The Hungry Ghost

by Dalena Storm

  “But what about Sam?”

  “She’s all right,” said Madeline, looking at the kitten where she was curled up against Bianca, nuzzled in the crook of her arm. Both of them were asleep, holding on to each other, unconscious of who the other truly was. “She’s with her mom.”

  Peter watched as Sam’s body crumbled to the floor. He knew it wasn’t really her, that she had been gone for so long already, but he lunged forward anyway.

  “Sam!” he cried, and Sam’s single, once-beautiful eye stared up at him blankly, as unseeing as his own. He half-listened to Madeline as she explained what had happened, how the ghost had left, and how Sam was gone.

  “She’s with her mom,” Madeline was saying, and Peter turned his attention to Bianca, whose body was limp, but showed the signs of steady breathing. The kitten that Madeline and Jimmy had brought with them was curled up in Bianca’s arm.

  “Wait a second,” said Peter, leaving the body behind and crossing the room to examine the kitten more closely. “Do you mean to say that this kitten is actually Sam?”

  He peered at the cat, which was snoozing dreamily. In her sleep, her nose twitched, and a little shiver ran through her body.

  Peter reached out tentatively, one ghostly hand hovering against her fur.

  “Sammy?” he whispered. The kitten’s whiskers twitched. Her hind leg kicked. Her nose twitched again. “Sam?” he tried, more insistent this time.

  “Sam!” he shouted, and he fought the urge to shake her, but then Peter remembered he couldn’t shake a thing, not even a planchette on a Ouija board.

  Laughter bubbled in Peter’s chest. “Would you take a look at us, Sammy? I’m a ghost and you’re a cat. Maybe now we can finally forgive each other."

  Sam, or the cat, if the cat was really Sam at all, opened its eyes and yawned. She began licking her front paw, moving the long pink muscle between each of toes, and Peter fought his rising anger as images of their past flashed through his mind. Sam in her underwear, storming out of bed; Sam in a slinky dress, pulling him in; Sam with her bedroom eyes, with her sunshine eyes, with her fairytale gaze speaking wordlessly of what should have been their happily ever after. And then he saw the small orange kitten, cleaning its left paw, rubbing it over its nose and eyes and then settling back into Bianca’s arm.

  An almost-sob ran through him, but he reached out, placing his hand against the kitten’s side. She couldn’t feel his touch, and all he could feel was the vague resistance of some physical form, but he could imagine the way her fur must feel, soft, beneath his fingers. Peter couldn’t turn back time or return things to the way they were, but at least he could say goodbye.

  At long last, he could let Sam go.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Sam and Peter’s bodies were buried in separate locations in the same graveyard and Bianca attended both funerals, which were held on the same day. Madeline was there, too, sitting quietly a few rows back from the front, next to the man that had been there when Bianca regained consciousness in the lake house.

  The autopsies revealed that Peter had died of strangulation and Sam had gone into cardiac arrest. The last memory Bianca had of her daughter had been looking into Sam’s eyes while Sam’s cold fingers dug into her throat and everything went dark. But no, Sam hadn’t been Sam anymore by then.

  Because of that, Bianca’s last real memory of her beloved daughter had happened much earlier, and under much happier circumstances. It was the memory Bianca clung to as she watched her daughter’s body be lowered into the earth.

  The weekend before Sam had gotten into the accident, she'd spent Saturday with her parents. The weather had been pleasant and they'd had a barbecue, and afterward, Sam and her mother had gone shopping together. Sam preferred consignment stores, but Bianca had insisted they go to the mall. She wanted to get her daughter something nice. She never got to spoil her anymore. They'd wandered through shop after shop, looking at overpriced handbags and jewelry, Bianca trying at every turn to get Sam excited about something.

  “This would look darling on you,” Bianca told Sam at one point, holding up a form-fitting dress that cinched at the waist. Sam smiled and shook her head, moving away to the jewelry counter while Bianca rifled through other dresses, searching for something her daughter would like. Finally, she had to admit that there was nothing. Sam would continue wearing shapeless frocks she found for five dollars even if they did nothing to flatter her figure. Bianca had taken this to mean her daughter was hiding from something—someone—although perhaps it had only been herself.

  When Bianca had looked up she’d seen Sam holding a pair of earrings—miniature chandeliers that dangled with sparkling blue beads. “Gorgeous!” Bianca had declared, nodding appreciatively as Sam held them out to her.

  “These are perfect for you,” her daughter had teased.

  “Oh, no, please,” Bianca had protested, but when she’d looked at her reflection in the mirror she’d seen that Sam had been right, as usual.

  “I already paid for them.”

  Bianca had protested, but Sam had laughed her off and she’d had no choice but to accept the gift.

  When she drove Sam home that day, Bianca had considered her mission a failure. Looking back on it now, however, she saw it differently. Maybe what Sam had wanted most of all was to give. Maybe by accepting Sam’s gift, she’d given her something after all.

  Bianca watched through her tears as dirt was shoveled on top of Sam's wooden coffin. On the other side of the grave, she saw Madeline and the tall, broad man conversing. The man nodded and disappeared, heading out of the graveyard and down the road, but Madeline stayed where she was, shifting uneasily from foot to foot until he returned with a covered carrier, the kind used to transport a pet. By that time, everyone had dispersed save for a few lingering people.

  Bianca tried not to stare, but she couldn’t help it. She barely knew the girl, and yet the girl had saved her life. She’d never even thought to ask how Madeline had known to go to the lake house, or why she’d been there at all. A moment later Madeline and the man approached her. Small, insistent meows were coming from the carrier. Bianca wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to be polite.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” she said to Madeline, extending a hand. Madeline took it and they shook awkwardly. “I’m sure Sam would appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.” Madeline looked to the man at her side and the carrier in his hand. “This is my friend Jimmy, and well…”

  “I believe we’ve met before,” said Jimmy, taking Bianca’s hand and holding it. His grip was warm and firm and comforting, and something about him put Bianca at ease immediately. “My sincere condolences.”

  “Thank you,” said Bianca, fresh tears springing into her eyes.

  “I know this may seem unusual, ” Jimmy said, removing the cover from the carrier to reveal a small orange kitten with a white star on its forehead, “but I have this little kitten here, and I think she might like to go home with you.”

  “Oh,” Bianca gasped, staring at the kitten. She had the oddest feeling that she recognized the cat from somewhere, like she’d seen it before. Of course, it had been there during that night at the lake house, hadn’t it? But it seemed like she remembered it from somewhere else, somewhere earlier.

  “No pressure,” said Jimmy, seeming to sense her confusion. The kitten was less understanding. It wrapped its claws through the bars and looked up, meowing insistently, and Bianca did her best to ignore it. It was too soon for her to let anything new into her heart. It would be a long time before she was ready for that, if she were ever ready at all. Jimmy spoke again. “I wanted to introduce you, just in case you were interested. She’ll be at my shop in Harvard Square, and you can visit anytime, whether or not you want to adopt her. Let me give you my card.”

  Jimmy dug in his pocket and Madeline took the carrier from him so he could use both hands. He pulled out a leather wallet and a moment later extracted a thick rectangle of paper that he handed to B
ianca. In simple font, it read Jimmy's Used Cat Emporium, followed by an address, hours, and a telephone number.

  “Thank you,” said Bianca, holding the card in front of her.

  Jimmy glanced at Madeline and took the carrier back from her, replacing the cover.

  “Maybe I’ll stop by sometime,” Bianca said. She had meant it to be an empty promise, but something inside her told her she would go, and soon.

  Jimmy tipped his head and turned to leave. Madeline started to turn away too, but hesitated, looking back over her shoulder at Bianca, her mouth open as if to say something, but then she shook her head and smiled—a sad, regretful smile—and lifted one hand in farewell.

  Bianca watched the pair walk away down the cobblestone path to the street, and she stood alone next to Sam’s grave until the graveyard was empty. The rows of headstones cast long shadows as the daylight faded, and the dirt freshly mounded over the place her daughter rested looked soft. Bianca knelt at the graveside and placed her hands in the soil, inhaling the sweet smell of the earth.

  “I love you,” she whispered, “to the moon and back.”

  Bianca held still as the world turned, cradling all its creatures. Night would fall and day would dawn and the world would keep on turning. Tomorrow, Bianca would go to Jimmy’s Used Cat Emporium and see about that kitten. Maybe she would adopt it after all.

  Acknowledgments

  This book would not exist if not for the following people, to whom I would like to extend my immense gratitude:

  Lindy Ryan, owner of Black Spot Books and publisher extraordinaire, thank you so much for everything you’ve invested in this project. Your help has been truly invaluable;

  Toni Miller, my developmental editor, your careful reading and editing was essential in helping this project take shape;

  Spring Lee, my faithful reader, tithout your eyes, your attention, and your thoughts, this book would not exist.

  Thank you to my writing teachers at Bennington: Shannon Cain, Brian Morton, Askold Melnyczuk, Paul Yoon, and Bret Anthony Johnston.

  Thank you, also, to the many teachers and friends who have supported my writing in one way or another over the years: Mrs. Forsyth, Mr. Helvey, Mr. Witten, Gail Newman, Christopher Bolton, Eleanor Goodman, Elizabeth Campbell, Jeremy Bellay, Reyna Clancy, Ben Rudick, Leigh Bennett, and Haydn Cherie.

  Mom and Dad: Thank you for trusting me to follow my own path and find my own way. Thank you for life, for childhood, and for inspiration.

  And, finally, thank you to my life partner, JJ. The best decision I ever made was to link my destiny with yours. Thank you for all of it.

  May all beings be happy.

  About the Author

  Dalena Storm earned her BA in Asian Studies from Williams College and her MFA from the Bennington Writing Seminars, where she studied fiction but also played in the territory between genres. She enjoys eating, sleeping, sex, and words. She’ll read the tarot for you if you’re pure of heart.