The Girl Clay

by Amy Cross

  “It's flashing,” he continues. “That means it's picked up one of the six markers for spectral activity. There are ghosts out here!”

  “Yeah,” she replies, “whatever. If you -”

  “There!” Tom shouts.

  Seeing him point toward the far end of the lawn, I turn just in time to spot a figure moving through the darkness. It's just a glimpse, but it's definitely real.

  “Stop!” Ben calls out, as he and Tom go racing off after the figure.

  Debbie turns to me, and I can see the look of fear in her eyes.

  “Did you see that?” she asks as I hurry over to join her. “There was something out there!”

  In the distance, Ben and Tom can be heard calling out to the ghost.

  “You saw it, right?” Debbie continues.

  I nod, as my mind races with the possibilities. There are ghosts all around us, but whatever moved out there in the darkness seemed like something else: for one thing, it was much more animated than the ghosts, and for another it seemed keen not to be spotted. As Ben and Tom come back to join us, it's clear that they had no luck catching up to whatever they saw. They're out of breath, but their eyes are bright with excitement.

  “I told you there were ghosts here,” Ben mutters, completely oblivious to the scores of ghosts all around us that he and the others haven't noticed.

  “Damn, we should've brought a camera,” Tom adds, clearly frustrated. “We could've uploaded it and made millions! I guess there's still time, we can come back with proper gear!”

  “Can we go now?” Debbie asks. “This shit is freaking me out!”

  “We should set up camp and wait for more,” Tom says, ignoring her. “We're right on the edge of something cool, we can't turn back now!”

  “Then I'm walking back to town,” Debbie says, turning to me. “Are you coming?”

  “I...” Glancing across the lawn, I feel a shiver pass through my body at the sight of so many ghostly figures staring at me. I want to try to find my mother, and to work out what the hell Attaroth wants me to do out here, but I guess I'd get more done in the day. Besides, Ben and Tom are starting to annoy me with their bargain-basement ghost-hunting antics. I need to be out here alone. “I'll walk with you,” I tell her finally.

  “I'm not letting you two walk into town,” Ben says with a sigh. “I'll drive you.”

  “But we should stay!” Tom insists.

  “You can stay,” Ben replies, “if you really wanna be out here alone.” He holds the device out to him. “You can even hang onto this, but I'm not letting them walk back to town in the dark.”

  “No way,” Tom says, “but we're coming back soon, right? We damn near caught ourselves a real ghost tonight!”

  “Let's just give it a rest for now,” Debbie says with a sigh, turning and walking right past one of the ghosts without even noticing its presence. “Can we please get back to the truck?”

  As Ben and Tom turn to follow her, I can't help glancing back across the lawn, watching the darkness in case there's another sign of that extra presence. One thing's for certain: I've seen enough ghosts to know that there was something else here, something that was very much alive, and I don't like the idea of anyone playing in these ruins. This whole place should have been left to rot.

  Ten years ago

  “Hey,” a voice says, as something nudges my shoulder, “what are you doing here, kid? You should get moving, it's not safe.”

  Opening my eyes, I look up and find that the old woman is leaning over me. Above, a dull gray morning sky is hanging over the city, and it takes a moment for me to realize that somehow I must have fallen asleep. I don't remember any dreams, though: it's as if my mind simply switched off for a few hours and emptied itself entirely, and now I'm struggling to remember exactly what happened. It's coming back to me, though, in little flashes.

  “You got nowhere to go?” she asks, sitting back to allow me to get up. “How old are you, anyway? What's your name?”

  “You can see me?” I reply, sitting up and looking over at the fire, only to find that it has burned itself out. My clothes are damp and I could have used a little heat. I think I might have been shivering all night, even while I was asleep.

  “Of course I can see you,” she says. “What do you think's wrong with me?”

  “Are you...” I turn to her. “Are you dead?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don't know,” I continue, “I just...” I reach out and touch her arm, and she feels solid enough. “Are you sure you're not dead?”

  “I think I'd know,” she replies, clearly not impressed. “I also think I wouldn't be so cold. Are you okay, kid? Are you on drugs?”

  As soon as I try to get up, I feel a sharp pain in my hip. Letting out a gasp of pain, I pause for a moment before trying again. Getting to my feet, I look around at the cold alley. I can hear the sound of the city nearby, and somehow everything feels more vibrant and real, as if the whole world is closer. I just wish my hip didn't hurt so much, but I guess I slept on it funny.

  “You got a bump on the head or something?” the old woman asks.

  I turn to her.

  “Maybe you need one,” she says with a smile, rapping her knuckles against my skull.

  “Stop that!” I shout, taking a step back.

  “Get used to it,” she mutters. “What's up, did you run away from home? Didn't your parents buy you enough toys?”

  “Do you know if it's possible to...” I pause for a moment, not wanting to sound dumb, before realizing that I have no choice. “Do you know if someone can die for a while and then... come back? I know it's not supposed to work like that and most people stay dead, but maybe it's possible to somehow...”

  She stares at me.

  “I know that sounds stupid,” I continue, “but if no-one else can see you or hear you, and if you remember -” Stopping suddenly, I reach around and run a hand over the back of my head, but there's no sign of any damage. Still, I remember that bullet hitting me in the face, and I remember my skull exploding.

  “Dead is dead,” she says, with a hint of ice in her voice. “There's no coming back from being dead. Life is just pain followed by more pain, and then one day there's a little more pain and then everything just stops. Sorry, kid, but I'm not gonna sugar-coat things for you.”

  “But maybe those rules can be broken,” I reply, “even if it's an accident. Like... someone starts coming back from the dead even though they don't want to.”

  “There's places for kids,” she says after a moment. “Go to the cops or something. You're young, they'll stick you in a home.”

  “What kind of home?” I ask.

  “I dunno. Probably some crack-den filled with assholes, but at least you'll have a roof over your head and someone'll give you something to eat. Just watch out for wandering hands, keep yourself to yourself, don't try drugs, and get out of there as soon as you turn sixteen, and you might actually have a chance. I know it doesn't sound too much fun right now but trust me, after living out here for a few years you'll be grateful for anything. There's no point freezing to death when you don't have to. If you don't know true hunger, trust me, it's...” She pauses for a moment. “It's like needly fingers clawing at the inside of your guts. Real hunger is like a thought that cancels out all your other thoughts, making you more like an animal than a person. It's worse than cold and it's worse than pain, 'cause at least with cold and pain you've still got your own mind and your own thoughts. With true, desperate hunger... You start to become someone else.”

  “But I don't...”

  Feeling something wet on my face, I look up and realize that a light rain is starting to fall.

  “I'm alive,” I whisper, as more and more cold little raindrops land on my face.

  “Yeah, kid,” the old woman mutters, taking a stick and poking what remains of her fire. “Lot of good it'll do you. There's nothing here but -”

  Realizing that something seems to have distracted her, I turn and see that she's
looking toward the distance with an expression of pure horror. Turning, I spot a figure walking toward us along the alley, and I quickly realize that it's the man who was watching me in the hospital. He's found me; I don't know how, but he's found me.

  “Clay,” he says with a smile as he comes closer. “I've been -”

  Before he can finish, I turn and start running, desperate to get away. I don't know what it is about the man, but every time I see him – every time I even think of him – I end up with this twisting, nauseating sensation in my gut. Just as I get to the end of the alley, however, a set of trash cans suddenly come flying from a nearby wall, smashing into me with such force that I'm knocked down to the ground. Struggling to get up, I feel a sharp pain in my leg and look down to see that my left knee has been gashed open to the bone. I let out a cry of pain before turning just as something football-sized thumps into the side of my face.

  Falling down again, I look back and see that the man is coming toward me, dragging the old woman by one hand. Staring at her face, I try to work out why she looks so red, before realizing that it's not her face at all: her head has been torn away, revealing a bloody stump that's gushing blood down onto the wet ground. Looking down at my feet, I realize that the thing that hit me in the face was the woman's head, which is now staring up at me with blank, unblinking eyes.

  “Sorry about the headbutt,” the man says with a smile. “I would have used my own head, but this seemed more stylish.”

  Struggling to get up, I feel a sharp pain in my hip.

  “I've destroyed so many ghosts over the years,” he continues as he reaches me and drops the rest of the woman's body, which slurps out some more blood as it hits the ground. “I'd almost forgotten how good it feels to kill a human. One must always take care to remember the small pleasures in life, must one not? Torment and emotional cruelty are all well and good, but simple murder can be good too.”

  Turning, I try to run again, only to feel his hand grab me by the back of the neck and pull me down. Twisting and struggling to get free, I try to scratch his arm, only for him to tighten his grip until I can feel his fingers digging deep into my flesh. Letting out a cry of pain, I turn and try to kick him, but I miss and instead he slams me against the wall, sending a sudden shock through my body. Without missing a beat, he lifts me up, scraping my face against the brick wall until I'm up above his head, and then I hear two footsteps coming up right behind me.

  “Please,” I whimper, “I just want to -”

  “I don't care,” he says firmly, with his mouth just inches behind my left ear. “Whatever you want, Clay, I just don't give a damn. No-one does. As you might have noticed by now, I'm not your friend.”

  “What do you want?” I ask, with tears running down my face.

  “Well, that's an interesting question,” he continues. “I'm a god, so one might suppose that I can simply take anything I desire, and yet... I've come a long way for you, Clay. I've allowed you to distract me from things that might otherwise have been deemed to be far more important. The question is...” He leans closer, until I can feel his hot breath against the back of my neck. “Are you worth it?”

  “I'll do anything,” I gasp, “just please, don't hurt me!”

  “We're far beyond that point.”

  “Please...”

  “Pain is your body's way of warning you that you're in danger,” he sneers, “and since you apparently can't or won't die, you have no need to feel pain anymore. So cut it out.”

  “Please -”

  “Stop!” he shouts, grabbing my arm and twisting it behind my back until I swear I can feel the bone starting to bend. A jolt of pain rushes through my body, causing me to let out an agonized gasp, but this only spurs him to twist my arm even harder. “Pain means nothing to you, Clay,” he continues. “Be a good little girl and ignore it.”

  “Please, I just -”

  “It's not there, Clay. Pain is weakness. Let it go.”

  “I can't,” I sob. “Stop!”

  “You need to ignore it.”

  “Please -”

  Before I can finish, he twists my arm even harder and I feel a sudden snap, followed milliseconds later by a sharp pain that causes me to let out a series of terrified sobs. As tears stream down my face, I try to stay quiet, but all that happens is that I start gulping for air like a fish on land, while some of the salty tears run onto my lips.

  “Pathetic,” he mutters, letting go of my neck and leaving me to slump down against the wet ground. “You're not quite the wise little warrior I'd hoped for, Clay, and that's a problem. I need you to do a job for me, but you're patently not ready. Now what am I supposed to do, huh? Sit around and wait for you? Humans grow so slowly, girls even more so. Why, it'll be five, ten, maybe fifteen years before you're useful to me, so what can I do in the meantime?”

  Rolling onto my side, I clutch at my damaged arm. When I try to move the fingers, I can barely manage at all but finally I'm able to curl a couple of them.

  “You need to learn a few things,” the man continues, “starting with your role in life. I think you know who I am, Clay, don't you? I mean, to the extent that any human can comprehend the life of a god.”

  Turning, I try to crawl away, only for him to press his heavy-booted foot down on my ankle.

  “What's my name?” he says firmly.

  I let out a cry of pain.

  “Say it,” he continues. “Come on, Clay, it makes me feel good to know that you respect me. All gods have this dark desire to hear their name as often as possible. It's a kind of vanity, so please... indulge me.”

  “Attaroth,” I gasp, trying to wriggle my foot free.

  “Say it again. Louder, like you mean it. Say it like you're in church. Say it like you're filled with some kind of spirit!”

  “Attaroth!” I shout, although the word quickly breaks down into a set of sobs. I try to say the name again, but I can barely get any words out.

  “One more time,” he says with a sigh, “and this time, for God's sake don't make it sound like you're being tortured. Make it sound like the word fills you with glory. You know those good old southern preachers who get their congregations to sing sweet gospel music? I've never had anyone do that about me, and frankly I'm a little disappointed. I want people to wriggle and jostle as they sing my name. Can you do that, Clay? Can you sing my name?”

  Turning to him, I feel physically sickened by the sight of his smug grin. At the same time, I can tell that he's not going to stop hurting me until I give him what he wants. Just as I'm about to say his name, however, he hauls me down and turns me around until we're face to face. I stare up at him, trembling with fear as I wait for him to finish me off; I keep expecting him to pull out a knife, or to wrap his hands around my neck and squeeze, but as each agonizing seconds slips past I start to realize that he's studying me.

  “For a little girl who can't die,” he says eventually, “you're a pretty hopeless case.” He pauses for a moment, before leaning closer. “I think it's time to find out exactly what you are.”

  Today

  “So that was crazy,” Ben says as he walks me to the motel room door. “Sorry if it spooked you.”

  “I'm fine,” I reply, fumbling in my pocket for the key. “I'm not easily spooked.”

  “I kinda noticed that. Kudos.” He pauses, as if he's waiting for me to say something. “I guess it's kinda bad taste, though, isn't it? What with all those people dying out there not so long ago. Ten years isn't really much time and... They were all real people. Someone's kid, someone's parent, someone's friend...”

  I force a smile.

  He holds up his plastic ghost detector. “This thing was a bust, huh? I hope you don't think I'm some kind of moron, I don't actually believe in things like this, I just... It was a bit of fun, you know? I don't really think a twenty dollar piece of crap from the internet is gonna magically help make ghosts appear.”

  Smiling politely as we reach the door to my room, I slip the key into the lock. I'm ho
ping that Ben will get the message and walk away, but something tells me that he's taken something of an interest in me. God knows why, it's not as if I'm a great beauty, but I guess in a small town like this it can be hard to find someone who isn't part of the same gene pool. I've spent so long keeping away from human contact, this is the first time I've ever really been in a situation where some random guy is trying to make a move. A shiver passes through my body as I imagine what it would be like if I let him touch me.

  “I saw a proper ghost out there once, you know,” he continues.

  “I'm sure you did.” Opening the door, I turn to him and prepare to say goodnight. Thank God this is finally over -

  “It was the little girl.”

  I pause for a moment, trying to work out if he really just said what I think he said.

  “You know there was a little girl who died there, right?” he continues. “I saw her, the night it all happened. My father's the only doctor in town, and we'd been away for a few hours so when we got back he stopped outside the perimeter where all the shit had just gone down. He said he was needed, and he made me promise to wait in the car for a few minutes while he went to see what the hell was going on. So I sat there like a good little boy and I saw them loading loads of bodies into ambulances, it was pretty apocalyptic... But then I spotted the little girl just kinda wandering around with blood all over her. No-one seemed to notice her, but I saw her and...” He pauses for a moment, as if the memory is too horrific to properly recall. “The whole back of her head was blown away, but she was still walking around. I'll never forget the lost look on her face, or the way she seemed to be trying to get other people to notice her.”

  “I don't remember that,” I whisper.

  “You don't remember what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “And then she just vanished,” he adds. “Like, she just slipped out of view right while I was looking at her. I even got out of the car and went to look for her, but by that time some cop had noticed me and I was made to go back to the car.” He pauses again. “I know it was her, 'cause Tom and I had met her before in town. We were kinda mean to her, we thought she was this witch, but looking back on it now I feel like she was just caught up in something huge that she didn't understand. I mean, I can't even begin to imagine what it must have been life for her to live with those whack-jobs, to be raised in an environment where... Did you hear about what that Kenseth guy used to do to kids?”