by Ann Swann
***
Sunlight warming her face woke her. It was full daylight and she had actually slept undisturbed. Beth stretched and tried to stand. Her back was in kinks and her neck was so stiff it popped when she straightened it. I’ll pay for sleeping in that chair, she thought, heading toward the shower.
The light on her phone had changed from red to green so she plucked it from the charger as she walked by. No calls, the screen said, but she flipped to the address book and started to scroll down the list. She thought she should at least try to call Cindy and let her know she had made it to the cabin. With her thumb, she sent the cursor flying down the list. It scrolled past Cindy and stopped on Dad.
She started over. The same thing happened. She couldn’t get it to stop on Cindy. It would just go straight to Dad. She tried to land the cursor on Abby’s phone number. Same thing happened. It went straight to Dad.
Beth was getting angry. “Now my phone’s going to fall apart,” she declared pessimistically. She pushed the scroll-down arrow and held her thumb on it. The little cursor flew up and down the list of contacts over and over again until she finally took her thumb away. It landed squarely on Dad, again.
She gave up, touched OFF, and vowed to try again after her shower. Guess I should take his number out of my contact list. She shoved that idea aside and thought; maybe it will help if I just take the phone outside. But deep down she knew that wouldn’t make a difference like it sometimes did with signal reception. Getting a signal had nothing to do with numbers already stored in her contact list.
Sighing, she turned on the shower and let it warm up while she brushed the knots from her hair. Hope the water works as well on my knotted muscles, she thought.
She unwrapped a new bar of Dove bath soap, unpacked her shampoo and conditioner, and then went in search of towels and washcloths.
As usual, her dad had left them, neatly folded, in the skinny metal cabinet they’d installed beside the shower so many years earlier. Like the bed linens, everything was folded and tucked inside spare pillowcases, which were easier to wash and kept their contents fresh and dust free.
At last she stepped into the shower. The warm water was amazing. She could feel the kinks and knots loosening up in her neck and spine. Soaping away all of yesterday’s grime and depression, she immediately began to feel better, calmer, more like herself than she had in quite a while. “Knew I would feel better at Stutter Creek,” she murmured, rinsing.
Wrapping a towel around her hair, and another around her body, Beth began to hum a meaningless tune. She dressed quickly and combed her shoulder length hair. For once, she didn’t mind the tiny streaks of gray showing through her bangs. She hadn’t thought about getting it colored to cover them like she usually did; she hadn’t had time to think about a lot of things lately.
Oh well, she decided, I only kept it colored for Sam anyway. Might as well begin to act my age, got no one to impress anymore. Not that coloring it had done any good. He’d left her for someone barely out of her twenties. She gritted her teeth and fought away the ridiculous tears.
“I will not shed another tear on that worthless excuse of a man,” she scolded herself. “He can’t throw me away, he’s the trash not me.” By now she was whispering, trying to bolster her own flagging self-image and fight off the tears at the same time. Gazing into the medicine cabinet mirror, her eyes appeared almost blank, so tired and empty. Her good feeling was slipping away—
A tiny beep interrupted her thoughts. She glanced at the phone suspiciously.
A signal, now? Who could be calling? Oh, probably Cindy. I’ll bet she’s worried sick because I haven’t checked in.
Apology on her lips, she picked up the phone. But it wasn’t an incoming call. It was a text. Now why didn’t I think of that, she wondered. Sometimes a text will go through when a call won’t.
THAT’S MY GIRL, the text read.
Beth stared at the message.
The info line read: Dad. There was no accompanying number.
She laid the phone down and stepped away from it as if it had suddenly grown fangs. The room swayed; colored lights darted about her face, visible only in her periphery. She felt her consciousness trying to slip away, then remembered her first aid training from school: head between knees, head between knees, head be—
She slid down to the floor and hung her head between her knees, hands on the back of her neck. It worked. After a minute or two the grayness began to abate. Remembering to breathe helped, too.
She looked at the silent phone.
It beeped again and she picked it up gingerly.
YES, the new text said, IT’S ME, DAD. AND YOU HAVE WASTED TOO MANY TEARS ON SAM ALREADY.
Beth put the phone down again. She didn’t feel like she’d lost her mind . . . could someone be playing a joke? Cindy? Abby? Dalton? They were the only ones who knew where she was. She thought and thought but couldn’t come up with any reason not to believe. There was his smell, too. Beth knew she hadn’t been imagining that. Finally, she picked up the phone. “Dad?” she texted.
YES, IT REALLY IS ME. SORRY I SCARED YOU.
Beth closed her eyes and chewed her bottom lip anxiously. Anything’s possible; men have walked on the moon, sent cameras into human bodies, transplanted entire faces and hands; but still, texting with the spirit of her father? How could it be?
“I can’t believe this,” she said aloud as she texted. “Can we really communicate this way? How did you find out?” She opened her eyes to slits as if that would help her zero in on reality. Questions were popping up in her mind like bubbles in boiling water.
He replied: I WAS WATCHING WHEN YOU WERE TRYING TO DECIDE WHETHER TO TAKE MY NAME OUT OF YOUR CELL PHONE.
“So that’s why it kept going to your name and no one else’s?”
YES.
“Oh Dad, I can’t believe you’re still with me!” Tears coursed down her face, unheeded. “I wasn’t going to take you out—never. But I couldn’t stand the thought of dialing you by mistake. Just thinking about the phone ringing in that empty house made me so damn sad . . . ”
WISH I COULD HUG YOU, he said.
Sobs burst forth like soda from a shaken can. “Me too,” she sputtered.
DON’T KNOW HOW LONG I’LL BE HERE. HAVE TO MOVE ON SOON.
“What’s it like, where you are?” Beth blurted. “Where are you, exactly?”
LOL, he wrote, IT’S DIFFICULT TO SAY . . . I THINK I’M IN TRANSIT.
“Heaven?” Beth had to ask.
SOON, he replied. BUT YOU NEED ME NOW.
“I do,” she cried. “But I always will.” All of a sudden, she realized she wasn’t texting anymore, just speaking aloud. “I don’t even have to type the letters, do I?”
NO, he texted. I CAN HEAR YOU JUST FINE, BUT I HAVE TO TEXT. BE EASY ON YOURSELF. TIME REALLY DOES HEAL. I’M ALL RIGHT NOW AND WE’LL BE TOGETHER AGAIN SOMEDAY. SOON, I’LL SEE YOUR MOM. I CAN HARDLY WAIT. SHE WAS JUST A GIRL.
Beth gave up. She couldn’t respond to that. Thinking of her parents together after all this time made her so happy, and yet so extremely sad, it was like she had ridden a roller coaster right into the middle of a time warp.
TAKE CARE, he wrote. I’LL BE AROUND.
That reminded Beth of something. “Dad,” she called to the seemingly empty room. “Are you still here?”
The phone beeped in her hand. YES.
“Can you, ya know, see me?”
YES.
“All the time?”
ONLY WHEN YOU REALLY, REALLY NEED ME. THAT MAKES ME . . . FOCUS.
Beth noticed the small flashes of light in her peripheral vision. “Is that you?”
YES, he replied.
Beth stopped and thought. “In the car, on the way here, were you with me?”
YES. YOU WERE VERY UPSET.
Nodding, Beth said, “I thought I sensed you.” She hesitated, but had to ask. “Did you see a little boy?”
He sent back a row of question marks.
�
�Guess not,” she said. “Can you see any other people?”
NO. JUST YOU. BUT I FELT SOMETHING . . . DARK. GLAD I CONVINCED YOU TO DRIVE ON. BE CAREFUL!
Beth flashed back to her decision to speed away from the boy. “I’ll be careful,” she said. “I promise.”
I’M NODDING, he wrote.
“By the way . . . when did you get so good at texting? And how are you doing it?” Her voice was jovial. She couldn’t help it. She felt so much lighter now. So much more hopeful. In the back of her mind, however, she was recalling some of the stories from the grief group. Could this be a major hallucination like the woman who kept seeing her son every night?
NOT SURE WHY I CAN TEXT, he replied. I JUST THINK IT, AND THERE IT IS! ELECTRICAL ENERGY, I SUPPOSE.
Beth was quiet. All the films she’d seen about people with mental illnesses began to flutter through her head as if on an old-fashioned movie reel: One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest; Girl, Interrupted; Ordinary People; A Beautiful Mind. Was it possible she was so disconnected from reality that she didn’t even know it? First the shadows, then the little boy, now this? Had she suffered a split from reality? Had she?
The phone beeped.
A question mark stood alone on the text line.
“Sorry, Dad,” she said, still wondering if she was actually talking to herself. “Electrical energy, huh? I guess that’s as good an explanation as any. But Dad, am I going to lose you all over again?” She bit her lip, hating herself for even asking, wondering if losing him again might, in fact, herald her complete mental breakdown.
I WILL GO, he said. BUT YOU WON’T BE SAD. YOU WANT ME TO BE WITH MOM. I PROMISE I WON’T GO UNTIL THIS DARKNESS HAS PASSED. UNTIL YOU DON’T NEED ME ANYMORE.
Beth sighed. “You may wish you hadn’t said that.”
LOVE YOU, he wrote.
“You, too, Dad,” she said. Then she added their old father-daughter mantra, “Always and forever.” She started to touch OFF again, but thought of something else. “Just one more thing,” she called.
YES?
“Why can you hear me talking, but I have to see your texts? Why can’t we just converse, you know . . . somewhat normally?” She bit her lip, wondering if that question was the one that would unravel the fantasy and force her sick mind to realize she wasn’t really talking to the spirit of her dead father.
I’M SORRY. I DON’T KNOW ALL THE ANSWERS. I JUST KNOW THAT I CAN HEAR, BUT I CAN’T SPEAK. MAYBE IT’S LIKE THE SKELETON SAID WHEN ASKED WHY HE DIDN’T GO TO THE PROM: I CAN’T GO, I DON’T HAVE NOBODY! LOL
Beth laughed at the old joke. Even in death, he still tried to keep things light. Could it be real? She pondered the situation for several minutes, her mind on autopilot.
“Love you,” she whispered, just in case it wasn’t a complete hallucination. Finally, she remembered she wanted to go out and check for tracks around the cabin.
The day had dawned cool and overcast. Spears of sunlight shot through the clouds here and there, illuminating the serene surroundings. If there is a heaven, she thought. I hope it looks, and smells, just like this.
She walked around the entire cabin. Sure enough, around back, beneath the tall, narrow, bedroom window, just off the wide porch, huge paw prints led straight up the mountain.
She followed the tracks with her eyes until they became invisible in the leafy ground cover. Might follow those later, she thought. They don’t look like bear tracks. Definitely not raccoon. Had wolves been reintroduced into the National Forest? She couldn’t remember reading about it if they had. That was only Alaska, maybe Montana . . . surely not New Mexico.
“Maybe I shouldn’t follow them until I talk to someone in town. Have to be careful now that I’m on my own.” She thought briefly of the conversation she’d had with her Dad on the cell phone.
Maybe I’m not completely alone after all. Could it be?
She wandered back inside to straighten up the kitchen.
Her mind was so preoccupied; she never saw the human tracks near the creek.
From the forest, a pair of amber eyes watched the cabin intently.
Chapter Twelve
Beth had cleaned every inch of the tiny cabin, and now she was holding her cell phone up in front of her face as she walked around the dappled perimeter of the clearing, hoping for a signal. She felt as if she were trying to contact the mother ship. In fact, she was trying to contact Cindy.
Finally, she gave up and started back inside with a sigh. Have to drive down the mountain and see if that helps. Need to visit Stutter Creek anyway. See if the little drugstore is still there.
All of a sudden, she remembered she was going to try texting. Even if it doesn’t go through right away, it might go through as soon as a signal is available. At least that’s the way she assumed it worked. Only thing to do is try.
She sent Cindy a quick note that said: Arrived safely. No signal. Will try to call later. She also sent the same message to Abby.
Taking even that small bit of action made her feel more connected. Now she could concentrate on other things.
As she walked back to the cabin, she heard a crashing sound coming from the trees.
Something was coming.
She cleared the porch in two leaps and dashed inside the cabin. She whirled about, slammed the heavy wooden door and grabbed the thick crossbar, sliding it across the doorway, jamming it home inside the square iron hook on each side. As far as she could remember, it was the first time the crossbar had ever been put to use except as a curiosity.
Suddenly, she was glad for the extra protection.
Standing rock-still in the middle of the cabin, breath coming in ragged gasps; Beth listened hard for the creature that was making all the noise. Bear? Mountain lion? Wolf?
Nothing. The woods were silent. She didn’t hear even a bird; in fact, the only thing she could hear now was the pounding of her heart and the rasp of air in and out of her nostrils.
She swiped her hair away from her forehead wondering if she had just imagined how loud the sound had been. Then she remembered something else: “Dad,” she whispered, “you still here?” She glanced down at the silent phone in her hand. When it beeped, she almost threw it against the wall.
STILL HERE, the message read.
Beth exhaled shakily. “Do you know if someone or something is near the cabin?”
Several seconds went by. Then a minute. Then two. Beth was about to speak again when the phone beeped.
THERE WAS MOVEMENT OF SOME KIND. GONE NOW.
She felt the flesh on the backs of her arms prickle at the thought of someone, or something, watching her. Had someone had been staying in the cabin while it was empty? It had never happened before, but she’d heard of it happening to others. Then she remembered the paw prints.
“I’m scared,” she said. “I’ve never been scared here, not even as a child. Dad, you don’t think it was a bear or a wolf, do you?”
NOTHING LIKE THAT. A DEER MAYBE. AM I SCARING YOU?
“No,” she insisted. “Well, maybe at first, but not now. I just hope you’ll be with me awhile. It doesn’t even seem strange anymore. I guess I always knew there was more to this afterlife stuff than people let on . . .”
LOL
“Do you feel the same as when you were . . .”
ALIVE?
“Yes.”
NOT AT ALL. NO PAIN, NO SORROW. NOW I JUST . . . AM.
Beth thought about that for a moment. She was so thankful he was out of pain. She felt the survivor’s guilt begin to fade. Then she thought of something more: “Hey, how do you know if someone else was around the cabin—didn’t you say you could only see me?”
YES, BUT CAN SEE A STREAK OF ENERGY IF SOMETHING’S MOVING.
“Oh,” she replied. “I understand, I guess.” She caught a tiny flash of light when she glanced up from the phone. “I see you,” she said, and then she hesitated. “But I always thought spirits appeared as orbs or ghosts . . .”
THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS WE DIDN’T
KNOW. I’M STILL LEARNING.
“I can’t believe I’m talking to you!” Beth felt like a child who has just learned that people really can flap their arms and fly, like that Ray Bradbury story she’d once read.
ME EITHER. BUT WE ALWAYS HAD A SPECIAL CONNECTION. DO YOU REMEMBER GRAN’S “VISITS?”
Beth nodded. “She’s been on my mind a lot lately.”
I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE HER AND YOUR MOM. I’VE GOT TO MOVE ON SOON. MY ENERGY IS BECOMING . . . SCATTERED. HARDER TO FOCUS.
Beth felt the guilt rush back. “Of course, Dad, you go. I’m fine, really.” And oddly enough, she was fine, or at least much better. Just knowing her father hadn’t completely ceased to exist made her feel so much more hopeful. It was confirmation, just like he’d promised when she was a little girl.
***
John and Turk were taking their usual daily stroll, still getting used to the lay of the land, when Turk decided to dash on ahead. Something had piqued his interest. It looked as if he was headed toward the Brannock’s old cabin. John let him run. He was certain no one was staying there.
But when he saw the vehicle in the driveway, he was shocked.
Guess I was wrong.
He stared at the cabin through the trees. From this distance, he couldn’t tell much about it. He called Turk back to his side and proceeded to move in for a closer look.
It was around noon, the time most people went indoors to have lunch. He eased his way down to the edge of the clearing. The pine needles were thick beneath the massive trees. It made the going slippery; but that’s why he wore lug-soled boots. Checking his field glasses—the small set that he always carried in one of the deep pockets of his camouflage jacket—John scanned the area around the cabin.
A classic Camaro was parked on the circle drive squarely in front of the cabin door. He could see a few footprints going to and from the car to the front door and back to the car again. Carrying in supplies, he thought. He could also discern places where the thick carpet of pine needles had been disturbed in a circular pattern. It appeared that someone, a woman by the size of the footprints, had stood and turned around and around in a circle. Doubt if she was dancing, John thought. Wonder what made her do that?
