Essence

by Mandi Lynn

  The police emerge from the woods and drive in the direction of my house. I follow the cruisers, noting how the ambulance goes in the opposite direction with my body, where it will endure further tests to find my cause of death.

  The three police officers enter my house and ask my parents to sit down. My mom looks like she’s just been crying as she claims her usual seat at the table. Both my parents wait, knowing there is news coming.

  “We found her…” The police start.

  “You did? Where is she? Is she okay?” my mom asks, hope now in her heart. Instantly she looks younger; with a smile on her face, all the weight of worry is off her shoulders.

  “We found her body.” The other police officer finishes. Quick, like a Band-Aid. That’s the best way to give bad news.

  “No! No, Emma is okay. I see her!” My mom points at me watching her. I’m standing at the window. How can she see me? I start to panic. Can everyone see me? I lie on the ground beneath the window while they look where I had just been standing.

  They all come closer to the window, staring out into the forest, for some reason expecting to see me. The officers stand there with hope, even though they had just seen my body, dead and lifeless, sent off to a hospital morgue. How is it possible that I can be seen? I’m just a spirit now.

  I have to get away; I can’t watch my mom go through this. I either have to leave, or haunt someone and face their thoughts. As I peek through the window again, I see that everyone is occupied in the kitchen discussing something. My mom sits alone at the table, her head down. There’s no sign of my dad for the moment, so I take the only opportunity I have.

  I try to walk through the glass window, but it doesn’t give. For whatever reason, objects in the real world are solid to me, but the more I tamper with the glass it starts to feel like gel in my hands. I try again, concentrating on manipulating the material to pass through. It works. The glass is an unwelcomed, cold sense. It passes through me like a thick, slow nuisance. Once I’m inside, my actions are quick as I step into my mom, brushing my hand against her shoulder. Her pulse is uncomfortable as I adjust to her body. Her skin feels warm, and I can feel the wet tears run down her face as she hides herself in her arms on the table. I’m not prepared for her thoughts as her hot and upset mind continues in a fast and unnatural pace.

  No! No, Emma’s not dead! I can see her!

  Where is she? I just saw her. She was there at the window!

  No, Emma can’t be gone! She can’t!

  I can’t stand it. My mom is screaming in her head that I’m alive. I can feel her pain as she hears the news. She wants to run from the kitchen and go into my room, hoping to find me there, waiting for a hug. The only thing that stops her from doing that now is the fact that she isn’t sure if she can run. Her muscles feel weak and shaky, even as she sits here at the table. Her head is down, because she honestly doesn’t have the strength or will to raise it.

  “Emma is gone. She’s never coming back,” I tell my mom in a fierce tone.

  Yes, she is! She’s alive!

  She repeats this over and over. A sharp pain goes through where my heart had once been, and it feels like I’m dying. I know that my mom loves me, always has. I also know I wish I had let her know that I loved her too. So I do this in the only way I know how.

  “Emma loved you and always will,” I whisper to her, hoping—just begging—for her to free her grasp on me and let go, so we can both go on.

  Emma, please come back! I need you!

  I want to scream, “Yes, I will!” But I can’t tell her this; it will never come true. I take a deep breath and ensure my mom everything is going to be okay. I let each word come out harsher than intended as I coax my mom into believing them.

  “You will go on without her, and you will be okay,” I say as forceful as I possibly can.

  No! I need Emma!

  Her crying escalates, and she runs out of the room, pushed by some sort of adrenaline high. She passes my dad in the hallway, and he starts to follow but decides that she just needs time alone. She trips multiple times once she is out of sight and up the stairs. My mom lets out heaving sobs and loses her breath as she sinks into a painful cry that hurts both of us as we share the same body. She manages to reach my room where my things are on the floor—exactly as I had left them.

  Emma, come back. Please, I will do anything.

  I finally see the full extent of things. My bed is still unmade the way I had left it; my dirty clothes waiting on the floor to be picked up. My mom believes I’m coming back. She never thought of the possibility of my death.

  Please…please, come back…

  My mom is begging now. How can I let this happen? Through the window the sky begins to turn dark, telling me my time today is almost up. She needs to let go.

  “Emma will always be here, watching. She is your guardian angel now. Emma will always be here in spirit. Remember that.”

  I leave my mom like that, sobbing in my room.

  Chapter 12

  Powers & Secrets

  I stumble around and find my way back to Phantom Lagoon. It feels like I’m crying, but my eyes are dry. I still find myself rubbing them, like there is a tear to wipe away. I wanted to give my mom a hug so bad. I left her there on the floor to cry. Her only daughter is dead, and there is nothing she can do.

  I walk into the lagoon and almost don’t notice when Eliza comes up.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. She steps forward, as if to hug me, but I go in the opposite direction away from her.

  I peer down at the water of Phantom Lagoon. It’s white and glowing from the full moon. It’s amazing how beautiful this place can look and at the same time ruin so many lives. Looking around the forest, I see that everything is glowing from the moon tonight.

  Eliza follows my gaze to the moon. “Some say that the moon is the heart of Phantom Lagoon. They say the mirrored rocks are from the moon, but I don’t think the moon can cause that much sadness.”

  Eliza is frowning now—remembering something I suppose. I look at the moon closer, wondering if it really can cause all this. It’s beautiful, just as Phantom Lagoon is. It seems like the moon is the possible cause of our problems.

  “What do you think, Emma?” Eliza asks, looking at me now. “Is the moon too beautiful to cause any trouble?”

  “Look around you, Eliza!” I’m surprised by the volume my voice takes. “This entire place is beautiful! Just because something is beautiful doesn’t make it innocent.”

  Eliza looks down.

  “Look, Eliza, I’m sorry. I’ve had a long day,” I say quickly, hoping to make her feel better, but I know she deserves more than this.

  She doesn’t respond, and I walk away from everyone at Phantom Lagoon and toward a boulder. I sit down, letting out a deep breath and stare at the night sky—the moon shining over us.

  The moon looks so bright. It has different shades of white and silver. I remember hearing stories of the man on the moon; that when you look at the craters, you can see a face. I see him now, looking down at me and smiling—at least this still remains in my world. I lost so much when I entered Phantom Lagoon—it’s nice to see an old memory. Maybe the moon didn’t cause this trouble, but something had to.

  I stay like this the rest of the night, looking at the moon and thinking about my parents. I know my dad can handle this, but my mom? She looked so…lifeless. It wasn’t like I had died, more like a part of her had died.

  Eliza walks over to see if I’m okay. She sits down next to me but doesn’t say anything.

  “Eliza, you said humans can’t see us,” I say, watching the moon’s reflection in the water of Phantom Lagoon.

  She looks at me. “There are always exceptions. You, for an example, could see our souls because your soul was calling you, so it wanted you to see us. Other than that, if you aren’t being called by a soul, humans can’t see us.”

  “My mom can see me,” I say in a numb voice. “She looked right at me when I was at my h
ouse. Twice. She even said, out loud, that she could see me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, she told my dad and the police that she saw me at the window. I had to haunt her to get her to stop,” I tell her.

  “Maybe it’s your…” Eliza starts to say, but trails off into her own mind.

  “My what?” I look at her now, more curious than ever.

  Eliza thinks for a minute, finding a way to word something correctly. “Well, some of us have powers. Simple things that let us interact with the human world. They don’t differ much. It’s very common to have people with the same powers. Sometimes we have an extra ability to use in the human world—to be seen, heard, or touched.”

  I can actually feel a smile forming on my face as I clutch my stone in my hand, waiting to hear more. “Does everyone have powers?”

  “Mostly. Some don’t or haven’t found theirs yet,” she says, matter-of-factly, looking forward.

  “What’s your power?” I ask, wanting, almost begging to hear more.

  “I can appear to be human. I can be physically there while others can’t. I go to school like everyone else. I love having this power because I don’t have to be just an Essence,” she says, smiling. “I can be partly human. It’s rare to have that—to have all abilities, the only limit being Phantom Lagoon calling me back at night.”

  “So is my power to appear to other humans?”

  “It seems so. You should test it. See if humans can hear you. Try to touch them too. You may have more than one power to interact with the human world like me.”

  _________________

  The next morning I try to make a plan, some sort of goal for this day that can help my mom let me go, but things struggle to come into place. I think about showing myself to my mom and what may happen if she can see me. I don’t know what to do. There is a whole list of options to test my powers, but the safest ones don’t involve my mom. Pushing aside the idea of powers, I realize I can haunt my mom again and show her something; something that was never meant for her to see. My drawings.

  Ever since I’ve turned into an Essence, I have no desire to draw anything. I have a feeling that I’ll never have that urge again. But that doesn’t mean I have to forget about it. Maybe this will be the one thing that will let my mom know who I really was—who I really am.

  Later in the day I reach my house. It’s comparably quiet since all the police cars and family and friends have left. I see my dad isn’t home either. That can make things a lot easier if my mom can see me; my dad won’t think my mom is crazy, like everyone seemed to believe yesterday.

  Using the spare key under the mat, I enter the house, quiet and still. I decide to take the time alone to make a necklace to hold my soul. I go to my dad’s desk where there are things like wire and string. I take the long silver wire and wind it around the stone over and over for safe measure. I shuffle through the desk looking for wire cutters and remember that my dad put them in the garage. Once I’m there, I hunt through the toolbox and find them easily, cutting the last of the wire and tucking the remainder in, so there are no sharp points. When I go back inside, I look through all the drawers to find some sort of string. I stumble across my mom’s small sewing kit, and see a leather cord and other bits of fabric mixed in. I untangle the leather and tie it around the stone.

  My necklace hangs against my collarbone as I walk up the stairs, listening carefully as I track my mom’s location—whimpering in my room. When I walk in, I see she is asleep, but it’s clear she’s having a nightmare. She’s sprawled across my bed, face embracing the covers. For a moment, I think that I might be able to solve this problem; that I can show my mom I’m okay, and she’ll be able to move on. Maybe if she can see me and keep this whole thing a secret, everything can work out—but only as a last resort. I will have to try my best to make my mom unknown to this world.

  I walk across the room and over to where my mom lays asleep. I can hear her mumbling to herself, and I’m tempted to shake her awake. Instead I stretch out my hand and step into her body.

  “Wake up,” I tell her.

  When she stirs awake, she is confused until she remembers why she is in my room. The events of the day before wash into her mind as she begins to cry again.

  Emma. Emma. Emma. She repeats my name over and over in her head.

  “There’s something Emma wants to show you,” I tell her.

  Emma wants to show me something?

  “Yes, now go over to her closet.”

  Once she gains her bearings, she crawls out of bed and toward the closet door. She stretches out her hand and turns the knob with great care—it’s like she thinks something is going to jump out at her. First she is confused and starts to look through my things. When she finally sees my drawings hidden in the back, her face is filled with awe.

  She doesn’t do anything at first. She just sits on the closet floor holding the drawings, but then a tear escapes her eyes. My mom opens my sketchpad and comes across drawings of our home in Florida, and her mind is flooded with memories of me when I was little.

  The drawing she holds now is of our backyard tree house. It’s not very high or big, but it was mine. When I was small, it was the only place I could be alone, because my parents couldn’t fit through the door. When I had grown out of it, my parents wanted to tear it down, but I wouldn’t let them. After that, I drew the little house in the tree, because I knew one day it would not be there. I wonder if it still stands.

  Did my little Amelia draw these? my mom thinks, running her hand over the paper. She remembers all the days I had spent in that tree. How during the summer I refused to come out, because I was protecting my kingdom. How I had made her bring my lunch to me. How I sometimes slept there during those long summer days. She didn’t mind though—she loved me and the imagination I possessed.

  “Yes,” I say.

  Why didn’t she tell me? They’re beautiful.

  “She was afraid. After the art classes when she was small, she feared her art being criticized. Emma kept them hidden, even if she thought they were wonderful.”

  Oh, Emma, I’m so sorry. You have a gift; share it with the world! She clutches onto the drawings as if they are her saving grace. A new set of tears comes as my mom starts to look through my drawings, each one different in their own way. The one she pauses the longest on is of our old house. In her head, there are the memories that come from that house; the one I grew up in.

  I know that, if I’m going to show myself, this is the time to do it. I wonder if she will be able to keep a secret like this from everyone. “What would you do to see Emma again?”

  Anything.

  “Would you keep a secret from everyone, including your husband?” My voice drops as if I’m crying.

  Yes. She’s so sure, so fearless.

  “You can’t tell anyone where she is. You’ll be the only one who will be able to know.” My voice comes out ragged and breathless as I realize I’m about to be reunited with my mom. This act is selfish. My mom doesn’t need to be reunited with me; I’m the one who needs this.

  Her face is bright as she reassures me. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.

  I step out of my mom’s body to reveal myself. The warmth of her body leaves me, and it’s like peeling off a strip of tape as my being begs to remain in a body. It’s something that didn’t happen with the police officer or Chepi. Maybe because this is my mother, it’s harder to leave her body. But I finally do, and the lack of all my senses that greets me is a cold, hard slap in the face into an unwelcoming world.

  Her mouth drops open, and she runs at me for a hug, right through me, reminding me that she is alive and I am dead. But she can see me. It doesn’t matter if I’m not there physically.

  My mom turns around to look at me. I thought she would be scared of me—that she may want to run away from her ghost daughter—but she just looks at me. Then she smiles. That’s when the crying starts. My mom falls to the floor, face in her hands.

  I watch
as her shoulders go up and down, her entire body shaking. I want to approach her, but I know that I physically can’t.

  “Emma,” she whispers, wiping away tears, a smile forming on her face.

  “You can’t tell anyone,” I tell her again. I’m ready to leave, that maybe she’ll think it was a dream. But when I see her smile at the sound of my voice, I know I made the right choice.

  “Emma, is that really you?” my mom asks, reaching out to me.

  “Yes, but… I’m not alive anymore—or dead. I’m a ghost now, or an Essence,” I say, struggling with the words.

  “What does that mean?” she asks, getting back on her feet now, never taking her eyes off me.

  “I’m never going to Heaven. I’m here on this Earth for the rest of my existence.” I didn’t want to tell her this. I want her to think that I’m in Heaven, but the words slip from my mouth.

  “How did this happen?” she asks, traveling back to my bed, sitting down and patting next to her for me to sit.

  “It doesn’t happen to everyone, but it’s long and hard to explain. I can guarantee you though, that when you die, you will go to Heaven. Just stay away from the forest,” I say, sitting farther away from her than she likes.

  “Emma, please, just tell me.”

  “No, promise me that you’ll stay out of the forest.”

  We sit in silence as she thinks things over. “All right, Emma, I promise. But are you going to come back again?” my mom asks, the fear of me leaving again undisguised in her eyes.

  “Of course, why do think I told you?” I say laughing.

  My mom breaks down crying, this time with tears of joy. I hear the door open down the stairs. My dad is home, and I have to leave before he too knows the secret.

  “Dad’s home. Remember you can’t tell anyone. Not even him,” I tell her, for a moment wondering why my dad shouldn’t know. But having my mom know is risky enough; I don’t understand what the consequences of telling the secret are just yet.