by Dalena Storm
“I don’t think so,” countered the ghost. “I don’t think he was ready for peace. I think he had unfinished business, and that once he finishes that, he’ll become something else.”
This seemed to frustrate the mother. “Well if you already think all that, then what the hell are you asking me for?” she snapped.
“Because I wanted to know why people become what they do—why things are what they are.”
“You’re being cryptic, Sam. Be specific or else I can’t help you.”
“Why did you get born as you? Why did I get born as…this?”
“Because you’re my daughter, and I love you, and you were always meant to be my daughter. Isn’t that enough, Sam? Why do you need more reason than that? What if there is no other reason? What if things just are, and there is no ‘why’?”
The ghost was silent. Bianca didn’t understand. She hadn’t seen Peter’s ghost. She didn’t know of the realm of the hungry ghosts. The ghost had a new sense of fear that was rising up. It tried to ignore this feeling, but there was a warning growing that could not be ignored. Still, the ghost couldn’t turn back now.
They were nearly at the lake. The ghost was not Sam, and it was tired of pretending that it was.
Chapter Thirty
Madeline navigated as they drove out of Boston in Jimmy’s car, reciting the directions from her phone’s screen and telling Jimmy when to switch lanes. Boston streets could change quickly and if you missed your turn you could easily get pulled off course. There wasn’t time to get lost.
“Up there,” she said, pointing. “After this block, it’s your turn.”
They took the highway out of the city and sped southeast toward Lakeville. Sam sat, amiably enough, on Madeline’s lap as they drove, mostly dozing. It hadn’t felt right to try to put her in a carrier. Madeline wasn’t sure they should be bringing Sam the kitten with them since it wasn't like she could fully understand what was going on, but it seemed cruel to leave her behind if her mom was in danger, even if technically Sam had a new feline mother that had given her a new life. As a cat.
Madeline didn’t know what they were going to do when they arrived at the lake house. She’d been planning some grand rescue mission, some exorcism or something that would get the hungry ghost out of Sam, but how was she supposed to put Sam back where she belonged if she was a cat? Nothing was right. This wasn’t the story she had meant to write, but it was too late to change it now. Apparently, it was happy to write itself.
Jimmy put on some music, even though it wasn’t really appropriate. Still, Madeline figured there was no use in upsetting Sam, and if Madeline remained calm, then Sam would, too. Either they’d get there in time or they wouldn’t. There was no point in getting worked up about it. All she could do was deal with what came next.
The lake that lined the street that led to Sam’s house appeared to be frozen. The snow had finally stopped and the sky overhead had started to clear, the moonlight reflecting off the lake’s icy surface. What a Thanksgiving—the lake had frozen, and along with it, hell had frozen over, too. Yet in the crisp cleanness of it all, it was hard not to feel a sense of hope, and as Bianca pulled into Sam’s driveway and parked the cold air that rushed into her lungs gave her a queer feeling.
Maybe this is all a dream, she thought, and it almost seemed possible.
She turned and looked at Sam.
“Do you have your key?” she asked.
Sam stared at her, not comprehending her question, or perhaps pretending to not understand.
“Don’t worry,” said Bianca, shaking her head. “I have my spare.” She hadn’t thought Sam would remember, but it would have been nice to be surprised.
The stairway to the porch was covered in slippery snow. Bianca brushed powder from the handrail and gripped it firmly as she went up. At the doorway, she shifted through her keys. There was a key to Tom’s house, a key for her own house, a key for the shed, and there, Sam’s key—short, simple, and nubby. It felt precious in Bianca’s hand as she fitted it into the lock. The lock was frozen, but she forced it, gripping with both hands. She could feel Sam behind her, waiting, hovering, standing so close she could feel her breath cool against her neck. Shouldn’t Sam’s breath have been warm? Well, maybe it was the wind. Regardless, it was time to get this over with.
Bianca opened the door and held it back for Sam to enter.
“You first,” said Sam.
“Oh, dear, don’t be silly. Come on, now. It’s cold.”
Sam waited—stubborn thing!—but eventually went inside. What had gotten into her? Killing Peter, asking about Heaven… Was it some kind of existential crisis? It was just ridiculous, the idea of Sam killing someone. By the time they got back someone would have realized it had all been a mistake. Peter had fallen or else he had done it himself. He had threatened to kill himself more than once, after all. It wouldn’t really be a surprise. Sam, wanting to protect Peter, was probably trying to take the blame for it out of some noble impulse.
Bianca was becoming very good at lying to herself.
She flicked on the lights. “Okay, love. Here we are. Go on in, have a look, see if there’s a book you want and some clothes, maybe.” Bianca wasn’t sure they let you bring your own clothes to jail, which seemed strangely inhumane.
Bianca tried to picture Sam in an orange jumper, and it was unfortunately easy for her to do. She’d look like one of those women on Orange is the New Black. She’d probably make friends, get into trouble. It wouldn’t even be all that bad. It may even be a little fun being around all those interesting women. Sam was a survivor. She’d find a place for herself anywhere, trade poems for cigarettes, and make art out of suffering. They’d love her. She’d be popular. She always was. But Sam wouldn't be anywhere near Bianca, and that was what broke Bianca’s heart most.
Bianca was spacing out, staring at a vase on the table in front of the side window. The vase was blue and elegantly curved, filled with flowers that had long ago wilted. No one had been in the house for four months, not since the night Sam had gotten in the accident—the night that had changed everything.
“Mother.”
Bianca turned at the sound of Sam’s voice behind her.
“Mother, I…”
Sam stared at her. When had her daughter ever been at a loss for words? For most of her life, she hadn’t been able to either stop talking or slow down. Whether it was this place or the trick of the light in the car, the truth of it all finally hit Bianca. Sam had never woken up from that accident. The figure in front of her was a stranger. She may have had Sam’s eyes, her nose, and her pouting mouth, the tiny little gap between her front teeth that gave her face its unique character, but with her emaciated body and protruding stomach and the strange, soulless expression she always wore, it was impossible to reconcile the creature in front of her with the daughter she had loved.
“Sam, what is it?” said Bianca at last, speaking to the Sam that had once made this place a home and not the thing in front of her. “What is it that you want from me?”
“Mother,” said Sam, and she stepped forward, reaching out. Instinctively, Bianca stepped backward, but then forced herself to stand still. She would not move away as she allowed Sam to come closer and place her hand on her chest. Bianca could feel Sam’s cold fingers pulling the warmth from her body as a chill seeped through her sweater.
Bianca swallowed. She placed one hand on top of her daughter's icy one.
Sam kept staring at her with those dark and needful eyes, and Bianca felt her own filling with uncomprehending tears.
“Oh, Sam, what the hell happened to you?”
“Something terrible,” said Sam, her voice raspy and not her own, and Bianca’s heart broke.
“What do you want? What can I give you?”
“You.”
Bianca felt her entire being come undone with a single pull.
Chapter Thirty-One
Peter was tracking their progress as they closed in on Bianca. The one th
ing he couldn't figure was what had happened to Sam. Where was she now? And why couldn’t he find her when he’d been certain she’d be somewhere in that pet store?
He’d heard Madeline and Jimmy say Sam’s name a few times, and for some damn reason they’d brought along a cat. One of them had even called the cat “Sam,” which was a stupid sort of coincidence. Had he found a cat named Sam instead of his ex-wife? What kind of lame ass trick was it if his dead-man superpower didn’t even work correctly?
He slid through the roof of the car and transported himself to the lake house only to find that Bianca and Sam had already arrived. Even worse, they were already inside. Looking through a window along the wall by the lake he saw the monster closing in on Bianca. Gasping, he flitted as quickly as light back to Madeline and Jimmy, who had just taken the exit for Lakeville and were mere minutes away from the house.
“Shit!” he cried, re-entering the backseat. “We’ve got to hurry! They’re already there. Can’t this thing go any faster? We’ve got a clear road ahead!” He pounded one fist against the seat in front of him and was infuriated by the lack of impact as his hand slid through. “Damn it!”
As usual, no one heard him, but Madeline shifted uncomfortably in her seat, almost as if she’d felt something. She scratched her nose. She cocked her head, and then she took a careful breath in and cleared her throat noisily.
Jimmy glanced at her. “Did something happen?”
“I was just wondering, could you go a bit faster? I don’t mean to rush, it’s just…I feel like we need to hurry.”
Bianca knew, even though she couldn’t explain it, that even though Sam was standing directly in front of her, her daughter was dead.
She knew it with such certainty that it seemed to her as if she must have known it for a long time already and been in denial. Bianca had been delusional, convincing herself Sam was still herself when it was clear—painfully clear—that whoever was looking out from behind her daughter’s eyes was not in any way the child she’d given birth to.
“You,” the false Sam hissed at her. “You. I want you.”
I want my mom! Bianca remembered Sam screaming as a toddler, so many years ago, her tiny fingers balled into fists, eyes screwed up tight.
“Oh,” said Bianca, and it was the only word she could utter. If she opened her lips, a cry would escape. It required all of her willpower to stop herself from keeling over. There was a storm in her chest, but she would remain standing.
“Mother,” said Sam, and her hand slid up to Bianca’s face to rest on her cheek. “I am so hungry. I need you….”
Bianca was going to throw up. She was being turned inside out. She remembered Sam being born. She was being inverted in reverse.
Sam’s fingers moved up to Bianca’s neck, and Bianca’s fingers moved with them.
This was how she’d done it. Sam had killed Peter after all.
“Peter,” Bianca whispered, and for a second it seemed that she could see him. He was floating in the air, just outside the window, his wry, comedic face staring in at them and wearing an expression of horror.
“What?” said Sam, her grip slackening. She spared a glance over her shoulder before tightening her fingers again.
Bianca looked at Sam, who was no longer her daughter, and saw that everything she’d lived for had been in vain.
“That’s it!” Madeline cried. She was barely keeping it together as the tires of Jimmy’s car screeched up the icy driveway. Bianca’s car was already parked and the lights inside the house were on. The car had barely come to a stop before Madeline leaped out of it, leaving Sam the kitten behind in the seat.
Inside, Madeline raced through the house, calling for Bianca. She heard a muffled struggle from the hall and so she moved in that direction, not seeing the rooms around her. The ghost had its hands around Bianca’s throat. It was throttling her. Bianca’s arms flopped uselessly at her sides, the strength stolen from them. Madeline raced toward the figures and tried to force herself between the two, grabbing for the hands clasped around Bianca’s neck. Bianca’s eyes were bulging, her lips going blue around the edges. Her breathing was labored. Madeline could see how the ghost’s thumbs were pressed hard against Bianca’s windpipe, cutting off her air supply. Bianca’s tongue emerged from between her lips and her eyes seemed to be focused on something in the distance. She had seconds left.
“Get off her!” screamed Madeline, shoving the ghost with her shoulder, struggling to shake it off.
The ghost was like a pillar of granite as it tightened its grip around Bianca’s throat.
From out of nowhere there was a deep, predatory growl, and the kitten—the real Sam— launched herself from Jimmy’s arms at the ghost, digging her claws in as she scrambled up the ghost’s leg, up its waist to its shoulder, and then spread out over the ghost’s face. The kitten yowled as she dug her claws into the ghost’s eyes, and the ghost howled and stumbled backward in pain, losing its grip on Bianca’s throat as it reached up to tear the kitten away. Jimmy arrived, grabbing the ghost’s arms and wrenching them behind its back while the kitten clung viciously to the face that had once been its own.
Bianca crumpled limply on the floor, her breathing ragged and hoarse. One of her hands flailed at her throat.
“Get me something to tie her up!” called Jimmy, shouting in order to be heard over an unremitting howl that had begun to issue from the ghost’s throat. Madeline snatched a scarf from the floor that must have belonged to Bianca, and unwound the one from her own neck, delivering both to Jimmy. He looped one around the ghost’s wrists and tied them together, then did the same with its legs. By the time this was finished, all three of them were breathing heavily. The ghost’s howl had faded to a low moan. Blood trickled down its face and one eye refused to open, the other was red and bloody at the inner corner.
“What now?” asked Jimmy.
“I don’t know,” said Madeline, panting and looking around. “Where’s Sam?”
“There,” Jimmy pointed, and Madeline saw the kitten was now in front of Bianca, sniffing her nose and rubbing her whiskers against her mother’s cheeks, marking her with her scent glands. The sight of it made Madeline’s throat tighten. She turned away, focusing on the ghost again. How had it gotten here? When had it happened? Why had it happened?
Somehow, writing about the ghost had summoned it. Or, maybe the story had just made visible something that was there all along. Regardless, the ghost was here and she would have to deal with it.
The ghost stared at Madeline with its one good eye. “I know you,” it said at last.
“You do?” asked Madeline.
“I liked you,” said the ghost. “When you came to the hospital. You were sweet.”
“Yeah, you can go fuck yourself.”
The ghost sneered. “Such language from a morsel. It makes me want to taste you even more.”
Madeline glared at the ghost that inhabited the body of the woman she’d loved. The ghost had gotten more articulate. It was getting used to its new life. Madeline wanted to kill it, she realized, the urge intensifying the longer she looked at it. She wanted to grab it by the throat and squeeze the remaining life out of it and watch it die. The desire to do this was as strong as the lust she’d once felt for Sam.
“I know that look,” said the ghost, sneering even more. “You’re hungry, too.”
Madeline laughed and the sound was bitter. “Hungry? Is that what you call it, then—this feeling? This…?” She looked down at her hands. They were shaking.
“That’s it,” encouraged the ghost. “Just give in to that feeling. Let it consume you.”
One bloodshot hazel eye focused on Madeline, watching her like a lion watches its prey—waiting.
“You’re here because of me,” Madeline said, not caring if Jimmy overheard or what he thought. “I’m the one who did this. I don’t know how, but I did.”
The ghost was watching her, waiting for her to finish. It didn’t seem to care whether or not she gave a reaso
n, but Madeline did.
“I wanted to hurt Sam,” she found herself whispering, and as she said it she understood why she’d been writing about a hungry ghost. “I wanted to hurt her because she was hurting herself, which hurt me, too, but she didn't seem to care. So I guess, in a way, what I wanted was to control her. To possess her. For what I thought was her own good, but it wasn't. What she really needed was to be free.”
Now that Madeline could see the ghost for what it was—a sad, empty thing—it no longer frightened her.
“Why did you become a hungry ghost?” Madeline asked. “You must have had a life before this one, didn’t you? I know hungry ghosts live a long time, but they don’t live forever. At some point, you were born. Before that, what were you? Who were you?”
The ghost stared at Madeline, its one eye unblinking, and Madeline stared back, unafraid. It’s eye flashed, and Madeline saw something, an image reflected as the ghost saw exactly who it had been before.
It remembered, and that memory broke something in the ghost. Eyes rolling back into its head, it opened its mouth and loosed a long and mournful wail, the remaining good eye going dark as the hungry ghost faded away, leaving Sam’s dead body to slump uselessly to the floor.
Everything was over in an instant. The end had happened before Madeline had time to second-guess, before she had time to think or stop it or go for the cat and try to put things back where she thought they belonged, where she had wanted them to be.
“What happened?” asked Jimmy, looking down at Madeline.
She stood up carefully, holding her breath. “It’s gone.”
“What? The ghost? Is that was it was then?”
“Yes, I think so. Whatever it was, it’s gone now. It left this life. I don't know where it is now, but it won’t bother us again.”
