Ghosts

by David A. Robertson

  The time on her phone, the only thing her phone was good for anymore, read 7:50 pm. Cole’s grandmother and auntie were supposed to be there in ten minutes. Good. There was still time to go to their house, and convince them not to come.

  There was no reason to be at the cemetery.

  Cole wasn’t there.

  3

  WALKER

  MARK SPOTTED ANOTHER WOUNDED SKY resident heading to the woods, across the field in front of the clinic. It was the third runner this week, but most had tried a little harder not to be seen. With the reserve quarantined, people, on occasion, had made a break for it. It was just, most runners actually ran. They didn’t try to escape by walking slowly, and clumsily, in plain view of Mihko’s security force. The lights from the clinic were showering over them like a spotlight.

  Mark got on his two-way. “Cover me for a sec, okay?”

  “What’s up?” Another voice asked through Mark’s two-way.

  “You’re not gonna believe this.”

  “Try me.”

  “Some idiot’s trying to get to the woods, but they’re, like, walking. Look drunk or something.”

  “Oh my God.” There was laughter on the other end. “Alright, go get ‘em. Mihko always needs more lab rats.”

  “On it.” Mark left his post with a spring in his step.

  He caught up to the runner, slowed down, then followed behind at a comfortable distance for as long as he could, enjoying the hilariously slow pursuit. Runner. More like walker. This extremely low-speed chase continued until the shadowy, hobbling figure was at the treeline, about to enter Blackwood Forest.

  Only then, did Mark say, “Hey, buddy.”

  The walker tripped over some underbrush, landed in it, stood up, and kept on keeping on.

  Mark stifled a laugh. “What’re you deaf or something? I told you to stop, bro!”

  Undeterred, the walker didn’t stop.

  “Alright, I’m losing my patience, asshole.” Mark drew his gun, caught up to the walker, put a hand on their shoulder, and turned them around.

  “Holy shit,” Mark whispered. “What the hell are you?”

  He pulled out a flashlight and shone it at the thing. What he saw made him stumble backwards, almost tripping over bushes himself. It wasn’t human. Skin hung off bone like ratty clothing. The eyes were pale and blank. Thin, cobweb hair. He pushed the gun’s barrel right against where the thing’s heart should’ve been. The metal pushed through its rotting flesh. Mark vomited in his mouth.

  “Don’t you move,” Mark’s voice quivered. “Not one goddamn inch.”

  The creature ignored the gun and turned to keep going into the forest as though drawn there. It didn’t understand a gun; it hadn’t understood Mark’s words. There was only one thing it would understand. Mark pressed the trigger down. Pop.

  Without flinching, the creature reached out and grabbed Mark’s arm. His heart pounded.

  “Let go of me you freak!”

  “What’s going on over here?” Someone came running from Blackwood Forest—one of the guards stationed in the woods to keep people from leaving the reserve.

  “Help me!”

  Mark grunted, trying to free his arm from the thing’s grip. How could something so hideous, a corpse, just bones and flesh, be so strong? Mark could not break away. He tried to push his arm back towards it, put the gun close enough that he could clip the creature again. Slow it down. Shock the thing enough that he could free himself, and finish it off.

  Pop.

  In the spark from the gun’s barrel, Mark saw the other guard fall back, clutching his chest.

  “Shit!”

  Mark grasped the thing’s wrist as hard as he could and tried to wrench its hand away from his arm. Mark’s fingers dug into its flesh to wrap around bone.

  The creature cried out and grabbed the barrel of the gun with its free hand, bending it upwards as though the metal was tinfoil.

  The gun dropped to the ground with a hollow thud.

  It put both its hands around Mark’s neck and lifted him off the ground.

  Mark clutched at the creature’s wrists, his fingers burying themselves deep within its flesh. The black of night started to encompass everything, blotting out the glow of the northern lights.

  “Please,” Mark choked out. “Don’t.”

  The creature tilted its head to the side just as Mark’s body went limp, and let go. Mark fell to the ground. The creature stood there, facing the field, looking straight ahead, until it turned around to face the black of the forest.

  It took a step, then another.

  The creature emerged from Blackwood Forest at a large, circular clearing. There, after all of that time moving forward, always forward, it stopped. The field was lush with frosted grass, glittering like diamonds in the rising sun. It stared at the field for a long time, then looked across to the other end of the clearing where, at the edge of the woods, sat a one-room cabin constructed out of nothing more than particle board. Smoke was rising from its metal chimney, into the air, high above the treeline. Near the cabin, clothes hung from yellow twine, tied to a tree at either end. Standing in front of the twine, hanging clothes, was a teenage boy.

  The creature reached forward with one arm, as though he could touch the boy, as though he were that close. It crept out of the forest and into the field. It stalked across the field, ever closer to the boy. He was still hanging clothes on the line.

  The boy placed one last item of clothing on the yellow twine. A Bon Iver shirt. He picked up the laundry basket and walked to the cabin.

  “That’s it, right?” The teenager called out.

  “Yes, nósisim!” an older woman’s voice replied from inside the cabin.

  “Ekosi!”

  The boy ducked around the corner to the front of the dwelling. The creature followed, but the boy was gone. It stood in front of the cabin door, and was still there when the door swung open. It was face to face with the Elder. She gasped. Her eyes narrowed. She put her hand against the creature’s decomposed cheek.

  “Cole,” she whispered. “You’ve come a long way.”

  4

  FAR ENOUGH AWAY

  “WAKE UP, COLEY.”

  Cole could hear flames, popping and crackling, but couldn’t see anything.

  “Elder?”

  He had a memory of her, of seeing the Elder out front of the cabin. She’d brought him away from the house and into the woods. She put a tent up that he could stay in. There was a bowl. She’d made a paste out of medicines in it, and covered his body with it. She’d wrapped bandages over every inch of his skin. Over his eyes.

  Cole touched his tongue through a slit in the bandages, and more than just his tongue being there, he could feel saliva with his fingertips. Sensations. Taste. Touch. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, and reached forward with both arms, palms facing the fire to catch the warmth. He began to rotate his hands, savouring each moment of heat, and didn’t move his hands when the heat began to burn.

  He could feel the pain. It was exquisite.

  A small hand touched his arm.

  “Elder Mariah?”

  “No, it’s me, silly.”

  “Jayney?”

  “Yeah, who else would it be?”

  Cole took a firm hold of Jayne’s hand, and smiled underneath the bandages. “It’s…so…good…to…see…you…” Cole flicked his tongue around with satisfaction. It was there, all of it. Now, he just needed to learn how to use it again. He spoke deliberately, and Jayne noticed.

  “Why’re you talkin’ so funny?”

  Cole shook his head at the reason, the complexity of it, and how he’d ever explain it to Jayne.

  “I know you died.” Jayne rolled her eyes. “Gosh!”

  “My…body…is…healing. No…tongue…not long…ago.”

  “Gross.” Jayne’s face scrunched up like she’d just eaten something sour.

  “Yeah.” Cole felt Jayne move closer to him. She put the non-burning side of h
er face on his shoulder.

  “You were there,” she sighed.

  He knew what she meant. The northern lights, the waiting room. The space between here, and there. He had been dancing with other spirits, those ribbons of colour. He had fragments of images from that time, from when he was dead. He knew, somehow, that she’d guided him back. And that she belonged there. Choch had pulled her away to help him save Wounded Sky, to use her as leverage to convince Cole to hold up his part of the deal. She would be stuck here until Cole finished his job. What a cruel thing, to have given her a taste, making her bring him back to Earth and into his corpse.

  “Yeah…I…was…there.”

  “I miss it so much and I only got to be there for a second to get you,” she said. “Can you tell me about it, Coley?”

  “I’ll…think…about…it…okay? That’s all…I can do. What I can…remember.”

  “Okay.” Her arm wrapped around his waist, and she pressed herself against the side of his body.

  Cole started to sweat, but didn’t move away. He thought about his time in the northern lights for her, the transition between Earth and the Hunting Grounds. He allowed the fragments to flood into his mind, shards he could remember. The ribbons, like the tiny flames dancing across half of Jayne’s body. Each ribbon of colour was a name and a face. Dancing to the rhythm of the drum.

  Cole thumped his fist against his chest with the same beat. Jayne let go of him. He heard her stand up, and then he heard her rustling. With his free hand, he pulled down the bandages covering his eyes, and saw her. She was dancing to the beat. Her flame burned brighter than he’d ever seen. He ignored the heat. He continued beating his fist against his chest, and cried. Jayne dancing was the most beautiful thing Cole had ever seen. Her bare feet jerked up, slid back, kicked dirt against the sides of the tent. Her body straightened, then dipped, straightened, then dipped. Her arms were spread out like wings. Her head moved back and forth like a falling autumn leaf.

  Cole stopped beating his chest. His hand fell to his side. Jayne stopped dancing. She stood on one side of the fire, which had begun to burn again—Jayne’s flames sparking it to life. They stared across the fire at one another. Cole looked deep into her eyes. She into his.

  “I’m…going…to get…you home.”

  “I know you are, silly.”

  Jayne walked over to the side of the tent, picked up two pieces of wood. They were burning before she even placed them on top of the small flame she’d restarted.

  “There,” she said. “Now, you won’t be cold anymore.”

  Cole looked back and forth between Jayne and the fire. “You…came here…to…keep me…warm?”

  Jayne nodded as though it was obvious. Of course she did. They were friends.

  “But…the…boogey…man,” Cole said. That’s what Jayne had called it before. She’d hid from it. It’s why she hadn’t been around as much. “You…didn’t…come…when…”

  “I shoulda been there for you, Coley. I’m so sorry.” Her flames dimmed so low that Cole saw tears on the burning side of her face.

  He pictured Reynold charging at him after killing Victor in the woods outside the research facility. He’d called for her to help him.

  Jayne sobbed. She must’ve heard his thoughts.

  “Jayney…”

  “I’m sorry, Coley. I should just stay out of your life!” Her flames burst like an explosion when she shouted.

  “No!” Cole said. “I’m…sorry…I just…mean…you…can’t go…I…need you.”

  Cole waited while Jayne calmed herself, and her flames settled. When she’d stopped sobbing, she spoke with little hiccups, the remnants of her sorrow. “You…you forgive me?”

  “Of…course,” Cole said. “Come here.”

  Jayne walked through the fire and sat down in front of Cole. He hugged her non-burning side and held her there for as long as he could stand. Maybe a bit longer than he should have. But it was worth it because she smiled again.

  “You’re…here now. In the…woods.”

  “Yep. You needed me.”

  “You…wouldn’t go…into…Blackwood before…what changed?”

  Jayne looked him straight in the eye with steely resolve. “I decided to be brave.”

  Cole understood that she wasn’t just answering the question. She was telling him something more. In that moment, he made the same decision Jayne had made.

  It was time to be brave.

  5

  EVERY YESTERDAY

  AFTER JAYNE LEFT, ELDER MARIAH BROUGHT COLE a simple breakfast. Some fish Brady had caught at the river, just a few hundred yards from the cabin, and preserved berries. She sat with him, and when Cole was hesitant to pick up the fork, she encouraged him. She poked at some berries with the fork and placed the utensil in his hand.

  “You should eat a bit,” she said.

  “I…haven’t eaten…anything…” he explained.

  “I know, that’s exactly why.”

  Cole made an opening around his mouth, pushing bandages out of the way, and slipped two berries in. They were cool and sweet, and the taste danced across his tongue.

  “Well?” she said.

  “Good,” he said.

  Another, fuller, forkful was in his mouth in no time. He watched Elder Mariah while he ate. The last time he’d seen her, when he, Brady, and Eva had rescued her from the clinic, she looked nothing like she did now. At the clinic, she was near death. Shrivelled. Now, she looked vibrant, like life itself was ready to burst out of her.

  She’d become healthy, but it wasn’t from Cole’s blood this time. It wasn’t from the cure running through his veins.

  “How are you…better?” he asked.

  Elder Mariah ran her hand across the ground, and picked up earth as though she were picking more berries for Cole. She held out her hand.

  “The land,” she answered. “Here, hold out your hand.”

  Cole did as he was told. With her free hand, she unbandaged his, then turned it, so his palm faced up.

  She poured the earth onto his palm.

  “Can you feel it?” she asked.

  Cole pressed the earth against his palm with his fingertips, eyes closed, and let it slide off his skin, back onto the ground. He nodded. And then he noticed that his scar was gone. He unbandaged his other hand, to find that his scar there was gone, too. He rubbed his fingertips against his palms, eyes closed, and then turned them over, away from sight.

  “Will they come back?” Elder Mariah asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  When Cole finished his breakfast, the Elder helped him remove the bandages, so she could apply another round of medicine. It was warm in the tent, but goosebumps raced across his exposed skin. They covered his forearms, like the grit on sandpaper. Elder Mariah stared at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I just can’t believe it,” she said. “The medicine…”

  But it wasn’t just the medicine, and Cole knew it. One of the gifts that Choch had given him was working overtime. It wasn’t healing a broken arm now. It was bringing him back from the dead. The combination of the two—the medicine and his ability—was powerful. Cole wanted a mirror, but also didn’t. He kept thinking of the Joker in Batman, right after his bandages were removed. Maybe he was that ugly, just not a corpse anymore. It would still be an impressive transformation.

  Elder Mariah applied another layer of medicine with care, and bandaged Cole’s body again. The paste stung and burned, but it was a good pain. She promised to come back later with supper and see how he was progressing. Before she left, Cole felt a pull, and even though he could hardly remember anything from his trip here, he knew the feeling. The same pull had led him through Blackwood Forest.

  He verbalized it. “Brady?”

  “Yes,” Elder Mariah said. “I’ll bring him.”

  Cole spent the daylight hours alone and, with a mending brain, very little on his mind. This was something his therapist back in Winnipeg had always wanted,
and something he could never really achieve. He’d tried, of course, but stopping his thoughts had always felt like using a bandage on a gaping wound.

  “How am I supposed to just…stop thinking?” he’d asked her on several occasions.

  When he was ten, when he was seventeen.

  “It’s like anything else,” she’d said. “You get better at it with practice.”

  Living in the moment. No thoughts of yesterday and no thoughts of tomorrow. Just now. She’d called it mindfulness. In his practice sessions, the ones he’d always sucked at, she’d told him to just notice the feelings in his body, not judge them, or analyze them. Just notice them, and say, “I feel this way, and that’s alright.” Eventually, frustrated, Cole just pretended to do what she’d asked and judged the shit out of his body sensations.

  Now, Cole managed to keep his mind clear. He didn’t think about anything that had happened yesterday—every yesterday, all the pain and confusion and anger and loss—and didn’t think about what would come tomorrow, when he was better, when he would return to Wounded Sky. He felt his body. He homed in on each sensation. The ointment Elder Mariah had applied to his skin. The gentle warmth of the modest fire Cole tended to throughout the day. He was so in tune, he could feel each fibre of muscle mend, each cell of skin heal. Sitting there, mostly unmoving, and just feeling his body for hours, time passed quickly. He would try to remember this, to tell his therapist when he saw her next, because he’d stayed entirely in the moment, hadn’t given in to what would have been an unbearable excitement. The anticipation of seeing his friend, actually seeing him face to face, and talking to him for the first time since Brady had taken Elder Mariah and his parents out here. Only when the daylight faded did Cole allow himself one thought: Did Brady know he was alive? Had Elder Mariah told him?

  Cole heard the cabin door open, followed by voices: Elder Mariah’s and Brady’s. He listened to their footsteps, coming from the cabin to his tent. The footsteps stopped outside the tent’s flap.