Mary Hades

by Sarah Dalton

  My room isn’t so bad. Single bed, floral bedspread tucked in tightly, the way they always are when you go on holiday. There’s another flat screen mounted on the wall and I have a tiny wardrobe to myself.

  “Boo!”

  I whip around, hand rising to my neck in fear.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Lacey grins.

  I shoot her a glare. “Jesus, Lace. You startled me.” My heart beats a fast tattoo against my ribs.

  “Thought I’d surprise my best mate,” she says with a wink. “You do still want me here, don’t you? You look weird, like you’re scared. What is it?”

  “It’s nothing… how do you always know where I am?” I ask. “I mean, I know I gave you the campsite address, but how did you know this caravan and this room?” There’s one thing we haven’t talked about. In fact, we’ve been avoiding talking about it. Lacey can come and go as she pleases. One minute she’s here, and the next she disappears without a trace, vanishing into the ether.

  I don’t know where she goes.

  Is it… heaven? Hell? The past? Limbo?

  She folds her arms and her eyes glaze with contemplation. “I don’t know. I sort of, feel you. I feel your presence. What’s happened? You do look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “That’s because I have,” I reply. “And no, it wasn’t you.”

  Lacey moves forward and sits on the bed. She’s always in the same clothes, but sometimes she appears so real that I feel like I can touch her. She’s like that right now, tricking me into thinking she’s tangible.

  “Explain,” she says.

  “There was a suicide in the campsite car park. A young boy jumped to his death. It was awful, he was only about ten or so. I saw his body splattered on the floor. And then…”

  “Go on,” she prompts.

  “I saw his ghost leave. I saw him sucked backwards. And then he was gone.” I shrug.

  Lacey’s facial expression freezes. Her lips straighten into a tense line.

  “Do you know where he went?” I ask.

  She turns away from me and stares out of the window. “You don’t want to know.”

  Chapter Four

  Dad’s not quite as enthused as Mum about me going to the fair alone. In fact, he takes some persuading. In less than a year I’ll be an adult. I’ll be able to vote, go to university, live on my own… you wouldn’t think that, the way he fusses. The way they both fuss. But then, I’ve put my parents through more than most parents ever go through. I can’t resent them for it. I can’t resent them caring for me.

  So off I trot, heading towards the noise and lights of the carnival, ready to make friends my own age, except I’m already with a friend—my dead friend.

  There’s something about the fair that makes you feel like a child and an adult at the same time. With the exhilarating sense of freedom comes the excitement of winning stuffed toys and riding the dodgems. You remember your first visit—the stickiness of the ice-cream, the sweet crunch of candy floss—but you’re also aware of almost being an adult and eye the nearest bar. I get why my parents worry; there’s a sense of danger about the place. It hums with unused static energy. The air is laced with the tension of adrenaline and alcohol fuelled groups of young people, like when you walk into a pub with more men than women. I guess I can understand my parents, now. I’m their only daughter. I’m their schizo daughter.

  Lacey slips through an unsuspecting teenager eating candy floss. He spins around, confused.

  “Did you feel a chill?” he asks his spotty girlfriend.

  Lacey cackles away in the pre-evening air. No one hears her except me. No one will ever hear her again. It’s a waste that has me clenching my fists in anger.

  “Man, there are some hotties here.” She pouts and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jogging bottoms. “Check out the rack on her. I can’t believe I’m never going to squeeze a boob ever again.”

  I can’t help it this time, the ridiculousness makes me laugh. “That’s what you miss?”

  “Amongst other things,” she says. “Boobs are important, Mary. Never forget that.” She flashes me her ever-present wicked grin.

  “You’re crazy,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Nope. Crazy is talking to ghosts in public. People are going to think you’re the crazy one,” she points out. “I miss candy floss like mad. Will you eat some and describe it to me?”

  “No, I want to go on a ride.” I want to feel the wind in my hair. I want to be up high so I can gaze down at the people below until they are tiny, like little dolls. Impulsiveness rushes through my veins. “The Ferris wheel.”

  Lacey gazes up at the metal monstrosity. “You actually are crazy, aren’t you? All right. I’ll come up with you. I can sit on the seat thing, I think.”

  Over the last few weeks, since Lacey’s death, we’ve tested out the things she can and can’t do as a ghost. She can’t move things, or pick them up, but she seems to be able to sit on objects like beds and sofas. Though when she sits down, the matter beneath her doesn’t change; the bedspread doesn’t crease and the cushion doesn’t dip. She can’t change matter, but she can rest against it. She can walk through things, with some concentration. Her presence often affects lights, which makes me wonder if she is part electric. I think back to the way the little boy flickered on and off before he disappeared. It makes me shudder.

  One day Lacey will disappear like that.

  I swallow that feeling away and stride towards the Ferris wheel, joining the back of the queue. We end up behind a group of kids perhaps a year or two younger than me. They seem like the type who have not long been introduced the sweet release of eloquent swearing. In the space of two minutes I overhear lots of tosspots and dickheads, fucknuts and wankers. I smile at the thought that they believe this to be genuine rebellion.

  One of the younger lads turns to me and his eyes all but do that cartoon thing of leaving his eye-sockets when he examines my body. He becomes a wanna-be gangster, tilting his head to one side, popping the collar of his Fred Perry shirt, and slouching into his knees.

  “Damn girl, you’re fine,” he says.

  “Where are you from? Yorkshire via Detroit?” I retort.

  He narrows his eyes before tilting his head back and regarding me with a smirk. “That’s cool. You’re playing hard to get, I respect that, but I’ve got one last thing to say.”

  I grit my teeth. I know I shouldn’t get into conversation with this spotty little twerp, but I end up saying, “Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

  He leans forward and waggles his eyebrows. “Your name must be Daisy, ‘cos I want to plant you right here!” And then, as his little crew of acned prats laugh themselves silly, he makes over-exaggerated thrusting motions with his hips, rubbing his hands on his thighs.

  “Knob,” Lacey says. She runs full pelt at the boy in the Fred Perry shirt, plunging through him in a blur. It doesn’t even faze him. He seems too wrapped up in embarrassing me to even realise he’s just been haunted. “Ugh, I hate this guy.”

  I sigh and rearrange my hair so that it covers the scars on my neck. The last thing I want is for them to notice them. Maybe I should leave the Ferris wheel for later, or leave the fair altogether, seeing as it is clear that these little shits are not going to leave me alone. But then, as I’m contemplating kicking the guy in the crotch whilst attempting to think of a witty put-down, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen bustles into the crowd and grabs the kid by the scruff of the neck.

  “What have I told you about bothering the girls here?” he shouts.

  The kid whimpers. “Not to.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Now piss off, the lot of you, before I ring your parents and tell them you’ve been bothering the customers, again.”

  “Holy crap,” Lacey says. “It’s your knight in shining armour.”

  He turns around and I get a proper look at him. The sun is low in the sky, but nowhere near setting, which causes him to squint a little. Thick eyelashes cover his ey
es, and bushy eyebrows frame them. I’m a pretty tall girl at 5’10” and he is at least a few inches taller. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, revealing intricate tattoos travelling up and down his forearms. As my eyes follow the swallows and song lyrics, I picture myself tracing them with my finger. His physique is slim, but not skinny. The bronze highlights in his hair catch the sun, but the rest of it is dark and thick, matching his sun-tinged skin. My mind wanders to thoughts of running my fingers through his hair, tugging it… My cheeks flush and I avoid his eyes. Nervous fingers arrange my hair at the neck, ensuring my scars are covered.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  I can’t speak. I nod instead.

  Lacey glares at me. “Talk to him. Don’t just gawp.”

  “Okay, good. I’ll be in the ticket booth if you need me,” he says. It could be the low light, it could be anger about the teenagers he’d chucked out, but his eyes glare down at me. Beneath the lashes is a slither of deep brown. I want him to open them wide, so I can lose myself in them.

  “Don’t let him leave!” Lacey urges. “Seriously.”

  “Um, wait,” I say, as he’s about to leave.

  He turns back, shoves his hands in his jeans pockets and eyes me suspiciously. “Yeah?”

  “Ask him to ride the wheel with you,” Lacey says. Her eyes are wide and bright with excitement.

  “You want to… you want to umm…”

  He glances at his watch. I’m boring him.

  “You want to go on the Ferris wheel?” I blurt it out in a rush of words.

  I’ve shocked him. He leans back on his heels and exhales a little. I shift my weight from one foot to the other as I wait for his answer, and block the sun with my body. Finally, I get to see his eyes. They are heavy lidded and surrounded by curled lashes, so you get a mere glimpse of what lies beneath. But the colour draws you in. You find yourself lost in smooth, velvet textured chocolate. He has puppy-dog eyes with a human, hard-edged glint.

  “Yeah, all right. You mean, with you, right?” He rubs his stubble and glances at me sideways. “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen,” I say without missing a beat. All right, it’s a white lie. But in six months it’ll be the truth.

  He rubs his chin some more, as though assessing me. “Sure, I’ll ride the Ferris wheel with you. But I’m on duty, right now. Come back at eleven?”

  “Okay,” I say.

  Behind him, Lacey squeals with joy.

  “See you then, umm…?”

  “Mary,” I reply.

  “I’m Seth.” He nods to me as a goodbye and strolls away. My skin prickles as I watch him leave. Was that me asking a guy out on a date?

  “Mary, that was awesome,” Lacey jumps up and down. “I know I’m into girls, but that guy is fit.”

  I can’t help grinning to myself. Did I do that? It was so bad-ass—not anything like me. I turn away from the ride and smile up at the sun, tilting my head so that it kisses my face. Tonight, I’m going to leave my boring old self back at home. This is my holiday, and what happens here, stays here.

  In July, the night sneaks up on you, like a kidnapper with a hood. One minute you’re basking in the sun with an ice-cream, and the next your skin prickles with goosebumps as the darkness swells overhead. The smell changes. It turns from sticky bodies and rubbish bins to pine from the neighbouring woods, laced with cigarette smoke. A bubbling feeling works up from your stomach, filling the empty spaces inside that we all have, the kind that only disappear when we’re on holiday, or head-over-heels in love. Excitement jolts up and down your spine. It’s night-time and you’re at the fairground. This is the time for magic, mystery and, hopefully, romance.

  Lacey and I—or rather me, with her ethereal body dancing around me—have won two stuffed bears, been on the dodgems, chatted to a group of teens far more pleasant than the last, and got spun so fast I almost puked on the Waltzers.

  But the thrill of the rides has been nothing compared to the thrill of knowing I’ll be riding the Ferris wheel with Seth.

  I have candy floss in one hand, a jittery tummy, and the knowledge that in fifteen minutes I’ll be meeting him back at the Ferris wheel. Absent-mindedly, I take a bite of the candy floss and chew on the crackly sugar.

  “Oh, that’s the stuff,” Lacey says. “Describe.”

  “I dunno, Lace. It’s like eating fine strings of sugar.”

  “Oh yeah,” she says. “More, I want more. Does it taste like heaven in your mouth? Is it kinda chewy at first and then dissolves really fast on your tongue?”

  “Mmhmm,” I say. “Are you coming along when I meet Seth?”

  Lacey’s eyes move from the candy floss to meet my gaze. “Well, yeah. I mean, you want me there, right?”

  The truth is, I don’t know if I do. What if we decide to kiss, or Lacey starts to distract me? What if her presence makes him feel weird? Sometimes people get a chill or feel uneasy when she’s around. I don’t want him to think it’s me.

  So I hesitate before opening my mouth to answer.

  “Oh my God,” she says. “You don’t want me there.”

  “It’s just—”

  “You don’t want the ghost girl cramping your style,” she snaps. “I get it. Sorry to inconvenience you by being dead.”

  “Hey, would you come if you were alive? No, that would be weird,” I blurt out. “Sorry, I’m a little nervous. If you’re there, distracting me…”

  Her shoulders slump. “I wanted to help, that’s all. There’s not much else to do when you’re dead.”

  “I know.” I smile, trying to ease the tension. “I wish I could give you my candy floss.”

  “Yeah, me too.” She flickers on and off. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

  “Sleepover at the caravan?”

  “I can’t sleep, remember? If I sleep, I…” A haunted look crosses her eyes. “Never mind. I gotta go.”

  “Wait, tell me—” She’s gone, but I finish the sentence anyway, “tell me where you go. Tell me what it’s like.”

  Wondering where Lacey went, and thinking about the dead boy again, I take a bite of my candy floss. That’s when I notice the guy running the Hook-a-Duck stall staring at me. With flushed cheeks I move away and head over towards the Ferris wheel. Not long now. My stomach does a flip. No more candy floss for me; I dump the rest in a bin.

  Maybe I should duck into the port-a-loos and check my hair—but then what if I come out smelling like the port-a-loos? For once I wish I was one of those girls who always carries make-up and compacts; the kind who always have a mirror and apply lip gloss every half an hour.

  When I see Seth’s silhouette against the bright Ferris wheel lights, my heart skips a beat. I become aware of my body, and the rushing of blood in my ears. This is so unlike me. I don’t often care about boys or dates. I’m too busy trying to avoid the ghosts in my life, dwelling over the Things, or worrying that everyone thinks I’m crazy. As the tall, built shadow of the guy gets my blood pumping, I wish Lacey were here to give me a pep talk; to tell me that I won’t mess this up, I won’t embarrass myself.

  I swallow down the persistent insecurities and straighten my back. It’s time to grow-up, Mary.

  Chapter Five

  He stands side on with his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his jeans. Rainbow lights set his profile ablaze. There’s a vulnerability about a person’s profile, a glimpse into their private persona. The hairs stand up on the backs of my arms. The fairground is shutting up for the night and groups of teenagers snake through the field on unsteady legs, whooping and shouting, their faces bright red and sweaty.

  I have to clear my throat to get his attention. He seems transfixed by the night sky, deep in a thought I long to know about. He turns to me and his eyes travel the length of my body. I fiddle with my hair at the base of my neck and wish I wasn’t holding two stuffed bears in my other arm. Why didn’t I dump them in the bin along with my candy floss?

  “Hi,” I say.

  “All right?” he
replies, his voice still gruff, but with a soft edge that reveals another side to his personality. “You won, then?” He gestures to the bears.

  “Yeah,” I mumble. “Hook-a-duck. At least it wasn’t a goldfish. That could have been awkward.”

  He smiles but doesn’t reply.

  My mouth opens and closes as my brain searches for a conversation topic. After a few seconds, Seth says, “You ready?”

  “Sure,” I reply.

  “Cool.” He grins. It’s a boyish grin. It turns his expression from stern to impish. He bangs on the control booth of the ride. “Hey, Damo, make it a smooth one.”

  Damo, a middle-aged skinny man wearing a tracksuit, winks and puts both thumbs-up. The jittery nerves start up again. Am I making a mistake hanging around with a carnie late at night? Should I trust him enough to get on the Ferris wheel, knowing his mate is in charge? Anything could happen. But that’s part of the thrill. And I already know how much he hates skanky guys who hit on girls. I need to stop seeing the bad in everyone. Not everyone is Dr. Gethen.

  He steps over and holds out his hand. I hesitate for a minute, the blood thumping in my veins. Eventually, I smile and take his hand, feeling his calloused skin. He’s strong, but he helps me into the seat with a gentleness I didn’t quite expect. He also checks the safety bar three times, slipping his fingers between my waist and the bar, but being careful not to touch me. The close proximity of his fingers sends an electric bolt up my spine.

  With some relief, I realise that I’m positioned so that my scars are on the opposite side to him, so he won’t even see them.

  The ride begins to move with a crank and a groan. It’s odd without the music to drown out the noise of the machines, and, without so many people down below, the night seems so quiet it’s like there is an unrealised absence in the air. The seat wobbles, and I gasp in surprise. He turns to me with that impish grin, almost lopsided it’s so relaxed.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say with a nervous laugh. “It’s been a while since I rode one of these.”