Haunt Me (Mary Hades Book 4)

by Sarah Dalton

  There’s a bang, and a gasp, followed by the howl of wind. I hear the singe of the candle, followed by the scent of smoke. Emmaline’s voice gets louder and louder. She places a hand on my shoulder and pushes me down in the chair.

  “What’s going on? Emmaline?” I’m lost beneath the veil. I’m cut off from the outside world. Her hand is on me, pressing the dank material against my skin.

  The wind battles with us both, blasting us with a bite of freezing cold air. Emmaline’s grip tightens on my shoulder. Her voice drones on, now shouting Latin words in a growl.

  “Emmaline, we have to stop.” I try to squirm out from her grip, but it’s almost preternatural in its force. I cry out in pain, trying to make her reason with me. The air beneath the veil is unbearably thick and hot. I scratch at Emmaline’s hand with my fingernails, desperate to take the veil off, feeling my skin burn from its touch.

  There’s a blur of movement. Emmaline dashes back. That’s when I realise; the grip on my shoulder is still there. It’s not Emmaline, it’s something—or someone—else. Her intoning of the ritual stops, and the wind dies down. The grip on my shoulder fades away. But as the spirit leaves the room, there’s a whisper in my ear: do not go into the woods. I warned you, Mary.

  I throw the veil off and hurry over to Emmaline, who’s lying on her back, breathing heavily.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask, helping her into a sitting position.

  “It… was… too… strong.”

  “That doesn’t matter now. I’m phoning an ambulance.”

  “No,” she says, using my shoulder as a crutch to help her up. I wince and she frowns. “I’m fine, just had the stuffing knocked out of me. Did it hurt you too?”

  “My shoulder,” I say. “I thought it was you at first.”

  She shakes her head. “None of that was me. It was a very, very powerful spirit.”

  Chapter Twelve

  LACEY

  Nothingness. It’s like sitting in a dark room and knowing where you are, but not being able to move, speak, or think. Thought paralysis. Maybe that’s a good way of putting it.

  Could it be another plain somewhere? Between the “real” world and the “spirit” world? I’m not sure. There are veils—thin, imperceptible to humans—of existence. I can see ghosts that Mary can’t. I can hide myself from Mary and other ghosts by slipping in and out of these thin veils until I find the right pocket. But what I can’t control is getting out of the nothingness. Each time I slip into it, I feel like I’m in there for hours, maybe days, but when I come back and check the time, it’s either seconds or minutes. Never hours. Never days. I expect someone to have missed me, but they never have.

  After leaving Willa, I find myself slipping in and out of the nothingness. Being around her helped. I made fun of her little games to keep me connected with the world—watching Bambi, staying emotional—but the truth is, they helped me stay on the right plain, the one where I can interact with Mary and Willa but not have to worry about the nothingness.

  But now, I feel foolish. I saw something between us that she didn’t see. I don’t want to be around her anymore, even though I know I’m supposed to be protecting her. So I keep on wandering the streets, slipping in and out of the nothingness.

  When I first died, I read as much as I could on heaven and hell. Mary helped me. She opened all the web pages so I could read them. But she shielded me from hell and would shut it down if I started to look upset. When I learned how to charge my energy so I could hold books, I started going into libraries at night and reading everything I could on limbo and hell. The problem is, I still don’t know for sure. I’ll never know until I cross over.

  I’m not ready to know.

  Maybe I never will be. Maybe I’ll lose my humanity by staying a ghost and watching my friends die. Or maybe Mary will stay a ghost with me. Maybe Willa… No. This is dangerous. I can’t even contemplate them staying with me after death. I can’t let myself think about it. Because I’m afraid of what I might do. I shake my head. Don’t go there.

  It’s raining, and the droplets move straight through my body. I don’t feel the water, only a slight chill. There are no stars in the sky because of the clouds. The street lights are reflected in puddles of water on the pavement. I came into the city because I didn’t want to be alone. I’m not here. There are other lost souls roaming around the streets at night. Some are alive, some are dead. I followed a couple for a while, listening to their conversation. It was so boring, they just playfully argued about music while propping each other up, then disappeared into a busy bar.

  I’ll never have that.

  “Have you seen Sir Edward? He’s late?”

  This fancy-pants ghost is wearing a wig. She has powder on her nose. Unfortunately, there’s a huge stab wound over her heart, still oozing with blood.

  “He’s dead,” I say callously. “And so are you.”

  “Well, how rude.” The woman stalks off with a rustle of crinoline.

  Ghosts like that are impossible to talk to. They’re stuck in a loop. Poor old stabby-chest will be wondering where Edward is for the next thousand years unless she moves on. I guess I’m not like her, but why I don’t know. If I do believe in a soul then I suppose mine must be stronger. If it’s all electrical energy like Mary seems to think, then maybe I had mad synapse skills at the moment of death that transferred all my energy into this ghost version of myself. Who knows? Not me. Not anyone.

  “How fresh are you?”

  The voice pulls me away from my thoughts. “You what, mate?”

  The guy is probably early twenties and deathly pale. His skin is almost green-tinged and the dark circles under his eyes stretch all the way down to his cheek-bones. He’s skinny, and wears a jacket way too big for him. I know a junkie when I see one.

  “How fresh are you? When did you die?” he asks. He sniffs and wraps his arms around his body as though he’s so cold.

  I step forward, and the street light shines on his face. I can see the line of dried vomit from mouth to chin. Overdose. I shiver.

  “Few months,” I say. “You?”

  “1997. October. I was in a squat with some mates. Took too much smack and turned into a cliché. What’s your name, love?”

  “Lacey,” I reply.

  He lets out a little snort. “Weird name. Sounds American or summat. Fuck, what I’d give for a cig, you know?”

  “Food for me,” I say with a shrug. “What’s your name?”

  “Robbie. Like the chubby geezer out of Take That.”

  “He left Take That and got thin,” I reply. “Then he had a solo career that was pretty good, then he got a bit fatter again, then he went back into Take That, and then he left again.”

  “Wow, thanks for the summary,” Robbie says. “I didn’t know it was that complicated.”

  “So, do you just roam around this area? What have you been doing all this time?”

  He shrugs. “I dunno. I guess I just… drift. A lot of the time I wake up in that squat over and over again. Then everything goes dark for a bit. Then I wake up again and have a bit more… what’s the word? Awareness.”

  “It comes and goes?”

  He nods. “It comes and goes. Weird, huh?”

  “Seen any other spirits around? Anyone who has more… awareness?”

  “Most of them don’t know their arse from their elbow, let alone what year it is. What is it now, 2010?”

  “2015,” I reply.

  His eyebrows lift. “Close enough, I guess. Not much seems to change. Hey, they’re all dressing like I used to now. What’s with that? Can’t they find a fashion fad of their own? What the fuck are you wearing? Shit outfit to cop-it in, mate.”

  “Tell me about it,” I agree. “I was in the loony-bin at the time. They make you wear this comfy shit so you don’t try and hang yourself or something stupid.”

  “Oh, I get you. It was similar when I went to rehab for a while.”

  We start walking together along the street. I can sense R
obbie’s energy next to me. He’s calmer than most ghosts. They’re usually wound up tight with electricity sparking out all over the place. He’s mellow. Cool.

  “What do you make of it?” I ask. “The nothingness.” I suppress a shudder at the mere mention of it.

  He lets out a long breath. “I try not to think about it. It makes me feel…”

  “Tense?” I offer.

  “Yes.” He laughs without humour. “But more than that. It makes me feel, hollow.”

  The chill starts at my toes and works up to my chest. “Yes, that’s exactly it.”

  We’re silent for a while, watching the cars go past.

  “Do you believe in heaven?” I ask.

  “If I did, do you think I’d still be here?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Maybe that’s why we won’t move on. We’re being punished for not having faith. We’re in limbo. Or maybe we think we’re heading straight to hell.”

  “I know I am,” he says with a laugh. “I was an arsehole when I was alive. I stole from my mum, my girlfriend… My teacher even.”

  I shrug. “It was the drugs not you. My mum was an addict.”

  “And you kicked it before her? Fuck.”

  “Yep. Got myself murdered.”

  “Jesus.” He shakes his head. “I’ve seen some murdered ghosts and you’re definitely the calmest. Most of those bitches are insane.”

  “I’ve encountered a few myself,” I say. “So are you going to move on? It can’t be much fun for you here?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe one day. I’ve been watching my girlfriend. Not in a pervy way. I just want to make sure she’s okay. She was on the smack too for a bit. She had it tough after I died. But I think she’s pulling things together now. She’s on the right track. I don’t know for sure, but I think my death helped her get better. So I guess that’s one good thing that came out of it all. I died but I saved her. And to be honest, I was a piece of shit, but she’s a God damn angel so it was all worth it. She’ll do good things with her life, better than I could ever do.”

  I let Robbie breath for a moment as he remembers his love. Then I say, “I have a friend who can help if you ever want to pass on.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  I nod. “She makes the transition really smooth. Just shout out when you’re ready, okay?”

  “It was nice to meet you, Lacey,” he says with a smile. “You look like a girl who has somewhere to be.”

  “I think I do,” I reply.

  I slip away from Robbie and let myself fade away into another plain. I know how to materialise where I want to be, now. I just need to make my form regroup at the place I want to go. This time, it’s Willa Maynard’s house. I restore myself in their living room. It’s quiet, but there’s a light on downstairs. I head to the kitchen and find Jack waiting for toast to pop up. He stares out into the distance, tapping his fingers on the kitchen side. I linger for a moment, watching him. He’s completely oblivious to me standing right next to him. I wonder if he’s thinking about Mary. Judging by the frown on his face, I’m guessing that he is.

  I leave Jack to his toast and slip through the living room and up the stairs. The Maynard house is big, with wide corridors between rooms. Willa’s room has an old Bambi poster on the door. She changes them every week, buying old posters new from Ebay.

  “Willa, are you alone?” I whisper through the door.

  There’s a shuffle and then the door opens. “Yeah, I’m alone. What’s up?”

  “Will you just hug me?” I ask.

  Willa lets out a small laugh. “Of course I will, Lace.”

  She wraps her arms around me and I force every particle of energy to hug her back. I force energy through my arms and body, making myself whole. I wrap my arms around her, and I feel her body against mine.

  Chapter Thirteen

  There’s a gaping wound beneath their feet. The cliff side of the quarry slopes down with jagged edges. Her toes curl against the wind. She’s in the centre, with the other two on either side. She’s trying not to look at them, but she can’t help but sneak a peek. She knows at least one of them. Somehow she knows them all. Not personally. But she knows them because he knows them. And she sees herself in them, too. They all look different—the girl next to her is pale with blonde hair; the girl she recognises from school she knows is middle-eastern, and there’s another girl with a short crop of brown hair—but inside they share the same qualities.

  She knows vaguely what these qualities are, even though she would never admit them. She knows that she needs to be told, that she needs someone to follow. She knows that she has a vulnerable, romantic heart, always looking for some movie-style cute-meet with a boy—last year she waited on the picnic bench all lunchtime with her legs arranged “just so” and her chin resting on her palm, waiting for the boy she likes to come over and say “what are you thinking about?”. He never did.

  What time is it? She’s not sure. She doesn’t quite remember waking up or leaving the house. It’s more like a dream. Thinking of dreams makes the cold wind not so bad. Whenever she thinks of her dreams her skin warms and her muscles unclench. That’s where he comes to her. That’s where she lives her real life, not the phoney life of routine where she’s miserable. Wake. Eat. School. Eat. Sleep. That’s all her life is. Pretty soon it will be the same, except she’ll be at work instead of school. But then he came into her life and changed everything. He stopped the mundanity dragging her down. He showed her beauty. He showed her death.

  And now she’ll be remembered. She could giggle at the thought of what she’s about to do, and what will happen next. She’ll be with him and everything will be all right. The only thing she’s confused about is why there are so many of them. She thought she was the only one…

  “You’re so close to joining me.” The voice is a whisper next to her ear. But she can’t help but look at the others. They heard it too, she’s sure of it. “One more step and you will be with me forever.”

  She lets out a sigh. Just one step and she’ll be in paradise with him. One more. She closes her eyes and feels the soft breeze on her skin. She can smell the fragrance of wildflowers and warm grass. It’s like she’s there again. She even feels his hand on her skin, spreading little sparks of electricity all over her. She longs for it. Her abdomen aches, as though her body is pulling her towards this new life. It’s almost as though she can reach out and touch it, like it’s something tangible.

  “Will it hurt?” says one of the other girls.

  He chuckles. “No. It won’t hurt. It will feel glorious, because that’s what it is. You’re reaching for glory. When you’re with me, you will have achieved glory. Together we will become strong, powerful, and no one will be able to stop us.”

  “Will we be happy?” asks another girl.

  “Did you hear me? How could you not be happy?”

  “Will we live in the world you created for us?” asks another.

  “Yes. We will live there and we will rule there. And then we will rule in this world, too. I always knew I’d been chosen.”

  He sounds as though he’s talking to himself now. She doesn’t care. Her fingernails dig into the flesh of her palms as she wills his words to be true. Yet she cannot ignore the niggle at the back of her mind, something that doesn’t feel quite right. He never said anything about ruling the world when they were in the garden together. That’s not something she cares about. All she wants is for this life to stop, and for a new life to begin. She wants a chance to start over with someone she loves, not to rule anything. Not to become powerful.

  Her mouth is dry. She tries to lick her lips but her tongue feels thick and waterless.

  His touch snakes over her neck, down her chest, down to her stomach, caressing the thin cotton top of her pyjamas. She shivers, but not from the cold air. She imagines the boy from her dreams, with dark eyes and hair, with such a warm smile. She needs to stop thinking about the what-ifs. She needs to quell the rising worry. She is what she wanted after all. Ju
st one step and it will all end. One step and she’ll be with him in the dream that she’s longed for.

  “Are you ready?”

  There’s a chorus of “yes” around her. She opens her lips and whispers the word. It’s so simple. Three letters that sound like a sigh. She can do this. It’s what she’s always wanted.

  “It’s time,” he whispers.

  The girls step forward in unison. With one little hop, they’re falling over the edge. But she scrambles. She knows as soon as her feet leave the comfort of the ground that she’s making a mistake. She doesn’t want to die, she knows that now. She twists her body as soon as she hops over the edge, and she sees a jutting rock coming out of the cliff face. She grabs it with both arms, hitting her chin and biting her lip. The material of her pyjamas snags on the rock, ripping them open. She scraps her skin as she pulls the weight of her body onto the precipice. There’s a high-pitched shriek coming from the girl on her left. They’re falling fast. One girl bounces from the cliff wall before hitting the ground.

  She scuttles back, so that her spine hits the cliff-face. The rock is small, barely big enough for her to sit on, and not visible from the top of the quarry. She’s afraid to look down, but she does anyway, and, in the dark, there are four other shadows sprawled along the quarry floor. Dead. But she is alive. She chose life over him.

  “What have you done?” he hisses in her ear.

  His presence is icy. He’s like a frosty vapour spreading over her skin. She shivers and rubs her sore arms.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry,”

  The hissing grows louder and louder, swirling around her body, invading her mind. Why won’t it stop?

  “You’ve disappointed me.”

  And she feels his disappointment. She feels his rage and resentment. It’s ugly and dark and makes her stomach churn. She presses herself up against the cliff, wanting to be away from his presence.