I breathed deeply, in and out. I tried to imagine the stress blowing from my body.
There isn’t time for this, I thought. Gilbert is in danger!
My head hurt.
I tried again. I imagined the point of light resting on my throbbing forehead. I imagined it rising up above my head. I imagined my spirit floating free, joining that point.
But it was all in my imagination. I was still pinned to the bed. It wasn’t working.
And it wasn’t going to work. There was no way I was going to be able to relax knowing that Gilbert could be dead at any second.
I couldn’t let that happen.
This time, I let myself get angry, let the fury rise like bile in my throat. I focused on the throbbing pain behind my eyes, let it swell to consume my whole head. I would tear my spirit from my body if I had to!
I strained. I writhed inside myself. I tried to rip my spirit right out of my physical body.
And then suddenly my spirit sat upright in bed.
———
How long had it taken me to talk to my grandmother, then force myself back into the astral dimension? Two minutes? Three? I didn’t know, and I also didn’t know how long it would take me to get back to Gilbert.
I listened for my brother.
I immediately heard him breathing—I could hear him loud and clear. He was still alive. I didn’t know for how much longer, but at least it wasn’t too late yet.
I didn’t have time to fly all the way back to the graveyard, even in the soaring, friction-less way I’d managed before. No, I needed to be there ten minutes ago. How did I get back when it was so far away?
Except the astral realm wasn’t a physical dimension—even Voyage Beyond the Rainbow had said that. And if it wasn’t a physical dimension, he wasn’t really far away. I’d been able to hear things even across a great distance, so maybe it was possible to somehow travel those distances in an instant, too.
I closed my eyes and focused on the sound of my brother’s breathing.
I concentrated on that breathing, let it grow in my mind. It was there, and I was here, but all that stood between us was distance, a mere gap in space—a space that supposedly didn’t even exist in the astral dimension. At the same time, I fanned the flicking flames of the anger that had let me reenter the astral dimension in the first place.
Then I let that anger explode again. I let myself go. Suddenly I was a gunshot and Gilbert’s breathing was the bull’s-eye.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself wavering unsteadily at the edge of the gravel parking lot at Durston Memorial Park.
I’d done it.
But the fog was not yet gone from my mind. It took me a moment to make sense of my darkened surroundings.
To one side, over in the graveyard, the rotating vortexes twisted around like so many otherworldly windmills. On the other side of me, a faceless ghost in a frayed pinafore danced a lazy two-step.
Conrad and Evelyn’s SUV was long gone. The only car left was Simon’s. Directly in front of me he and Gilbert were walking hand in hand into the graveyard. Simon had removed the bounds around my little brother’s feet and hands.
“Where are we going?” Gilbert asked Simon.
“Just for a little walk,” the man said. “Then I’ll take you right home to your parents. You’ve been away a long time, haven’t you?”
I remembered the gun in Simon’s belt.
I’d been so eager to get back here, but I was in the astral dimension with no way to contact the real world.
Simon was taking Gilbert into the graveyard to shoot him, and there still wasn’t anything I could do about it.
I flew to my little brother’s side.
“Gilbert!” I said into his ear. “Listen to me—it’s your brother, Zach. You’ve got to run from Mr. Scanlon. He’s trying to hurt you. Run!” I’d been able to force my spirit into the astral dimension and across a great distance through sheer willpower, so it made sense to me that I could make myself heard in the real world though willpower too.
But Gilbert didn’t react.
“I don’t wanna go for a walk,” Gilbert said to Simon. “I wanna go home.”
“Soon,” Simon said. “Very soon.”
“Gilbert!” I shouted. “Please! I’m right next to you. Run! I’m telling you to run—run as fast as you can!”
Fifteen feet or so into the graveyard, Simon released Gilbert’s hand. “Here we go,” he said.
“What?” Gilbert said.
“Look over there,” Simon said, pointing off into the darkness.
“It’s too dark,” Gilbert said. “I don’t see anything.”
As my brother squinted into the night, Simon took a step backward, behind him. As he did, he slipped the gun from his belt and unlatched the safety. He was going to shoot Gilbert in the back of his head. Nearby, a vortex groaned.
“Run, Gilbert! Please run!” I was still shouting at my little brother, but it wasn’t making any difference.
Suddenly a set of headlights winked into view on the horizon. It had to be the police.
Simon jerked toward the lights, stiffening.
But as quickly as the headlights had appeared, they began to glide away. It hadn’t been the police, or even a car on its way to the graveyard—just some lonely vehicle on its way down some forgotten country road. Still, Simon had to know he couldn’t shoot Gilbert just yet. Someone in that car might hear.
So with Simon momentarily distracted, I fell down right in front of Gilbert. “Now’s your chance!” I said. “Run! Run away!”
This time, Gilbert tilted his head in my direction, as if he actually heard some vague whisper.
I kept at it. “Run, Gilbert, please, run! Run and hide! This is your brother talking! Do it now!”
Gilbert looked back toward the parking lot, and the road beyond.
“Go!” I went on. “Don’t think, just do it! Go! Now, you little Nabothian cyst!”
At this, at the sound of my calling him my special nickname for him, something changed on Gilbert’s face. Even in the darkened moonlight, I saw a flicker of recognition that quickly melted into something like a decision.
He broke for the parking lot.
“That’s it!” I called after him. “Go! Run for your life!”
Simon immediately sensed the boy’s flight. He turned after him. “Gilbert? Where are you going?”
I stepped in front of him. “Leave him alone, you bastard! He’s just a little boy!”
Simon walked right through me, the same way Evelyn had in the cabin at Silver Lake. But what I felt was different than when she’d done it, that little spiderweb-like brush. Now it was like swimming in a warm ocean, and you suddenly pass through a pocket of icy water. It wasn’t as cold as the chill of the shadow creature, but it was still unnerving.
“Gilbert?” he called. “Don’t run away. Don’t you want me to take you home?”
In my astral form, I zoomed after Gilbert.
“Don’t listen to him!” I shouted. “Keep running!”
I beat Simon to the parking lot. There I saw that Gilbert had ducked down behind the old weather-beaten sign, the one Emory had found that had the name of the cemetery. Gilbert had run, yes, but only as far as the parking lot. And he’d hidden, but in the most obvious hiding place of all. What did I expect? He was only seven years old. Nearby an old ghost in a hospital gown stared past me, her face as vacant as an empty grave.
Simon would find him hiding there for sure. Gilbert had to keep running. But to where? There were no houses in sight, but the main road wasn’t too far off. There weren’t very many cars this late at night, but it was still his best chance for help.
“Run for the road!” I said to Gilbert. “Do it now, you little Nabothian cyst!”
Simon stepped around the sign. “Gilbert?” he said gently. “What are you doing? Don’t you want me to take you home?”
It was too late. Simon had found him again. Staring up at him with eyes as large as two moons, Gilbert whimpered softly.
I stared at Gilbert, feeling completely powerless to help.
And that’s when the shadow creature attacked me again.
It came at me from behind. The tentacle-like legs of the shadow creature clamped down around my head. I’d been so distracted by what was going on with Gilbert that it had caught me totally by surprise. In spite of Emory’s warnings, I’d forgotten all about it.
This time it didn’t completely cover my face. This time I could see it, could watch what was happening to me.
It was even blacker than I remembered, so much it almost hurt to look at it. But within all that darkness, I saw its eyes staring down at me—those horrible, white human eyes, greedy, but intensely intelligent. What were they doing on the underside of the creature? Now I knew for a fact they could move.
At the same time, a projection, like the stinger of a mosquito, emerged from underneath those eyes. It stretched out and around, aiming for my forehead.
The creature jammed the stinger down right into my astral skull. I expected to hear it—for it to make sucking or a gurgling sound—but it didn’t. It punctured my brain in complete silence.
I understood exactly what was happening. The point of contact was the flip side of the soul-kiss I’d shared with Emory up in the heavens. Rather than trying to join spirits with me or make me feel one with the universe, the creature was attempting to overpower me, to eliminate me, to subtract me from the world.
On some level, I was repulsed by what was happening, the fact that this alien thing was trying to violate my mind.
But I didn’t feel any pain. On the contrary, everything I had been feeling—my desperate need to help Gilbert, the frustration of not being able to do anything, even the throb in my head—suddenly disappeared, replaced by an almost soothing numbness. It was as if the creature’s stinger was releasing some kind of spiritual anesthetic, like what a mosquito injects to mask the pain of its sting. It must have done the same thing when it had attacked me before.
On one hand, I knew I wanted this horrible thing off of me, far away from me.
On the other hand, it was almost nice to finally feel relief from the all the pain and frustration.
I didn’t want Gilbert to die, but I finally realized that it was all out of my control anyway—that it had always been out of my control.
The creature began to change, to silently metamorphose into something even less substantial, like heavy smoke, like the strange incense that had brought me to the astral dimension in the first place. It was as if the body of the creature was beginning to seep, eyes and all, down through the stinger directly into the center of my astral brain.
I watched it, transfixed, amused. I took back what I said about being disgusted by it—I wasn’t now. The creature had been right to attack me. I was weak. I wasn’t strong enough to fight the shadow creature off alone. But Emory was gone now, so there wasn’t any point in fighting back at all. I shouldn’t have come to the astral dimension in the first place, and after I did, I should’ve listened when Emory said it was time to go home again. I hadn’t, and now I was paying the price. I deserved this.
The creature entered me, silently slithered its way into my soul. I could feel it slowly filling me, could feel it on the inside, in places I’d never felt anything before, in places that I didn’t think had any feeling. I didn’t want the creature to possess my soul and return to the world of humans, as it had done so many times before. I knew for a fact just how much evil this being had done, and could do again. But there was nothing I could do.
It didn’t feel bad. I didn’t feel anything, but that lack of feeling was almost a relief. What would it mean, being possessed by the creature? Would I simply cease to exist? Maybe I’d be placed safely away in some restful little corner of my mind, a peaceful island oasis, an island in my own mind.
An island. That’s where I belonged, somewhere safe and protected and predictable. That’s where I’d always belonged. I’d been wrong to ever think I could leave. I’d come home—my real home. I could finally relax at last.
But in the silence of the creature’s invasion of my soul, I suddenly heard a sound. It was quiet, like it was coming from far, far away, but somehow it penetrated even deeper into my soul than the creature’s stinger.
It was the release of the safety on a gun.
Gun? I thought.
A smoker wheezed.
Then I remembered Simon, who had no idea what was happening between the shadow creature and me, was still trying to kill Gilbert.
Gilbert.
My little brother, the one person I’d had a connection with all along, even if I hadn’t realized it.
If I gave up, if I gave into the creature and leaned back into a lazy hammock on that island in my mind, Gilbert was going to die. In order to save him, I couldn’t give into the creature—I had to somehow fight back.
I turned toward my brother. Through the clutch of the shadowy creature, I saw him lying on the ground in front of me. He was bawling his head off. I wasn’t sure how I hadn’t heard the sound of his crying before, had only heard the click of the safety.
Simon stood in front of Gilbert pointing the gun at him.
“No,” I whispered, to both Simon and to the creature on the top of my head—and now inside me as well.
The creature tightened its grip on me, like a python being threatened by the loss of its prey.
“No!” I said again, louder. This time, it was directed entirely at the creature. I reached up and touched it, the shadow of a spider-octopus that had attached itself to my head. It felt more pliable and much slicker than before, a greasy, deflated beach ball underneath a haze of smoke. But at least there was still something there for me to touch. It wasn’t too late.
Once again, I seemed to have caught the creature by surprise. It no doubt remembered the last time it had attacked me, how I had accidentally brushed its mind, but also how it had overpowered me anyway, how it would have possessed me if Emory hadn’t helped me at the last second. Still, I was alone this time, and the creature probably hadn’t considered that I might fight back this far into its metamorphosis, especially after anesthetizing me with its stinger.
It had misjudged me. I wasn’t as weak as it thought, and I was tired of living on islands.
Slowly, finger by greasy finger, I pried the thing off my face. It writhed, undulating like an eel on a hook. It made noise now, squealing with outrage. But I kept pulling it off me, felt it slipping, inch by inch, out of my soul. It had to know it was losing this battle.
The stinger was the last thing to leave my head. I felt nothing when it popped free, no pain, no physical sensation at all. But the second it was gone, I felt a brewing of all the emotions it had silenced—the isolation, the frustration, but also the determination and sense of self.
Most of all, I felt anger. I didn’t try to suppress it, to get in its way. That anger had worked for me twice before, by getting me back to the graveyard and by helping me communicate with Gilbert. It wasn’t the clarity of mind that Celestia Moonglow had talked about, or that I’d felt when I’d first arrived in the astral dimension. But in a way, I finally had my focus back.
With all my might, I threw the creature to one side. It squealed once more, then pulsated away—but awkwardly, flapping like a jellyfish, not surging like a octopus. Like it was injured somehow.
I ignored it and turned toward Simon. This time he wasn’t bothering to take Gilbert into the cemetery. This time he was going to take care of things right in the parking lot.
He raised his gun and pointed it right at Gilbert’s head.
With a scream
of outrage, I flew right at Simon.
As before, my astral body passed right through his physical one.
But this time, I took Simon’s spirit with me. Simon’s physical body fell completely limp, and his spectral body floated free. His spirit even had a silver cord billowing out of the back of his head, like plasma fuel from a leaking spaceship.
I hadn’t planned this or thought about it at all. But it made sense in retrospect. After all, I knew that spirits had some sort of a physical form in the astral dimension—Emory’s and mine did anyway. Spirits had some sort of physical aspect even when they were still attached to bodies. When I’d passed through Evelyn’s and Simon’s bodies, I’d definitely felt something. And whatever I’d felt that afternoon out at Trumble Point, it had touched something in me.
Mostly, though, I think it happened because I so desperately wanted it to. I was learning that a surprising number of impossible things were possible if you just wanted them badly enough.
Simon’s spirit body floated upright, unsteady in the astral dimension. “Huh?” he said, confused, already slipping on the greased surface of the astral dimension. “Where the hell am I?” Finally his eyes focused on me. “Where did you come from?” He didn’t even realize what had happened—that he was no longer a physical being.
“Leave my little brother alone!” I said, facing off against him like a sumo wrestler.
Simon glanced down at his hand. But he carried no gun with him into the astral dimension. He grimaced, confused and frightened.
Then the shadow creature pounced on him from behind, like a cat on a wounded mouse. It had already somehow collected itself and gathered its strength. It quickly scurried right up to his head and latched itself over Simon’s face.
“Wh—”
I held back, surprised by this development.
Simon was too disoriented to put up a fight against the creature. Effortlessly it slid its stinger into Simon’s forehead and quickly began flowing down into his brain. The shell of Simon somehow seemed to be a perfect fit for the creature, welcoming and hospitable.
Shadow Walkers Page 14
