The House of Lost Spirits: A Paranormal Novel

by Einat Shimshoni

  “Then, why did you not turn me in? You could have bought your freedom.”

  “I had no idea where you were. You move around and change the places where you stay all the time. And, besides,” here comes another burst of weak laughter, “nothing could have bought my freedom.”

  “What did you do?” Oved asked.

  The boy hesitated a moment before answering. Oved didn’t know whether it was because he did not want to answer or because of his weakness. When he did answer, his voice was flat and apathetic.

  “I messed around with the wrong girl. The fiancée of the Guard Commander.”

  The surprising wave of sympathy Oved felt for the boy broke at once with the memory of the stolen treasure.

  “You robbed me,” he said again, sharply.

  “I learned from the best,” the boy replied with tired amusement. Now, laughter broke out from the other prisoners, chained to the stone walls.

  “Where is it?” Oved asked again.

  “We’re both going to die,” the boy answered like someone who had come to terms with his fate. “You will die quickly and soon, but I will slowly rot to death. What use do you have for your treasure now?”

  “Tell me where it is,” Oved demanded in a threatening voice that echoed between the bare walls. Oved knew he had no way of forcing the boy to talk. His hands were tied, and a death sentence was certainly hanging over his head, but his senses told him that the boy was enjoying teasing him. Although he could not logically explain his need for an answer, Oved knew that if he persisted, he would get one in the end. The boy was silent for a long while and then tried to get up from the floor. Oved noticed the wounds that covered the soles of his bare feet and the trembling that took hold of his body when he tried to get up. Finally, he rose to his knees, raised his tethered arms as much as the iron chains allowed and called out triumphantly in his hoarse voice, “Listen to this, all you wretched prisoners. If you ever get out of this stinking cesspool and still have enough strength to move, know that a two-day ride west of the city of Petra, on the way of the springs of the sheep breeders, there is a cave hewn in a rock. Its entrance faces north, and inside that cave, the great treasure of the magnificent robber, Oved, son of Ravchiel, is buried. May you enjoy it to the full.” And, with that, he sank back on the floor, laughing raucously, his eyes sparkling.

  ***

  In the attic, we can hear the faint sounds of the workers outside that remind me that I am short of time. Perhaps Milka is already accustomed to her existence in eternity. The transition between day and night is a change between states of light and darkness. Marking time, like the passing seasons and the accumulation of years, mean nothing to her. The bulldozers gathering outside were only a vague and unimportant background noise, but for me, they were like the ticking of a stopwatch.

  “I have to know how to get out of here, and I know you can help me. Please,” I beg her, but she doesn’t look at me and, perhaps, doesn’t hear me, either. Milka directs her gaze to an undefined spot, and it is impossible to tell what she sees. Since I left Oved down below and returned to Milka, she has behaved as if I am not there, at all. Her usual piercing and focused expression has become scattered and confused.

  “Please, Milka, I can’t stay here. Are you even listening to me?”

  And then she turned to me and said in a quiet trembling voice, “He’s left. Oved has gone.”

  For a moment, it seems as if the workers have stopped their machines and fallen silent. The silence that reigns in the attic is loaded and tense. I don’t know how to react. The relationship between Milka and Oved was unique. Milka never talked to any of the residents of the house, and even during her conversations with me, that she would have gladly avoided had I not compelled her to talk, she was always hesitant and tense. It was different with Oved. He was the only one who was genuinely close to her. When I told Oved that Milka was only trying to make him stay with her, I meant it. Milka seems to depend on Oved and draws strength and consolation from him. But was it what I said that made him leave, as Benny claimed after Helen left? Somehow, it is hard for me to believe that. But even before I can ponder the question, Milka opens up in a torrent of words.

  “I’ve always been aware of my ability to speak to souls. I would hear them whispering between the trees, calling out from the water wells, seeking refuge. I would try to ignore them and my attraction to their weak supplications. That was until the death of my parents, one after the other when I was a young girl. My father passed away before the days of mourning for my mother were over. The village elders wanted to marry me off. Their obligation to the friendless orphan was strong enough to want to transfer me to the hands of bitter old men who had grown weary of their previous wives. But they were too weak to protect me from the evil eyes of the neighbors when I rejected their proposals. I was alone and wanted to summon up my parents’ spirits. The ways to communicate with the spirits are hidden, but those who seek them out discover them. My attempts and experiences put me in touch with many souls, some angry, others miserable, and many who are lost. But I never succeeded in reaching my father and mother. Later, I understood that I should be happy that I failed.

  “Solitude was my only friend, a companion that was preferable in my eyes to any attachment to people who neither wanted, nor were able to offer me what had I had lost.

  In time, my newly acquired skill became the way I made my living and fortified the wall of solitude I had built around myself.”

  Milka spoke in a soft and measured voice, but without the calculated hesitation that usually characterized the way she answered me. Her candidness was so unexpected, but she seemed unconcerned at my surprise, or even aware of it.

  “I fiercely protected my solitude. It brought me suffering, but at least that was familiar. Both alive and dead, I rebuffed anyone who tried to get close to me, and there weren’t many. But Oved was different. Unlike others who wander around lost in a world where they play no part, Oved was full of purpose. In the beginning, he stubbornly tried to enlist my skills as a necromancer to help him find his treasure, even after I told him repeatedly that I was unable to help him in my current state.

  “I’m not stupid. I know that Oved sought my closeness because he thought I could be of use to him. Early on, I understood that there was no point in trying to push him away. When Oved wanted something, he did not give up easily.”

  She smiled as she said this, and her small wrinkled face suddenly looked so different that it took me several seconds to realize that she was smiling at me. Yes, I am also not giving her an easy time, but I don’t like the comparison she is drawing between Oved and me.

  “Oved’s efforts were like mice gnawing at a wall, gradually weakening its foundations until it collapses. That is how Oved broke through my solitude. Since the death of my parents, I had not felt that close to anyone, and even if Oved was not aware of it, I know that it was also true for him. Even when he went out to search and was away for several days, he always returned. And, now, he has gone.”

  Milka’s words were full of pain. I knew what she meant when she said that Oved was gone. He hadn’t gone on another one of his searches for his lost treasure or different accommodation. He would not return from where he had gone. Nor would Benny, Leah, and Helen return from the place to which I also wanted to go, the place Milka feared more than any other. Perhaps, I should be more empathetic or find some words of consolation to say, but as soon as Milka finishes her story, something of the magic that hung in the air broke. Sounds of work outside returned and climbed up to the attic, reminding us why we had come up here.

  “Where is my way out?” I ask her again.

  Her response comes from absent-mindedness and makes me want to bang my head against the wall, but I knew it wouldn’t work.

  “Each individual finds their way,” she replies with that same useless mantra that doesn’t help me get anywhere.

  “You’
re not listening to me, Milka. I can’t stay here any longer. I can’t wait a hundred years, like some people we know, until I make my way. And I don’t even know where my way is.”

  “Not all the ways are long,” Milka replied with the same unfocused demeanor. I wasn’t even sure she was talking to me. Maybe, she thinks in terms that are relative to Oved and herself. The paths of Benny and, even Leah, have been shorter. But, for me, the idea of just one more month like this is simply untenable. The possibility that if enough time passes, I could even grow accustomed to this is even worse.

  “I also couldn’t even suffer waiting thirty years like Benny to get out of here.”

  Then, Milka grows more focused and looks at me in concentration, as if coming out of a stupor.

  “The number of years is insignificant. Benny did not free himself because of the amount of time that passed, but because he discovered what was holding him back. And you revealed it to him; you did it for all of them.”

  Her way of saying that was a weird mixture of blame, pain, and admiration, and something else I couldn’t quite make out. Benny’s words came back to me, and the fact that Benny moved on after I spoke to him validated the claim, but the big question remains unanswered—What was it I said? What did I reveal to them that they didn’t know about themselves? And what will I discover about myself that I don’t already know?

  Had Helen not seen that she got stuck in her pursuit of characters who were no longer alive? Oved had not saved her from this information. It is also clear to me that both he and Benny tried to persuade Leah that she bore no guilt for Helen’s death. Did Benny need me to know that he was trying to hide away from himself? And, as regards Oved, I am not sure whether what I said to him was true.

  “I didn’t tell them anything that they didn’t already know.”

  “But the things you said influenced them, as did the way you spoke to them,” Milka insisted.

  I disagree. It doesn’t make sense. When I review my last conversations with Helen, Leah, Benny, and Oved, I can’t find anything I said that was inspiring enough to make someone do something that they had not succeeded or tried to do for years before that. To be truthful, I don’t think that I ever said anything that influenced anyone to do anything. And if I did, nothing of that helps me understand what is stopping me. And there is no one to tell me what I had told the others, no one that is except for Milka.

  “And what did you say to them?” I ask. Milka’s silence is proof that my instincts are right; that, as in the past, she is not telling me the whole truth but only parts of it.

  “You also spoke to them, didn’t you?”

  Milka keeps silent.

  “I knew it! I wasn’t the last to speak to them. You were the one who spoke to them after me. You told them the secret. It has no connection to what I said.”

  “Not with Oved,” she said slowly. It’s true. She was right. There had been no opportunity for her to speak to Oved after I had, but her answer was proof that I was right about the others.

  “But you did speak to the others. You admit that you made them leave, not me,” I challenge her.

  “That’s not what I said,” Milka points out with the reproving tone of voice of a teacher to show a student that he is being challenging. “I only gave them the last push,” she summed up.

  “And what about me?” I ask. “What is your last little push for me?”

  “Perhaps, first, ask yourself why you came back,” Milka responded, which was an unusual move for her to make.

  All at once, I notice that this is a question I asked all of them, but not myself. The answer is too embarrassing. To tell the bitter truth, I returned out of stupidity.

  “I just did not understand where I was. I did not realize that I am dead, and was certain that I would open my eyes and wake up,” I tell Milka.

  “You did not believe it,” Milka says quietly, and Oved’s words echo in my ears. I attacked him, saying that he had too much will, and he scolded me for not having enough faith.

  “It doesn’t make that much difference,” I say.

  Milka shook her head.

  “Faith and trust are not the same. You heard the facts. You refused to believe them.”

  “So, if I want to move on from here, do I have to stop being stupid?” I ask.

  “Start believing,” Milka replies.

  “Well, I think I can say now that I do believe that I am dead, that isn’t the problem.”

  Milka ignores my answer, and that angers me. The whole situation is annoying me, and I’m pretty desperate because the sounds of the heavy demolition equipment are growing louder. And Milka is still going round in circles instead of saying things directly.

  “How did you die?” she asks. I believe that she knows the answer. Nevertheless, I reply.

  “It was an accident.”

  Milka gives me a glance that is a mixture of disbelief and pity. Not a particularly pleasant look. She doesn’t have to ask a second time, because I was closer to telling the truth.

  “I committed suicide,” I say quietly. “But I didn’t mean to… in the end.”

  I don’t even know what embarrassed me more. The fact that I tried to take my life in the first place or the paradoxical failure of the attempt. And perhaps the awareness that it was a mistake. An intentionally awful error that I brought upon myself. Suddenly, I understand Benny and Leah, and the power of shame and regret.

  “And why did you do it?” I am dumbstruck. Her question is so surprising in its directness that I become confused and can’t find an answer. Why did I try to kill myself? I wonder. Perhaps because life is depressing or, at least, that was what I thought then. Compared to the other inhabitants of the house, I had no right to complain, but is it fair to draw comparisons? They always make me look bad, like an overindulged and spoiled child, who doesn’t know how to appreciate her good fortune. But what is a comfortable and cushioned life worth if it is without purpose?

  But I didn’t want to die. Perhaps, I only tried to find a way to admit what I seek.

  Milka seemed to read my thoughts.

  “You are young; things could have changed for you.”

  Yes, things could have changed. I might have discovered a purpose in life, but what would that have helped?

  “Einstein discovered the Theory of Relativity and changed the way we understand the world but, in the end, he died a miserable man with the knowledge that he had assisted in creating the atomic bomb. Edison spent a quarter of his life searching for suitable fuel for the electric light bulb, and not so that humanity would destroy itself with polluting power stations. Karl Marx dedicated his life to equality and brotherhood, which gave rise to dismal police regimes that slaughtered millions,” I say.

  I told myself that Milka did not know any of the names I mentioned, and saying them did not speak to her, but she got the idea.

  “If that is so, what made you change your mind?” she asked.

  It didn’t matter to me anymore to say, “I seem to be too weak.”

  “So, you have no faith in your ability or that of all humankind to do good in the world. Nor do you believe in your power to take responsibility for that.”

  She sounds overbearing in the same way Oved does, but, unlike Oved, she means what she says, and that makes me even angrier.

  “You’re also no example of blazing faith, you know,” I hit back at her.

  Milka is unaffected by what I say and continues to focus her stare on me, almost amused, as if she expected this reaction. And that is infuriating. A small voice somewhere in the periphery of my brain whispers to me that it is time to keep silent, but, as we know, I am a great expert at avoiding smart little voices, so I just continue without stopping.

  “How can you roam around this world, a disembodied spirit, for thousands of years, afraid of every little change that disturbs you, and then think you can l
ecture me about not having faith? You were very brave when you were dealing with spirits you knew you could control, and when you became one of them, you were afraid that someone else might control you. But look at the funny side of it—everyone is controlling you. An arrogant real estate investor with bulldozers and plans for a hotel who isn’t even aware of your existence is in control of you. And what do you do? You just continue fleeing from one place to another. Why don’t you move on? Why don’t you take responsibility?”

  Milka delayed responding. She shifts her gaze from me, sinking deep in thought.

  “I did things I should not have done during my life,” she says in a solemn voice, full of sadness.

  “We all did things we shouldn’t have done,” I say impatiently.

  Milka shakes her head,

  “I disturbed the rest of souls, mixed in between different worlds. These are grave transgressions. When I arrive there, I will have to do penance for these sins.”

  “You already are paying for them,” I reply.

  “I prefer the punishment here over going through the dire straits of leaving the hollow of the sling.”

  “What is the hollow of the sling?” I ask.

  Milka is silent for a long time. I realize that she is choosing her words carefully. Perhaps, to avoid answering me directly. Or, to give me a more accurate answer.

  “It is a place where you are never at peace, where you always yearn for something that you cannot be sure what you should call it?”

  Milka’s words filled all the space, and restlessly encircled us.

  “Isn’t that exactly where we are?” I ask.

  Milka does not say a word, but it seems to me that she has reached the same conclusion. The thing she most feared has become her reality.

  “And is it impossible to get out of the hollow of the sling?” I ask. Despite our conversations, her explanations have not turned me into an expert in the realm of the spirits.