What's wrong? Wren asks. Yer body isn't moving with ye.
"Well, that's too bad." The frustration in Brittley's voice echoes in my head with a sharp intensity. "Maybe you should tell her again."
"My Lady, I said I love you!"
Come on, Myri! What'll be holding y' back? Set into yer bod!
I'm trying!
Well, they're waiting. Do I need to jump back in?
No!
Duey's face is washed in confusion.
Although I don't think he or anyone else hears me or Wren talking, it does little to calm the panic washing through me in waves. I feel too cold, too distant, too detached. I try to fill myself up with a deep-winded breath, but I can't. Not fully. It's like I'm lying in a shell that's too big.
What on God's good earth are y' doing? Y' look like corpse posing for a picture. Go on and get up!
I can't, Wren! I'm trying, but I can't. It's like I'm barely being held here by a mile-long thread. I can't feel anything.
Ye must feel something, Myri, because yer energy is there. I can see it. It's there. It's red. A strong red, just like y' always are. So if it's a thread ye feel, then use that as an anchor. Grab hold and start reeling in.
Reel it in.
Reel it in.
Duey looks at up at Soldier One, who is bending over him to get a better look. "She's supposed to wake up, ain't she?" he asks. "Do you think she's wanting another kiss?"
I wonder how long this scene can go on without me, how long Diggs will let them ad-lib.
Brittley stomps over my side, paces nervously. "She doesn't need another kiss! Obviously, the prince doesn't love her the way he thinks he does. His kiss didn't work, so he must still love me!"
Long time, looks like, if they go on this tangent.
"Not likely," Duey says curtly. "Unless you got the spell wrong?"
"I never get spells wrong. But...." Brittley pauses, as she looks fiercely at Duey. "But there was this other witch there that day when I cast the spell on Nelle. Maybe she has something to do with this. Maybe she cast a spell of her own. Maybe it's you and I that are supposed to be together."
Brittley kneels next to Duey to look down at me, letting confusion cross her face. She lets out a frustrated sigh, before lifting her eyes to his. "Kiss me, Bastian. Kiss me, instead. Don't you see? Maybe we're the ones who are meant to live happily ever after. In fact, I know we are. If it makes you feel better, we can bring Nelle with us to the castle. And if she ever wakes up, she can live there, too. She can cook and clean in the kitchen."
She leans in for kiss, whispers under her breath. "Come on, Duey, let's end it this way. Don't let her ruin the play."
I'm not going to ruin the play.
Ye will, if y' don't get up! Wren's voice fills my head. Don't let her be kissing him!
I won't! I want my life back.
Then take it. Y' got to finish the play.
I will.
Good. Then y' got to be doing it.
I'm trying! If I could just sit up, I'd take off my mask and end the play the way it's supposed to be ended.
Ye might be wanting to do more than that, Myri.
I do. I want to be in this world, with my mom, with my friends, even with Diggs in drama club and science class. I want to be with the people who believe in me, and show that, for once, I believe in them....
Suddenly it seems too quiet, and I realize people are waiting. Waiting for something to be done. For something to be said. And I don't know what that is. What that should be. I can't see anything.
I can't see anything....
Because my eyes are closed.
And I can't breathe....
Because I'm not breathing.
Yet, I need to....
Duey takes my hand, presses his palm against mine, sending a spark straight from my gut through my spine, making me gasp, filling my lungs with a quick rush of air.
"Forgive me, my Lady, I have failed," I hear Duey's words in my ear, his breath on my cheek. "It appears my heart belongs with another."
My eyes open to Duey's bewildered face. It's only a moment before Brittley trips back in a fluster. A camera flash sets me into momentary waves of blindness. The fleeting hope that Elise got a good photo for the yearbook does little to keep my mind from jumping into a panic, as it scrambles for a way to salvage what is left of the play.
"No, you haven't failed," I say, as Duey's eyes focus on mine.
"Myri?" He smiles with relief.
"No, Nelle."
The audience laughs.
"And you don't love another."
"I don't?"
"No. And I'll be taking that kiss."
Duey lets out a short breath, then takes in another. He gives his head half a shake, then lets a smile settle in his eyes before he brings his lips to mine.
This time, I do feel the kiss--in warmth that shoots all the way to my belly where butterflies burst into flight.
The audience erupts into applause and whistles. When they finally settle down, Duey pulls me to my feet, as the stage lights flash. I rip off my mask and tear off my loosely-snapped goat suit. My transformation into a normal human being is complete.
"Would you be so kind to explain what just happened, my dear Nelle?" Duey says.
I nod, grin. "T'was only a test that the other witch set. And you passed. We passed. Tell me I won't be working your kitchen?"
He laughs. "Only when you want to, and perhaps only when we want to share a biscuit with a cup of tea? As royal princess, the choice will always be yours."
With that, Duey turns to Londyn. Relief fills her face, as she jumps at the chance to finish the play. "And they all lived happily ever after."
• • •
The curtain falls, drowning out the applause. A moment later it lifts again, bringing the thunder of applause rolling back over us. My whole body tingles with excitement. I'd never imagined I'd be feeling like this on the stage....Happy. Thrilled. Relieved. Yet, not wanting it to end.
Brittley, Cam, Cass, and the rest of the crew join hands in a line with Duey and I, as we all step forward and take our bow. And then, it's just Duey and me--the two of us, stepping forward in front of everyone.
"You were great," Duey whispers, as he pulls me off with him toward the back of the stage. "But you had me worried. You and Brittley could have told me you were rewriting the play."
"Uh... that wasn't planned. I kind of fainted."
"You did? Oh, my gosh. I didn't know.... Are you okay?"
"I am now. Lucky for us, Brittley was good enough to step in and save the scene."
"She did, didn't she?"
I let out a breath, knowing I need to thank her later. Because despite everything, she deserves it. She did help out when I least expected it. And she helped without making me look bad.
Cam calls Duey over to him at the front of the stage, and he gives my arm a squeeze before telling me he has to go. "But I'll see you afterwards? Maybe we can grab an ice cream at the mall?"
I give him a nod, tell him I think that might work, as Roz gives my other arm a squeeze.
"You, too, Roz?" he adds with a smile. "We can all go."
She tells him that would be fun.
All around me, the stage echoes with excited chatter. But there's one voice I desperately want to hear, and I'm not hearing it. A ball curls like a fist inside my throat at the thought that Wren may be gone. I dart quickly, moving among the curtains, the changing rooms, the hallways. I'm about to give up, when I suddenly see her silhouetted by a soft glow of white light near the exit door at stage-left. And she's not alone.
C.J.
When had he given me the sight?
The soft light grows stronger around Wren as I approach, making the knot in my throat return.
"Hey."
"Y' won't be staying mad at me now, will ye?" Wren says, giving me a worried grin.
"No, I won't be staying mad."
"This is Chet," she says, gesturing at the boy at her side.
<
br /> "--Chet?"
"Chet Johnson," he says, extending his hand before dropping it with a foolish grin. "It's C.J., for short. You can call me C.J."
I shoot Wren a bewildered look. "The one who knew Sally Mae?"
She nods vigorously, lets out a quick laugh. "Can y' believe it? He's been living at the theater almost as long as I've been living with ye. He's not quite sure, given the bump he got on his head when, you know...."
"Yeah, I know." I raise my hand to Chet-slash-C.J. and give him a slight wave. "Nice to meet you."
Wren takes C.J.'s hand, making my stomach twinge with something like homesickness. "Do ye think y' can be giving us some time alone?" Wren asks him.
As C.J. moves into the shadows, a bit of light threads its way behind him.
"I'm glad ye two got a chance to be meeting," Wren says, lifting her eyes to mine.
I clear my throat, look away. It's suddenly too hard to talk, to breathe. Because I know what's happening. I've seen it a hundred times before. Only never with her.
Wren shuffles her feet.
Finally, she says, "Seeing C.J. has been so good for us both. Somehow, we both are ready to be accepting what we lost, and we're both ready to be seeing what may be left to come--."
"That's great, but why go now? I mean, it's been three hundred years. What's a few more?"
Wren's face twists into a patchwork of sadness, mixed with hope and fear. "It's time, don't ye think? Y' won't be needing me."
"I don't know about that."
At first, she doesn't say anything.
Finally, I give a slight shrug.
"So, ye'll be knowing ye'll be okay, then?"
I give half a nod, as she reaches for my hand, wraps it in a tingling breeze of electricity. "I'll be missing ye," she says. "I'll be just like the sun, always chasing the moon."
"Me, too."
"Sometimes they end up catching one another, though. Don't y' be forgetting that."
"I'll be counting on it."
I manage to give her a smile.
I think I'm ready to watch her go, but when she moves toward C.J., I call her back, hold up my palm. She pauses barely a moment before holding her own up to mine.
This time, there's no chill. Only heat passes between our palms--faint, yet steady in its pulsing.
"Thanks, Wren."
"For what? I nearly left y' lying in the brink with a thousand yesterdays."
"No, you set me back on my own two feet, ready to live a thousand tomorrows."
"Well, I'll be feeling thankful for that, then."
"I wish I could give the same to you."
Wren smiles. "Y' have. I'll just be seeing mine in a different place."
• • •
The light fades around Wren, like a sunset being swallowed in the horizon. And then, with a flash, she's gone.
I'm alone for only an instant, before Diggs and my mother come up behind me. Diggs looks concerned, confused, but despite everything he's witnessed, appears surprisingly calm. Mom puts an arm around me, kisses a tear at the corner of my eye, then wipes a few away from her own.
"You did it, Myri," she says. "You and Wren did it. You found a way to help each other."
"I'm going to miss her, though."
Mom wraps me in her arms. "Me, too.... Me, too."
Chapter 41
Gram brings a hushing finger to her lips, shoos me off to the side of the bedroom, when I walk through the door. "We're about to witness a break-through!" she says, keeping her voice a whisper. She light-steps to the center of the room, looking back at me playfully.
Mrs. Gertestky is also there wearing her black turban, a gray paisley shawl, and white linen shirt and skirt. Her hands are cupped, held out by her side, with their palms facing upward. Her eyes, with their lids painted purple and outlined with black, are closed. And the suited ghost with the eBayed chair acknowledges her with a tip of his hat.
"What's going on?"
Gram pats the air in excitement, before taking hold of Mrs. Gertestky's hands. "We've found the train that this gentleman was waiting for when he died. The Forty-O-Seven. A steam-liner that crashed into the Potomac River before it reached his station at Harper's Ferry--can you imagine? Apparently, our client," she says, jutting her chin at the ghost, "was waiting in the station with his ticket when he suffered a heart-attack. See that stub stuck on the bottom of his shoe?" I nod, as she points at a bit of faded white paper on his heel that I hadn't noticed before.
"Took a bit of head-standing to read the writing on that, I tell you." Gram chuckles, as Mrs. Gertestky gives her a knowing wink. "Anyway, we believe our ghost's wife and child were on board the train when it went off the tracks. He'd been waiting for them. He was going to join them and travel on to the Jersey Shore." She tsks at the thought, but when she lifts her eyes to mine, they sparkle with excitement. "Do you know that if this seance works, it will be a first for actually bringing back a train?"
"Here? In your bedroom?"
I look for a place to hide, saying again, "In the bedroom?" But my cry of disbelief goes unanswered, as the floorboards start to shake.
"Oo-ooh, it's working!" Gram says. She lifts her hands slightly in question. "Should we open the door?"
Mrs. Gertestky shakes her head, continues murmuring, "The doorway we need is already opened. Prepare yourself. Keep steady. Hold hands, everyone!"
Even though the corner feels safe, less exposed than the center of the bedroom, I join Mrs. Gertestky and Gram to make a circle of three. A breeze blows through the room out of nowhere, and the blast of a train's whistle pierces the silence.
Mrs. Gertestky pulls Gram and me over toward the bed with an iron fist. "Don't let go! Stay close!"
The walls rattle violently around us. Within seconds, the gunning silhouette of a steam engine, followed by its coal car and passenger cabins, barrels into the room, passing through the doorway and over the stairs at the end of the hall.
Wheels squeal and grind, and pipes hiss and moan, as the ghost train comes to halt in front of Gram's purchased client. With the clink of metal, the door opens before him. Pausing, he smiles for the first time in weeks up at the windows reflecting darkness back at him. After a moment, he tucks his pocket-watch inside his coat pocket, and with tip of his hat and a flip of his cane, steps aboard.
Gram mmm-hmmms with knowing delight. "Well, would you look at that." She returns his wave, which comes moments later through one of the dark panes of the passenger car. A woman holding a young child stands by his side.
As the last of three whistles stretch into silence, both the train and its passengers vanish into a brilliant flash of light.
"Well, what do you think of that?" Gram asks.
I look through the open doorway--empty and looming large. "Makes me wonder, was that the end for him? Or, another beginning?"
Both Gram and I look to Mrs. Gertestky, who considers a moment. "We all have our beginnings, Myri. We are born with them, and we die with them, too. We carry them with us wherever we go. They keep our future open and unwritten... like blank pages waiting to be filled at the beginning of a journal, or those that lie waiting at the end of a book."
Gram nods. "Endings fold over into new beginnings. They keep us moving forward, reaching out, striving to make our lives better."
I consider her words, wrap my chest up in a hug. Finally, I let out a long, contented sigh, thinking how much I like that idea.
I give Gram and Mrs. Gertestky a grin. "I know how to end this seance."
They look at each other, then back at me. "How?"
"By starting a batch of Gram's lemon cookies."
Gram laughs. "I'll race you to them. Last one to the mixing bowl welcomes the next ghost that walks through the door."
If you liked The Ghost In Me, there are more stories to enjoy from the author.
• • •
Here is an excerpt from:
Disasters of a Tween-age
Half-Vampire, Half-NOT!
by
Shaunda Kennedy Wenger
MUST - DO !!!
A.S.A.P. !!!
• • •
1. Bury the hack saw.
2. Bury the buck knife.
3. Bury all red body paint.
4. Bury the scissors, the thread--wait, not yet. I need these.
5. Bury latest project--not in the yard, but DEEP in the closet.
Chapter 1. Why
It's because of the whole dead bunny thing, topped off with two rabid cats, four amputated limbs, and a dozen good-luck rabbit's-foot charms that I've taken up lying.
Okay, let's not call it LYING. Let's call it, keeping secrets. Out of necessity.
Because of the dead bunny.
Or, what they did to my costume. (There was actually no real bunny involved.)
Of course, I wasn't planning on the dead bunny look. I was supposed to be a cute bunny. A soft, furry, sweet one. The kind most people keep as pets.
But no. My parents had to go and change it. At the last minute. Like they always do.
Given my past experience, I suppose should have seen it coming.
Well, actually, I did. Which is why I planned for it. But then my parents went and mucked up that brilliant P.O.A., too. (That stands for Plan of Action).
What I'd planned on was to hold off on the bunny costume until after the annual family photo was taken. Look like myself for the picture. After all, that's what mother does. And then, when the coast was clear, I'd put the costume on, sneak out, and trick-or-treat to my heart's content.
But no. They insisted on my costume for the picture.
Until they saw it.
Then they insisted on a few improvements, i.e., cats, limbs, feet.
Which sad to say, is par for the course. The bunny was one in a long line of screw-ups.
Before the bunny, I'd suffered through being made into many other dead things on Halloween night. . . . There was year of the frog. That was really quite super--especially with the tire tracks going across my belly. And the year of the fairy (another favorite--they made me pluck my wings and carry them). Then, the queen--headless; and the doll--torn to shreds; and the girl--simply dead--(I gave up that year and let them paint me).
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