."
   Mason starts walking along the path again, laughing to himself. "You couldn't pull off poltergeist stunts if you tried. You can't even put your hands on a desk without having them fall through."
   Great, so he noticed that.
   Mason made his way to a large willow tree, sitting down beside it and stretching his legs along a raised root. He rested his head on his hands and cocked an eyebrow at me as I tried―and failed―to sit next to him. I resigned myself to just floating beside him, but being at this height gave me a good angle to glare at him from, so it wasn't all bad.
   "Why are you so fancy, anyway?"
   "Huh?"
   He waved in my direction. "What's up with the dress?"
   I look down at myself, realising for the first time that I was still wearing my Spring Fling dress. Huh, weird. "It's what I died in? Surely you heard about the girl that got hit by a car as she left the dance last week."
   "First of all, I don't go to dances. Second of all, I don't listen to idle, highschool gossip. Third of all, you don't have to wear what you died in, you know."
   I try to hide my shock, but I'm sure my eyes bulged a little. "How? I don't have a very expansive ghost wardrobe."
   "Being on the spirtual plane is a helluva lot diffferent to being on the physical plane. You're going to have to forget a lot of what you learned about reality being human."
   "Excuse me? Stop with the mystic mumbo-jumbo and speak English, will you."
   "I mean, a lot of what you'll do now―since you're a spirit―will be controlled by your mind, rather than by your body."
   "Okay... So what has that got to do with me changing clothes?"
   "Simple. Just picture what you want to wear and it'll happen."
   "That sounds way too easy."
   He gave me a crooked half-smile. "Just try it."
   I close my eyes, picturing my favorite vintage Levi's and baggy Nirvana tee. Okay, so not the most glamorous outfit in the world, but if I was going to be dead I was going to wear what I wanted to.
   "There you go, not so bad now, was it?"
   I look down, marvelling at my new jeans-clad legs. I envision a pair of Converse sneakers and my new look is complete. "Thanks, I guess," I say, trying to suppress a smile and failing.
   "It was hard to take you seriously when you were insulting me in a fancy dress," he said, his half-smile blooming into a full grin. I never noticed he had dimples before.
   "You know, I never realised how much I missed just talking to people," I said, wringing my hands in my lap. "It's pretty lonely and boring being dead."
   "Well, yeah. You're not actually meant to be here, you know. You're supposed to cross over when you die, but for whatever reason you didn't. I guess that's where I come in."
   "Cross over? Like to Heaven or something?"
   "I'm not 100% sure. All I know is that people sometimes get stuck here, and sometimes they need my help getting to the other side."
   My mind reeled. This was getting way too strange. "What if I don't want to leave? Cross over, whatever."
  "Then you probably won't. People get stuck here for heaps of reasons. Most of the time it's the old 'unfinished business' deal, but not always. That's what we have to figure out," he tapped the side of his head and smiled.
   That pesky nausea was coming back again. "I don't think I'm ready to leave."
   "You sure about that?"
   "Positive. Not now, at least. So, just as a favor to me, could we stop talking about crossing over and the other side and all that?"
   "Sure thing, Rocket."
   "Rocket?!" I couldn't help but laugh.
   "You never told me your name. I thought Rocket suits you."
   "I'm Aly," I said. "I'd shake your hand but, yeah..."
   "We'll work on that," he said, getting up and brushing the grass from his jeans. "You'd be surprised what you can do."
    "How many times have you done this?" I asked, eyeing him warily. "Helped dead people with this kind of stuff."
   He leaned against the tree trunk, crossing his arms against his chest. "I've lost count, to be honest. It's why we have to move around so often. It doesn't take people long to notice that me and my family are... Different. It makes people nervous."
   "That seems very medieval."
   "You have no idea."
   Mason squinted up into the fledgling sunlight, his moss-green eyes burning with life. Suddenly I didn't seem so scared, so overwhelmed, so daunted. Maybe I could still figure all of this out. Maybe I could still figure out a way to live.
  

Falling Leaves

 

 

 

Mason shuddered against a cold breeze I couldn't feel, vigorously rubbing his hands together to replenish some semblance of warmth. He dumped his backback on the ground before making himself comfortable atop one of the gravestones. He shook his head to get the hair out of his eyes, then returned his attention to me.
   "It's too damn early to be doing this," he said, his mouth cocked to the side. "I could still be in bed right now."
   "Nah-uh, you don't get out of this agreement that easily," I said, leaning back on Mary Dolsen's grave (hers was my favorite, an elaborately carved angel perced above an orate tombstone, hands outstretched and reaching for the sky). "We meet either mornings or afternoons, and since you're abandoning me this afternoon..."
   "I wouldn't call it 'abandoning'", he grumbled, stamping his feet in the dew-slicked grass. "It's parent-teacher night."
   "A.K.A abandoning. It's not compulsory, you know."
   "It is when you're the new kid and teachers already think you're a weirdo."
   "An over-exaggeration."
   He shrugged. "Yes, because talking to a dead chick is totally normal."
   I gave him a mock glare. "So, let's go through this little deal again. I know you're an airhead and all, but try to remember the main points at least."
   "Ha ha, so funny," he said, rolling his eyes. "You've given me free reign to 'train' you so to speak, so I can learn more about―" he waved his hands at me "―your little world. In return I have to make sure this Cassie friend of yours doesn't get into any more trouble."
   "Well done! More to you than a pretty face, huh?"
   He did that half-smile at me again, a single dimple deepening in the middle of his cheek. "So what's the deal with Cassie, anyway?"
   "You saw what she did to Mitchell's face in homeroom, right? So not normal Cassie behavior."
   "Huh," he said, repositioning himself on top of the gravestone. He dangled an arm over his raised knee. "So she's meant to be a goodie-two-shoes, then?"
   "Not exactly. But she's been wanting to get into Cornell since she was old enough to talk about it, and I'm not about to let her blow her chances."
   "Doesn't she have a boyfriend who can babysit her?"
   I tried to slap his arm but my hand went right through. "It's not babysitting! Look, are you gonna hold up your end or the deal or not? I'm not going to be your guinea pig for nothing."
   "Yeah, yeah, sure. But if I get any kind of beverage thrown in my face I'm blaming you."
   "Deal!" I reached out my hand and Mason pretended to shake it. "Starting today?"
   "Mhm, starting today. Now," he looked at the clock on his phone. "Time to squeeze in some training?"
   "Whatever."
   Mason jumped down from the gravestone, a face-encompassing grin at the ready. Again, those dimples caught me off guard. "So I'm thinking this is gonna be pretty similar to the whole clothes-changing thing."
   I cocked an eyebrow at him. "What, I envision myself moving things? That sounds pretty lame."
   "Not exactly. Remember how I said a lot of what you can't do is because your mind expects that you can't? I'm saying change your mind's expectations."
   "That sounds a lot harder than what you're making out."
   He sighed. "If this is gonna work, you're gonna have to start listening to me. This isn't my first rodeo."
   I gave him my most skeptical look. "So what should I start with?"
   Mason looked around, chewing on his lip as if lost deep in thought. "Something simple, something that's not going to resist too much... Ah-ha!" He pointed at the willow tree behind him. "What about that?"
   "A tree? Yeah, I'm really going to be able to move a tree."
   "Not the tree numbskull, the leaves. Try and move some of the leaves."
   I hopped down from my perch above Mary's grave, making my way towards the willow with exaggerated slowness. I reached out towards the nearest outcropping of leaves, casting a wary glance back at Mason. He nodded, sagely, and it pissed me off. "So what now?" I said, feeling more irritated than I should have. "Do I just touch the thing or what?"
   He sighed again, louder this time. "Not like you usually do, no. Imagine yourself as a tangible being first."
   "English, please."
   "Picture yourself having substance. Picture yourself as you used to be, I guess."
    I laid my hand out flat, trying to ignore the way my palm shimmered and wavered in the air, tried to ignore how I could see righ through my own body and down at the grass below. People always say, I knew it like the back of my hand, but when it came down to it, I couldn't for the life of me remember what the back of my hand looked like. I knew I had a freckle on the back of my right hand (as a kid it had helped me rememner which hand I wrote with), and I knew that the nail on my left index finger had broken in half the day before I died. I clamped my eyes shut, willing my hands into solid reality. When I looked again, I had a vivid brown freckle standing out against the paleness of my skin, and one really weird, clear broken nail. Shrugging, I figured it was close enough. Mason was still standing behind me, arms folded across his chest, watching me with rapt fascination. I tried to convince myself I wasn't trembling―ghosts can't tremble, right?―as I moved towards the willow tree. I could barely bring myself to look as I outstretched a single finger, reached for the willow's mournful leaves... And fell straight through.
   "What the hell! It didn't work," I could feel a full-on pout coming on, and I wasn't about it fight it. 
   "Give it time. It's not going to be an instantaneous thing."
   So I did. I sucked up all my self-doubt, reservations and just plain fear, and concentrated on making myself real again. And for the second time my fingers whispered through the leaves without making the faintest nudge, and for the third time, and the fourth. The sun was getting higher in the sky, beating down on me relentlessly, taunting me, gloating in my failures. And then, just as I was on the verge of giving up― 
   "―Was that the wind? Or was that me?!"
   I could barely contain myself. Mason unfolded his arms and stepped closer, his lips pressed into a thin line. "If it was you, do it again." 
   I looked down at my hand, no longer shimmering but fleshly and solid. I reached out a single finger and pressed against the nearest left. It quivered, only slightly, but there was no denying I had done it.
   "It worked! Mason, it worked!"
   He couldn't stop himself from grinning, either. "So? Do it again!"
   Laughter was bubbling up inside my like a pot boiling over. I ran my whole hand over the leaves, tugging at them, hitting them, punching them. I was moving them with such force that they started to rain down all around, littering the ground with their little, spear-shaped bodies. I had made the leaves fall. I had finally started to regain my grip on the world. And it was amazing.
   

Desperate Times

 

 

 

Mason had insisted that I stay away from school. And by insisted, I mean he demanded I do something else with my time during the six hours he was at Jefferson. But I was a ghost, and Mason wasn't the boss of me anyway.
   Besides, I needed to make sure he kept his end of the deal, right? That's just good business. He sure wasn't happy about it, though.
   "Are you ever going to stop following me around," he huffed, pulling his bag strap tighter around his shoulder. He was talking through gritted teeth so that people wouldn't think he was talking to himself. He tugged open his locker, took out his math textbook, and slammed it shut with a bang.
   "Once I'm convinced you're looking out for Cassie, I'll buzz off. School will be private Mason time, I promise."
   "Private Mason time, eh?" He cocked an eyebrow at me.
   "Oh, you're a pig," I said, trying to punch his shoulder but going right through. As usual. I didn't seem to have issues with leaves and small scraps of paper, but anything made of flesh and bone seemed impossible to touch. Even though Mason and I had been practicing for over a week now, I still hadn't been able to make him feel me.
   "That's her," I whispered, even though Mason was the only one who could hear me. "There, with the blond hair."
   "I know," he said. "I'm not a total incompetent."
   "Says you."
   Mason made a point of ignoring me, coming to a stop next to Cassie as she fumbled around in her locker. "Hey."
   Cassie jumped. "Uh... Hey. Do I know you?"
   "No," Mason shrugged, trying to look casual. "You were friends with that Aly chick, right?"
   Cassie's eyebrows furrowed. "Oh great, not another one. Here to give me some grief, are you? Well lemme hear it. And for the record, Aly's still my friend. She always will be."
   That's my girl.
   "It's not that, it's just―"
   "Hey, you gonna mash that guy's face into the locker, too?" Mitchell Rodgers had suddenly materialized behind Cassie. He had a black eye and a split lip, and I didn't pity him at all. "You've got to be careful around that one, she's not called Crazy Cassie for nothing."
   Crazy Cassie. Original.
   Mason moved so fast, Mitchell didn't even see it coming. One second he was gloating in Cassie's face, the next Mason had him pinned up against the locker by his neck. 
   "I don't know what your problem is, dude, but how about you go pollute the air someplace else," the muscles in Mason's arm were straining as he fought to keep Mitchell in place. I'd never realized how built he was. "And just so you know, this is the 21st century, and it is okay to shower more than once a year. You smell like a sewer."
   Mason released him, and Mitchell stumbled forward, clutching his neck. The small gaggle of people that had stopped to watch the spectacle all burst out in laughter as Mitchell self-conciously sniffed at his armpits.
   "I was just joking, man," Mitchell backed away back into the hall. "No harm intended."
   "Yeah, and I won't intend no harm to come to you either, unless you try and harrass my friend again."
   Not wanting to endanger himself further, Mitchell disappeared into the crowd without another word and didn't look back.
 "Who knew you were a such a good bodyguard," I said, and Mason gave me a subtle―but acknowledging―glance.
   "Wow, thanks for that," Cassie said, pushing her locker closed with a soft click. "But you really didn't have to. I can stand up for myself."
    "I'm sure you can. But these jerkoffs have been giving you a hard time lately, and they need to know it's not okay."
   Cassie smiled. "Well, that's nice of you. I'm Cassie."
   "Mason," he extended his hand, and Cassie shook it. "We have homeroom together, don't we?"
   "I think we do," Cassie said, nestling her textbooks into the crook of her arm. "We can sit together if you like?"
   "Sure. Plus, I'd like to see the look on Mitchell's face when he sees us paired up together."
   I watched Mason and Cassie walk off together, already deep in conversation. Cassie was looking better already.

***

"I should have known you'd get me into trouble," Mason mumbled, arms clamped across his chest. "You just give off that vibe."
   "Hey! I never told you to go around shoving guys up against lockers," I said. "Besides, if Mitchell narked on you, that officially makes him a wimp. Wimpy bullies don't last long around here."
   I was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the principal's office with Mason, waiting for the principal to take his sweet time doing whatever it is principals do with their time. Mitchell must have told someone what had happened, because Mason got pulled out of English with his name scrawled on a red slip―and the red slips were always the bad ones.
   "If I get expelled again, my Mom is going to kill me," he sighed. 
   "Again?!"
   "Long story, don't ask."
   "I'm asking! Who knows, you could be a serial killer or anything."
   "Very funny."
   I noticed a shadow move beneath the door and shushed Mason. Half a second later, the door opened and principal Coolridge walked through.
   "Well, well, well, I would have thought you'd have lasted a bit longer before getting into trouble like this," he said, taking a seat in his chair. It squeaked as he did so, protesting against his weight. "That Mitchell boy seems quite shook up."
   "Well, well, well, I would have thought you wouldn't advocate bullying and prejudice in your school?" Mason asked, eyebrows raised. 
   Principal Coolridge gaped his mouth open and shut like a fish out of water. "I most certainly do not advocate bullying!"
   "Really? Because what Mitchell and his friends have been saying to Cassie this past week most definitely qualifies as bullying in my book. And I'm sure the school board would agree, as well. Doesn't Jefferson have a zero tolerance policy on bullying?"
   "It does, but―"
   "Well then, that proves my point. If you and the rest of your faculty aren't going to handle the bullies, then people like me will. So either you get off your ass and do something about them, or I'm just going to keep on shoving them against lockers and rattling their teeth around in their heads."
   "Mr Greene I simply cannot condone what happened between you and Mitchell Rodgers today. You're going to have to be punished for this."
   "Am I?" Mason leaned forward in his chair, perching his elbows on his knees and lacing his hands together. "Because I'm sure the school board―and hell, maybe even the local media―would love to hear about how you're letting one of your students get mercilessly hounded and taunted about the Alyssa MacDonnell tragedy."
   Principal Coolridge paled. "Now I―I'm sure that's not necessary―" 
   "Good, then we're done here?" Mason got to his feet. "I'll see you around, principal Coolridge."
   I could barely contain myself as I followed Mason back out into the hallway. "That was amazing! I don't think I've ever seen anyone talk to him like that before."
   "Yeah, well, when you've been in as much trouble with as many schools as I have, you learn how to handle principals," he gave me a knowing look.
   We walked back out into the Admin office, and Mason screeched to a halt. "Shit."
   "What? What is it?"
   "My Mom."
   I looked up to see a slender, middle-aged woman talking to the receptionist behind the desk. She had a pen in her hand and appeared to be signing Mason out of school.
   "Of course they called my Mom. Perfect."
   At the sound of his voice, Mason's Mom looked up and smiled in our direction. I could have sworn her eyes flickered to me, too.
   "Mason, sweetie," she said, hoisting her handbag over her shoulder and rushing over. "What's all this about you getting in a fight?"
   She put her hands on either side of his face, and Mason shrugged her off. "I was just performing my civic duty as a moral and conscientious person."
   "By getting in a fight?" She gave him a disbelieving look. "Well, I best get you home! And we're going to have a long, hard talk about why fighting is bad."
   She gripped Mason by the wrist and tugged him along behind her, nodding at the receptionist as they passed. It wasn't until we were out on the sidewalk that she finally released him.
   "Oh my God, Mason, what have I told you? Low profile, keep out of trouble. That's the only way we're going to be able to stay here."
   Mason fell into step beside her. "I know, I know. I just can't handle small-minded bigots."
   She narrowed her eyes at him, the same sea-green colour as his. "Well I just can't handle having to make small talk with ditzy school receptionists! Not to mention having to act all sweet and lovey-dovey so they don't think I'm a terrible mother."
   "You are a terrible mother," Mason said, but he laughed as he did.
   "And why on earth his she―" she jerked a thumb backward in my direction. "―following you around? I thought I said we couldn't bring them home with us anymore."
   What the hell?! "You can see me, too?" I asked, but my voice was so shrill I was basically shrieking. "And just so you know, I'm not a 'them', I'm an Aly."
   Mason's Mom cast a look at me over her shoulder. "Fiesty one, ain't she? Well, Aly, I'm Avery," she turned her attention back to Mason. "She better be the only one."
   "I am Miss Avery, I swear I am! And to be fair, I kind of forced Mason to help me. So not really his fault at all."
   "Help you?"
   "Well isn't that what you people do? Help spirits―or ghosts―or whatever cross over to the other side?"
   "Except you aren't crossed over, and you don't have any intention to, do you?"
   Damn, his Mom was good. "Well, it's kind of complicated."
   "It always is."
   "Mom, I think Aly can really help us learn more about the spirit world. Things aren't as cut and dry as I thought."
   "It's not our business to mess around in the spirit world, Mason. How many times?"
   Avery pulled a set of keys out of her bag and veered off the foothpath and up a driveway. The house was small and quaint, almost a cottage if you could have a cottage in the suburbs, that is. Rosemary bushels lined the path, and an arch of ivy hung over the doorway.
   I followed these two strange, spirit-loving people into their home, watching as Avery started fixing a sandwhich in the kitchen. She looked so much like Mason; same olive skin, same eyes, same auburn hair. Except Avery's hair was plaited in a loose braid down her back, streaked with the faintest hints of silver among the deep red-brown.
   "So what exactly is my Mason helping you with, Aly?" Avery asked, crossing over to the fridge and pulling out a block of cheese.
   I gave Mason a wary look, and he nodded. "Lots of things. Lately I've been trying to figure out how to touch things again. Although so far I've only been able to make leaves and paper move, and not by that much at that."
   "Well of course not. What advice has Mason been giving you, exactly?"
   "Uhh, well... He basically told me it's all in the mind. That my―what did you call it?―intangibility was a construct of my imagination, I think.
   Avery planted her hands on either side of the chopping board, leaning over the bench. Her stare was intense, almost like the way Mason had looked at me on his first day at school. "Some things are. You can change clothes, locations, settings, just by an image in your mind. Other things though, like making your mark on real things, need a different approach."
   Mason and I exchanged a look. "Like what?"
   Avery sighed, hacking away at the cheese with surprising ferocity. "Things that involve other people―other living things―require a stronger connection to the human world."
   "So does that mean," Mason furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. "Aly gets more in touch with people? Or what, because you're making no damn sense."
   "When a person dies, their spirit is instantly drawn to the Otherside," she arranged the cheese wedges haphazardly on the bread slices. "From the moment we die to the moment we cross-over, there's a constant battle between mind and soul. For some, they cross-over straight away. For others, like our Aly here, they fight to stay and cling to the world they left behind. But the soul is always beckoning them onwards, pulling them away from the life they knew and into the next."
   "So you're saying the stronger my hold is on this world, the more tangible I'll be?"
   "Yes. But you're slipping. I can see how loudly the Otherside is calling for you. The more you give in to them, the less present you'll be in this world."
   "How do I fight it?"
   "Hanging around Mason is a good start," she said. "Don't let yourself forget what it feels like to be alive."
   Mason started backing away. "Okay, well... I think you're weirding Aly out, because you're definitely weirding me out. We're just going to go... Upstairs... For a little while."
   I drifted behind Mason, but Avery stopped us. "Have you told her yet? Does she know?"
   Mason glared at her. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mom."
   "Told me what? What don't I know?"
   Mason and Avery shared a long stare, communicating something I couldn't possibly ever grasp. "You'll need to tell her Mason, and soon. Don't let her find out the wrong way."

 
 

Celestial

 

 

 

"I'm not kidding, Mason," I was trying to look as intimidating as I could, but it doesn't really help that I can't pick up objects and throw them around like I wanted to. "You tell me what's going on or else. I don't think you understand what it'd be like to have me haunt you for the rest of eternity."
   "Eternity? No. Maybe just for the rest of my lifetime."
   I glared at Mason the best I possibly could. "Should I just go ask your Mom instead? Because I want answers. Now."
   "No! No, please don't do that," Mason flew to his feet, pacing between his bed and the wall. He raked a hand through his hair, gnawing nervously on his lip. "It's complicated. The consequences could be huge. I don't want to mess around in something I don't fully understand."
   I sighed, letting myself drift to the window. I'd been so pissed at Mason I barely even registered that we were now in his bedroom... Alone. I hadn't been in a boy's bedroom since Donnie Marks had a slumber party for his eighth birthday. I guess it doesn't count for much when you're dead, though.
   For an introverted teenager who could see and talk to ghosts, Mason's room was surprisingly normal. There were no Anarchy posters, or any demonic summoning circles. He didn't have incense burning or candles stacked up on old, musty books. It was just a regular room, a neat bed, a near-bare desk, and a large beanbag propped up in the corner.
   I indicated to a pile of CDs sitting on his bedside table. "So you like Deftones, huh?"
   "Hell yeah, who wouldn't?"
   I surpressed a smile. "Diamond Eyes is my favorite album."
   Mason's dimples made a reappearance. He went over to the CD player, popped in a CD, and leaned against his set of drawers with a triumphant grin on his face. Melodic tones filled the air, the warbling of a guitar and a soft, ethereal voice settling over me like a cloak.
   I drifted over to the window, basking in the sounds of my favorite song. It's always the little things that you realize you miss the most. Sure I miss my Mom, and Cassie... But what I wouldn't give to hold a warm, dripping taco as I tried to stuff it in my mouth before I made too much of a mess.
   "Uhh, who's that?" I asked, pointing at the girl standing below in Mason's yard. "Is she...?"
   "A ghost? Yeah," he shrugged, joining me by the window. "That's Celeste. She's been here since we moved in."
   "Then your mother is a hypocrite! So much for no ghosts in the house, huh."
   "Technically she's not in the house," damn those dimples. How can I ghost's stomach still flip? "She's outside. She doesn't really move from that spot."
   She was a ghost all right; the way she shimmered and wavered in the light was unmistakable. She also couldn't be any older than nine or ten. "Why is she here?"
   "She doesn't speak much, but we guess she must have lived here before she... You know," Mason looked at me apologetically. "And when she does talk, it's usually just to ask where 'Arielle' is."
   "Who's Arielle?"
   "She won't say. To be honest, we're not sure she's still all there. The longer a spirit spends here on Earth, well. Let's just say it can have an adverse effect on the mind. I doubt she even registers what's happening around her most of the time. She's just there. Thinking about Arielle. Probably replaying her life over and over again."
   "That sounds horrible," I looked away from the window. "That's not going to happen to me, is it?"
   Mason dragged his hand down the side of his face. "Who knows? Celeste has been here a long time."
   "How long?"
   Mason shrugged. "Mom says she's wearing what looks like early 20th century clothing. So maybe a hundred years? More?"
   "Still, that's sort of modern," I started drift-pacing. "Little girls didn't just die, even back then."
   "Yeah, so what?"
   "Do you think the library would still have records? Birth and death certificates, that kind of thing."
   Mason cocked a quizzical brow at me. "Sure. Why do you ask?"
   "Because I can't bear the thought of that little girl standing there forever, while the world goes on without her. I don't want her to be waiting for a person who's never going to show up. I think we should help her crossover." 

***

 "What did you say her last name was?" 
   "Balon," Mason lightly drummed his fingers on the keyboard. "At least, that's that family that lived there before us. Who's to say it's the same family?"
   "It's worth a try, it's all we've got," I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest. The library was deadly quiet, probably because it was almost 6pm on the Tuesday night. Mason was hunched over a newspaper database at the far end of the library, concealed behind a row of books so we wouldn't be noticed. "Just type it in," I hissed.
   I watched as Mason typed in Celeste Balon, his knee jiggling nervously as we waited for the screen to load. I swear I've never seen anything load so slowly. If that loading icon spins around one more time I'm gonna―
   "A hit!" Mason spoke a little too loudly, because someone, somewhere shushed in our direction. Mason lowered his voice. "Girl feared drowned after disappearance at Lake Sammamish."
   "Woah," my voice was barely a whisper. "What else does it say?"
   Mason loaded the article. "July 12th, 1903. Celeste Balon, 8, disappeared while swimming with her family at Lake Sammamish..." he murmured softly to himself as he scanned the article. "She is survived by a sister, Arielle Balon, 4, and her mother, Genevieve Balon, 39."
   "Holy shit. That poor girl. So they never found her body?"
   "Apparently not."
   "So Arielle is her sister. Why is she asking for her?"
   Mason shrugged. "I have no idea. Maybe she doesn't know she's dead. Sometimes a traumatic death can be blocked out."
   "Mine wasn't."
   "I said sometimes."
   I thought for a second. "Have you ever helped a person crossover?"
   "Sure, all the time. But we've already tried that with Celeste, she just doesn't even seem to know we're there."
   "I have an idea," I said. "Let's do this thing."

 

***

 Avery was dressed in a long, flowing gown, the hem dragging along the grass as she walked. She was holding two sticks of incense in each hand, circling them around Celeste and muttering something I couldn't quite understand. Her hair was loose, hanging down to her waist, and she'd never looked more like a witch.
   Celeste looked worried. Okay, make that really worried. She was twisting the fabric of her skirt around and around in her fingers, pulling it taut then scrunching it back up again. Her blond hair hung limp around her face, tumbling out of two high pigtails. 
   "Arielle? Where are you, Arielle?" Celeste's voice quivered with emotion.
   I got on my knees in front of Celeste, bringing myself to eye level. Avery's chanting was extremely distracting. And annoying. "Arielle isn't here. But we can help you."
   Celeste shook her head, loose curls bouncing off her face. "I need Arielle."
   "I told you," Mason said, stamping his feet in the background to get warm. "She's not even here."
   "She's here," I hissed back. "Just keep quiet, will you?"
   I reached out for Celeste's hands, and surprisingly, I could take them. Celeste's cold fingers wrapped around mine, her startlingly blue eyes flickering to my face. "Where's Arielle?" She asked, eyes misting.
   "Arielle isn't here," I said, shuffling closer to her. "She's safe."
   Celeste's eyebrows pulled together. "I saved her? She's all right?"
   "You saved her. Arielle is safe with your mother Genevieve. They're together."
   "She looked so scared," Celeste whispered, looking at the ground. "She couldn't swim yet. I don't know how she got so far away."
   "She's safe now," I said, my hands finding their way to Celeste's shoulders. "You helped her, you saved her. She lived a long, happy life because of what you did for her."
   Celeste's knees gave way, her little body sagging to the ground like a deflated balloon. "I thought I'd be able to get back too, but my dress was so heavy. I didn't have my swimming costume on. We were so far away and nobody could hear me."
   "You were very brave," I said, making Celeste look at me. "But now it's time to go find Arielle again."
   Celeste gave me an uncomprehending look. "How?"
   "Close your eyes," I said. "Can you feel that tingling all over, like little pinpricks all across your skin?"
   She nodded. "Concentrate on that. Don't fight it. Can you hear them calling for you?"
   Celeste nodded her head vigorously. "I can! Oh, I really can. It's so... Bright. It's beautiful."
   "Let them take you," I said, loosening my grip on Celeste's shoulders. "Go to the bright place with them."
   Celeste smiled, slow and peaceful. Her entire body was sparkling, bathed in incandescent light. She was fading fast, her body barely visible. She mouthed, "Thank you," as she dissolved into the wind, leaving no trace of herself save for two small footprints in the grass.

 

***

Mason was staring at me. Avery was staring at me. And the smell of incense was making me feel sick.
   "Quit it you two!"
   Mason glanced at Avery. "How did you know what to do? With Celeste, I mean. How did you know she needed to know that Arielle was safe?"
   "I started thinking about the reasons why I'm still here. I don't know exactly why, but I know that I still feel protective over my family and my friends. Like how I asked you to keep an eye on Cassie."
   "Makes sense."
   Avery cleared her throat. "It's very dangerous what you did, though. Getting that involved with a crossover could have made you cross as well. You looked like you were about to, actually."
   "Well isn't that what you want?" My voice sounded more harsh than I intended. "For me to crossover and leave you in peace?"
   "I never said that, Alyssa. If you aren't ready to cross, then doing so could be detrimental."
   "How so."
   "I can't tell you exactly why; we don't know much about what happens once spirits cross to the Otherside. You need to be prepared for anything."
   "And you're saying I'm not?"
   "I'm saying there could be grave consequences. We don't know what effect that could have on your actual self."
   "My actual self?"
   Mason stepped between me and Avery. "Let's not go talking about actual selves, okay Mom?"
   "No," I pushed past Mason, my shoulder merging with his. "Stop with this cryptic bullshit. Avery, tell me what I need to know," Avery looked uncertain. "Tell me!"
   Mason made a strangled noise, and Avery shook her head apologetically. "Alyssa, I refer to your actual self because," she breathed in. "You're still alive."

Red-Hot

 

 

 

It was me. Except, it wasn't me. I looked like a husk, skin pale and pulled taut across gaunt features, bones jutting out from beneath papery flesh. My face was battered and bruised, several deep gashes criss-crossing down my cheeks and neck. One eye was swollen shut; the subtle bloom of a bruise still stained the skin around it.
   I had a neck brace on, and my right arm and leg were both in heavy casts, my leg suspended above the bed in a sling. I guess that's the side I hit the road on when I came back down. I was a mess of tubes and wires; I had a machine breathing for me, another measuring the steady thrum of my heart. 
   I lay ghost-hand on real-hand, barely letting myself believe this lifeless person had once been me. If I was a spirit, did that mean my body was dead? But if my body was dead, then why were they keeping it alive? I probably shouldn't have stormed out on Mason like that; he'd be handy to have around right now. But those words were ringing around and around in my mind―you're alive―and I just had to see for myself. Besides, I reserve every right to be pissed at Mason. This is the kind of thing you tell people! 
   The door wheezed open behind me, and I jumped. I looked up, barely recognizing the woman standing in the doorway. My Mom looked at least ten years older, her hair streaked with grey, delicate wrinkles fanning out from the corners of her eyes. She'd lost weight, too, her shoulder blades sticking out of the back of her dress like sparrow's wings. 
   She came over to my bedside, clutching my pale fingers in her hands and pressing them to her lips. 
   "Aly, my darling," she whispered, brushing a strand of greasy, dark hair from my eyes. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here earlier, I got held up with―"
   The door wheezed open for a second time, and I felt my blood begin to boil at the sight of him. What the hell was my Dad doing here?! He was not welcome―this is my hospital room, I'm allowed to say that!
   He was clutching a bouquet of withered carnations in his hands, and he kissed Mom on the head before placing them on a side table.
   "How's she doing today?" He asked, pulling up a seat beside her. Just the sight of him made my skin crawl.
   "Much the same, I think. I've made the nurses promise to call me if she makes any kind of change."
   Dad lay a hand on Mom's shoulder, squeezing softly. "What were the results of that brain scan?"
   "I haven't heard, yet. The doctor should be in any minute, though," Mom sighed, looking like she was about to cry. "I just want to see her open her eyes, you know? Even if it's just a flicker. I'd sit here all day long if I got to see those beautiful blue eyes again."
   Dad tutted softly under his breath. "Sweetie, it's been almost a month now..."
   "What's your point?" Yeah, Dad, what's your point?
   "I'm just saying, maybe we should start making some arrangements. I love Aly, you know I do, but we need to think about what's best for her, too. It's cruel to keep her alive like this if there's no life left."
   I could barely believe what I was hearing. The room started to bend and sway around me, waves of nausea crashing in the pit of my stomach. No life left? No life left?! I'm standing right here! 
   I couldn't fight the anger off; it was blinding, tangible, all-consuming. A red-hot rage that I couldn't control. I flew at him, pounding my fists on his chest, trying to pound the stupid right out of him.
   "Alyssa!"
   The room stopped spinning, the fury subsided. I spun around to see Mason standing in the doorway, struggling for breath. 
   "Ow, what was that?" Dad was clutching at his chest, eyes bulging with fear. What the hell? Did I do that?
   Mom looked up at Mason, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. "Do we know you?"
   Mason's eyes were still on me, burning green and fierce. "I, uh, I know your daughter―Aly―I just came to see how she was doing."
   "Sir!" A nurse came flying into the room beside Mason. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave; like I said, it's family-only at the moment."
   Mom narrowed her eyes at Mason, like she was trying to figure out a puzzle. Mason backed away from the doorway, palms raised. "Sorry, I just wanted to see her."
   Mason shot me another glance and raised his eyebrows. I didn't need telling twice: that was code for follow me. 
   Mason turned on his heel and power-walked away, keeping his eyes trained straight ahead. I heard some kind of commotion in the room behind me, but my mind was too scattered to pay much attention.
   "What the hell happened in there?" Mason hissed between gritted teeth. "I rock up and you're trying to beat the shit out of some guy―and by the looks of it you were doing a pretty good job, too!"
   "That guy was my Dad, and he deserves to have the shit beat out of him."
   Mason hit the button for the elevator, and waited for the doors to sigh shut behind him. "Let's not talk about this here; I think my Mom should hear it, too."

 

***

 

Avery was doing yoga when we came in. She'd changed into dark sweats, and she'd taken her plait out so that her hair streamed down her back in rippling waves. She cocked an eyebrow at Mason and I as we came to stand before her, before sighing and disentagling herself from the―seemingly―complicated position she was in. 
   "I take it you went to the hospital," she said, twirling her hair between her fingers and deftly arranging it on top of her head in a neat bun. "And I take it it wasn't pleasant."
   Mason moved to talk, but I cut him off. "Unpleasant is one word for it. Nightmarish is another. My scumbag Dad is trying to convince my Mom to shut the life support off."
   Avery didn't even flinch. "And how did she respond?"
   "Well I don't know," I shrugged. "That was right when Mason came in."
   That pesky anger was starting to catch flame again, and I tried in vain to snuff it out. Deep breathing, happy thoughts, deep breathing, happy thoughts.
   "How's her body doing?" She was talking to Mason now. "Is there reason for her life support to be turned off or not?"
   "I honestly don't know," Mason said. "I don't think even they know."
   "There's some kind of scan they sent me for," I said. "I guess to check if I was brain dead or not."
   "Surely they would have done that earlier," Avery mused, pacing the room. "That seems like something you'd do first."
   "Yeah, but maybe they're checking for..."
   The sound of Mason's voice drifted away, replaced by a shrill, whining white noise. The room was starting to push in on me again, and I could feel the steady ba-dum, ba-dum of a heart beat in my ears.
   "I feel like you're not taking this seriously enough!" I blurted, sounding much angrier than I'd intended. "They want to turn me off, it's kind of a big deal!"
   Deap breathing, happy thoughts, deep breathing, happy thoughts.
   "Alyssa, we aren't doctors, we can't sway their decision we just―"
   "Shut up, Avery!" I could feel my skin prickling all over, like static electricity was humming in the air. My vision was blurring, getting overtaken by red, powerful rage. I could see Mason moving towards me, his mouth working as if he were speaking, but I couldn't hear a word. All I could hear was that damn white noise, and that ba-dum, ba-dum that kept growing louder and louder. 
   I felt like I needed to get out, to get away. I shut my eyes, clamping my hands over my ears to try and stifle the white noise. If anything it only got louder, drowning out everything like a hurricane, whirling around and around in my mind. 
   I shot myself up into the air, trying to escape the loudness of the room. I felt myself bounce off the roof, then bounce off the wall, then collapse in a heap on the ground. I opened my eyes, the room barely keeping its shape around me. Avery was pushing Mason back behind her, her palm turned upwards towards me like she was trying to keep me away. I could hear a distant screaming, and just as I realized it was me, I was flying again. No, I was being pulled. Pulled towards Avery like I was being sucked into a vortex, my entire form rippling and blurring at the edges. I tried to claw onto nothingness, anything to keep me from being swallowed by this blackhole.
   And then...
   ... Everything stopped.
   The white noise was repalced by a crushing silence, the only sound in the room being my own frantic breathing. I opened my eyes, shocked to see Mason standing so close. His hand was on my shoulder, his eyes boring into mine. I tried to move, but I felt like I was weighted down by a million stones. But one thing was clear: Avery was gone.
   "Where is she?" I whispered, but my voice sounded alien and hoarse. "Where's Avery?"
   Mason's mouth gaped open and closed, his eyebrows furrowing together. He gripped me by the elbow and pulled me to my feet. 
   "How can you touch me?" I asked, buckling as I struggled to stand. I felt like I'd been hit by a truck.
   Mason steered me towards the fireplace, positioning me in front of the mirror hanging above it. It took me a few seconds to register. Why was Avery in the mirror, staring back at me? I raised a hand to my face―fighting against the pull of gravity―and recoiled as I saw Avery do the same.
   "What the hell!" I shrieked, stumbling backwards. I looked down at my hands, except they weren't mine anymore; they were Avery's. I clawed at Averys clothes, at her hair, at her face. "What happened to me?"
   Mason ran a hand down his face, shaking his head. "Aly," he said, his voice strained. "I think you just possessed my Mom."

Alien

 

 

 

"What the f―"
   "Okay, let's just not freak out," Mason's pacing the room, chewing on his bottom lip so hard I'm sure he's going to draw blood. 
   "Let's not freak out?!" My heart―wait, it's not even my heart!―is thrumming wildly in my chest, banging against my ribcage like a bird trying to break free. "I'm in your Mom's body and you're telling me not to freak out? Because I am seriously freaking out right now!"
   Mason stops his pacing and stares at me, his eyebrows furrowed. "This is so weird. You're in my Mom's body. I can't get over you speaking in her voice."
   "Are you kidding me? It's weird being in here!" I was finding it hard to get used to standing again, so I was sprawled out on the ground like a toddler post-tantrum. I pulled myself up into a sitting position and drew my knees into my chest. "Did I... Did I kill your Mom?"
   Mason tore his hands through his hair. "No―No, I don't think so. I think you've just... Possessed her."
   "So does that mean that she's," I indicated to my body. "In here somewhere?"
   Mason looked at me like I'd just thrown up a whole egg. "I don't know, do I look like an exorcist!" He looked away, biting his lip again. "Sorry, my mind is just kind of blown about all this. How did you do that, anyway? Possess her I mean."
   "I don't even know. I don't know what any of that was. It was like I was on the outside looking in, I didn't have any control over anything.
   "Do you think you could try and... Get out?"
   I cocked an eyebrow at Mason. "I don't think it's as simple as that."
   "True," he started pacing again. "What does it feel like, being in there?"
   I stopped to think about it. "It feels like home. It feels comfortable. It feels... Warm. You know, I kind of miss actually being warm."
   "Okay, well don't get too comfortable in there. You may be pretty cool, but you can't have my Mom's body," he was smirking at me, his dimples creasing the middles of his cheeks. 
   I tried not to look too flustered. I hate it when he got his dimples out. "So, what are we going to do? Are you legitimately going to take me to an exorcist? Because I swear to god if you start spraying me with Holy water I will never forgive you."
   Mason crossed his arms over his chest. "There is one person would could help."

***

We pulled up outside what can only be described as a dilapidated shack. It was ringed in wire fencing, its lawn nothing more than muddied mulch. Paint was peeling off its wooden walls, rain drops dripping off a rusty, corrugated iron roof. The windows were covered with dust and dirt, their curtains closed tightly from the inside.
   "Are you sure this is it?" I asked, trying to keep the skepticism from my voice. I mean, after driving close to two hours through winding country roads, I was expecting this place to be more... Mystical. 
   Mason peered at the house through the windshield, eyes narrowed. "Yeah, this is definitely it. Hey, do me a favor? Try not to stare at him. He doesn't like it."
   I felt my stomach drop a little. "Please tell me he isn't a mutant or something."
   "No, not a mutant. Just... Don't stare."
   I followed Mason up to the house with a building dread in the pit of my stomach. There was no birdsong, no wind, not even the sun felt warm out here. There was a serene eerieness about everything that made me feel extremely uneasy.
   Mason knocked on the door, the termite-ridden wood making hollow noises against his knuckles. We waited there for a few moments, and when there was no response, Mason shrugged and tentatively pushed the door open with his fingertips. It squealed with protest, then yielded against his touch, swinging open into the dim house.
   "Hello?" Mason called. "Uncle Zeke?" 
   I clung to the back of Mason's shirt as we blindly made our way inside. My eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom, revealing rows of wooden boxes stacked against the walls, slicked with dust. Things made with feathers and string and bone hung from the ceiling, rustling softly as we moved underneath them. A white pentragram was painted on the floor, surrounded by mounds of half-melted candles, their wax pooling out in tacky puddles beneath them. A floorboard squeaked behind us, and I felt Mason's body stiffen.
   "I thought you might be coming," a hoarse voice sounded loudly, and I couldn't help but jump a little. "A little bird told me."
   "Uncle Zeke," Mason turned around, simultaneously pushing me behind him. "We need a favor."
  I could see why Mason told me not to stare. His uncle―although I'm not sure they're actually related―looked like he was from another world. His beard hung down to his waist, black and wiry and streaked with shocks of white. His face was creased with deep ravines, spidering across his cheeks and chin, meeting at a delta on his chest. He was shirtless, save for a thick, wired necklace made of colored bone and wood. It jostled and clacked together as he crossed the room the meet us.
   His gaze was intense and unnerving, one eye a bright, almost pale blue, the other a deep onyx. "You aren't Avery, that much is clear. So, what can I call you?"
   I shot Mason a tentative glance, swallowing away a lump in my throat. "I'm Aly―Alyssa."
   "A strange creature, aren't you? Not sure you're dead, knowing you're not alive. What a peculiar state of being."
   His voice was a melodic baritone, almost hypnotic. I felt myself nodding along with everything he said.
   "She doesn't know what happened," Mason said. "She doesn't know how she... Possessed... Mom."
   Zeke's eyes were roving my face; I felt naked, stripped to the core. "Interesting. Please, sit."
   He indicated to the pentagram behind us, and I felt a sudden surge of terror. This wasn't really an exorcism, right? Oh god, what if it hurt?
  I lowered myself to the ground, self-conciously tugging on the hem of Avery's yoga top.
   "Now, tell me how you came to be here. Start to finish."
   I wrung my hands in my lap, heart hammering out of control. "I had just come back from the hospital―from seeing... Me."
   Zeke's eyes narrowed. "Ah, I knew you were a different one. So, you're still alive. Coma?"
   "I think so. Car accident."
   "Interesting. I've only heard of this happening once before―"
   "So it has happened?!"
   "To my knowledge, yes. Modern medicine can be a pesky thing sometimes."
   I felt my eyebrows pull together. "What do you mean?"
   "When it's your time, it's your time. A simple concept, but when the body clings to life after the soul has already left, you can get trapped between two planes like this."
   "So how do I get out?"
   "We'll get to that later. Now, continue. You'd just gotten back from the hospital."
   "I was telling Avery about what had happened, about how my Dad wanted to... Turn me off," I felt my voice getting shrill. "I was just getting angrier and angrier, until I couldn't control it. I felt like I was getting sucked into a black hole, and I was trying to fight it but I just couldn't. And then I was... Like this."
   Zeke wound a strand of beard around his leathery fingers. "I thought as much."
   "So how does she get out? And how does she stay out?"
   "I can draw her spirit out, but if Alyssa doesn't keep a handle on her emotions, she's just going to get sucked back in again," Zeke turned his attention back to me, and I fidgeted under his gaze. "A spirit's emotions aren't the same as when they were a human; they're much more potent. The most dangerous of them is anger. If anger is left to fester unchecked, that's when a spirit can become a much more powerful force. A sprit under the influence of fury can, as Alyssa did, possess the living, or if its strong enough, can turn into something else entirely."
   "Turn into something else?"
   "A poltergeist. A spirit that feeds of fear and pain."
   I thought back to the movie Poltergeist, with the little girl in front of the TV watching static. I didn't want to become like that. I never wanted to be like that. I'd rather fade into non-existence than become a poltergeist. 
   "How to I let myself cross over?" I asked, surprising myself with the question. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mason's head snap up with shock. "I can feel the pull, but whenever I try to give into it, I feel myself fighting away from it."
   "You're still attached to the living. Normal, really. You ever heard the phrase 'unfinished business'? You need to figure out what yours is, and get it finished."
   "Easier said than done."
   Zeke nodded. "Yes, but if you don't you'll be stuck here forever."
   I felt my mouth go dry. "And there's no other way?"
   "There's no other way."
   Mason started shaking his head. "Why are we talking about this? Can we please just get Aly out of my Mom's body already?"
   Mason suddenly looked on edge. I wondered why. 
   Zeke closed his eyes, looking more sage-like than ever. "You'll need to get into the center of the pentagram please, Alyssa."
   I did as I was commanded, crossing my legs underneath myself. "Now what?"
   "Now you be quiet."
   I watched suspiciously as Zeke walked around the circle, lighting candles and muttering an intelligible chant beneath his breath. Mason stood in a corner behind me, his mouth drawn in a tight line.
   Zeke opened one of his wooden trunks, pulling out a scroll of herbs rolled up tightly in string. He lit it on one of the candles, his incantation growing in intensity as he did so.
   I could feel a scratching beneath my skin, like a thousand ants burrowing into my flesh. I shifted uncomfortably where I sat, trying not to let it show on my face. The itching started to grow hotter and more fierce, until I had to check my skin to make sure the bugs weren't trying to break free.
    Zeke danced around the outside of the circle, his beaded necklace clattering against his sweat-beaded chest. He came up behind me, and without warning, clamped his palm down on the top of my head, hard.
   I yelped out in pain and surprise, andI noticed Mason step forward a little. Zeke was shouting now, the whole room filling with smoke and nose and the deep, velvety hum of his voice.
   The scratching was almost unbearable, becoming less like ants and more like sharp-nailed fingers trying to claw their way out. A wailing sound sprung up in the room, and I was dimly aware that it was coming from me. Zeke's hand was hovering over my head, and as he raised it, my body followed. Suddenly I was on my feet, the fingers beneath my skin scratching so strongly that I was bucking and swaying with the force of it.
   Then Zeke shouted one final word, loudly and forceful, and I felt myself eject from Avery like I'd just been hit by a truck from behind. I collided with the ceiling, collapsing to the ground in a heap. Mason rushed over to my side, his face filling my vision, eyes burning bright and green and fierce.
   "Are you all right?" He whispered, leaning in close. "Are you okay?"
   Avery moaned, clutching her forehead. "Please never do that again," she said through gritted teeth. "It was an exceedinly unpleasant experience."
   Zeke laughed out loud, gripping Avery by the shoulder and pulling her in for a hug. They seemed to be locked in a deep―private―conversation for a while, and I felt myself questioning once again whether uncle Zeke was really an uncle at all.
   "I second that," Mason smiled. "Please don't do that again. Watching that happen to you was... Kind of awful."
    "You don't know the half of it," I said, my mouth pulling up at the sides. "But I'm glad to be out. I love your Mom, but I don't really agree with her eccentric fashion choices."
   Mason laughed, his hand finding mine. For a moment we didn't say anything, and then, as if a switch had been turned on, we both snatched our hands away.
   "How did you do that?" Mason asked, eyes wide.
   "I have no idea!" I scrabbled for his hand once again, squeezing tight. "I can actually touch you... I can actually feel you."

 

 

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 09.07.2013

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