by Sarah Dalton
The film starts, and it’s as sappy as I knew it was going to be. I didn’t tell Willa this, but I already know the entire plot, even though I’ve never watched a Disney film in my life. You miss a lot of that shit when you’re Mum’s a druggy and you live your teenage years going in and out of a psychiatric ward. But I do concentrate on my emotions, just like Willa told me to, and I do feel something as the movie goes on. Sorrow catches me by surprise. The death of the Mummy deer touches me, and I almost gasp when the sadness builds until tears prick my eyes.
It made me think about my own death.
“Well? What did you think?” Willa asks after it ends. She brushes tears from her cheeks as the lights come back on.
“Yeah, I felt… sad.”
“Good,” she says, smiling. “That’s good. Come on, let’s go before those people think I’m talking to myself.”
As she’s collecting her bag, her hand glides through my body, and she jerks it back. Her mouth is open in a surprised “O” expression. Her giggle is filled with nerves and, maybe, excitement? I’d felt the electric current, too. I know that it’s stronger when I’m around Willa. Maybe it’s all that sexual energy charging me. I’m attracted to her and it makes me more electric when I’m with her. When she clears her throat and places the bag on her shoulder, the atmosphere is palpable.
The middle-aged group all smile at Willa as she leaves the cinema, and I almost smile too. It’s been a while since I forgot I was dead. Maybe it was the film making me experience such strong emotions again. I should be careful with this. Do I really want to forget I’m dead?
“Tell me everything,” Willa says in a high voice with her eyebrows raised. She’s excited and buoyant, almost skipping through the carpark.
I hesitate before I answer. “It made me think of my own death. And I was sad. Really sad. Although happy later when he meets his love and everything else.” Which is only half true. I was still thinking about my own death throughout the second half of the film.
Willa unlocks the car. “Is that good?”
I shrug. “You tell me. This was your idea.”
“Yeah but I don’t want to upset you.” I watch the excitement fade from her face. Her shoulders sag.
“Hey, you’ve not upset me,” I say. “It was good for me, I think.”
Willa smiles again and my mood lightens. She gets into the car as I’m about to slink through the car door with my super ghost powers, but before I do, I pause. We’re not alone. Sensing another ghost is an art. There’s always a little extra presence around us. But when there’s an actual ghost lurking between whatever plains of existence there are, that presence thickens. The atmosphere changes.
There are times when I can see the ghosts that Mary and Willa can’t. There are times when they’re a whisper in the background, lurking and waiting. This is one of those times.
I slide through the door. Whoever is there is probably harmless. I get these sensations almost every day. But every time it makes my imagination race with possibilities. For instance, what if it is the same presence and they are following me, not Mary or Willa? What if I’m the target? I’ve been hurt by ghosts before. They can tear my flesh and bruise my skin. The rules of the spiritworld are complicated and flexible. I still need to learn how to understand them if I’m going to continue on as a ghost walking this world. You’d think there’d be some savvy ghost with a sarcastic attitude around to help me. That would be the movie version of this story.
“Have you ever tried holding onto the back of a car when it’s in motion?” Willa asks, breaking my thoughts. “There are so many cool things you can do as a ghost. What’s it like walking through walls?”
“Cold,” I say. “And like you can feel every particle moving through your being. It’s weird. Kinda dusty, too.”
“Does your body feel solid?”
“It pretty much feels the same as it did when I was alive, except I don’t get hungry or thirsty. I can cry and sweat though, which is weird. I guess they’re like projections of how my body used to be.”
“That makes sense. It’s like you manifest physical reactions.” Willa nods. She taps her fingers on the wheel. “Radio?”
“Go for it.”
One thing I’ve learned about Willa is that she hates silence. Even when she falls asleep at night she listens to music. At the commune, everyone slept in the same room, which meant there was noise all night: breathing, snoring, fidgeting. Now she hates silence and needs to fill it with anything, whether it’s talking or music or the TV.
As Willa fiddles with the radio, the headlights dip over the road. We’re on a narrow, country road with thorn bushes on either side. Occasionally, the braches scrape along the windows. Willa is not reckless. She tends to stay around the speed limit, but it’s quite late and there’s no one around, so we’re going a little faster than usual.
My skin prickles, and I frown. The air is cold, even though the car heater is turned up. There it is again, the sensation of a spirit filling the air, thickening the atmosphere. We’re not alone.
“Willa—” I start. And then, “Willa!”
Her head snaps up from the radio. There’s a figure in the middle of the road, smudged and barely there. She swerves the car away from the figure, but directs it towards a tree. She slams on the brakes but we’re going too fast. As she struggles with the car, there’s a blur of orange fur as a fox jumps straight onto the windscreen, completely blocking our view. Willa cries out, frantic now, with no idea which way to go. I concentrate on making my body as whole as I can so I can grasp the wheel and try to direct the car. I crane my neck to see around the fox. It slides off the bonnet of the car when I turn the wheel sharply, allowing me to manoeuvre the car back onto the road.
The car comes to a stop.
“There was someone there.” Willa’s voice is breathless. Her chest rises up and down. Her hair has come loose, with strands falling across her face. “There was someone in the middle of the road. I should go and—”
“No!” I grab hold of her wrist to stop her leaving the car. “I don’t think it was a person. Lock your door.”
Willa’s mouth opens to speak when a snarl comes from outside the car. The sound makes my dead heart almost rumble back to life. Willa’s back straightens and she lets out a little gasp. Soon the snarl is joined by a noise somewhere between a howl and a high-pitched scream. I feel Willa’s body go still. Her breathing is shallow and quiet, as though she’s trying hard not to move a muscle.
“What is that?” she whispers.
“Foxes,” I reply.
It’s not unusual to see foxes out and about in the middle of the road. But it is unusual to hear more than one. When more barks, calls, and howls join the pack, I know something is wrong.
The car is still in the middle of the road and at a protruding angle. We need to leave, but I’m as frozen as Willa. The fox calls are chilling. Terrifying.
Scratching. They’re scratching the car. I hear their teeth snap together. One leaps onto the bonnet of the car and bares its teeth through the windscreen. I know that foxes can be aggressive when cornered, but this is definitely not normal behaviour. Another jumps up against the car door, leaving foamy spittle on the window. Willa screams. Her hands are shaking.
“We need to get out of here,” I say.
She nods. She manages to grasp the wheel with her trembling hands. She takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself. I wish I could do it for her, but I can’t solidify my form for long enough to drive a car.
Still the fox stares at us through the window, its eyes shining, its fur standing on end. It snaps its teeth and curls its lip. There has to be something supernatural going on here. But how? Can ghosts control animals now? How?
“Willa, I think we need to go,” I say, still watching the fox as it watches me. There’s a slight change in its body language. It has backed up a fraction, and its body is tense, as though it’s about to leap or run. “Like, now.”
Willa revs the engin
e and places the car in gear. She finds her biting point and is about to drive away when the fox dashes towards us. As a reflex, I throw my hands up in the air to shield my face. The fox runs straight at the windscreen, cracking the glass and cutting its own head. Finally, the car screeches away and the fox falls from the car onto the road. My heart thuds against my ribs as the fox’s blood trickles into the cracks in the glass.
Chapter Four
MARY
The light is soft. Yellow. My skin warms from its touch. I’m almost overwhelmed by a feeling of complete comfort. The grass is velvety beneath my feet, and the breeze whispers against my neck. Even my clothes are gentle against my skin, the cotton dress moving slowly in the wind. The scent of the nearby forest brings pleasant pine and earthy leaves. Never has my garden at Ravenswood been so beautiful. Even the swing, which usually reminds me of unhappy times, is appealing. Should I? Yes, I will. I’ll go to the swing and sit down. I’ll let my feet trail along the lawn as I push myself forward and back.
“Do you like it?” asks the voice.
I swing forward, moving my legs in unison. “I love it.”
“I made it for you.”
“Thank you.”
I tilt my head back and laugh at the clouds. Even the voice is comforting, with its low, deep tones, so rich and smooth. What’s the word? Hypnotic. That’s it. Hypnotic.
“Thank you,” I say again. The swing climbs higher and higher. I’m laughing and I can’t stop.
*
It’s a miserable October morning, pissing it down with rain, grey, soggy, and dreary. Dad keeps looking out of the window and sighing. Mum stirs her tea and glances forlornly at the umbrella hung up on the coat rack. I can’t stop humming a tune that got stuck in my head. Something in the top ten that I keep hearing on the radio but always forget the name of. Lacey will know, she’s good with names. I think she’s with Willa again. I don’t see as much of her now, but that’s okay, I just want her to be happy.
“You’re in a good mood,” Mum remarks.
I chew on toast and smile. “I guess so.”
She narrows her eyes. “Is there something going on? Are you on drugs?”
“Nope!” I grab my coat and head to the door. “Bye ‘rents!” When I shut the door, they still look shocked.
I meet the others at the end of my drive. Jack is driving a different car than usual. It’s a pale grey Audi saloon. Willa is in the passenger side, slouched down, her skin even paler than usual. The rain pelts down, soaking me to the skin but I barely notice.
“You’ve not got an umbrella or anything,” Jack chastises as I get into the back seat next to Lacey. “You’ll get ill.”
“Sorry, Grandpa,” I say, winking into the rearview mirror.
Jack glowers back.
“Did you get laid or summat?” Lacey asks, looking me up and down with raised eyebrows.
“Why is everyone so weird this morning?” I ask. “I’m perfectly fine. I just had a good night’s sleep.”
Lacey frowns as though she isn’t buying it. Well, whatever.
“Listen, we have something to tell you,” Lacey says. “And it might ruin your good mood.”
“Go on,” I say.
“Willa and I were attacked by a ghost last night. At least, we think it was a ghost,” she says.
“You don’t know for sure?” I ask.
“Well… it was a bit confusing. First there was someone stood in the road—”
“Whoever it was looked really real,” Willa adds.
“Yeah, so Willa swerved the car. But then these foxes started jumping all over the windscreen and the bonnet. One of them even launched itself at the glass and cracked the windscreen. That’s why Jack’s in his parent’s car.”
“Oh, I see,” I say. “And you think that a ghost did that? Since when could they control animals?”
Lacey shrugs. “There’s a lot we don’t know yet. Maybe you should talk to Emmaline.”
It’s like someone has burst a balloon right next to my ear. My good mood is almost completely gone, and now all I can think about is ghosts. There they are again, taking over. Sucking the happiness out of my life. If only I could give them up. I don’t see that happening any time soon.
“I’ll go round after school,” I say.
“Something’s after me,” Willa says. “I can feel it.”
*
While reading A Clockwork Orange in English Lit, all I can think about is the ghost haunting Willa. I don’t want to think about it, but there it is, on my mind, clouding my thoughts. Why is it, that as soon as we get rid of one murderous ghost, another pops up around the corner. And why isn’t this ghost haunting me? After all, I’m the one with the Athamé. I’m the one who has sent so many spirits on into the afterlife.
If it was haunting me at least then I’d know what to do with it. With Willa, I’m not so sure. She says she wants to help me with the ghosts, but so far she’s shied away from using the Athamé. She shudders whenever I bring it up, and she keeps saying she’ll come and visit Emmaline with me but she never does. I’m not convinced she really wants this, and that just puts extra pressure on my shoulders.
As I think about everything that’s going on, my mood darkens. No. I don’t need this right now. Not at all. What I need is a break from all this. A month. Is that so much to ask? A month to get my head right. To work through everything. What do people call it in American sitcoms? Processing. I need to process everything that has happened to me this year.
My mouth goes dry. It’s dangerous to even think about the events of this year. It sends my mind into a spin. Before I know it, I’m thinking about corpses hanging from the ceiling, black eyes, gaunt faces, rotting skin… My tongue is a sour, dry lump in my mouth. My skin is pimpled and cold. The chilling spread of panic rises up to my neck and my face goes hot, then cold. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, supressing the urge to run from the room. I need to calm down. I need to stop thinking about any of this…
And then I hear it… the voice from my dream. My muscles begin to unclench. The goose pimples fade from my arms. I feel a smile form on my lips.
I made it for you.
In that moment I’m back on the swing and the warm sun is beaming down on me. Thoughts of ghosts and zombies melt away. There’s only me, and his voice.
My eyes snap open. But who is it?
No. Stop that train of thought. Does it really matter? All I know is that going back to my dream in that garden with the sun, the swing, and the voice makes all my troubles fade away. So I’m going back. I’m escaping this place…
*
By the time lunch comes, I’ve managed to almost completely forget about Willa’s ghost. It’s only when I meet up with the others that I’m forced to think about it. It’s all Lacey can talk about. At first I can’t stand it, but then I think about my dream, and it means I can ignore whatever it is she’s saying—something about being with Willa to protect her—and concentrate on what makes me happy.
Jack frowns at us all as he devours lasagne and chips. Occasionally he asks Willa what Lacey is saying and Willa relays all the information—basically for Lacey to protect Willa—while Lacey shines electric in the middle of the canteen. The excitement has made her luminous. She glows a lot at the moment, as though she’s coming alive. I stop myself before I think too much. I don’t want to add “worrying about Lacey’s immortality” to my list of things to worry about.
“Why are you in such a good mood?” Jack asks.
I’d switched off from the conversation and his words pull me back to reality. Willa is busy listening to Lacey while pretending not to.
I shrug. “I feel better.”
The corner of Jack’s mouth shoots up into what must be his attempt at a smile. I’m not sure he’s ever managed a full smile since I met him. “That’s good. You seemed a little… off…”
I pull my sandwich into pieces and avoid his gaze. “Yeah, well. That’s what happens when you get terrorised by ghosts all the t
ime.”
“You know, I still think about that night. With Tasha. What she did.”
“You mean, getting possessed by her?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah. I know it was only for a moment, but it was like nothing else I’ve ever felt. I had no control. Anyway, I guess it’s hard for me to just forget it. So I guess it’s even harder for you to forget everything you’ve gone through.”
“Do you… do you have somewhere you can go to make yourself feel better?” I ask.
Jack puts down his fork and taps his fingers on the plastic table-top. “What do you mean?”
“Like something in your mind that you can go to and everything seems better?”
The frown is back. His eyebrows furrow with something between confusion and concern. He opens his mouth to talk but I cut him off before he even starts.
“Never mind, it’s stupid.” I stand, pick up my tray, and move towards the canteen bins. I’m halfway there when I feel a hand on my arm. Jack spins me around to face him.
“I did once,” he says. “But then my father ruined it.”
We stand there, in the middle of the busy canteen, just staring at each other. It’s me who speaks first. “Don’t you want to find him?”
“No.” The reaction is instant. He doesn’t think, not even for a second.
“What about your mum?” I ask.
Jack’s gaze flicks away from mine. His fists clench at his side before he lets out a deep breath and his body relaxes again. “Yes. Look. This isn’t the right time to tell you this.” He glances across at Willa before directing his attention back to me. “You can’t tell Willa, okay?”
“What is it?” I ask.
