Spectral Tales
Page 16
"Child, we have never granted such a request. We take. We build our ranks. What you ask of us, no one has asked before," said the chief. "But your courage, strength, and love for your family have not gone unnoticed. We are impressed not only with your bravery in requesting to see your family, but for enduring all you have at such a young age. Thus, we are willing to grant your request."
"Oh, thank you, thank you!" I cried, still not making eye contact with any of the night marchers.
"We can only summon a single family member. Who shall that loved one be, child?"
"My mother." I hated having to choose between people I loved, but my mom?she was my best friend?she was everything.
"Having grown up on the island, I suppose you know the condition that must be met before we can summon the spirit of your mother."
Nodding, I said, "Yes, Sir, I'm aware of the condition."
"Wait. There's a condition? What condition?" Gus muttered from the sand beside me.
Answering Gus's frantic inquiries, the chief warrior simply replied, "We can only grant her request if she meets my gaze and a member of her family steps forward to claim her blood as family. In other words, unless Miss Lahela has an ancestor marching amongst us, she will meet her death."
"WHAT?" shouted Gus. "But?how does she know? How would she know?"
"Shhh." I tried to shush him. The last thing we needed was for the night marchers to grow agitated or perceive any of us as acting in a disrespectful manner.
"Don't shush me, Maile. This is serious stuff. And you do realize I'm trying to sound tough with my face in the sand, right? This is slightly demoralizing, so some slack should be given," Gus murmured.
Strangely, the marchers actually chuckled. I couldn't tell if it was a sarcastic chuckle-the kind that rattled bones-or if they were genuinely amused.
"Miss Lahela will not know if she has an ancestor among us until she meets my gaze. If there is someone of her blood here, he or she will step forward, thereby saving her life. If not, she will die and join our ranks."
"Aw, hell, that's it!" grumbled Gus, leaping up off the sand.
"Gus! No! What are you doing?" I shouted.
"Ooh, can we get up now?" asked Gully. "I'm kinda tired of being a throw rug." And with that, Gully popped up as well.
"Gully! Gus! No!"
"You're not standing alone," Gus said forcefully.
"DON'T MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH THEM!" I screamed, but it was too late. Both Gully and Gus had locked eyes with the marchers.
I watched in horror as the night marchers slowly drained the lives from my boyfriend and my best friend.
As their eyes bulged and the skin on their faces grew thinner and thinner and thinner, I screamed, "No. NO! Please spare my friends. Take me! Take me, not them, not them! I'll trade you my life for theirs, whether I have an ancestor here or not. Just please, PLEASE STOP!" With this, I determinedly made eye contact with the chief warrior.
He narrowed his eyes on me, studying my face. Holding up his hand, he ordered his followers to stop. "Release the two companions."
Though I never broke eye contact with the warrior, my peripheral vision told me they had ended their assault on Gus and Gully. Both of my dear friends had fallen to their knees, gasping for air.
With a simple smirk, the chief warrior proudly said, "You are brave, young one."
"Just do it," I demanded.
And so it began-the warrior pulled me to my death. It happened so fast-the darkness?the quiet?the nothingness.
"Stop this," shouted a strong man's voice. "She is my blood."
The chief immediately stopped his attack; I dropped to the sand, landing on my side, barely able to breathe. Gus was beside me in seconds, pulling me into his arms.
"Maile? Maile! It's okay, baby, it's okay. I've got you."
When my vision cleared, I turned to the ghostly figure claiming we shared a bloodline. "Papaw?"
Smiling warmly at me, my great-grandfather nodded.
Looking between us, the chief said, "You, Maile Lahela, have surpassed any expectation we marchers had formed about the living. We find most to be disingenuous, uncaring, and profoundly self-involved. Yet you and your friends have shown us that there are those who value love, friendship, and family above all else. Thus, you and your friends are free to go. In fact, I will see that your great-grandfather escorts you to a nearby dock, where a friend of the night marchers will aid in your escape."
"Thank you, Sir, thank you," I said gratefully.
"However, I have a promise to fulfill, have I not?" With a nod of his head, he and the entire group of night marchers raised their hands to the heavens. "Come say farewell to your child."
In mere moments, a beautiful, luminous white light shone on the beach before me. As the radiant glow faded, I studied the figure kneeling in front of me. My shoulders collapsed and tears pooled within my eyes.
"Mama?"
"My baby," whispered my mom, holding her arms wide.
Gus released me and I crawled across the sand and into my mother's arms. The second I felt her embrace, I couldn't stop the tears from flowing. She felt so warm, so real?so alive.
"Oh, Mama, I've missed you so much. So much."
"My sweet, beautiful, brave baby," she said. Pulling back and cupping my face in her hands, silver tears streaming down her glistening cheeks, Mom said, "I'm so proud of the young woman you've become, Maile. You're brave and strong and kind, and I'm grateful to have known you, my angel. You were the best thing that ever happened to me?the best part of my life."
I sobbed, wishing she could stay with me forever.
"Only a few more minutes," the chief stated, though I detected a hint of sorrow in his voice.
"Don't leave me, Mama. Please?I don't want to do this alone. I need you."
"Oh, Maile, I wish I could stay?" Mom's voice cracked. Swallowing hard, she said, "Pick a star, any star."
I wiped my blurry eyes and gazed up at the sky, just like I did as a child. Pointing my limp, shaky finger, I said, "That one."
"Ah, that's a good one. It's a very important star, you know. I don't have time to tell you its whole story, but the best part about that little star is?that's where I'll be, watching over you."
The tears flowed once more as I grabbed hold of my mama.
"One last time?" she said, her voice beginning to fade. Mom gently stroked my hair, singing, "My baby, how I love you?My love can't fade?I'm there, one star away. Goodbye, my precious baby."
"I love you, Mama."
"I love you, Maile."
She held me in her arms, hugging me tightly until she faded away, back to the heavens. I clasped my hands over my mouth, the sadness overwhelming me.
"Child, it is time you move on," said the chief.
Nodding, I choked on grateful tears and somehow managed to give him my thanks. "Thank you for this moment. I'm profoundly thankful."
The old warrior shook his head. "It is not I you need to thank. It is yourself and your friends. You owe tonight to your own brave, endless hearts. Farewell, Maile and friends."
All but my papaw marched forward. Gully and Gus sat on either side of me, their arms wrapped around my shoulders and arms. The last memory I had of my mom would no longer be from the sad, painful night I was ripped from her arms; it would be of tonight, resting in her arms as she sang to me one final time-on a night where a band of spirits found hope within three outcast friends and saw fit to help set them free.
I gazed up at the little star I'd selected; suddenly, that sweet, tiny star twinkled brighter than any other in the Hawaiian sky.
Smiling, I said, "I love you, too, Mama."
And in that moment, I knew she would never be far from me, not really. All I had to do was look to the star-filled night sky and rest easy knowing she was watching over me-over all of us-as we tried to find where we belong. Right now, watching that little star smile upon us, I firmly believed we'd find that long-dreamed of place.
About
Sutton Shields
Ms. Shields is a sports-loving, holiday addict with a seriously stupid cricket and grasshopper phobia. To highlight her membership in the dork category, Ms. Shields simply cannot bring herself to clean out a pumpkin because, to her, it would be like de-stuffing a stuffed animal. Despite her idiocy, Ms. Shields adores her parents and always hopes to make people smile, even if it means making a fool out of herself.
Twitter
Facebook
Blog
Ghost Girl
Susan Fodor
When Kurt smiles he gets dimples at the corners of his lips. He drives the car, hands at ten and two, singing along to an Ed Sheeran song. His hazel eyes sparkle in the dying rays of sunlight, the calm before we reach the pounding noise of Amanda's party.
Butterflies flutter through my stomach at his cheeky grin. "Testes is really enjoying his home," Kurt teases. He motions to a pair of loom band smiling cherries with black bead eyes hanging from his rear vision mirror. I had made them for him a few months ago, and when he had hung them in his car he said they were his new mascots. Junior, Kurt's best friend had been in the car and said, "It looks like gonads. You can not hang those there ?"
I rolled my eyes. "Come on."
"People will think you're a homo," Junior said to Kurt.
He shrugged. "People can think whatever they want. My girl made them for me and they will remain in my car. I shall name them Testes and they shall be my Testes," Kurt announced grandly.
In that moment I'd known Kurt was a keeper. He would never be allowed to name anything or anyone in our home, but he sure knew how to make me feel valued. True to his word Testes still hung from his rear view mirror.
"I'm still not sold on the name," I respond, shifting in my seat to have a better view of him.
When his eyes meet mine, I can see our future; high school sweethearts going to the same college in two years, getting married after graduation. I'll work for five years before we have our first child and then settle into being a mother till our three children are all at school and then I'll work part time and care for Kurt and our family. The future is always on my mind.
My daydreaming is interrupted by Kurt's phone beeping. He grabs it from the middle console and glances at it. "Junior is at the junction, is it OK if we pick him up." It's a question phrased like a statement. We often pick up Junior, but he always puts me on edge.
I shrug. "Whatever." I catch my reflection in the sun-visor-mirror rolling my green eyes. My red hair is blowing in the breeze from the open window, and my black spotted chiffon blouse is kicking with the faux leather skirt that arrived today off Ebay.
Kurt continues to hold his mobile, his right hand rests on the steering wheel, glancing at the road as his fingers tap lithely across the screen.
"He's only a few miles down the road," I say, not seeing a need to text him back. "Here, let me text him for you." I extend my hand to him for the phone.
Kurt laughs. "It's fine. I'm nearly finished."
"Come on ?"
Kurt's mouth opens in a silent scream, his eyes so wide his tan face can barely contain them. I turn my face to see a truck hurtling toward us. Kurt jerks the wheel. My head slams against the window. We are spinning like a dreidel. I squeeze my eyes shut. Twisting metal. Breaking glass. Heat. Darkness.
***
"She's out of the car. No pulse. No respiration," says a wrinkly-faced ambulance officer. He is leaning over me, his hands on my sternum and cheeks flush with exertion. I feel nothing. One of his curly grey hairs flutters down and rests across my left eyelash. I should move my hand and get it out of my eye, or blink, or tell him to get off me, or something. It feels like there is all the time in the world to do those things-no that's wrong-it feels like there is no longer time. Time no longer exists.
Another ambulance officer enters my line of vision. A small woman with thick black hair and almond shaped eyes, her uniform enhances her beauty. "She's gone. Call it."
"No. No. No. Keep trying." Kurt's voice is so filled with anguish, I want to sit up and tell him I'm okay. I am frozen, but fine.
"Zoey ? Zoey ? Zoey!"
***
The afterlife was not what I had expected. There was no paradise in the sky by and by. No burning hell. Even haunting was pretty lame. I'd imagined being able to go where I wanted when I wanted, like those ghosts who walked through walls and sent chills down spines and raised hairs on people's arms. That was not what it's like.
I am, but I am not.
I closed my eyes and there was nothing but the black of oblivion. I opened them to find myself in random places. For example, my room. My room hadn't changed since I died, which to tell you the truth, I don't know when it was.
Photos of my former life still hung on the wall. I spent most of my time looking at the picture of Kurt kissing my forehead. In the Polaroid the sun glints through my red hair, my green eyes crinkle in the corners from the smile on my coral coloured lips-I was so pretty, but I had no idea. I want my body back, it may not have been runway perfect, but it was better than this existence.
Billowy white curtains blew gently in the summer breeze. I'm not sure how many summers have passed. The window was always open a crack, because I never wanted to be closed in. Yet I am trapped listening to my parents fight. They always fight now. Before I died they would go into the car and turn on the radio to fight, now they just scream at each other whenever the urge arises.
Dad: "You shouldn't have let her go to the party."
Mom: "It was an accident."
Dad: "You always allowed her too much freedom."
Mom: "Maybe if you'd actually been a father to her ?"
It was the same argument, rephrased, rehashed and re-yelled around the table at mealtime, or in the living room, or in the car. I spent a lot of time trying to comfort my parents, but they don't feel me.
Seeing them like this was worse than hell. Maybe seeing the consequences of my death was hell? How could anyone be happy in heaven if they were looking down and seeing their family like this?
There is no heaven or hell.
***
I sat in my place at the dinner table. Mom set four plates on the table. It was leftover night, and three-day-old meat loaf sat on the table beside stir-fry tofu and vegetables, and pizza that had seen better days. I'm grateful for having no sense of smell, Mom's meatloaf smelled like wet dog on its best days.
Chloe picked up my plate. "Dad will get upset," she said, looking at Mom. My sister looked older. At some point she had dyed her strawberry blonde locks to black, and started wearing way too much eye-liner.
Are you a pirate or a vampire? I teased, but it fell on deaf ears.
Tears welled in Mom's eyes. Chloe hugged her. I tried to hug them both, but I can never get close enough.
***
School was the one place I never expected to haunt, especially at lunchtime. My friends sat around the plastic table, one in a sea of tables crowded with puberty stricken teenagers. Amanda sat in my place beside Kurt.
"You can put your arm around me," Amanda said, taking his hand and pulling it around herself.
"It's doesn't seem right." Kurt grimaced, his hand limp on her shoulder. A thin silver scar from his hairline to temple was the only reminder of the crash.
"Come on dude, she's gone. There's no harm in moving on." Junior laughed. His face was getter fatter by the day, his squinty brown eyes and spiked hair reminded me of a ferret.
Get stuffed, Junior, I said. While I didn't want Kurt to stay alone, he could do better than All-The-Way-Amanda.
"I just bought the best dress for graduation." Amanda beamed.
My friends started talking about graduation. I watched Kurt with his arm slung around Amanda's shoulders, and she was giggling about some garbage that no one cares about-or maybe it's just me who doesn't care about this high school stuff anymore.
I can't believe this is how I'm spending my afterlife. I turned, floating away.
"I can't believe you crashed because she was giving you a blow job," Amanda snickered.
They were behind me now, I wanted to turn around and see Kurt's face. There was no way they were talking about me. Kurt would never support that.
"Zoey was a very naughty girl," Junior replied, his voice dripping with innuendo. "Kurt's lucky I arrived in time to help him tell the sheriff the truth, otherwise the whole thing could have ended badly."
The cafeteria din was behind me. No wonder my dad was so mad, he thought the accident had been caused by ? Ewwww. For the first time since I died, I felt something.
Anger.
Maybe the reason I hadn't passed on was to make things right. I was going to make Kurt and Junior pay for what they did to me and my memory.
***
I lay on my bed, watching the breeze dance with the curtains. The conversation at lunch played through my mind on repeat, filling me with lava-hot anger. It felt glorious, rolling around in my stomach and forcing me to focus my thoughts.
Kurt had taken my life texting to Junior, and Junior had sullied my reputation in death to protect Kurt. I'd always thought that Junior brought out the worst in Kurt, but now I saw them as two sides of the same asshole coin. I had dreams of attending college, of getting married, and having a family. They had stolen that from me, and then made me look like a whore in death. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got.
I had to do something. I had to get justice for my death. My parents deserved to know the truth, so they could stop imagining the worst. Kurt needed to be made an example of, so that no other douche-bag boyfriend would feel entitled to murder his girlfriend by texting and driving. I would get justice, but how?
***
I didn't like church buildings, they were a symbol of dead faith. God didn't live in a building. If He was real, he would live in people's hearts, which made the church building a total waste of time and money.
After all the hours I clocked on at church, I should have been in heaven right now. Mom, Dad and Chloe were seated in a pew three rows from the pulpit. Kurt's family were seated on the other side of the church in the front row, so Mona, Kurt's mother, could get to the piano easier. Before the accident our families had sat together in the front.