‘I died in nineteen hundred and fifteen. My father was a drunk who beat me. One night he beat me a little too hard and I never woke up again.’
‘How do I know you’re telling the truth?’
‘You don’t.’
Eric’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘So now you’re a ghost? Is that it?’
Larry shrugged his shoulders. ‘In a nutshell. I hated my father for what he did to me and it filled me with anger. I resented all the living people and used to torment any that crossed my path. If I’m honest, I used to enjoy it – but I knew deep down that there had to be more to being a ghost. Then, one day, Doctor Callow looked through one of his scientific contraptions and saw me. It took him a long time to persuade me to join up with him but he said he could help. I was a real brat to him sometimes but he persevered and here I am.’
‘And now you want to be my guide.’
‘Yes. But I also want to share your childhood. That’s what I get in return to make up for the one I never had. Everybody should have a childhood, don’t you think?’
‘But you’re not a real ghost. This is all just a show.’
‘I am real. Watch.’ Larry passed his insubstantial hand through a headstone.’
Eric gaped in a mixture of fear and wonder. ‘How did you do that?’
‘You know how I did it,’ Larry replied.
The boy scanned the cemetery, his eyes darting from grave to grave and then searching into the night for clues, still desperate for the affirmation that this discourse was all part of an act. And, yet, the headstone seemed genuine and perhaps Larry was too? ‘This must be a trick,’ he asserted. ‘It can’t be real. There has to be a machine, or mirrors, or something.’
‘It’s no trick. I promise, cross my heart and hope to…’ Larry paused and gave a toothy grin. ‘I suppose the last part doesn’t matter anymore.’
He moved towards Eric, arms outstretched. ‘Will you trust me? Doctor Callow says that if I find my harmony, eventually I’ll be free and be able to rest in peace at last. I think he’s right and maybe I just need to be a child again, at least for a little while. I can do that with you.’
The boy found himself moved by the ghost’s words and wanted to believe them but sidestepped the apparition, still unsure and hesitant.
‘I’ll never hurt you, and I’ll help you.’ The spectre pleaded.
‘How?’
‘I can read and I know you can’t. I’ll go to school with you and sit by your shoulder. I’ll whisper the words on the page into your ear and then you’ll know what they say.’
‘How do you know all these things about me?’
‘I’ve already told you. I’m a ghost.’
‘But I’ve never believed in ghosts,’ Eric pleaded in a desperate attempt to convince himself that none of what he witnessed was authentic.
Larry laughed. ‘It doesn’t matter if you believe or not. I’m here, aren’t I? And I can help you, just like I said. I can be your spy.’
Eric took another step backward and felt himself bump against a headstone. ‘That would be cheating.’
‘Other people wear glasses to read words. I can be your eyes.’
‘But people will see…’
‘No they won’t. I’ll be invisible to them.
Eric chewed his bottom lip and looked around the cemetery. He was certain, just for a moment, he had seen movement between the graves and became aware of other presences nearby. Other ghosts? ‘How many of you are there here?’
Larry shrugged. ‘Dozens, I think. I’m not really sure. We ghosts keep to ourselves and don’t really have much to do with each other. We’re solitary creatures, most are shy by nature but also curious.’ He gestured towards the semi-transparent figures that darted between the rows of stones. ‘We like to know what’s going on. I suppose Doctor Callow would know how many are here. Why do you ask? Is it important?’
‘Not really,’ said Eric. ‘I’m just trying to figure out why he would do this kind of thing.’
‘Who knows?’ Larry replied. ‘Perhaps he’s just a man with a good heart? There are some of those about, you know.’
‘I know. My dad’s a good man.’
Larry moved closer towards the boy and this time Eric didn’t flinch. ‘If he, is,’ the spectre said deliberately, ‘I think he’d be disappointed in you skipping school.’
Eric glanced at his shoes. ‘He would.’
‘We can make sure he doesn’t have to be disappointed.’
The boy looked straight into the insubstantial eyes. ‘I have to think about it.’
As he pondered the information, Eric noticed a dark cloud move across the moonlit sky and what little light there was began to diminish. Simultaneously, he felt an increasing sense of dread creep over his skin and watched the ghostly shapes by the gravestones recede into the distance. It was as if they knew a storm was on its way.
‘Oh, God!’ Larry cried. ‘My father’s coming!’
‘He’s here?’ Eric asked in astonishment. ‘But why would Doctor Callow let him in?’
‘He didn’t,’ Larry replied. ‘He sneaked in when the door was opened for me and now that he’s here, there’s nothing the doctor can do.’
Eric could see the terror twist the ghost’s face. ‘Even as a ghost he can hurt you?’
‘Yes!’ Larry moaned panic-stricken. ‘He’s discordant and he’s getting closer. Oh please, please get me out of here! I can’t take it any more!’
In the end, it was an easy choice to make as he stared at the pitiful, horrified face of the ghost boy and listened to the approaching thunder of musical dissonance. He knew only too well what it was like to be isolated, self-worth pounded by other people’s opinions, tormented and tortured by word and sound. Eric clenched his jaw. ‘Yes.’ He hissed.
A cacophony like the random tunings of a symphony orchestra filled the night sky. It grew ever louder as Larry grabbed Eric’s hand and they ran to the edge of the cemetery.
When he exited the tent, he found himself subjected once more to the noise, smells, and bustle of the fairground.
Doctor Callow gave him a nod and a smile. ‘Have a nice time, young sirs.’
The boy turned to Larry. ‘He can see you?’
Larry nodded grinning broadly. ‘Only him and nobody else.’
He returned his attention to the doctor who proceeded to give him a conspiratorial wink.
Eric was only too aware of the strange looks other beach users gave him as he ran past them screaming and laughing but he didn’t mind. He understood that they couldn’t see that he was not alone. They were oblivious to his strangely dressed companion running alongside him. As their young feet pounded in unison through the wet sand, he knew that Larry was simply enjoying being a child again. In return, his ghostly friend had helped improve his reading ability quite significantly. He was conscious of the fact that he would never be a genius but perhaps he’d learn enough literacy skills to get him through life. Still, Eric’s thoughts also carried an air of sadness because there would come a time when Larry would leave him. Once the spectre had found his peace, he would go to whatever lay beyond for his kind. But that was in the future. For now, it just felt so good to have somebody to play Sailcoats with. And when they had tired of their game, they would wander along the shore like always, singing a song, each in harmony with the other. To Eric, it was the most beautiful sound in the world.
THE END.
MURPHY’S LAW by Charlotte H. Lee
Murphy took three staggering steps, the sand shifting unevenly beneath her feet, and fell to one knee. Sweat stung her eyes, and she blinked against it. Try as she might, she couldn’t focus through the heat rising above the red-brown sands to meet a sky a shade closer to turquoise than blue. She couldn’t smell the acrid smoke of fuel fire anymore, but she didn’t want to look back. If she could still see her escape pod, it would mean she hadn’t gone very far.
Her pack straps bit into her shoulders as she struggled back to her feet, cursing under h
er breath against the slightly higher than human norm gravity. Her flight suit was keeping her body temperature in check and the sun off most of her skin, but it wasn’t doing anything for her face. Nor was it helping her keep her balance on the wretched sand dune. She heaved herself to her feet and continued the struggle up to the summit. She’d look back when she crested the rise, then try for another bearings check.
On the fifth step, she could feel the sand start to slide as she brought her right foot down. Her breath choked in her throat and she jerked her foot up again. Her helmet banged against her leg, and she windmilled her arms before regaining her balance. The sand slowed its decent, and her eyes flitted around trying to pick out better footing but it all looked the same. There was no way to tell when or where the sand would carry her back down to the bottom of the tall dune, likely burying her at the bottom of a new, smaller dune. Black spots appeared on the dune, and she let her breath out slowly, blinking away the spots. She couldn’t stand here like a mythical bird for much longer. Her left leg was starting to shake. Slowly, she lowered her right foot again, a sob of relief escaping when the sand stayed put this time. Slower, she’d have to move slower on this horrid sand.
The sun hadn’t moved by the time she crested the dune, panting. She glanced back down the way she’d come, licking her lips without thinking. The dry atmosphere would just suck the moisture off in heartbeats. She closed her mouth, wincing as the dusty desert air burned her nasal passages. Most of her now elongated footprints remained in place, though she could see three areas where the sand had let go after she’d passed. She’d heard the sand go, but hadn’t dared to look back lest it suck the last of her courage.
With glacial slowness, she turned to look back to the pod. From here, its blackened carcass looked tiny and forlorn, but the smoke still rising from it promised it wouldn’t remain lonely for long. Sooner than later, those that hunted her would find it. She had to be as far from it as she could be.
Damn the fire. If it hadn’t been for that she could’ve stayed by the pod, it would have been nigh impossible for the Keks to see it with all the oxidized iron in this sand. Her own people may take a long time to get to her, but her beacon implant would bring them to her eventually. Ah well, the sleep tank got busted up in the crash anyway. The narding maintenance crews hadn’t done a great job on the pod, and two of the landing slides hadn’t deployed in time with the others causing her to tumble the landing. It was probably that same narding crew that hadn’t repressurized the fire extinguisher. Some sand had gotten sucked into the air intakes and sparked in the electrical. She could’ve gotten the fire out easily if the narding thing had worked, but instead she’d had to get herself out fast. Only blind good luck had brought her down on the sun side of the moon. She would’ve drowned before getting free of her pod if she’d landed on the dark side of the moon. Though there probably wouldn’t have been a fire to deal with, so that sort of cancelled itself out.
The emergency pack had at least been well stocked – she’d packed that herself before launch. The other pilots used to laugh at her for that habit, but she’d ignored them. They hadn’t grown up with her name, or the curse that came with it. By the time she’d gotten to her teens, she’d learned to prepare for the absolute worst that could happen. She couldn’t control the maintenance crews, and most of them hated her because she was the most diligent of the pilots about her pre-flight checks, not letting anything coast. Unfortunately, for her, there was no time for a pre-flight in a combat scramble. You just had to trust people to do their jobs. Hah. Look how well that had worked out. Maybe she wasn’t the only one marooned on this dustball moon. Even if the UNS Massachusetts survived this encounter, she was sure there’d be other combatants who’d hit the impoverished surface, the main fighting had been too close to the moon’s gravity well not to have more wreckage find its way here.
Murphy rubbed her forehead with her forefinger, and gusted a sigh. Nothing for it, time to press on. The suit’s twelve-centimeter long wrist panel was still functional, but she wasn’t foolish enough to imagine it would last forever in all this sand and dust. Neither would her lungs for that matter. Once she hit the bottom of this dune she’d take care of that, but staying on this ridge, visible for miles, wasn’t a good idea. She’d have a single ounce of water once she got down there, too.
A full circle turn didn’t help much. All she could see in every direction was more dunes, except for the thin wisps of smoke still rising from her pod to smudge the heat-hazed air. The utter silence was unnerving. She hadn’t noticed it before. No creature sounds didn’t surprise her, it was a desert after all, but that there was no sound of sand moving in a breeze was odd. There were other moons in orbit of the gas giant this one called home, some close enough to be seen in full sunlight. There should be wind aplenty – something had to have formed these dunes. She keyed on her wrist panel, though already she could see some pixels had failed from sand damage. To the southwest, there was another emergency beacon, and the panel flashed its location on her simple map while it computed the best course for her to take to it. Perfect, maybe that pilot would have a fully functional pod.
The wrist panel pinged faintly in the silence. Murphy bit her lip in dismay. It would take her three days to get there, unless the terrain got easier to travel on foot. She had only enough fresh water for a day and a half at most, which meant she was going to have to go to full environmental state on the suit. She hated recycled water. No matter how many times she’d been told that it didn’t, she still imagined the water tasted like urine. Ugh. Thankfully, she had rations to last her. Not that they were tasty, but they were better than suit food. At least there wasn’t any animal life beyond insects on the moon according to the life pod’s scans during her entry. She’d rather be stuck with travel rations than run the risk of being some native’s next meal.
She dragged her thoughts back into focus when her wrist unit pinged again. It wanted more data, and she considered sending out a miniprobe. Its sensors had a much wider range than her suit’s, and she’d have a chance of finding an easier route with a topographical survey, and maybe find any potable water along the way. She’d also become a whole lot easier for the Keks to find if they got close since the miniprobe broadcast its radar findings on several frequencies simultaneously, rather than the encrypted modulation of the homing beacons. Murphy scanned the sky again. Nothing. In any direction.
She’d take a chance that the more sensitive human tech would give her enough advance warning to shut down the miniprobe’s broadcast if a Kek patrol came into range. She might even get lucky and the miniprobe would complete its survey before the Keks came looking for survivors. If they won the battle. The more advanced human tech wasn’t offsetting the numerical advantages the Keks had in the war overall, but the battleship UNS Massachusetts was up against only three Kek heavy cruisers. It was a good crew, and an outstanding tactical team who had superior missile loads to play with. Besides, Murphy wasn’t on the ship so their chances of winning had to have gone up as soon as the combat pilots had scrambled.
Murphy started down the massive dune, arms outstretched for balance. The sands kept shifting under her feet, and she was sorely tempted to increase her downward pace to a canter. Better not, her balance was still out of kilter with the higher gravity. It wasn’t enough to make her miserable, but it was enough to make her feel like she was going to topple every few seconds. She did not want to go rolling down the dune – with her luck, half the rusty dune would come down with her, burying her meters deep.
Step by cautious step, she made it to the bottom of the dune. Here the sand didn’t shift as much. With the side of her foot, she scraped away less than half an inch before getting to hard ground. She knelt down, pulling off her right glove. It was packed sand, not rock. It crumbled under her fingers when she added elbow grease to her touch. A solid sandstorm could scour it away once it got the dune out of its way. She did not want to get caught in a sandstorm. There had been wind on the way down, but
none on the ground. Prime conditions, if memory served.
Time to get moving, says that thought. She tucked the glove into her hip pocket and swept dust off the face of her wrist unit. Already the dust was causing more problems and it took several attempts to swipe to the probe programming screen. Once there, she linked the probe to the other pod’s homing beacon and set the travel method parameter for pedestrian. She pulled up the right arm pocket flap for the stylus-sized probe, and wrestled it out of its snug hidey. Activating it with a thumbprint on the reader at one end, she waited with distinct impatience for it to confirm her identity, accept instruction from her wrist unit, and heat up its mag drive. The miniprobe blinked green on its end and Murphy set it on the ground at her feet. She took a step back and slung her pack down to the ground.
While the little brain did its thing, she dug through her bag for something to wrap around her face and mouth. She wasn’t ready to put her helmet back on yet. Hot, dry air was still better than limiting sight and sound. The sling bandage from her first aid kit would work – the gauze would let through too much sand. Carefully, she folded the bandage into a fifteen-centimeter band, and soaked a section in the middle of it with some of her precious water. The miniprobe started to hum and she paused to watch it lift itself from the ground and move away to her two o’clock. Within minutes, the heat haze obscured it from sight. Well, it seemed to know where it was going. Best to give it a little time to scan the immediate area, she didn’t want to have to backtrack because the thing had gone down a dead end path. She climbed back to her feet, allowing herself a single mouthful of the precious water. Tying the bandage with the soaked section over her face and mouth, she scanned the sky again. She shouldered her pack, set the time elapse, and struck out in the direction the miniprobe had gone.
Time stretched on and on. The gradual changes to the terrain didn’t give her much to look at, but she was reassured that an intermittent breeze had picked up. It wasn’t enough to do more than swirl dust around her feet from time to time, but it was reassuring. The sky above remained clear, and thankfully she’d been close enough to the edge of the dune sea to be out of it before any kind of storm started up. There would be plenty of places for her to shelter should a storm come howling up now.
9 Tales From Elsewhere 12 Page 4
