Awakening

by Jacqueline Brown

  I closed my eyes. In the darkness of my eyelids, the last image I saw glowing was the dark outline of the inn floating against the white light.

  I wondered about the lights I thought I had seen the previous week, wondered what could have caused them. Obviously, not ghosts. Since ghosts didn’t need lights, it must have been either nothing or a reflection of the moonlight.

  I yawned.

  After a few more minutes of my lying in the sun, Jackson barked again. I sat up. The front of his body was lowered, his nose almost touching a crab, his vigorously wagging tail shaking his whole backside. My stomach growled. I checked my watch. Dinner would be ready soon. I yawned and slowly stood, gathering the old blanket around my shoulders.

  “Time for us to go,” I called to Jackson as I started to move toward the trail.

  When I reached the trailhead, I hesitated. Instead of entering the trail, I went toward the inn. I didn’t know what I was looking for—nothing really—maybe something outside of the inn would explain the lights.

  I kept my distance, the smell of putrid sulfur making me gag. I took a timid step closer. I was as close as I’d been when Luca ran up behind us. Jackson barked. I clutched the blanket around me. I spun around, body trembling. He was staring at the ground, his tail wagging. He was barking at a crab.

  I turned to the inn, and fear washed over me. Fear that wasn’t there a moment ago. I stared into the windows, the glass crusted with decades of dirt and thick salt air. One window, the one directly in front of me, caught my attention. I kept my gaze steady, though I wanted to run. The glass was smeared—wiped, not clean, but cleaner so someone could peer out.

  I backed up, first slowly and then quicker, until I reached the trail. My heart was beating fast as I called for Jackson. I didn’t wait for him; he’d catch up. In a few seconds, he did.

  Halfway up the trail, I stopped running and put my hands on my hips, breathing deeply, angry at myself. What was wrong with me? Terrified of a building because an old woman spoke of ghost stories?

  “Aargh,” I groaned in frustration. Now I understood why my dad was so mad at Gigi. She’d made him afraid, and now, me, afraid of the inn. His reason for not destroying it had nothing to do with his belief it was going to fall down any minute and everything to do with being too afraid to go near it. And by the off chance she happened to be right, too afraid to send anyone else near it.

  It wasn’t fair to him or to me, what she’d done to us—we behaved like scared children. The question I didn’t know the answer to was—why was Luca buying into it all? And why did he pass out? That part I’d witnessed for myself and could not doubt.

  A quiet voice inside my head whispered: What about the incident in the church? I thought about the day before, of Luca in church. Maybe he knew my beliefs. Maybe he knew I believed Jesus was present in the Eucharist. Maybe he was messing with me, trying to convince me he could sense that presence too.

  Yes, I decided that must be it. Though, why he’d be so interested in lying to me or deceiving me, I had no idea. Gigi was old and confused, or maybe age had nothing to do with it. Whatever the reason, she was wrong. Perhaps her mind—filled with ghost stories by her own mother—could no longer tell the difference between fact and fiction.

  I glanced down the trail toward Luca’s house. The path was empty.

  I continued to my yard. The chickens clucked loudly when they noticed Jackson. We both ignored them and went up the hill. The yard was deserted. Jackson and I went into the house.

  “Did you enjoy your walk?” Dad asked when I entered the kitchen. The smell of sautéing onions permeated the air.

  Avi and Lisieux were there, so I simply said, “It was okay.” I did not want to sound scared of an abandoned building. “When will dinner be ready?” I asked, though I already knew the answer to the question—much later than any of us hoped. This was the downside of Dad cooking. He was a great cook, but slow.

  Dad looked at the oven. It was still preheating. “About an hour,” he said.

  Lisieux and I exchanged a look. Avi would be a nightmare if we didn’t get her fed soon.

  “I’m going upstairs to change,” I said, hoping to avoid the coming meltdown. My baby sister was amazing, but she needed to be fed on time, or she became awful.

  I turned on my bedroom light and went into the bathroom. I brushed my hair and decided to take a shower. The heat from the scorching water felt so good, I didn’t want to get out. After a few minutes of feeling bad for wasting water, I turned it off and dried off. I pulled on some flannel pajama pants and a sweatshirt. My hair was soaking wet and a mess, I didn’t care. It was easier to brush when it was dry, so after I showered it often hung in tangled clumps.

  I opened the bathroom door. I heard Avi screaming below. She seemed to be happy, but the screaming meant she hadn’t been fed. I turned off the bathroom lights and decided to do some schoolwork. I went to the desk, my hand on the lamp. I pulled my hand away when I realized he was there.

  Luca was in his regular spot, though instead of standing or even crouching, he was sitting with his head down. Like he was waiting for something that hadn’t started yet. I grabbed the side of my desk. Part of me wanted to confront him, to finally demand an answer to why he watched our windows. Another, larger part, wanted to pretend I noticed none of it—not the smeared window at the inn or his stalker-like behavior. Maybe Thomas was right, I thought for the first time; maybe Luca had come to church for me. If that was true, this had to stop. Like Gigi said, the best time to stop something was before it started. It was too late for that. This started weeks ago, but I could at least stop hiding in my room like a child.

  I grabbed my fuzzy boots and slipped them on when I reached the top of the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” Lisieux asked, coming up the stairs, her face glued to her book.

  The chaos that was our baby sister raged below.

  “How do you walk up the stairs while reading at the same time?” I asked.

  Lisieux shrugged. “It’s a gift,” she said.

  “Clearly,” I said. “When will dinner be ready?”

  “Dad’s been saying five minutes for the last thirty minutes. So, probably twenty minutes.”

  “Thanks,” I said, continuing down the stairs.

  “Be back in a second,” I said to no one in particular as Avi was screaming and refusing food at the same time.

  I slipped out the back door, scooting a sleeping Jackson out of the way.

  I closed the door behind me and stopped. The cool night air made me shiver after the hot shower. My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. I moved toward the trees and heard rustling. I couldn’t see him … just the vague outline of the chicken coop in front of the forest.

  “I know you’re there,” I said, keeping my voice even.

  I stood, waiting, until he emerged from the shadows.

  “What’s going on in your house?” Luca asked.

  Even from out here, we could hear Avi.

  “She doesn’t do well when she’s not fed on time,” I said.

  “Yeah, I guess not,” he said, sounding worried for her.

  “I answered your question, now you answer mine. Why are you here?” I said, crossing my arms.

  His shoulders fell. “I told you it’s better you not know.”

  “I accepted that answer before. I’m not going to accept it again,” I said, demanding the truth.

  “It’s complicated,” he said.

  “Are you watching my sisters and me?” I said, feeling disgusted at the thought.

  “No, and you know I’m not. Otherwise you wouldn’t be out here—at least I hope you wouldn’t. I hope you have at least enough survival instincts to not confront some strange prowler, alone in the dark woods,” he said, though he was implying he didn’t think I had much in the way of survival instincts.

  “You don’t think I can take care of myself?” I said.

  “I think you have lots of great qualities, but self-preservation isn’t o
ne of them, or isn’t one of your stronger gifts,” he said.

  “I have enough sense to realize when someone is watching my house,” I said.

  He took a step back. “You won’t believe me,” he said.

  “Try me.”

  He hesitated. “If I tell you, you’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “Luca, you told me you can feel evil, and then at church, that you can feel good. Why did you show up there?”

  “You saw me?”

  “Of course I saw you. You weren’t invisible. I assume you came because you wanted to feel whatever you felt before,” I said, speaking fast and angrily.

  He nodded cautiously. “You ate it,” he said, confused.

  “Ate what?” I said, eyebrows drawn together.

  “The round white things with the presence in it,” he said.

  “Communion? Yes, that’s kind of the point,” I said, still irritated.

  “Almost everyone did. Not the little kids and not Thomas. Does the one on the altar not eat the presence?” Luca asked with sincere interest.

  I took a breath. The irritation was fading. His tone was so endearing it made it difficult to stay mad at him. “The kids younger than Avi aren’t old enough, but the altar servers always receive. I’m sure Thomas did.”

  “No,” Luca said. “I was watching him closest of all. He didn’t consume the presence.”

  “Why were you watching him?” I said, and then shook my head. “No! I came out here for an answer. An answer to a specific question. Tell me the actual reason you watch my house, or I’m telling my dad.”

  He said nothing. He only stared through me, to my house.

  “I’ll tell you,” he said. “But first I need you to answer a question. Then if you want to tell your dad, you can. Though, maybe you should tell Gigi first. She’ll at least somewhat understand, I hope.”

  All I could think to say was Gigi wasn’t exactly a great example of normalcy, so I didn’t answer.

  “What does your family do every night about this time, except not Saturday night and not tonight?” he asked.

  A fresh Avi shriek came from the house.

  “Typically, we are finishing dinner,” I answered.

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know. Different things, depends on the night, I guess.”

  He shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. Something happens in there,” he said, pointing to my dad’s office. “Every night at about this time. It lasts for maybe half an hour and then it’s done.”

  “In there?” I said, following the direction of his finger.

  “Yes,” he said. “What is that room?”

  “My dad’s office,” I said. “And—”

  “And what?” he said with anticipation.

  “After dinner each night, he goes in there and prays. Sometimes I go with him, usually not. Gigi and Avi are usually there, though, and sometimes Lisieux.”

  “Prayer?” he said, stepping back and leaning against a tree. He stared past me with a look of disbelief.

  “I answered your question, now answer mine. Why do you come here every night and stare at my house?”

  His look was far off. He blinked and focused on me, his gaze so intense it frightened me. “I’m looking for my mom.”

  Eighteen

  Afraid he had lost his mind, I said, slowly, “Luca, your mom is dead.”

  My dad had said Luca’s mom suffered from mental illness. Maybe Luca did too. I felt sorry for him and suddenly afraid of being outside alone with him.

  “Yeah, she is,” he said solemnly.

  I felt better that he didn’t deny that truth. “She died in Florida,” I said. “This is Maine. She isn’t buried here.” Her body wasn’t here; it was over a thousand miles away.

  “I’m not looking for her grave.” He paused, his eyes searching mine as if hoping I understood something I didn’t. “I’m looking for her,” he said cautiously, aware of how ludicrous he sounded.

  All I could do was stare and try not to show fear.

  “I know it sounds crazy,” he said, moving toward me, his voice pleading with me to believe him.

  I drew back. “Maybe I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me,” I said, forcing my voice to remain calm.

  It wasn’t his fault his mom had died suddenly. Of course his mind was messed up. Mine was too, after my mom died. Yet, as time went by, I got better. Maybe he would too.

  He slumped against the tree, looking as if he wanted to say something, then lowered his head. I stepped back. Dad expected me in the house, and I couldn’t force Luca to tell me what he was thinking. A big part of me didn’t want to. I was no good at pretending. Once I was sure he was insane, I wouldn’t be able to pretend otherwise.

  He said nothing, so I slowly turned to walk away. I heard him sink to the ground and turned to face him. He buried his head in his arms, his legs pulled in tight. He looked so small, so alone in the shadows.

  I turned to my house and then back to Luca. My heart was breaking for him. Even the insane deserved someone to listen to them.

  “Luca, I can’t stay out here long. My dad expects me back in a few minutes for dinner. But if you want to tell me about your mom, I promise I’ll listen.”

  He didn’t raise his head; I wasn’t sure he’d heard me.

  After several seconds, in a muffled voice, he asked, “Was your mom good?”

  I paused. It was an odd question. “Yes, she was very good,” I answered.

  He raised his head, leaning it against the tree. “Mine wasn’t.”

  “Luca, don’t say that.” I recalled what he’d said about her at the pond, about how her presence made him sick. “She loved you, I know she did. Sam told us.”

  “She did love me, but she wasn’t good. But she wasn’t evil, not fully. I have to believe that, and that’s why I sit here every night and watch for her.”

  His words were convoluted and his voice sounded like he was about to cry. He believed what he was saying, he believed he was telling the truth, yet no part of this conversation made the slightest bit of sense.

  “What does your mom being good or evil have to do with you sitting here every night?” I asked, trying to be as patient as I could.

  He stared up at me, then at my house, and back at me. I knelt in the damp earth. Luca was a good person. I was sure of that. And he was hurting. I was sure of that as well.

  “I promise, whatever you say will stay between you and me,” I said. I didn’t like making such promises, not being able to tell my family things, though in this case it didn’t matter. Luca wasn’t healthy, in the psychological sense. I could tell my dad that, if I needed to, without telling him any specifics. That way Luca would get the help he needed, and I wouldn’t be breaking my promise.

  “You’re going to think I’m crazy,” he cautioned.

  “No, I won’t,” I lied.

  A smile of sadness crossed his face. “You already do, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

  He watched me for a long while and then took a deep breath in and exhaled. “I’d been in Maine for a week, maybe less. It was late, but it was still light. Uncle Jace asked me if I’d mind bringing you all some firewood he chopped earlier in the week. He said it was one of the ways he helped your family and he’d appreciate it if I helped him with it. I loaded the wheelbarrow and brought it up here. I got to this spot when I noticed a man.”

  “A man?”

  He nodded. “I thought it was your dad, then realized it wasn’t. So I figured he was some other relative or friend or someone. He was old and stooped over. I assumed he was your grandpa or something.”

  “Both my grandfathers are dead,” I said, feeling a chill surround me.

  “Yeah, I found that out later,” he said. “I didn’t know it that night, so I ignored him. I unloaded the wheelbarrow and when I turned around, he was gone. I figured he went into the kitchen or something. I was getting ready to leave when a young girl came walking across the yard. I assumed it was
Avi, but it was about to get dark and I wasn’t sure who the old man was, so I didn’t feel right about leaving her outside by herself. I decided to ask her if you all knew she was outside. When I got a little closer, I realized it wasn’t Avi. I thought maybe you had family visiting and this was a cousin or something. I didn’t want to scare her, so I stepped back and watched to make sure she got in the house okay.”

  “Did she go in the house?” I asked, feeling afraid of a child, though a child who didn’t belong to us. We had no family visit us this year, let alone this month.

  His posture relaxed as mine tensed. “No, she went to the side of your house, leaned against the wall like she was listening through the stone, stood back, clapped, and disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” I said, feeling the deepening darkness around me.

  “Yes.”

  “People don’t disappear,” I said.

  “No, people don’t,” he said, pronouncing the word “people” in a way that made me pause.

  “What are you saying?” I asked, trying and failing to keep my voice from trembling.

  Luca stood, as I remained kneeling on the earth. He held out his hand for me. I cautiously placed my fingers into the palm of his hand. He helped me stand, our bodies were inches apart. The closeness seemed to make him uneasy. He released my hand, angling his body away from mine.

  “It took me a long time to figure it out,” he said. “I’m still not sure, but after seeing so many, I’ve had to accept it.”

  “What have you accepted and what do you mean, so many?” I said, starting to feel concerned he wasn’t crazy but purposefully messing with me.

  “Every night at this time, when your family is praying, a stream of ghosts come up to your house, go to the wall of your dad’s office, wait, or maybe listen for a few seconds, and then disappear.”

  I heard the sincerity in his words. He wasn’t messing with me. My mind and body became rigid. “You’re insane,” I said, starting toward the hill to my house.