Morbid Curiosity
Page 12
me. “Look, if you’re crazy, you could just drop me off and…”
“I don’t care what ‘everyone’ is saying,” I tell him. “I just got broke out of jail by a bunch of angry ass ghosts that I have to move on to god knows what and now you want me to let you kill this guy and then have me move you on. Screw you, gushy.”
“You’re not even at full strength,” the ghost tells me. “I bet I could kill this guy and you.”
“You can try,” I tell him. Fucking uppity ghost. The guy, the one that’s alive, starts gurgling as the ghost strangles him. I ignore it until he starts kicking my seat. The ghost starts laughing while killing him, which annoys me even more. But I’m not sending this guy away.
Suddenly I see my parents. They shouldn’t be seen unless I call them. And they look happy. My parents never look happy. I swerve the car onto the curb and slam on the brakes. I get out and they both grab something and shove it behind them. I hold up my still bloody hand and they both jump to the side and I see what they were hiding.
My sister.
First my ex wife brings our stillborn daughter back from limbo or wherever the hell it is I send people. Now my parents are out when I didn’t call them up and happily fawning over my sister who I have not seen alive since we headed to church on that faithful day and I later made her go away by touching her. This was before I knew what I could do or even begin to control it.
I can still hear the fighting going on in the backseat of the patrol car. I walk over to my sister and she backs away from me. I get down on my knees and wipe the blood from my hand. She takes a small step forward. My parents come a little bit closer.
“Nessa…” I say. She nods. “Where have you been?” She looks down at the ground and wraps her arms around me. I can feel her. I can actually feel her. My eyes start to water. I'm crying. I am actually crying. I never thought that I would ever cry again let alone cry tears of joy, but here I am doing it. She slowly pulls away from me and kisses me on the forehead. All of a sudden I am thrown onto my back. My parents are each holding an arm down. Nessa sits on my chest and places her hand on my heart.
“You deserve this,” she says as light from all corners of my vision blind me. I close my eyes and still it burns. “You deserve this more than anyone…”
I hate pain. I don’t know if I ever mentioned that but I really don’t. And right now I am in more pain than I have ever experienced in my life. I force my eyes open and am laying on the sidewalk. I stand and my knees buckle. I steady myself and walk over to the patrol car. The guy in the back seat is dead. I know because his spirit is standing near the backdoor with his arms folded.
“Guess you weren’t crazy” he says to me. I sit on the hood and wipe sweat from my brow. “That was a hell of a light show.”
“I couldn’t tell you,” I say.
“Maybe he could” he says and points behind me. I turn and I see that buffalo headed guy I pulled from those Indian’s house. He walks over to me quickly and shoves a spear in my face.
“I don’t have time for this” I say and walk away. Or I try to. He sweeps my leg with the spear and as I try to get back to my feet he sticks the business end of the spear an inch from my throat.
“Things have changed,” he says to me. “We can hurt you.” He pokes the spear into my skin for a moment to prove his point. “Understand?”
“No,” I tell him. “Can you do it again?” He sighs, which looks funny, him having a buffalo head and all. He grabs me by my shirt and yanks me to my unsteady feet. “Thanks, Buffalo Bill.”
“You have abused a great gift for far too long,” he says.
“If you start talking about God…”
“I do not recall mentioning God,” he says. “Did you hear me mention God?” he asks the dead man watching all of this with too much wonder in his eyes.
“I didn’t hear nothing about God,” he says. “My name is Jim by the way, Mr. Buffalo.”
“Now that we’re all friends, what’s your name, Buffalo Man?” I ask him.
“You could not pronounce it if I told you,” he says.
“Was that really my sister?” I ask. He nods. “Do you know what she did to me?” He nods again. “Are you going to tell me?” He nods. “When?”
“Once you shut up,” he says. “She sent you where you sent us.” I stare at him.
“Which is…?”
“Nowhere” he says. “’The Place’ as we once called it. She should not have sent you there. You being there caused a great mistake.”
“What kind of mistake?”
“They are all free,” he says.
“’They who?”
“Everyone. Ever.”
“Fuck this,” Jim says and vanishes.
I hear a high pitched whine and even though I want to cover my ears I know it’ll do nothing. This isn’t a physical sound. Buffalo Man steps away from me and sighs. He tosses me his spear and begins to walk away.
“You need this more than me,” he tells me. “Good luck.”
Have you ever had someone sit on your chest? I feel like that but all over. It feels like someone is sitting on my soul. A hand is on my shoulder. I turn and look into the eyes of my ex wife. I hear a chuckle. It’s my dad. My mom smiles at me but not in a good way. My sister is weeping as she holds my daughter’s limp body. Roscoe is even here. My uncle who should be frozen in place growls at me.
“Hear any good jokes lately?” I ask them all.
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About the Author:
Dante D. Ross was born in Los Angeles, CA. After being spat out onto Earth he decided to spend most of his free time reading, podcasting, blogging, drawing, and avoiding the pitfalls of boredom. He hopes to one day grow up to become Batman.
And he writes. He writes a lot.
E-mail:
DanteDRoss@gmail.com