The Secret to Lying

by Todd Mitchell

  ghost44: If that’s the way you feel, I’ll go haunt someone else.

  johnnyrotten: Wait! I take it back. I like to be haunted. Really. It’s the best thing that’s happened to me all week.

  ghost44: Better than Jess coming over?

  johnnyrotten: That’s a tough one. I mean, Jess hasn’t come over yet, so I can’t exactly compare the two. She’s driving out on Tuesday.

  ghost44: You are so clueless. That was completely, one hundred percent the wrong answer. Now I have to haunt you.

  johnnyrotten: Is this when maggots start squirming out of the chicken I ate or my Curious George doll attacks me?

  ghost44: Nope. That sort of thing is the work of far lesser ghosts. Your punishment is that you have to listen to a story.

  johnnyrotten: Sounds terrifying.

  ghost44: It’s a very tragic story.

  johnnyrotten: I like tragedies.

  ghost44: Figures. Now, pay attention. . . .

  ghost44: Once upon a time, there was a little birdie who waited so long to fly south for the winter that when he finally took off, he got caught in an ice storm. He tried to keep flying, but his wings froze and he fell into a field.

  johnnyrotten: Splat!

  ghost44: Not yet. See, the little birdie was lucky — he landed in a pile of cow poo, which cushioned the impact.

  johnnyrotten: Hold on. You said *poo*! That’s the dirtiest word I’ve ever seen you write.

  ghost44: You know me: I cuss like a sailor.

  johnnyrotten: Poo-poodle-holy-poopies!

  ghost44: May I continue the story now?

  johnnyrotten: By all means.

  ghost44: Well, the cow poo was so fresh, its steamy warmth thawed the little birdie’s wings.

  johnnyrotten: Hooray for poo!

  ghost44: So it would seem. But . . . just as the little birdie started to feel good again, a cat came along, pulled him out, and ate him. Know what the moral is?

  johnnyrotten: Cats eat shitty food?

  ghost44: There are two, actually. One is that sometimes being in poo isn’t such a bad thing. And the other is that sometimes those who get you out of poo aren’t your friends.

  johnnyrotten: Are you saying Jess might eat me?

  ghost44: I’m saying maybe you don’t need to be rescued. Maybe you should be alone right now so you can figure things out.

  johnnyrotten: Funny. Mr. Funt said something similar — about descending into darkness.

  ghost44: It’s only when it’s dark out that we can see the stars shine.

  johnnyrotten: I’m still waiting for the stars to shine. I feel so blind sometimes.

  ghost44: That’s because you are.

  johnnyrotten: What do you mean?

  ghost44: I don’t know, James. Sometimes I think I must be blind too.

  I FELL ASLEEP THINKING ABOUT what ghost44 and Mr. Funt had said — about katabasis, and darkness, and finding my true name. When I woke in the city, I headed for the elevator with renewed determination.

  “About time you got back on the horse,” Nick said once I made it to the burrows.

  Kiana helped me to my feet and adjusted the scarf that covered my face. The nightclub stood empty. A deafening buzz filled the air, punctuated by the clash of metal against metal.

  “The battle’s already started,” Nick explained, leading us up a fire escape to the roof. “It’s time you choose a side.”

  Nomanchulators, too numerous to count, filled the space between buildings. Their chittering had grown so loud it made my head numb. In their midst, fighting off their attacks, stood White Blade.

  At first I thought the Nomanchulators would overwhelm him, but he used the narrow alley to his advantage, keeping them from surrounding him while he cut through their numbers. I watched from the roof, amazed. Even though White Blade was my enemy, I found myself hoping he’d beat back the deadening swarm.

  “Now’s your chance,” Nick said. “Bind him while he’s distracted.”

  “But he’s fighting them,” I replied. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “If he defeats them, he’ll become stronger.”

  “Think about it, J.T.,” Kiana added. “Once he kills the Nomanchulators, what will he do to you?”

  I felt my jaw, remembering how quickly White Blade had beaten me before. Next time, I might not be lucky enough to escape. “He’s not like the others, is he?” I asked.

  “He’s a criminal,” Nick said.

  “But not a demon?”

  “Not exactly.”

  I looked at Nick, but he didn’t say anything more. Kiana put her hand on my arm. “Only one of you can survive. You have to bind him.”

  “And if I can’t?”

  “You have to,” she repeated. “It’s the only way to win.”

  White Blade cut through the swarm, pushing toward the Nomanchulator leader — a creature who stood twice as tall as the others, with spidery limbs and a grotesque mosquito mouth. Silver cable glinted at White Blade’s side. Tools of the trade. With one hand, he whipped the cable, snapping the end around the leader’s arm.

  The huge Nomanchulator reared and shrieked. All at once, the swarm attacked, overwhelming White Blade. The cable slid through his hand, and the leader freed itself. I thought White Blade might be finished then, but his sword flashed faster than seemed possible, fending off the swarm.

  “There’s not much time,” Kiana pressed. “Come on, J.T. Prove that you’re the one.”

  “And then this will be over? I can do anything?”

  She stared at me with a fierce, almost hungry look. “Then you’ll become what you’ve always dreamed of being.”

  I drew my sword and jumped into the alley before I lost my nerve.

  The swarm surrounded me as soon as I landed. I cut down three of the Nomanchulators closest to White Blade. He shot me a wary glance. Instead of fighting him, I helped him fend off the swarm. White Blade nodded, seeming to accept our alliance. We fought side by side, pushing back the Nomanchulators.

  White Blade went after the leader again. He whipped his cable around the creature’s neck, and the huge Nomanchulator thrashed. I grabbed the cable and threw my weight against it to help him, but still we couldn’t hold the creature. The Nomanchulator fixed its dead black eyes on me, and a numbing chill filled my body. Even together, I wasn’t sure that we could defeat them. The swarm was simply too large.

  “Over there!” White Blade called, his voice muffled by the scarf that covered his face. He gestured to a nearby fire hydrant, and I guessed his plan. If we could wrap the end of the cable around the hydrant, the leader would be stuck while we picked off the rest.

  White Blade dropped his sword and grabbed the cable with both hands. He braced his feet against the curb. Together we pulled, freeing enough slack for me to wrap around the hydrant.

  “Hurry!” he gasped.

  I tied a slipknot in the slack. Then I looped the cable around White Blade’s neck and let go.

  Through the gap in the scarf that covered his face, I saw his eyes go wide. A look of shock? Betrayal? Pain?

  He clawed at the cable, tugging his scarf down. Recognition stabbed my chest. His eyes, nose, mouth, and other features were the same as mine, sure as staring in a mirror.

  Then he was gone — dragged by his neck into the swarm.

  Nomanchulators engulfed his body, eager to feed. In the center stood the leader, its long mosquito mouth poised over White Blade’s face. My face.

  “Well done!” shouted Kiana from the roof of a building overlooking the alley. “I knew you’d help us.” Her voice fractured into a cold, insectual laugh, and her eyes became the same dead black as the Nomanchulators’.

  I woke, horrified and sickened by what I’d done.

  JESS ARRIVED TUESDAY EVENING. She stood on the front steps in a black skirt and dress shoes, even though snow blanketed the ground. Her shirt was buttoned high enough to cover the Japanese characters tattooed on her chest. She kept her dark hair in a ponytail, with a few l
oose strands arranged over her cheek and eyebrow piercing. To top it off, she held a bouquet of irises between both hands like a flower girl in a wedding.

  “Here you go, Mrs. Turner,” she said, handing Moms the bouquet.

  My jaw dropped. I’d never heard Jess call anyone Mrs. — not even teachers, who she usually had perverted nicknames for.

  “Goodness, flowers in winter,” Moms said. “You are the sweetest thing.” She hustled Jess into the kitchen to get a drink of hot chocolate and warm up. Jess smiled at me as she passed, but with Moms talking up a storm, we didn’t have a moment to ourselves.

  “Now, you have to tell me, Jessica,” Moms said, “how do you get your hair to do that? It’s adorable. Do you think I could get away with it?” Moms pulled her hair back into a ponytail, letting a few strands fall onto her cheek. Her hair was longer and curlier than Jess’s, so it looked frumpy. “Or am I too old?”

  “Too old? I can’t believe you’d say that, Mrs. Turner,” Jess replied. “You look great.”

  “Please, call me Hannah. If you call me Mrs. Turner, I’ll have to check into a nursing home.”

  The two of them went back and forth like that, talking about haircuts and fondling each other’s clothes. Moms offered to give Jess the “grand tour” (which only lasted a few minutes since our house isn’t very big). She explained the “themes” she had for decorating each room, and how she planned on getting the couch re-covered and finding new curtains. I waited for Jess to roll her eyes and yawn. Instead, she kept encouraging Moms, acting interested at all the right moments.

  “You have such beautiful things,” Jess said.

  “It’s a work in progress,” Moms replied. “I keep getting ideas from magazines.”

  Dad worked in the basement until dinner was ready. “I won’t shake your hand,” he said when he finally emerged. He held up his hands to show Jess the grease stains he’d gotten from repairing a TV. That was his hobby — he had a whole wall of old TVs in the basement that he’d fixed. I don’t know why he bothered. No one ever watched them.

  We ate in the dining room. Moms had made me set the table with her “silver” and “nice” plates before Jess arrived. Jess commented on how pretty things looked, even though the dishes had been out of style for at least ten years. I figured Jess’s comment must be ironic, but Moms didn’t catch it. She lapped the praise right up and went on to describe her plans for redecorating the dining room, and what light fixtures she wanted, and how muted colors were in, rambling on and on as if changing the color of the walls would magically turn our drab house into a palace.

  “Who cares about crown moldings?” I said.

  Moms glared at me.

  “Actually, I like hearing about design,” Jess said. “I’m thinking of majoring in design.”

  “See, honey?” Moms replied. “I know what I’m saying.”

  Dad muttered something about how all the changes would cost a lot. Which got Moms talking about her business selling Avon.

  “Oh, I love Avon,” Jess cooed.

  “Me, too. It won’t be long before I’m driving a pink Caddy.”

  “That’s Mary Kay,” I said.

  “Avon gives out pink Cadillacs, too. Or is it a red one? Red’s better.”

  “Red’s my favorite color,” Jess said. “But it has to be the right shade of red. I can’t stand weak reds.”

  Moms started listing all the different shades of red that Avon carried. I kept looking at Jess, trying to share some inside joke with her, only she didn’t look back. Luckily, there wasn’t any dessert, so we were able to slip away on the pretense of getting ice cream.

  Moms raised her eyebrows. “Ice cream? In winter?”

  “Let them go,” Dad said.

  I couldn’t leave the house fast enough. Jess had borrowed her dad’s car — a green Ford with splotches of rust around the wheel wells. She offered to let me drive since I knew the town. “It’s no race car,” she said, handing me the keys.

  “I’ll be gentle.” I hopped behind the wheel, neglecting to mention that legally I wasn’t supposed to drive after dark with a learner’s permit. We went to 7-Eleven and bought a pint of Chunky Monkey, then sat in the parking lot, eating it with plastic spoons.

  “Told you I was good with parents,” Jess said.

  “Great. I hope you win a flipping Oscar.”

  “I think your mom likes me.”

  “Sorry about that,” I said, prying out a fudge nugget.

  “About what?”

  “My mom.”

  “Why? She’s nice. Your parents aren’t what I expected at all.”

  I nearly choked on the ice cream. “How so?”

  Jess shrugged. “After some of the stories you told me, I pictured your dad passed out on the couch with a case of Bud Light on his belly while your mom chain-smoked and ran a phone sex line.”

  “I wish.”

  “You’re lucky to have nice parents,” Jess said.

  “Nice is the same as boring.”

  “Believe me, I’d take boring over messed-up and missing any day.”

  I stared out the window. Jess had told me once that she hadn’t seen her mother in years. Compared to what she’d been through, my problems seemed childish.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Jess put her hand on my thigh. “So what do you do around here for fun?”

  I thought of my dreams, and how I’d betrayed White Blade. My leg jerked, shaking her hand off.

  She gave me a perplexed look.

  “Let’s go someplace,” I said.

  “We are someplace.”

  “You want to go someplace that isn’t a parking lot?”

  “Fine.” She shoved the lid back on the ice cream and tossed the pint onto the floor. “It’s your call.”

  I drove for a while on backstreets. There weren’t many cars out, and the sky had this eerie, orangish glow from the streetlights reflecting off the clouds. I headed out of town, pretending that I was leaving for good.

  “Where are we going?” Jess asked.

  “This place I know.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s just a few miles,” I said, even though I had no clue where I was heading. The road I’d turned onto didn’t have any signs, and there was nothing but cornfields on both sides. Fog swirled in the headlights, making it hard to see more than thirty feet ahead. “Just wait,” I added, trying to sound mysterious. “You’ll love it.”

  “Do you even know where you’re going?”

  “Of course.” I gripped the wheel, hoping that something would come up — some park or abandoned barn. Some place worth seeing. If I could just keep driving, things had to change and I could tear away from my past and shed my nightmares like they were all part of a lame costume I’d been wearing. Then I’d be reborn as someone different. Someone better.

  Jess slumped in her seat, putting her feet on the dash. “You’re so full of it,” she said.

  “Trust me, okay? It’s going to be great.”

  “What is?”

  “Don’t you want to get away from all this?”

  “Get away from what?” she asked.

  “From everything.”

  “From me?”

  I thought of my nightmares again. The deadening buzz of the Nomanchulators filled my head, pushing closer now. “You don’t understand,” I said. “People are after me.”

  “You’re such a liar.”

  “I’m not lying.” I pressed on the gas, and the road blurred beneath us. The stubble of cut-down cornfields on both sides sprawled into an endless gray emptiness. There had to be something more than this.

  A yellow sign with a curving black arrow emerged out of the fog.

  “Slow down!” Jess yelled.

  I turned the wheel, but it was too late — the car kept sliding forward. We slammed into the ditch and spun across the frozen mud. Snowflakes sparkled in the headlights with sudden, exquisite clarity. I don’t know if I had my foot on the b
rake or the gas, but it seemed to take a long time before we finally stopped.

  Each heartbeat shook my chest, rattling me awake. Jess stayed silent, staring straight ahead.

  “Wow,” I said, when my breathing had calmed enough to talk.

  Jess didn’t respond.

  I reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. “Are you all right?” I asked.

  She buried her face in her arms and cried.

  . . . this thing of darkness I

  Acknowledge mine.

  — THE TEMPEST, ACT 5, SCENE 1

  WE ENDED UP HAVING TO CALL a tow truck to pull her dad’s car out, but Jess had roadside assistance, so it wasn’t a big deal. Luckily the car seemed to drive okay, although it had gotten pretty muddy. Jess wouldn’t speak to me for the whole two hours it took to get the car out and drop me off. I e-mailed her a few times in the days that followed, offering to pay for anything wrong with the car. She didn’t reply. Ghost44 didn’t log on again either, so the second half of my break ended up being lonelier than the first.

  Even my dreams were lonely. I didn’t want to see the guides anymore — not after how they’d tricked me into binding White Blade. Unfortunately, I couldn’t stop dreaming. Nearly every night, I wandered the empty streets of the city alone, terrified that it was only a matter of time before the Nomanchulators caught me.

  The one good thing that happened was that I did okay on my exams. No one from the administration called after my grades were reported, so I figured I wasn’t kicked out. I couldn’t wait to return to ASMA.

  Dad drove me back to campus early Sunday afternoon. He offered to help me carry my stuff into the dorm, but I only had a backpack full of books and a laundry basket of clothes that Moms had washed and folded for me.

  “I got it,” I told Dad, slinging my backpack over my shoulder and grabbing the basket.

  Dad pulled a plastic grocery bag out of the trunk. “Your mom packed some snacks for you.”

  Through the plastic, I could see the outline of several ramen packets. “Can you put them in the basket?”

  Dad looked at the door. “You sure you can carry all this?”

  “No problem,” I said.

  He must have sensed that I wanted to be on my own, because he didn’t argue with me. Instead, he tucked the bag into the corner of the laundry basket and gave my shoulder a pat. “Stay out of trouble,” he said.