Worlds Between

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, of course.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes, why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because the last time you dumped us off someplace, you didn’t come back for a week.”

  “Great, so you’re going to bring that up again.”

  “You know it wasn’t the first time. There was Bob in Newport, Mark in Austin, Sam in Glendale,” I counted off the checklist of cheaters, users and con artists on my fingers. “And Roger. Let's not forget Roger in…where was it?”

  “Now you're being silly,” my mother said.

  “Every time you meet a new guy, you forget about everything else, including us.”

  Her gaze slid away from mine. “I know it’s been a long day. We’re all tired and crabby. I’ll get the keys and be right back. Or if you like, you could ride with me. But no more negativity—you’re messing with my chakras.”

  I flung open the door. “No thanks.” I stepped to the side of the bus, opened the side door, and looked at my baby brother, sleeping soundly. If it hadn’t been for Benny, I would have left my crazy mother a long time ago. This would be my senior year, if I had enough credits. But who knows if I'll ever graduate from high school with all the moving.

  Mom yammered on and on about how I’d like this town and how I’d make new friends. I'd heard it all before and I suddenly felt dizzy. It was like being trapped on a merry-go-round. Nothing ever changed. Tears pooled in my lower lashes, a lump in my throat expanded. I wanted to grab onto something stable and hold on.

  My mother stepped out of the van, shook the road dust from her peasant skirt and stretched her long thin legs. She smoothed her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, cinching it with a hair tie, before applying a thick layer of apricot gloss to her lips. She grinned at me, rubbed her lips together, and then studied her reflection in the side mirror of the bus. “We could be sisters you know, instead of mother and daughter. What do you think?”

  “Whatever,” I said. I didn’t want a sister. I wanted a mother. Someone who cared enough to see how much it hurt me to never have any friends, to constantly be the new kid at school, the weirdo with the ghost hunting mom. But more than anything I wanted a real home for Benny. I didn’t want him to end up like me, a wilting plant, struggling to take root.

  I glared at my mother who was still admiring herself in the mirror. I hated to admit it, but I guess she was right, we did sorta look alike. We shared the same long paprika-blonde hair and hazel eyes. But I wasn't lucky enough to get her willowy figure or her outgoing personality. I used to promise myself that with every move things would get better. A new school—a new life. I'd be popular, more outspoken. I'd make tons of new friends. Wrong. While everyone else was busy chatting and interacting, I sat hunched at my desk doodling in my notebook, escaping the chaos around me. Pretending to be an aspiring artist, hiding behind a curtain of hair.

  Sometimes I wondered if was normal to be so uptight all the time. To be aware of every move I made, every word I spoke. My mother was the complete opposite. She floated through life without a care, so completely sure of herself. I've never had that kind of confidence, and I envied her for it—not that I'd ever tell her that.

  I reached inside the van, unbuckled Benny and lifted him up. He nestled his soft head under my chin. I inhaled the scent of raspberries and cream lingering in the fine strands of his hair. Sweet residue from the baby shampoo I’d washed him with the night before. Benny shifted in my arms and put a fist to his mouth while I grabbed his sippy cup and blanket. Benny snatched them eagerly. He was a lot like my mother, always happy and full of energy. Nothing ever seemed to bother him much. He was quick to adapt, unlike me. Last month, he’d hit the toddler stage and trying to keep up with him was a challenge, but at least I didn't have to carry him all the time.

  My mother slid into the driver’s seat, closed the bus door and winked. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

  I noticed the glow in her eyes. My mother, the opportunist, no doubt wanted to go back for a second chance to flirt with the real estate agent. He’d been checking her out the moment we walked in the door. One thing she could never resist was men—men of all shapes and sizes. Often at our expense. She had assured the agent she could rid the house of any unpleasantness and anything else he may want while the slimebag took off his wedding ring and tucked it into his desk drawer. Unseen, except by me.

  None of mom's relationships ever lasted for long, not even with my father. My mother had met him in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. They fell in love, stopped attending meetings, and moved in together a week later. The affair lasted a month and then he was gone, leaving her alone and pregnant. She refused to tell me anything about him, almost as if it were easier for her to pretend I had just dropped out of the sky, than to admit she had screwed up with yet another man.

  I used to lay awake at night and dream about my father. What he looked like, how he smelled. Sometimes I’d push him from my mind, wondering how he could just walk away and leave us behind. I used to watch fathers on the playgrounds, pushing kids on swings, or going out for ice cream, attending school plays. I liked how calm they were, how stable. They seemed like giant anchors, firmly rooted to the ocean floor. You could be safe with them, not always drifting like us.

  Mom started the engine and accelerated down the driveway. A rooster tail of dust flared out behind the van as she pulled away. At the last moment, before disappearing around the bend, she stuck out her hand and waved. I turned my back on her as she had done so many times to us.

  I looked at the ground, my gaze following the curve of the gravel lining the driveway. Maybe while I waited, I could hunt for rocks. I loved the familiarity of stone, the weight of a small piece of the earth's crust resting in the palm of my hand. It made me feel grounded, settled somehow, even though most days I felt like the Greek god, Atlas, burdened with the weight of the entire world on my shoulders.

  I hiked to the gate and pushed it open. The hinges squealed with loud mournful cries, as if alive. Weeds choked the footpath. I glanced back at the road, thinking how stupid I’d been to let her leave us here. What if she didn’t come back? How far was it to the main highway—a mile, maybe two?

  Come on Dharma, stop it. I took a deep breath and studied the mansion tucked into a thick congregation of ancient oaks. Their skeletal branches seemed to cradle the crumbling structure, protecting it from something. Something sinister.

  A shrill cry came from somewhere in the distant swamp and a blue heron glided overhead. Its lonesome call rang across the horizon. I held Benny closer, hesitating in front of a dense wall of weeds and waist-high grass. Not the kind of terrain I wanted to wade through in a tank top, shorts and flip flops. Who knew what lurked in those tall grasses—there could be poisonous snakes or worse.

  A deep-throated growl rumbled from several yards away. I froze, listening. What was that? To the left, the grass waved to one side, then parted at a threatening pace. Something was coming, heading straight for us.

  I clutched Benny to my chest and made a break-neck run for the house. Thorns tore at my flesh. Something snapped at my heels. Cold, wet slime slithered down the backs of my ankles. I ran harder through the thick foliage, lungs burning, breath sawing in and out. Just a few more feet and I’d make it to the front porch. The growl intensified, drowning out the sound of my footsteps. Icy breath feathered my legs. I lunged forward and toppled over the remains of a concrete statue. My brother flew from my arms.

  “Benny!”

  I scrambled to my feet, frantically searching the weeds, glancing over my shoulder for whatever chased us. The grass stood still, as if frozen. The air so silent, not even a breeze. My pulse hammered in my ears.

  “Benny, where are you!” I yelled.

  No answer. Not one sound. Why wasn’t he crying? My heart did a somersault. Was he knocked unconscious? My fear of the unknown lurking in the grass evaporated. I waded through the weeds, tearing aside patches of crabgrass, hoping he was there. Nothing. Eac
h breath felt heavy, as if I was swallowing mud. I whipped my head around, searching. Where was he?

  To the left stood the old house. A padlock secured the front door; boards crisscrossed the windows. Around me, nothing but weeds, swampland, and rotting outbuildings. In the distance near a low clearing, I spotted a flash of blond hair. Benny! His face glowed with laughter, his arms outstretched, chasing after something.

  “Benny, stop!”

  He paused and looked at me, then turned as if someone were calling to him, luring him away. He continued to run clumsily through the clearing, past an overgrown gazebo toward a murky slough fed by a lazy river.

  “Benny, no!” I sprinted after him, blood trickling down my scraped knees, pain flashing into my side. I yelled until my vocal cords ached, but he only ran faster, laughed louder. At the water’s edge, he tripped and pitched forward. His tiny hands flew out in front of him as he tumbled headlong into the dank waters and sank like a stone beneath the sludge. I crashed through the brambles and dove into the pond.

  Lilies and vines tangled around my body as I cut through the inky water. I forced my eyes open, struggling to see in the cloudy haze, lungs on the verge of bursting. I surfaced for a quick breath and dove in again. Light from above pierced into the darkness, guiding me to the bottom as I frantically searched the thick black ooze. I dug into the muck, fumbling through the sludge when my hand collided with a pile of long smooth objects. Cloth swirled around my fingers. Was it Benny’s shirt? I grabbed with both hands and pulled. When the muck cleared, I made out a long femur bone with part of a pant leg. In horror, I threw it aside, seeing a fuzzy outline of a hundred other bones strewn on the scummy pond floor.

  I swam farther out through a forest of lilies. Fear swallowed me, consumed every single cell. I kicked harder and harder, propelling through an underwater sandstorm. Where was he?

  A cool current washed against my face where the river met the bog. Ahead, a log rested on the bottom wedged next to a mossy boulder. Was Benny trapped beneath it? Had the swift current sucked him under?

  Swimming closer, panic rose in my throat. This was no log. Dark leathery skin stretched over its bony head. Raised plates scaled its back. Dark eyes rolled upward, locking with mine, pinning me in an icy gaze.

  An alligator!

  My shattered mind raced. No wonder there were so many bones.

  Sassy Smit gripped the handles of the wooden rocker, her flesh prickling. She sat bolt upright, muscles trembling, sweating and cold with fear. Was that a scream? Someone yelling? She held her breath to listen, waited several seconds. Nothing. Sassy forced herself up, hobbled to the front door, and threw it open. She narrowed her eyes. The noise had come from across the swamp, from the old plantation house. She couldn’t see anyone. Caretakers came from time to time, keeping the place up, renovating, but they never stayed long—they didn’t dare.

  Sassy shook her head, she could have sworn she heard a scream, and before that, the ruckus of a passing car or truck. But she couldn’t be sure. Her hearing wasn’t what it used to be, and she’d be damned if she would wear one of those hearing contraptions. She returned inside, and reached for the phone hanging on the wall underneath an outdated calendar. Sassy jerked her hand back and sighed. Better not, they’d probably take her away. Say she was too old to live alone anymore. No, she’d tend to her own business, finish her crossword puzzle and stitching.

  Just her ancient ears playin’ tricks, that’s all it was. No need to get all tangled up. Her arthritic hands shook. Too bad they just didn’t burn the place down. Ashes to ashes, that’s what it needed, though she doubted it would do much good.

  I stared into the alligator’s eyes, not daring to make any sudden movements. One snap and it would have me in its jaws, rolling over and over until my lungs burst. The creature stirred, moving awkwardly in the underwater current. My heart leapt. Something wasn’t right. The gator wriggled in the tide, flopping to one side, its intestines spilling out of its belly. Dead.

  Kicking hard, I rose from the suffocating depths, gasping for air. Tears stung my eyes. How many times had I accused my mother of being careless and it was me who had lost Benny for good. Searching the water clogged with plants and muck, I wondered how long it would take for his little body to surface. Anger tightened my chest. I wouldn’t give up. I inhaled another deep breath, preparing to dive again, when I heard a faint giggle. Benny’s giggle. I spun around, hunting the bank for the source of the sound.

  The giggle erupted again. There he was, to my right, nestled in a stand of cattails, clutching his blanket and waving his cup. How did he get there? He wasn’t even wet. I had seen him fall, had heard the terrible splash.

  He got to his chubby feet. And took off again! I struggled to reach the shore, plants tangling around my legs like skeletal hands. Benny toddled through the grass.

  “Benny. Wait!”

  He turned around, grinned at me and took a sip from his cup. A few yards behind him, the grass whipped. Something else was coming, barreling through the thicket. No, please, not again! My feet touched bottom and I plodded to shore, fighting the wet muck sucking at my shoes. I bolted through the tall grass like a football player, lunging for my little brother. I snatched Benny into my arms.

  Ahead, a huge black dog broke into the clearing, foam steaming from its massive jaws. It paused, head tilted to the side, studying us. Suddenly it lowered its muzzle and charged.

  Frantically, I waded back into the bog with Benny. What was I doing? I couldn’t out-swim a mad dog with Benny in my arms. A scraggly tree grew in the middle of the pond. Its branches stuck out like the arms of a scarecrow. It wasn’t that far, I could wade to it and climb into the safety of its branches.

  A shrill whistle pierced the air. The dog slid to a stop behind us, turned and loped toward a guy about my age riding a four-wheeler. He drove the ATV to the pond’s edge, killed the engine and hopped off. A golden tan offset his olive-black eyes, firm jaw and sun-streaked hair, which hung a little long in the front of his brow.

  “Hi, I didn’t know anyone was here. Sorry if we scared you,” he said, eyeing me up and down with a strange look. “Wow...that must have been a miserable dip.” His voice was deep, his accent Southern with a hint of Cajun.

  I slogged to shore with Benny squirming in my arms, stretching to reach the dog. The Boxer wagged its tail playfully and sniffed at Benny’s hand. Foamy drool ran from its mouth.

  I jerked Benny’s arm back. “Your stupid dog tried to kill us, and my brother almost drowned. Don’t they have a leash law here in Hickville?”

  The dog leapt forward and licked my foot. I glared at the Boxer. It gazed up at me with big liquid eyes, begging for a pet. Its tongue lolled to one side. I suddenly felt stupid. This dog was no killer.

  The stranger patted the dog’s head. “It wasn’t Scooter. We just got here and besides, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “We’ll something chased us and…”

  He frowned, took a step closer and plucked a long weed from my dripping hair. My checks burned. Earth, seriously—just swallow me now.

  “Uh…thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  He picked up a stick in the brush and waved it in front of the dog’s nose. The Boxer sprang up and down, barking.

  “Fetch!” The guy hurled the branch into the air.

  Scooter tore after it. Benny squealed and kicked his legs, fighting to free himself from my arms. The Boxer retrieved the stick and dropped it at my feet. I grabbed the stick before Scooter could take it, and flung it near the pond. The dog slid to a stop at the water's edge, barking and whining to reach the object without getting his paws wet.

  “That’s weird,” the guy said. “He usually loves the water.” He turned his attention to me. “So do you have any idea what they want done, or where I should start?”

  I stared at him, water dripping off my nose like some kind of sea creature. “What do you mean?”

  “I was supposed to mow the lawn. But it looks like I’ll
have a ton of work to do first.” He frowned, studying the area. “Man, someone really let this place go.”

  I took a step forward and tripped, barely catching myself. Not a big surprise. In my lifetime, I have managed to fall, stumble or trip practically every day. It's like I'm wearing an invisible pair of giant clown shoes or something. It's even worse when I'm nervous. My brain and my body are constantly at war, and they can't seem to come to any kind of agreement. Ever.

  He returned his attention to me. “Are you with the real estate agency?”

  “No, my mom and I are here to do research.” I didn’t want to get into the whole embarrassing ghost hunting deal.

  “Cool! You guys must be the ghost hunters, right?” His eyes widened. “I’ve heard some pretty wild stories about this place.”

  Darn. Word must have already spread about us coming. I bit my lower lip, hoping it was all good. I always lived with the fear that mom would get thrown in jail when the locals caught onto her scam.

  “I could tell you some scary stories, but I guess you’ll find out soon enough on your own. Wouldn’t want to influence your findings. I’m Wolf Bodine, by the way.”

  I frowned. “Your name is Wolf? Seriously?”

  “Yep, short for Wolfgang.”

  “As in Mozart?”

  He nodded. “My mother is a classical pianist. So, lucky me.”

  I smirked, thinking how my mother would love this flirty guy, with his unusual name and muscled body.

  “I’m Dharma. I’d shake your hand but I’m a little disgusting right now.”

  He glanced at the pond and shuddered. “Whatever made you dive in there must have been pretty scary.”

  I nodded. “I thought Benny had fallen in and drowned.”

  “Wow, glad he’s okay.” Wolf grabbed Benny’s foot. “Hi there, big guy.”

  Benny giggled and kicked his legs.

  “Sorry, he doesn’t talk yet,” I said. “At least not in English.”

  Wolf surveyed the area. “Did you get a look at whatever it was that chased you?”