by Sam Schenk
Greg followed Donny’s gaze to the door. One side was open now, and a shapeless spirit appeared. One tendril reached to the shoulder of the red-eyed man, another rose towards Donny. It looked like it wanted to speak, but the old man’s cane slashed resolutely in front of it. The words didn’t come.
Donny took a step forward. The atmosphere moved between himself and the shapeless spirit, twisting and forming, energy drawing closer together. The red-eyed man stepped between them, and another wave of clouds rolled through. Donny fell to one knee against a force as strong as a hurricane.
Greg tried to force himself forward against it. There was no way that Donny could engage an angry spirit, could he?
The ghost rose to block Donny’s path, a trenchcoat floating in the stagnant atmosphere. “I’ll prove my strength to him.”
“Get out of my way,” Donny commanded. “That’s my gran over there.”
The ghost was clearly uncomfortable at being caught between the red-eyed man, the spirit, and Donny. He hovered for a minute, indecisive, then sprang into action. With a howl, he threw his head back, and the energy around him began to shiver to life.
Donny threw an arm over his head as the cloud came towards him. As Greg was working out the best way to use the energy he had gathered, he detected a spirit racing in from behind him. Lipman, energy gathered around him, bowled his fellow ghost over, sending them both spiralling towards the red-eyed man and the formless spirit.
“Don’t touch her!” Donny strode towards them, arm outstretched.
A light erupted from Donny’s arm. The spirit pushed the red-eyed man’s hand aside, tendril raised. It drew the light into itself, then sliced the connection downward like a whip. The offending ghost was sliced through, as was Lipman. Lipman grabbed the ghost’s hand, eyes wide as he began to dissolve from the damage outward.
Robert rushed past to retrieve his comrade, but the last particles of Lipman slipped through his fingers. He spared a glance back at Donny and Greg, then retreated to the upper graveyard, calling for all to follow.
The formless spirit slowly withdrew into itself behind the red-eyed man.
Donny didn’t even react to the two ghosts that had just disappeared. He stepped through them, scattering the remains into the atmosphere, and reached towards the spirit. “It is you, isn’t it?”
The red-eyed man turned, smiling as he reached for the formless spirit again, and led her away from the door. As they departed, the door began to appear less solid again, its material wisping away into the veil.
“No! Gran, don’t go!” Donny cried.
The spirit paused a moment, turning back as the door closed. At the encouragement of the red-eyed man, she continued forward. They both faded into the background, and the last remnants of the door crashed to the ground.
Donny collapsed to his knees, sobbing.
“Donny!” Greg angrily thrust the energy he had gathered to disperse the last remains of the force that held him back. Greg wasn’t sure if he was still in his body or out of it. He flung himself towards Donny’s crumpled form. He lifted the bassist’s face, searching for any sign of escaping energy.
Donny’s cheeks were covered with tears, and he was still, but there was breath coming from his lips. Greg, relieved, couldn’t help but take him into his arms.
Chapter Eight
It was well into the next day when Donny came around. He groaned and stretched on Greg’s couch and blinked around at the unfamiliar house.
Greg was sipping a cup of tea nearby and heard him rustle awake. “Want one?” he asked, holding up his cup.
Donny nodded. “Or black coffee. Much better.”
Greg fixed the drink, his senses extending out to reach for inconsistencies in the veil. “So, does that sort of thing happen to you often?”
Donny stiffened. “I…don’t know,” he said. “I mean, did you see what I saw?”
Greg passed him the cup, and Donny held it in his hand for a minute, his eyes focused somewhere on the floor past his chair. “I could have, or I could have seen something very different. That doesn’t mean that your version wasn’t true as well.”
Donny stared at him.
“Well, I could brush this off as the results of the best sex you’ve ever had, if that would make you feel better.” Greg forced a grin.
Donny smiled, back on familiar territory. “I’d be tempted to believe it, too.” He blew the steam from the drink, then took a long sip.
“Do you mind if I see your arm?” asked Greg.
“What?”
“Your arm.” Greg pointed at his right forearm.
“Sure…but why?”
“Let’s call it a fetish.”
“Well then.” Donny set his coffee down and lifted his shirt to reveal a set of abs that Greg hadn’t had a chance to appreciate thus far, followed by a thin well-formed chest and toned shoulders. When he discarded the shirt, Greg’s eyes fastened on the elaborate tattoo sleeve. Centred on his upper arm was a symbol — curved, simple, set off from the rest of the tribal design of harsh scratches and dark black lines. Veil energy, misty electrified energy, hovered about like it was attracted to it. The energy chaotically formed slivers and lines before dispersing again, just like the shadow door.
“Do you want to touch it?” Donny offered, moving closer.
Greg swallowed and shifted in his seat. “Can you tell me about it?” he asked. Every reflex threatened to make him jump away.
“It was a symbol my gran loved,” Donny said, backing off a little. He glanced at Greg’s face, but not finding any comfort, retrieved his coffee. “I got this when she died. The rest of the sleeve was later, of course, that took a couple of years to pay off. But I wanted the symbol to be central to the design. My friend did it for me.”
“Let me look at it again?”
Greg stared at the design, imprinting it in his mind. He went to his phone, and it wasn’t long before he found the symbol in an image search. “It’s a Voodoo symbol,” he said quietly.
Donny’s eyes widened.
Greg showed him the picture. There it was, embedded in metal amid pentagons and shrunken heads, candles and velvet.
“You don’t fuck with Voodoo, Donny.”
“Jesus, of course I know that! I had no idea! Gran must have been a...a Voodoo priestess!” He stood up.
“I think the word might be ‘Queen’,” Greg said, reading through an article on his phone.
“I’m fucked.” Donny looked like he believed it too.
Greg wanted to comfort him, but he was stiff. Donny’s arm was covered in the same clouds as the shadowy door, the same clouds that were in Lisa’s jar. Greg had been covered in them too. What long term effects did that have? When Donny had reached for that golden spirit, the earth shook, even in the veil. Was he responsible for the spirit waking in the first place?
“You found that pretty quickly.” Donny’s attention snapped to Greg. Suspiciously, he peered around the house. “And you…knew the ghost was there already. You weren’t surprised. You were ready to fight.”
Greg rubbed the back of his head. “I wasn’t fast enough to help. I wouldn’t know the first thing about fighting a ghost, much less tackling someone from a religion that’s nothing like anything I know.”
Donny stared at him.
“I’m a witch,” Greg explained.
“You’re…a witch?”
“Yeah. I go to the graveyard a couple of times a week. I have some crystals stashed there. That there was spare energy floating around for that spirit to grab onto might have strengthened her pull towards you.”
Donny jumped to his feet. “Wait. Does that mean that I could talk to her again, just because there were crystals around?” he demanded.
“That was a strange situation.” Greg shook his head. “That ghost has been around for a long time, doing something. It’s…sad that Lipman isn’t here to tell us anything further, but because of what you did, he’s most likely completely gone.”
Donny go
t to his feet, his hands balled, his arms tense and shaking. “If I knew where I was, I’d storm out. Call me a cab, I’m getting out of here.”
Fair enough. Greg pulled out his phone for an Uber.
The 10 minutes that the cab took to arrive was tense. They sat stiffly, not facing each other, Greg staring at his phone, trying to focus enough on the research he was doing. He probably needed to be cleansed again, after being so close in contact with whatever it was in Donny that was calling to the spirit realm — a real spirit realm, not just the veil where only ghosts waited in limbo. Maybe he could find some way to block it so that they would be on more equal footing.
Maybe this was a sort of magic that was more closely aligned to his than Lisa’s.
When it was time, Greg walked Donny to the door. “I don’t think whatever happened out there did any harm to her. She seemed powerful. She asked a favour of the gatekeeper, and he listened to her.”
Donny’s hand clenched around the doorknob. His breath came out in a gasp. “Don’t take this personally. You’re a good guy, I like you. I just…need to get back. Maybe I’ll call home, see if Mom knows anything about this.”
“You could stay, use my phone to make the phone call? Maybe I could help.”
Donny let his head fall. “Goodbye.” He sprinted from the door down the jagged pathway.
Greg watched him until he disappeared around the shrubs that formed his front perimeter. He closed the door with a sigh.
Greg couldn’t face going back to the graveyard until a few days later — that had been Lisa’s instruction anyway. He called in sick to work, and as soon as the moon disappeared from the sky, he made his way to the graveyard. He hated feeling guilt at neglecting the graveyard after the events of the other night. His goals were self-imposed. These ghosts had been around for over 100 years, most of them. They could take care of themselves. If he no longer wanted to be a part of the graveyard, then he didn’t have to be. He was living. He could walk away.
But it still weighed on him. Every time he made the conscious decision to bus or walk up via the university instead, at significant time cost, he felt it clutch at him. He supposed it was similar to grief — would he ever see Lipman again? Or was he…gone? Ridiculous, who would grieve for a ghost, passed over without his consent? Greg realised he’d grown accustomed to looking at the rights of those in the afterlife. What hope was there for the rest of the world if you couldn’t even choose there?
He didn’t hear from Donny, either, and was forced to face that he might not see him again before he left the country. He toyed with the idea of visiting, but was that his place? Who else could understand? Who else could Donny even tell? He was alone in this country of strangers, with just his bandmates. Greg sent a quick text instead.
If you need someone to talk to, I’m here. I miss you. G
Then he went to the graveyard.
The haze that had flooded the veil was gone. It looked…normal. Too normal. Everything was back to how it had been. Ghosts were doing whatever it was they did all day, even the occasional broken one. There was nothing…changed.
Greg wandered to the upper graveyard to find Robert sitting on his own grave. The chessboard was in front of him, and a single pawn was moved out of line. He looked up as Greg approached, and straightened, but something must have crossed his mind because he relaxed again.
“A distant kinsman of mine recently found peace in Auckland. Our family was never one to accept…alternative…amorous pursuits. He was of your persuasion.” The edge had gone out of Robert’s voice. He sounded like a tired old man.
“He must have had a tough life.”
“He smiled through it, though it must have been hard for him. He’s the last of my direct bloodline to remain in the new world. I had thought that after he crossed, I would join my parishioners and my family on the other side, but something has kept me here. Since Lipman…disappeared, the pull has been stronger.
Maybe we were both selfish. Maybe we were waiting for some sign that one of us had the right of it, for God or his Son to touch us on the shoulder and bring us home. Now, I’m waiting alone, with the image of the devil burned in my brain.”
“Just because one religion exists doesn’t mean that others don’t,” Greg said softly. “I feel like that’s something that Lipman would say. Maybe you’ll see him there? Maybe Lipman was forced to cross over earlier than he planned, but he isn’t lost?”
“Maybe.” Robert looked wan, even for a ghost. He stood and took a look around the graveyard. “You will take care of them, won’t you?”
Greg’s stomach tightened. “I’ll try.”
Robert grimaced. “I suppose that’s all one can do. And for what it’s worth, heathen, I hope I see you both on the other side. May God have mercy on your soul.”
And he was gone. Greg was left standing in front of Robert’s mossy grave, and it was quiet. Was he…sad? This was what he wanted. With Lipman and Robert both gone, surely the other ghosts would be ready to cross over as well? The graveyard would be his, the present’s entirely, rather than belonging to the past. But there was still a niggling sense that something was missing tugging at his gut.
It was a relief to be interrupted by the vibration in his pocket. Greg fished out his phone to check the message.
I want to see you. X. Donny
Greg slung his bag over his back and flicked back a quick response.
On my way. Bringing gin.
Chapter Nine
Greg buzzed himself up to Donny’s room, paper bag in hand, and knocked on the door. It was a few seconds before it opened for him.
Donny’s hair was ruffled, and he was dressed in a sagging T-shirt and ripped jeans. The bass was on the ground, as was a laptop covered in stickers from different bands. The lights were dim, and there was a burned down candle on the ground.
Greg raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the scene, but headed to the kitchen for a couple of glasses, after dumping his bag near the door. “I had to ask for advice again, but I trust the shopkeeper,” he said. “Tall, or short?”
“Ice, please. There’s a bag in the freezer.” Donny’s voice was haggard.
Greg poured them both a drink and joined him on the ground. He set the bottle and a bucket of ice between them, then leaned back against a rugged couch, one knee against his chest, and offered his friend the glass to clink.
Donny downed his drink before Greg had finished his first sip, and the squeak of the plastic cork, the pouring of gin, and the crack of ice echoed through the space between them.
“So, what’s all this, then?” asked Greg, indicating the candle. Veil atmosphere hovered around it, disorganised, practically in its natural state. That energy, the electrons that darted around the spirit that they had seen, still hovered around it.
Donny sculled the gin again. “I was remembering the song we played at Gran’s funeral,” he said, dragging the bass towards him. He picked through a jazzy bassline, the emphasis reminiscent of a 70’s folk song, but the soul that came through was Donny’s personal touch. Greg put the gin to his lips and listened, feeling the power of Donny’s emotions through the music, even though he wasn’t hooked up to an amp.
Goddess, Greg could listen to him play all night. He almost forgot that he was meant to be paying attention. As Donny finger styled the chorus, Greg focussed on the energy around his arm. It was already active, jumping around his body, in and out of holes between the dimensions. When Donny finally slipped his fingers down the base for a finishing note, the remainder of the energy darted into the veil. Greg stared at the hole that they left.
“It’s beautiful. I’m sure your Gran can hear it, wherever she is.” Greg said neutrally.
Donny rubbed his right sleeve. “I hope so.”
“I have some of my candles if you want to burn another one,” Greg said. “I’ll leave them with you for later.”
“Are they…spelled?”
“I guess. The way I see magic, it’s everywhere, seeping out into the
world from a place I call the veil. My teacher didn’t see anything like it, but she was still able to help me make peace with what I can see. Whenever I make something, I can’t help but twist a bit in. The candles might help your message travel farther.”
“I still can’t believe that you’re still here.” Donny shook his head. “Do you think it’s because of magic that you feel that way towards me?”
“I don’t know,” Greg replied. “It might add to your...mysteriousness, I guess? It’s not your fault that you attract the veil.”
“And I killed someone.”
Greg chewed the inside of his cheek. “Lipman was one of the most in-tune ghosts in the graveyard. He was the closest that I had to a friend, and he cared about all of the people that were in the veil. But, in fairness, his time passed long ago. That trenchcoat ghost was causing more trouble than you are. I should be thanking you. I had no idea what I was going to do about it. You’re my hero, actually.” He smiled at Donny.
Donny recoiled. “How can you be so…relaxed about this? Aren’t you scared of me? I’m surprised you would even come. I would be out of your life in a couple of days, and that would be that. You could forget this ever happened. There’s no reason for you to make this your problem.”
Placing the gin down on the ground, Greg scooted over and put his hands to Donny’s cheeks. He held those black, beautiful eyes. “Witchcraft can be frightening, and Voodoo, it’s the next level. But I’ve always felt the most at home when I was around someplace where there was a person that could harness magic or a place where energy gathers naturally — like the graveyard. I’m drawn to it...like I’m drawn to you. I feel like you’re the first person that I’ve met that can see anything like what I can see. If we had more time, I would ask if we could solve it together.”
Donny’s eyes softened. He reached one hand, chilled from the ice in the drink, to remove Greg’s. “I talked to my mom last night. It was some stupid hour for her. She thought I was dying or something. In the end, she was like ‘Took you a bit of time to come to that, didn’t it? It’s ok, boy, we know people who can help.’”
