The Awakening

by Marley Gibson

  "Don't you think that's risky?" Taylor asks. "Not that I'm, like, scared or anything. Tout a fait le contraire."

  On the contrary, I am starting to feel something. My eyes slowly shift downward, and I see that the EMF is flashing like a state trooper's light bar. "Celia..."

  "Yeah, just a sec."

  "No. I think you need to come over here. Now."

  Even in the moonlight, I can read the excitement on her face. "The meter is going apeshit! Awesome!"

  "What does that mean?" Taylor asks while snapping some brightly flashed digital pictures.

  Celia shows her the device. "It means there are high measures of electromagnetic energy present, and that usually means spirits are trying to manipulate the energy fields to make things happen, like to manifest themselves." She focuses on me, her hair pushed out of her eyes for almost the first time. "What are you feeling, Kendall?"

  I swallow the dry lump in my throat. Then I close my eyes tight.

  "You have to talk to me," she says in a voice as calming as my mom's. "Just tell me what's going on with you. Taylor, take pictures around Kendall."

  Stretching my hands out in front of me, I can tell they're trembling something fierce. I don't have to open my eyes to know this. "You see that, right?"

  "Yeah," Celia notes.

  "There's a lot going on here."

  I feel the camera flash on my skin. My hands are tingly. "My lips are numb." Anticipation is in the air like I've never felt, crackling all around. "There's some serious energy surrounding me. By my knees," I instruct.

  I sense Celia move the EMF meter near me and know that her readings are continuing to spike off the chart. "Something's definitely causing this," she says.

  The numbness increases and it's like I've gone to get my teeth pulled. I know my face is there, I'm touching it with my fingers, but I don't feel a damn thing. A ringing sounds in my head, reverberating from ear to ear. I can't answer it and it won't go away.

  "Talk to me, Kendall." Celia's voice remains calm.

  "Strong, strong energy. Like wintertime, when you get out of the car too fast and your coat rubs up against the upholstery and then you touch the door and it shocks you into the middle of next week."

  "Good description," Taylor says. "Should I switch to the infrared camera, Celia?"

  "Good call." Turning her attention back to me, Celia asks, "Are there any spirits here?"

  I nod.

  "Should you dowse?"

  "Not yet." I swallow again, and my throat tenses up. My chest hurts with the same empty hollowness it had when Smokey, our black and white cat, slipped out of our house and got run over by the FedEx truck. Sadness cascades over me like an ocean wave. My breathing becomes shallow and uncontrollable.

  "There's ... there's ... so much ... so much sadness," I manage to get out.

  Click. Click. Click.

  I block out Taylor's photographing and just concentrate on my surroundings. It's so dismal and ... full of lives cut short, of heartache and heartbreak and physical suffering. Of course, it is a cemetery, so one would assume these things are in the atmosphere. But the sensations literally encompass me, garroting me with their persistent fingers.

  Opening my eyes slowly, I see them. All around me. Scattered about the cemetery.

  "Holy freakin' crap," I can only whisper.

  "What?" Celia asks.

  Click. Click. Click.

  I hold my fist to my chest. "There are so many of them."

  Taylor's hair flips over her shoulder as she whips her head around. "So many what?"

  "Ghosts."

  Her hand flies to her mouth, and I beg her with my eyes not to completely freak out.

  Then there's shouting and screaming. Not from Celia, Taylor, or me. From them. Calls for attention and pleas for help. It's like being on the floor of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange at the height of trading. The school took us to the Merc on a field trip one time, and I remember the vibrations from the voices and noise echoing clear into my bones, almost. How people can do that all day, I'll never know. But it's like that for me now, and the voices are only getting more boisterous. I slap my hands over my ears, as if that's going to do any good.

  "Kendall! Talk to me!" Celia screams.

  "They're everywhere, Celia!" I twist to the left. To the right. I swat. I cover my face. "They're all over me!" Faces, eyes, hands. Grasping and reaching, pulling me to them. Jesus! I can't believe no one else can hear or see this.

  Celia's face joins theirs, breaking through the furor. "Kendall! What are you seeing?"

  "I can't hear you all at the same time. Shut up, would you? Stop talking. One at a time. Get in line or something! Take a friggin' number!" A deli I'm not, so my pleas go unheeded. The face of an older woman. The war cry of an Indian in full headdress. The musty smell of a wrinkly old man. The rebel yells of a Confederate soldier. The bloodcurdling cries of a cholera-stricken baby. "It's too much. Please stop!"

  "What's too much, Kendall?" Celia is begging. "Let me help you."

  I close my eyes again, but I can feel them in front of me, next to me, behind me, above me. A jarring dissonance of voices, buzzing together in an unharmonious opus with no conductor. "You can't help, Celia. You can't see them." Tears sting my eyes, and every fiber of my being is on the highest of high alerts.

  Celia's so composed. "Tell me about the ghosts."

  Click. Click. Click.

  "I can't. Can't think. Can't anything." I shake my head, eyes still squoze—yes, I know that's not a real word—shut. "Loreen told me this happens." I struggle to exhale as I explain. "That when spirits recognize someone that can see them, it's like a neon light over your head and they become like puppies, suddenly yapping at your feet for attention. It's seriously too much. They're coming at me too fast. Sooooooo many. Make it stop, Celia."

  She grabs my upper arms and holds firmly. My knees wobble underneath me and I don't think I can sustain my body's weight. My heart quickens to the point where I can hear the blood whooshing in my ears, and then nothing. A steady beep of a monitor sounds, and I hear a doctor pronounce, "His heart has failed. We've lost him." My eyes fly open to see, on my right, the grave of Edmund Kline Stanley. "He's here," I say as I point. "He had a heart attack in the eighties. In 1985, to be exact." My temple is flaming with searing heat and throbbing like nobody's business. "Over there, someone died of a gunshot wound to the head." Aches and nausea from my stomach cause me to double over. I bend to my waist, praying for the pain to go away. "S-s-stomach. Stomach cancer behind me."

  Celia helps me up; the red light on her EMF meter is solidly in the high zone.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Taylor pulls the camera away from her face. "What are they saying to you, Kendall?"

  "Everything. It's all jumbled together. So many of them." It's like being the most popular girl at the school dance—not that I'd know—and everyone's pulling you in a different direction, singing various songs to you. They're shouting, "Dance! Dance!"

  A whispered scream rips from my windpipe as an aggressive spirit shoulders all the others aside and is seriously in my face. I mean: In. My. Face. "Back off, buddy!" I scream.

  "What? Kendall! Damn it!" I hear Celia's frustration and I know she needs more info, but I can't concentrate on that right now.

  "He's on me. Literally. What do you want?"

  He laughs at me. Not anything sinister or evil. Playful. Jovial. Like he wants to entertain me. I just want to go home. Why is this happening?

  Son of a bitch! It hits me! Loreen told me I need to protect myself whenever I go into a situation like this. Not like I have holy water in the kitchen cabinet at home, but I could have strapped on my cross or said a prayer or surrounded myself in God's love and light—anything. I did nothing. And now they're everywhere. Completely invading my personal space.

  Mr. Aggressive, though, truly takes the cake. He wants in.

  "In? He wants in?" I ask out loud. "What does that mean?"

  Celia's mo
uth drops. "He wants you to channel him, Kendall."

  "Channel? Like, let him speak through me?"

  "Exactly."

  "Don't you even think about it, Kendall Moorehead!" Taylor shouts, her voice trembling. "Oh my God. What are we doing here? This isn't right!"

  I try to explain. "His pain is intense."

  With that, I collapse to my knees. My entire body hurts, like there's poison filling my veins. I break out in a massive sweat, unable to control the slightest motion of my limbs.

  Let me in...

  "No! Not just no, hell no!"

  "Fight him, Kendall. We don't know who he is or what he wants," Celia instructs with such force that I think for a minute she's an exorcist.

  Gritting my teeth, I seethe. "I'm trying. He's ... so ... sooooo strong."

  Taylor drops her camera to the ground and reaches for her cell phone. "This has gone too far! I'm calling nine-one-one!"

  "And telling them what?" Celia says sarcastically. "'Hello, my friend is being taken over by some crazed spirit in the graveyard. Can you send an ambulance?' No, we have to help her." Celia kneels next to me and grabs my arms again. "Kick him out, Kendall. Tell him to piss off."

  I'm not exactly sure how to fight him off. Oh, Loreeeeeeeeeeeen! Why didn't I listen to you? Looooooooooooooreeeeeeeeeen! Can you hear me? Can you feel me? Help me!

  He laughs at me inside my head.

  Beeps. More beeps. Oh, it's Taylor dialing the phone.

  I reach out to her. "No ... we'll ... I'll ... get in trouble."

  Celia shakes me. "Kendall, stay with me!"

  "He's trying to get in. I can feeeel it." In my head, I scream bloody murder to get him away from me. He backs off a step. Oh, good. It's working. I screech again until all the breath is out of my lungs.

  "Hey, it's Taylor. Something horrible is happening and we need help!" I hear.

  Crappity-crap-crap-crap. Please tell me she isn't calling my mother.

  "I'm dizzy, Celia."

  She holds me close. "It's okay, Kendall."

  "No, it's not okay." Nausea rushes in like a tsunami, encircling me in blackness until I have no idea what's happening.

  One last mental push to Mr. Aggressive and then I feel myself passing out.

  Warm hands settle firmly on my shoulders and I hear a familiar voice in my ear, soothing me. "Hang on, Kendall. I'm here. I've got you."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I PEEL MY EYELIDS BACK, somehow expecting to find myself in Jason Tillson's arms again. Instead, I see soft strawberry blond curls and a novelty T-shirt that reads "A Happy Medium."

  "Loreen?" I barely manage to get out.

  Taylor falls to her knees next to me. "Oh my God, Kendall. I was screaming so loudly. You didn't even hear me. You're not possessed or anything, are you? Do I need to go get a priest or something? Although I don't exactly know one, since I'm Baptist."

  I sit upright as Loreen calms my friend. "Everything's going to be okay. I'm here to help."

  "You're Loreen Woods, right?" Celia asks, her eyes alight. "How did you know to come?"

  Shifting her eyes to me, Loreen says, "Kendall and I are connected. I was driving around looking for you when you called out to me." Then her tone changes. "It's a good thing you did. What were you girls thinking? Coming out here into the cemetery without protecting yourself. Haven't you listened to anything I've taught you?"

  I rub my head—now free of feelings of gunshot wounds, tumors, and everything else—and let out a sigh of relief. "I know, Loreen. I'm sorry."

  She grits her teeth, and I don't have to be a mind reader to know what she's thinking. She's royally pissed at me, and I guess I can't blame her. We did come out here tonight sort of half-cocked, not planning or taking care of ourselves.

  "If you're going to be heading up this ghost-hunting group," she begins, "you've got to take responsibility not only for yourself but for your teammates. Everyone needs protection, Kendall. You, the equipment, everything.You don't know what you're dealing with in the spirit realm. Not everything is nice."

  I nod my agreement. "Don't be mad, Loreen. Your shirt says you're a happy medium," I say with a small, weak chuckle.

  "Yes, well. I didn't know I'd be talking with you about such foolishness. It's a good thing we're connected, Kendall. Something horrible could have happened to you."

  "But it didn't."

  She scowls.

  "I said I'm sorry."

  "Sorry indeed." She reaches into her pocket and withdraws a small spray bottle.

  "What's that?" Celia asks.

  "Holy water." And with that, Loreen proceeds to spray me with it up one side and down the other while reciting a prayer: "Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil; may God rebuke him, we humbly pray. O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who wander through the world for ruin of souls. Amen."

  "Aye-men!"Taylor echoes.

  I mutter the same and wipe the water off my face. It smells like the stuffing my mom makes to go with our Thanksgiving turkey. "What else is in there?"

  "Sage," Loreen says.

  "What for?" Taylor asks.

  "It cleans the energy fields and gives you protection." She passes the vial over to Celia. "Here, you girls spray yourselves as well."

  Loreen helps me up, and together we brush dirt and grass off my jeans. "Thanks for coming," I say. She tweaks my nose and smiles at me. "Seriously, I'm grateful you're here."

  Someone else is here too, though.

  And as per usual, he's fit to be tied.

  Jason barrels his Jeep through the side gate and slams it into Park. He jumps out and immediately starts lecturing. "Tell me something, are y'all purposely looking for trouble or are y'all just incredibly stupid dumb-asses?"

  "Hey now—" I start to say in our defense. I move toward him, but my energies are as drained as a dead Duracell and I can barely stand without Loreen's help. "Look, buddy, I don't care how cute you are, you've got one hell of a bad attitude toward me and I'm sick of it."

  Celia looks at me in shock and awe.

  Yowlza-may! Did I just tell him he was cute?

  He tries to glare at me, but I notice the corners of his mouth want to curl up into a smile. His eyes drop, and he toes his boot in the dirt.

  I gulp noticeably and see Celia rolling her eyes.

  Coming back to his senses, Jason shakes off whatever humor had overcome him and stomps up to me. Less adversarial, he says, "I should have known when Taylor called me for help this had something to do with you."

  I look over at her and she bites her lip. " Pardonnez-moi. What can I say? You weren't exactly playing debutante hostess just now. I was a bit freaked out."

  "And you called him?" I nearly spit out. Of course she called Jason. He's the only family she really trusts these days. Turning back to him, I say, "Look, things just got out of hand. We're all new to this and learning as we go along. Cut us some slack."

  His face shades a dark red—even in the moonlight—and I think his head's going to explode like a cartoon character's. There's no mistaking the intent of the energies coming off him. "Get in the Jeep, Taylor. I'm taking you home."

  "But Jason—"

  "Do what I say!"

  "Are you okay, Kendall?" she asks with her hand on my arm.

  "Yeah, I think so."

  Celia puts her arm around my waist to support me and watches the ground.

  "Now, Taylor!" Jason growls.

  She pouts and then tromps off to the Jeep with apologetic eyes. "Bye, y'all."

  Jason lasers his eyes on Celia and me. "You better get home too before I call your parents and tell them what you were up to."

  Pushing away from Celia, I spin on Jason. "Who do you think you are?"

  "Kendall, it's okay ... Don't," Celia says softly.

  "It's not okay!"

  Blue eyes cut through the night and connect with mine. "Cemet
eries are no place for young girls. Especially late at night."

  "Who died and left you in charge?" I say with my hands on my hips, feeling a surge of strength return.

  "I'm responsible for my sister since my father walked out the door and my mother's too caught up with her new life. I'm too old to be putting up with teenage crap like this!"

  Now I'm in his face, like the spirit was in mine earlier. "What are you? Ninety? No! You're a teenager yourself on paper. But you know what you really are? You're a bitter old man, Jason Tillson. You need to get over yourself ASAP!"

  I seem to have hit a nerve with him because the anger in his eyes immediately morphs into embarrassment. I bite my tongue at what a bitch I've become. It's not like me at all to scream at someone like this. Especially a cute guy who's basically a stranger to me.

  "I'm sorry for all of my inadequacies," he says and then backs away.

  Great. Now I'm racked with guilt for yelling at him when all he was doing was looking out for his sister.

  "Jason, wait—"

  Celia stops me. "Let them go, Kendall. We're in enough trouble as it is."

  At the Jeep, Jason shouts back with a concern that warms me. "Will y'all be okay getting home?"

  "I'll take care of them," Loreen assures him.

  "Thanks." And with that, he cranks up the Jeep and backs away into the darkness.

  Celia and I sigh at the same time. She can easily sneak back into her house unnoticed, but I have a feeling that Loreen wants me to go home and that she won't let me enter Casa Moorehead without her speaking to my parents.

  Loreen lifts a knowing smile my way.

  I blow a raspberry. "Let's get this over with."

  Sarah Moorehead is sooooooooooo not happy.

  She is, at least, cordial to our guest.

  I stand there fidgeting with a hole in the pocket of my jeans, waiting for the shitteth to hitteth the fan ... eth. (And no, Shakespeare didn't come up with that particular quote; 10 Things I Hate About You did.) Loreen has just finished regaling Mom with the short version of what happened tonight and why she's bringing me home. Dad went out for a drink with one of the contractors, so at least I'm not getting the double-barreled-shotgun treatment ... yet.