[Anthology] The Paranormal 13- now With a Bonus 14th Novel!

by Dima Zales

  Smoke, heat, and crackling flames. Fire flickered toward her dangling feet.

  She heard another roar and another name, her own. She saw Emory shoving through the crowd, tossing aside grown men, women and small children. Insults and fists didn’t slow him. The taunts shifted as he shouldered toward the growing fire.

  “The witch’s lad!” someone shouted.

  Another called, “Burn him too. Burn ‘em all!”

  The fire, many inches below her feet, suddenly rushed toward her. Dimly, she realized that the fire had burnt the pole supporting her. She crashed. Something hit her head. Pain shot through her body and then, suddenly, nothing.

  26

  Dreams are:

  Images, sounds, or emotions that pass through the mind during sleep.

  A response to neural processes.

  Reflections of the subconscious.

  Predictions.

  Messages from gods, the deceased, or from the soul.

  Not really understood.

  —Petra’s notes

  Her eyelids felt heavy, as if weighted and yet unsubstantial against the white, unnatural glare. She licked her lips; they were cracked, dry and tasted of blood and ash. Her head pounded. Someone touched her hand and whispered what sounded like an apology. “Petra Pooh?”

  “Daddy?” Her eyes flickered open and his face swam into focus. Immediately, she began to cry hot tears that made her cheeks sting. She remembered being tied to a stake and falling into the flames. There had been horrific pain and then nothing. Had she died in the fire? After this life we’re gathered back to our people, Emory had said. Her dad, her mom, her people. She tried to swallow and her throat felt raw. “Where’s Mom?” she asked.

  “Oh, baby,” her father said, and his voice cracked. He pressed her against him in a fierce hug, but when she winced in pain he gently let go and settled her against the pillows. She saw his tired, lined face, the gray sprinkling in his hair, and his blue, worried eyes. He was alive and so was she. Her mother was still dead.

  Petra slipped a hand into his and looked beyond him to the sterile, white hospital walls. Outside, the distant lights of Santa Maria Boulevard sparkled in the twilight. Cars rushed up and down the parkway; street signals flashed yellow, green and red; a blinking airplane headed for the airport.

  I didn’t die in 1610. Did I live in 1610? She touched her head where it was tender, she felt the bump beneath her fingers, so she understood the pain, but that didn’t explain everything.

  Not at all.

  She still wore Emory’s ring. She closed her eyes and opened them again. Her father was still there. “I missed you,” she whispered.

  “I’ve missed you too. After losing your mother…” his voice broke. “I don’t know how I would have survived losing you too.”

  She let her heavy eyes close, trying to make sense of her new world. Her old world. This different world. A world without Emory.

  A battery of tests and doctors filled the next day. During the poking, prodding, and bandage-changing Petra learned a few things: An earthquake during the Renaissance fair had sparked a fire; she’d been lost beneath the tangle of the fortuneteller’s tent for a day. She’d been in the hospital, unconscious, for four.

  Petra closed her eyes against all this information. She tried to process the hospital truth with her time in 1610. Intellectually, she lined up coming to the hospital with her arrival at the manor, her swim at the river with Emory with a bed bath given by a nurse, and her phone playing Breaking Benjamin. But while her mind told her one thing and her heart said something else entirely.

  “It’s common for a patient suffering severe physical and emotional distress to have delusional episodes,” Doctor Graham, a mental health counselor told her. “It’s your mind trying to escape the horror of your reality.” The doctor, a petite blond in an oversized lab coat had purple spotted fingernail polish. She looked a lot like Mary.

  “But wouldn’t I go to some happy place?” Petra asked through cracked lips. It hurt to speak, her throat dry and scratchy, but she had to try. Worrying that she’d lost her mind was making her crazy.

  “Not necessarily,” Doctor Graham shifted in the chair beside her and settled a clipboard in her lap, “just as your nightly dreams aren’t always happy. There’s a great deal of research and controversy concerning the workings of our subconscious. Some say dreams are a random firing of neutrons and have no meaning. Spiritualists believe they are messages from God.”

  “It seemed so real,” Petra muttered, staring past the doctor and out the window, beyond the bustling city to the green hills where the canyon began. “And there are so many things I didn’t know, that I couldn’t have imagined…like cockfights.”

  Doctor Graham smiled. “Our subconscious minds are incredibly powerful. We know many things that we’ve never given much thought, yet our brains have filed away the information.” She patted Petra’s hand. “You can’t believe the nightmare. You can’t argue with it, or challenge it. Your only option is to destroy it.”

  “Destroy it?” Petra thought of Emory, his face, his smile. How could she destroy someone she loved? Because she did love him, even if, or maybe even especially because, he was the work of her imagination.

  Doctor Graham gave her a kind and sympathetic look. “It’s not real, so it can’t be destroyed literally. The only way to defuse its power is to shine your light of reason upon it. There’s no other option. You can’t believe the lie, but you might find it helpful to write it down. It will help you clarify your feelings. Journaling about such a traumatic experience will let you explore, process and release your emotions.”

  Now would be a good time to mention the ring. But Petra remained silent. She wasn’t ready to try and prove or disprove Emory.

  Giggles and voices from down the hall caught Petra’s attention. She turned to watch Robyn, Kyle and a giant pink and purple pony approaching. The trio stood hesitantly outside the door.

  “Your friends are eager to see you. They’ve been by many times,” the doctor said, gathering her things and rising to her feet. “You’re lucky that you have so many people who love you. If you’re interested in journaling, I’ll get you a pad of paper and a pen.”

  “Thank you,” Petra lisped, wetting her lips and tasting ash. “I’d like that.”

  Doctor Graham patted Petra’s hand and beckoned for the trio to come in. Robyn, Kyle and the pony trooped through the door. Behind the pony, Zoe. Petra’s heart leapt and she suddenly realized how grateful she was to see her sister. She desperately needed to apologize.

  Kyle and Robyn began talking at the same time. They looked at each other and laughed. They’re nervous, Petra thought. She imagined an electrical current running between them. They talked too fast and laughed too much; she barely understood them.

  Pushing herself up on the bed, Petra saw her reflection in the window. With her singed hair, chapped, red skin, and the swollen lips, she looked like someone else. She was ugly. She was ugly and she didn’t care.

  Zoe plopped the pony at the foot of the hospital bed. “This is supposed to be your stallion, and Kyle’s supposedly your knight in shining armor.”

  Robyn rolled her eyes and pushed Zoe into the chair where moments earlier Doctor Graham had sat. “Zoe! You’re totally ruining it!”

  Zoe rolled her eyes. “As if she cares about prom. Look at her! She can barely sit, let alone dance!”

  Petra laughed and it sounded wheezy and it hurt, but she couldn’t help it.

  Kyle stepped in front of Zoe, and cleared his throat. He shifted from foot to foot, and a pink stain flushed his cheeks. He began.

  “When the moon first shines pale in evening’s light,

  At the senior prom we’ll discover delight --”

  “Did you write that?” Petra interrupted.

  “Wait, there’s more,” Robyn said, waving her hands and shushing her.

  Kyle looked uncomfortable but started again.

  “Your beauty --”

&nbs
p; “Please stop!” Petra held up her hand. Robyn pinched her lips closed and looked cross. Petra smiled and said, “Thanks, Robyn, Kyle, that was great. You guys are great, but I really, really need to speak to Zoe.”

  “Zoe?” Robyn and Kyle asked simultaneously.

  Petra smiled at Kyle and then with a hand that felt like it weighed a hundred pounds she moved Kyle so that she could see Zoe. “Zoe, I’m so incredibly sorry I lost you at the fair. I worried and worried. I’m so glad you are safe.” She took a deep breath. “And you’re right. I don’t want to go to prom.” She turned to Kyle. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to go. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”

  Zoe beamed and shot Robyn and Kyle I-told-you-so looks.

  Petra studied Robyn and Kyle. They looked so much like Garret and Anne, she decided that as soon as possible she’d learn about their ancestry to see if they were distantly related. Oh, after she found out if Anne and Garret Falstaff had even existed anywhere other than in her imagination.

  A flash of pain and loss zipped through her that had nothing to do her injuries. She settled against her pillows. “I think that you two should go to the prom together,” Petra said.

  Robyn’s mouth dropped open, and Kyle flushed red and looked out the window.

  “But I’m going with Zack Pepper!” Robyn said.

  Petra watched her friend, her tele-buddy. They’d always prided themselves on being able to read each other’s thoughts. How had she been so clueless? How could anyone know what someone else thinks?

  Petra realized she’d probably been projecting what she wanted Robyn to think, which, when she thought about it, really wasn’t very nice because it made Robyn less of her own person. “Do you want to go with Zack?” Petra asked, even though she was pretty sure she knew the answer.

  Robyn looked at her shoes.

  “You guys should be together,” Petra said, her gaze going from Robyn to Kyle.

  “What?” Kyle said at the same time Robyn said, “You don’t mean that!”

  Laurel pushed through the door, carrying an enormous basket of fruit. She also had Trader Joe’s grocery bags tucked under each arm, most likely filled with whole grain crackers, cartons of hummus, and loaves of gluten-free bread. Petra knew Laurel would turn up her pointy nose at hospital food. Petra smiled watching her tiny stepmother wrangle the groceries. Everyone shows love in their own way.

  “You should help her,” Petra said to Kyle.

  “Robyn doesn’t need my help.” Kyle looked unhappy.

  “Not Robyn.” Petra shook her head. “Help Laurel. With the groceries.”

  Laurel sighed a thank you as Kyle took the basket and set it on the wide window ledge. Laurel settled the Trader Joe’s bags on the counter. “Now, you probably won’t need all of this since hopefully.” She crossed her fingers, “Your dad will get his way and have you out of here tomorrow, but you never know.”

  Laurel rummaged through a bag and pulled out a bottle of Vitamin E. “To facilitate healing,” she said, holding it up. Then she returned to her bags, still talking. “I talked to the nurse about what they’ve been feeding you through that IV, and it’s a wonder you’re still alive. And do you know what they were going to give you tonight? Clear chicken broth! Nothing but flavored salt water!” The thought of all that sodium made her shudder.

  Petra caught Kyle and Robyn’s glances and smiled. “You guys should go before she tries to tofu you.”

  “Are you sure?” Kyle asked, and Petra knew the question was loaded.

  “Yeah.”

  Robyn turned to Kyle. “Is she breaking up with you?”

  “I’m right here, guys,” Petra said.

  “I think so,” Kyle said, not looking hurt but confused.

  “Why are you doing this? I don’t think you’re thinking straight,” Robyn said, turning to her and taking her hand.

  “I’m still me. I’m still your best friend. Only now I’m Kyle’s friend, too.” She swallowed. “You know, I don’t think I was before and I should have been.”

  Kyle looked at Robyn and shrugged. He turned to Petra. “I always thought of you as my friend.” He flushed. “And more, of course.”

  “I just want the friend part, now,” Petra said. “I can’t handle any more. I’m sorry if that hurts you…but I don’t think it does.”

  Kyle bit his lip, and Robyn put her hand on his arm.

  Laurel, oblivious as usual, held up a carton. “I bought this Greek yogurt. It’ll help your GI tract, which is really important because after so many days in bed you must be constipated.”

  “Seriously,” Petra told her friends. “You should go. This might get ugly.”

  “Oh, it’s already ugly,” Zoe said, touching Petra’s foot that had escaped the bed sheet.

  Petra hadn’t noticed that her feet were wrapped in bandages. One black and charred-looking toenail had torn through. She stared at the foot as if it belonged to someone else. An alien perhaps.

  “Your feet are the worst.” Laurel took a seat on a chair beside Petra’s bed.

  “No dancing.” Zoe gave Robyn and Kyle now-get-out-of- here-looks.

  “Well, I guess we’ll go then,” Kyle said, shuffling.

  “See you soon,” Robyn said, stooping to kiss Petra.

  Laurel stopped her, shaking her head. “Infection,” she warned.

  Robyn blew a kiss. Kyle picked up Petra’s hand and kissed the tip of her pinky finger. She waited for the rush she felt with Emory’s touch but felt nothing other than overwhelming relief when they walked out. In the hall, Robyn reached out and took Kyle’s hand.

  Petra closed her eyes and lay against the pillows, thinking about what she’d do when she got home, when she was well. She opened her eyes and saw her little sister watching her intently. “I want to know everything that happened to you, Zoe. How did you get home from the fair? What was the fire like? How did it start?” Petra had heard the story from doctors, nurses and her parents, but she wanted to hear her sister’s version.

  Zoe leaned forward, her elbows propped on her knees. “Well, the whole ground shook and the animals went absolutely crazy. People were screaming and running around. The horses were screaming too. Chickens and goats from the petting zoo escaped. There was this pig – E-nor-mous – just running loose, well, almost all the animals were loose. And the Horse Guy, remember the Horse Guy?”

  Emory, images of him floated through her. A figment of my imagination, she thought, remembering Doctor Graham. A random firing of neutrons, whatever that means.

  “He saved me. He took me home.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Yeah. They didn’t want to let him through the guard gate, so we just rode around and JUMPED THE FENCE!”

  “You jumped the fence? The fence to Bear Ranch?” Eight feet high, wrought iron, topped with spikes and monitored by security cameras.

  “On his horse!” Zoe bounced on her chair. “Remember his horse!”

  “Zoe, you know better than to go with a stranger,” Petra said, sounding like Laurel and not caring.

  Zoe put her hands on her hips. “What was I supposed to do? The funnel cake stand tipped over. The glass blowers oven literally exploded. Everything was on fire. And no one could find you.”

  Petra looked away, fighting back a wave of guilt. The guilt for leaving Zoe alone on a stump while she waited for Kyle made her sick.

  Laurel pushed to the bed waving a glass of a green liquid. “How are you feeling?”

  Petra shook her head, blinking back hot tears. “Zoe, I’m so, so, so sorry I lost you that day.”

  “You already said that.” Zoe looked confused. After an awkward moment she shrugged. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay,” Petra said, trying to stop her tears. “It’ll never happen again. I promise.”

  “If you hadn’t gotten lost, I wouldn’t have gotten to jump the fence.”

  And I wouldn’t have met Emory. Sobs welled in Petra’s chest.

  27


  Once upon a time and happily ever after are stock phrases common in fairy tales, but what is the definition of “time” and “ever after?” How does time work? Is it linear, or does it fold and overlap like a Chinese fan? How can you have an after if the ever doesn’t exist?

  —Petra’s notes

  Petra spent the next two weeks in bed looking at the wallpaper and reading books from the library and researching on her laptop. Frosty and Zoe kept her company. Frosty wanted to walk. Zoe wanted to go to the stables. Petra could do neither.

  She made lists of books for Laurel to pick up, anything on time travel and anything on the England’s 17th century. Laurel happily obliged, and books grew like small teetering towers on Petra’s bed.

  One morning Petra’s dad stuck his head in her room to deliver a lecture on a pursuit in history or literature versus the practicality of a business degree. “In today’s world, a woman needs to be able to stand on her own financial feet. An intellect like yours shouldn’t be wasted on yesterdays’ mistakes and—”

  “I’m not picking out a career, Dad,” she said, not looking at him, her nose buried between the cover of H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine. Beside her, her laptop had the flickering image of King James.

  “Well then, what are you doing?” he asked, hanging in the doorway and waving at the books.

  “I’m just…” She didn’t know how to explain it. “Other kids play video games. Laurel reads romances. Zoe rides horses. This is how I waste time. You should be happy I’m not reading gossip magazines.”

  Her dad didn’t look happy or convinced, but Petra had at least another week before she could go back to school, so he said goodbye, shrugged and walked away with his shoulders set, as if he bore the world’s financial weight.

  Petra put down her book and pulled her laptop closer. There were so many things that she hadn’t known; how had she imagined them? Hampton Court was a real place, a huge place. And hell hounds: there were innumerable accounts of hell hounds, including the English legend of Black Shuck. The chained oak, gypsy hunts, ecclesiastical examiners, witch prickers. They had all once existed beyond her imagination. She hadn’t known about a controversy surrounding the publication of the King James Bible, so how had she become involved?