Game's End

by Natasha Deen

  “Because death is like life. It’s going to be what you make of it. You don’t sink because you don’t think you should sink.”

  “Maggie—”

  “It’s snowing.” I pointed. “Don’t you see it?”

  “It’s not snowing,” he said.

  “Then why am I wearing a snow jacket?”

  “It’s not my place to question a lady’s choice of clothing.” He leaned in. “But if you’re asking, I thought it was odd, but the colour looks real good on you.”

  “Thanks, but—”

  “Not that I don’t believe you—” He smiled. “—But I don’t believe you.”

  “Got it. You only have my word.” Time to call in the big guns. “See him?” I pointed to Serge.

  “Yep.” He squinted. “Your boyfriend?”

  Craig looked amused.

  “Hey,” said Serge to him. “I’m not a bad catch.”

  “You’re a great catch,” Craig said. “Handsome, funny, smart. You’re the whole package.”

  I glared them both into silence. “He’s my brother.”

  The squint deepened. “He don’t look like your kin.”

  “He’s not my real brother, we’re soul-bonded.”

  “If he’s not your brother, why do you call him that?” asked Zeke.

  “Because.” Serge wriggled into the spot between us. “It sounds better than ‘hi, meet Serge. We used to go to school together and he bullied me until I wanted to die. Luckily, he was the one who stopped breathing. I helped him figure out that his so-called suicide was a murder, and then we discovered in this life we were both scripted to become guardians. We watch over the dead and living, transition souls from this plane to the next, and make sure the bad spirits from hell stay there.’”

  “Yeah,” Zeke nodded. “I can see how that’s a mouthful.”

  “If you can see Serge, you’re dead,” I said. “Because he’s dead, and the dead see the dead.”

  “Are you sure I’m dead? Maybe you’re dead and I’m the one who’s alive.”

  I looked to Craig.

  “No point in me shifting,” he said, seeming to read my mind. “He won’t see it.”

  “Do you see the light that outlines them?” Nell asked.

  He nodded.

  “The living can’t see that.”

  “No disrespect, ma’am, but I live with fireflies. If the good Lord can make a creature who’s able to light up his butt like a power switch, then maybe the glow of you folks is some kind of science I ain’t figured out yet.”

  “That’s true,” said Serge.

  I shot him an exasperated look.

  “What?” He raised his hands. “The guy’s got a point.”

  “That’s not helpful,” I said.

  Serge shrugged. “Truth is truth.”

  “And I’m getting hypothermia,” I said. “We need to move this along.”

  “You dead, too?” He asked Nell.

  “Nah,” she said. “But I’ve been to the other side. It’s nice. You should go.”

  “I can’t be dead,” said Zeke. “When you die, you go to heaven or hell. You don’t end up in the middle of the road with a bunch of strangers.”

  “It doesn’t always work that way—” I said.

  “It has to. Good people move on. Bad people get punished. If you’re neither—if you’re not good enough—”

  “You’re good enough,” I said softly. “I’ve known you for five minutes and I know you’re good enough. But I also know you didn’t think you were going to die today. Your system’s suffered a shock—”

  “If it’s not about being good or bad,” said Zeke, stepping away. “Maybe it’s something else. Maybe I’m here for a reason. There has to be a reason. Maybe I’m here to stop a bad thing or to help someone. Life and death have to have purpose.”

  It was an anguished plea. A flash of connection and understanding lit Serge’s face. “Your life has purpose,” Serge told him. “So does your death. But you’re not going to find the reason here. You have to move on, talk to the higher-ups and see what your destiny is.”

  Zeke wiped his face. “I’ve had enough of things just happening because they happen.”

  Something about the way he said it tweaked me. I took his hand. “What kinds of stuff just happen?”

  “Nothing worth talking about. Life just doesn’t always turn out like you expect.”

  “Who did you lose?” Serge asked quietly.

  “Who didn’t I lose? Ma’s finding her end at the bottom of a bottle. Pa’s—I don’t reckon I know where he’s gone.”

  “Who was the first?” Serge came closer, until we were a quiet triangle of memories and pain, bracketed by the icy night.

  “I had this brother,” Zeke’s face contorted. “I hate that word. Had.” He was quiet for a moment. “My little brother, Homer. Cute little cuss. Died on account of the cancer.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s a terrible way to go, and it’s a terrible thing to watch and know you can’t stop the pain.”

  “I lost someone, too,” said Nell, coming to join us. “It’s not easy.”

  Zeke knuckled his eyes. “He was the bravest kid I knew. After he—after he left, nothing seemed to matter. What was the point of doing anything other than hooting and hollering? Death was just going to take the ones you loved. And life didn’t care about those left behind. It was like, after Homer, Ma, Pa, and I, we all just got in line and waited for death to get us too.”

  “What did Homer look like?” I asked. “Like you?”

  “Homer? Nah, he was better looking than I’ll ever be. Dark hair, dark eyes, real chubby. But cute chubby, you know? Baby fat—he got real skinny with the chemo. But he never stopped smiling. He had this laugh when he was real happy—” Zeke broke off, looking around. “Do you hear—I swear I heard him.”

  “When he was really happy,” I said. “You made him happy?”

  “I loved him,” said Zeke. “I loved him with every beat of my heart. When he died, I died along with him. My little buddy was gone.”

  “It sounds like he was your best friend,” I said.

  Zeke smiled at me. “I got him into all kinds of trouble. We stole into old man Jackson’s pasture one time, and I pulled Homer up on one of the horses, showed him how to ride bareback—there it is, again! You sure you don’t hear—” His gaze went to a dark corner of the forest. “Oh my Lord. Homer? You see him?” He started to cry. “Look how good he looks. He’s chubby again.” He smiled through his tears. “Can you hear him? He’s calling my name. Sweet Jesus in Heaven. Homer! Boy, look at you!”

  Zeke turned my way and his eyes were gone. They’d turned into liquid silver and reflected white-blue light.

  “Go to him,” I whispered.

  He moved, laughing and crying at the same time. “He’s so healthy. So happy. Lord, Homer, I missed you.” He ran to the spot, stumbling over his feet and tripping as he picked up his pace. Zeke dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around someone I couldn’t see.

  Pure, white light enveloped him and outlined the silhouette of someone small holding on to him. They began to fade from view.

  Nell sniffed. “Too bad everyone can’t see this.”

  Overhead, thunder crackled. Craig looked up.

  “Can there be a thunderstorm in the middle of winter?” Nell asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “But we’re too far north—”

  Black lightning flashed, multi-forked and edged in blue.

  Craig morphed into ferrier form. “Nell, get Serge out of here! Maggie, don’t let any of those things touch your bare skin.”

  “What? Why do I have to leave?” Serge dodged out of Nell’s grasp.

  “Because this thing comes for ghosts. Get out!”

  “Go!” The boom of Nell’s comma
nd sent Serge running up the path.

  The sky opened into a dark, swirling vortex. Branches of lightning cracked jagged lines. Shadows, made visible only by the supernatural light, formed in the swirling hollow. Beside me, thick spikes formed along Craig’s spine.

  That was new and creepy. “What is this?”

  “No time to explain. Get to Zeke and his brother. Make sure nothing happens to them.”

  I ran for the ghosts.

  “Maggie—”

  I looked back.

  “Remember, don’t let anything touch your bare skin.”

  Racing to my ghostly charges, I pulled my gloves high on my wrists. I slid to where they knelt. Zeke flickered in my vision, Homer remained an outline.

  “What’s going on?” Though there was no wind, Zeke’s hair waved around his face as though caught in a violent breeze.

  “I don’t know.” I knelt and put my arms around them both. As we connected, the wind rose, clear and warm. Homer morphed from an outline to a fully-formed kid with chubby cheeks and worried eyes. Zeke and I moved so the little boy was protected by both of us.

  Lifting my face, I saw the sky from this position wasn’t the same. A yellow sun blazed in an orange sky, and from the black centre of the star, the shadows swooped down. I had no idea what they were, but common sense said they were big, bad, and deadly.

  I had Homer roll into a fetal position, then Zeke curled himself around his brother. My matchstick figure wasn’t big enough to cover them both. Time to fight. I stood over them, yanked on my hood, pulled off my scarf, and hoped the evil things wouldn’t go for my face.

  I’ve always wondered why ghosts feel as solid to me as the living, and as one of the shadows flew close, I got my answer. For this moment, for this time. So I could use my scarf as a weapon, wrap it around the shadow and fling it to the side. So I could make a fist and punch the one that swooped close.

  It was demonic whack-a-mole, as soon as I smacked one of them out of the way, another took its place. They stank of sulphur and desperate need, and even with the protection of my coat and gloves, I felt their acidic touch. More of them swooped down. My arms were tiring, my legs were losing strength from the countless squats and lunges, and I was sure I’d pulled a muscle—or seven—in my back. I hit and swung and boomeranged until I thought my arms would fly off. From behind, I heard a loud roar, words spoken in a language I couldn’t understand.

  The shadows exploded, raining black dust. There was a loud crack and a brilliant flash of light burned the sky. The sound of a sonic boom, a high keening. Blistering heat followed by a sharp cold and the pungent smell of rot. The light faded. Nell was beside me. Zeke and Homer were gone. I scanned the landscape. The scarf slipped from my fingers. Craig lay in a pool of scarlet, Serge knelt beside him.

  Chapter Four

  The frozen ground bit into my knees as I slid next to Craig, touching his forehead and calling his name. Fallen snow made his blood seem brighter, redder.

  “Blood sacrifice.” He could barely get the words out. “Didn’t work. It took Homer and Zeke.”

  “We’ll get them back.”

  “Help me,” he wheezed. “Before it’s too late.”

  I put my hand on top of his chest, closed my heart and mind to the fear, and concentrated on healing, on the wounds knitting themselves. Serge did the same. The warmth of Nell’s fingers closed over mine.

  “It can’t hurt,” she said.

  On our knees, the cold and wet seeping in, we sent the energy and light to Craig. After what felt like an eternity, the blood on the ground slid back into his body and his wounds knit themselves clean. His eyes flickered open. “Thanks. Feels better.” He took a shallow breath. “Almost back.”

  “That’s a neat trick,” said Nell. “Think you could teach it to me? I’d be aces as a doctor if I could do that.”

  “Only works on supernaturals.” Craig grunted and sat up. “Only works for a blood sacrifice.”

  When he had recovered, Nell and I helped him stand. We got back to the car, put the heat on high, and sat in silence.

  “Well, I’m going to ask,” she said. “What was that?”

  “The cloud felt familiar,” I said.

  “It should,” said Craig. “It’s made up of the lost and wandering dead; they’re the ones who come to you when they want to transition. They gather when a soul is about to cross over.”

  “Always?” asked Serge.

  “Always,” said Craig. “Crossing over is terrifying for some ghosts, and they can’t do it. They come and watch, hoping one day to find the courage to leave this plane of existence.”

  “I’ve never seen it.” I brushed snow off my boots and cranked the heat.

  “Your powers are shifting. There’s a lot you’re going to see now, including soul-eaters.”

  “Soul-eaters,” said Serge. “Tell me more.”

  “In this life, souls linger for many reasons, both good and bad. They can’t let go because of their job, love, terrible relationships—they cling to the things that defined them in life. When another soul crosses over, it acts as a magnet that brings the others. They gather to watch. The collective energy works as a homing beacon. It brings the soul-eaters,” said Craig. “I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never seen one.”

  “A soul-eater,” I said. “As in, an entity that eats souls.”

  “Kind of,” he said. “Souls and soul collection are complicated things.”

  “How complicated can it be?” asked Nell. “You die, you cross over—” She glanced at me. “Okay, wait. You die. Sometimes you cross over. Sometimes you get someone like Maggie or Serge to help you cross over.” She frowned. “Then again, sometimes you get a ferrier. Or you might linger. Sometimes you group together with other lost souls and terrorize small Alberta towns.” She shook her head. “Like I was saying, souls and soul collection are complicated things.”

  “The only souls that transition easily are the evil ones,” said Craig. “They’re taken by hell, but that rarely happens. Most people are a mix of good and bad, and even if all you have is one drop of good, there’s a chance for redemption. Hell won’t come for you.”

  “And the other souls, the ones that don’t cross over?” asked Serge.

  Craig sat back. “It depends. Some souls are happy to linger on this plane. But the ones who come when another soul transitions, they’re the ones the soul-eater takes.”

  “Why?” asked Nell.

  “Those spirits don’t know if they are good or bad, so they don’t know where they’re going to end up. Or they’re afraid of what waits for them on the other side.”

  “Just talking numbers,” asked Nell. “How many of those wandering lost are we talking about?”

  “A lot,” said Craig. “Which is why we have soul-eaters. They ingest and hold the ghost until a guardian or someone higher can adjudicate their lives.”

  “And they show up and eat the spectators?” I asked.

  “They show up and eat the spectres,” Nell corrected me. “Who also happen to be spectators. It makes sense, though, it’s dinner and a show for the soul-eater.”

  “Soul-eaters are about efficiency,” said Craig. “Tracking lost souls via transition bridges is the best way to do it, and their job is to clear ghosts from this plane. If a soul-eater didn’t do it, then this world would be overrun with the lost.” He smiled. “There aren’t enough people like Maggie to transition and move the departed.”

  “Why did you make me leave?” asked Serge. “I’m not stuck on this side, and I know what’s on the other side.”

  “You died violently and unexpectedly. And your life was…”

  “A hot mess?” offered Nell.

  “Conflicted,” said Craig.

  “That shouldn’t matter,” I said. “Should it? Like Serge says, he’s got purpose on this side and a destiny from the other sid
e.”

  “But he still fulfills two of the soul-eater’s criteria and…”

  “…I still struggle with my life and my afterlife,” said Serge.

  “Exactly,” said Craig. “But something’s off with this one. It was hungry, but not in the right way. There was a sick need—it wanted Zeke and Homer, but not for their sake. It should never have taken either of them. They were both moving across the bridge to the other side. There’s only one explanation for it. The soul-eater came for power.”

  “Which is another reason I was in trouble,” said Serge.

  Craig nodded. “Souls are an enormous source of energy. If you could ingest and absorb that power—”

  “A ghost a day keeps the doctor away?” asked Nell.

  Craig went to answer, but I put up my hand to stop him. “Hold on, by definition, isn’t claiming souls for power and preventing them from crossing over the definition of evil? Shouldn’t hell claim the entity that’s doing it?”

  “The soul-eater is still clearing the backlog, which is a good thing—”

  “A drop of good,” I muttered. “A chance for redemption.”

  “Those souls aren’t crossing over anyway, so while the soul-eater’s motivation is corrupt, it’s still doing a service for both the living and the dead,” he said. “And if you’ve ingested enough souls—like this soul-eater—you know how to hide in their energy and bend their power to your will.”

  “Are Zeke and Homer gone?” I asked. “Did I bring them together only to have them destroyed by this entity?”

  Craig shook his head. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know enough about the soul-eaters. I’ve never had to deal with one. I’m going to go to the other side and look into it.” He sat up. “They live in the shadows so there isn’t a lot of information on them. Right now, any knowledge would be useful.”

  “Can I come?” asked Serge. “Something about that energy felt personal, but I can’t name it. If I can cross over and look around…”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” Craig held out his hand and Serge took it. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.” They disappeared to the other side.

  “Did you feel anything from the soul-eater?” Nell crawled over the console to the passenger seat. “Did it feel personal to you, too?”