Opening it up, he saw the photo of the same kid he'd just been talking to moments earlier. Apparently, the boy, Zach Wilson, had been playing outside when he slipped and fell in the water. At least, that's what the paper said.
Tom looked over at his golden retriever as he came to greet him. "Eddie, I sure as hell don't know what's going on," he said, rubbing the dog between the ears before fixing them both some food - for Eddie a bowl of kibble and for Tom a chicken burrito from the blind date dinner the night before.
The next morning, Tom dressed, ate toast, coffee, and turkey bacon (his doc told him his cholesterol was high), before he hopped into his truck. After starting it up, he noticed the old thing was sputtering, but Tom didn't pay any attention to it because he spied a young woman on the side of the road.
Slowing to a stop, Tom rolled his window down. "Hey," he said to the woman in combo boots, jeans, and a sweater. "I'm Tom."
"Hey yourself, the names Annie. Mind giving me a lift? I was supposed to take the bus, but I overslept. I thought another might come by, but it's been an hour..." she said, flipped her ponytail over her shoulder.
"Sure, hop in. Where you going?"
"Fifth and Jefferson. I need to pick up my cat," Annie said, getting in.
"I see," he replied as he started the truck. "Is it OK?"
"He's fine. He got fixed," she explained. Annie slid closer to the driver while talking to him. "So, you have any pets?"
"Yeah, a golden named Eddie."
"Oh, how sweet!" she cooed, getting even closer. "Got a wife? A partner?"
"No, it's just me. Been on a few blind dates recently. I end up with food, but that's it."
"Sounds horrible," Annie said, grabbing the wheel and jerking it. "At least you won't have to deal with those anymore. Bye-bye, Tom."
Laughing, she morphed into a blue, translucent mist in a humanoid shape. Annie hovered over the truck as it veered off the road and wrapped itself around a phone pole. When the police and ambulance arrived five minutes later, she floated off until she saw another child, a girl swinging. She has pigtails and a denim jumper. Landing, the spirit changed into a curly-haired and overall-wearing girl.
"Hi, I'm Margaret...Maggie. What do you want to do? I can teach you anything," she said, going over to the swinging girl and offering her her hand, which she took. As the skipped around the back of the house, the spirit smiled.
*
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Chapter 31
“Harvest Moon”
Martin Reaves
Auburn, California, USA
Late Summer...
Night-sounds on the Louisiana bayou blend into one soporific, intoxicating buzz, the air a muggy blanket draped over the ranch house in the middle of the dirt clearing.
The old woman sits in the older rocker on the ancient porch. Creaking, fanning, humming a tune the words to which she forgets, if it ever had words. Mosquitoes avoid her. Lightning bugs dance for her; occasionally she will snare one from the air, smash it on her arm and draw designs on her skin with the phosphorescent liquid, like she did when she was a little girl ... a long time ago.
From inside the house, a crash, a vase probably, then the inevitable pitiful weeping, increasing as he nears the door.
Poor Jeffery. Never very coordinated, neither very bright. And now...
The woman sighs, phlegmy, rattling. At least he's here.
From the door: "Momma?" Muffled.
"Right here, darlin'. Come keep your momma comp'ny."
"I--I cain't stand up, Momma."
Exasperation, quickly checked. Hold the breath; let it seep out, slow like. He can't help it. "Well, drag yourself out here. You hafta at least give her a try. After what I done fer you, it's the least you can do."
A pause. Then: "Yes, Momma." He begins to scrabble at the threshold, bumping at the screen door, cursing his lack of control.
Momma smiles. That's my boy. She winks conspiratorially at the blue-ringed platinum moon…Harvest moon. Her eyes drape, face tilting to absorb the coolness she feels flowing from the pregnant sphere. Shelley's words fill her mind and whisper from her lips: "That orbed maiden with white fire laden, whom mortals call the moon…"
Bittersweet this moon, and the memory it evokes…
Harvest moon of twenty years past, middle age no longer a threat, but a reality. Sipping chamomile under a moonlit sky, fanning the heat into her face, watching the shambling figure at the edge of the clearing, lurching toward her, calling her name in a drunken slur. And then he was at the porch, leering, falling on her. Sour breath washed over her and she felt disgust…and then more as he began to pick clumsily at the buttons of her dress. No, she had said, pushing at his bulk, but he slapped her, became violent and she was on her back on the porch, squirming beneath his sweat, and then he was inside of her, stealing the only virtue she'd ever had, and suddenly, in self-loathing, she was kissing her brother's neck, saying, Yes, not knowing what she was affirming.
Later there was blood.
The next day vomiting.
The next year…Jeffery.
Many Harvest moons betwixt then and now. And last week—or was it two weeks—the Accident.
It had seemed like the end. Loneliness would surely consume her. How would she live without her only friend and constant companion? All it took was one hunter with bad aim—or bad eyesight, or both—to snatch Jeffery away from her. Yes, it had seemed like the end…but that was then.
Jeffery is beside her on the porch, pulled and grunted into a hunched-over sitting position.
"My muscles don't work so good no more, Momma."
She runs leathery fingers through his patchy hair. "I know, darlin'. And you're startin' to smell somethin' fierce." A soft smile as she speaks, remembering how Scripture had saved her from a lonely death: Faith as a grain of mustard seed. John, was it? Or Mark? One of the Gospels.
Yes, enough faith can heal the sick and hurtin’...
…move mountains...
Tears begin to spill down her cheeks. Hell, enough faith can raise the dead, she thinks as she brushes maggots from Jeffery's hair.
He turns his ruined face toward her, eyes shriveled and fallen away, his remaining teeth coated green. His voice when he speaks is brittle and dusty, forced from shrinking lungs through a deteriorating larynx. "Please let me go, Momma."
The rocker stops creaking, crickets and cicadas freeze, the clearing holds its breath. "Whatever do you mean, child?" Her tone dry, sweet.
His head droops and she pretends not to hear the creaking as rigor mortis fights for control. He mumbles incoherently.
"Speak up, child!" Harsh.
"I—I need to sleep, Momma. I kin feel the bugs, their chewin' and nestin'. I'm most filled up with 'em. And they hurt. And—and it hurts 'cause I'm...I'm comin' apart, Momma."
Her hand flutters at her breast—half genuflection, half old-age tremor—and she chews her lips to keep the tears at bay. "You're right, baby. Your momma's been selfish not to see your pain. But you gotta understand something too: I can't let you leave me. The essence of you, anyway. You know, the part that's really you...I guess that's what we call the soul." She pauses to let the lump in her throat sink down. "But if your body wastes away...well, then I've lost anyhow."
She slowly begins to rock, then faster. The crickets sense the change and begin to move, filling the clearing with music as it releases a sigh and the cicadas pick up the tempo. A cacophony of melodies and sounds swirl about the porch, then all abruptly stop.
"I should've thought of t
his sooner," Momma says, and stands.
"Thoughta what, Momma?"
"Just never you mind. Your momma knows what's best."
She is in the foyer, picking up the phone, Jeffery on the floor, half in and half out of the doorway, wedged by the screen door.
"Who ya callin', Momma?"
She smiles serenely. "Lloyd Paxton."
Realization dawns with an audible crack on Jeffery's decaying face. "No—NO! Momma, please don't!"
"Hush now," she whispers with a frown, and then brightens to the husky Hello in her ear. "Lloyd. How good to hear your sweet voice...yes, it has been a long time...yes. But listen, the reason I called is I think I might have a job for you, that is if you're still practicing taxidermy."
A sound like pebbles on hardwood as more of Jeffery's teeth fall from his black gums.
And Momma says, "You'd best hurry right over, Lloyd."
*
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Chapter 32
“My First Time”
J. A. Cunningham
Kansas City, Kansas, USA
I can remember it just like it was yesterday, it happened 16 years ago. Like they say, you never forget your first. Having studied my great-great-grandpa's diary, I knew what I was and what needed to be done. The problem was, I wasn't old enough yet, so that would have to wait. I was only sixteen, the diary stated you needed to be twenty-one. I figured I would get some practice in. I am so glad grandma gave me that diary, it explained a lot of things I had been questioning. Mom was a little pissed off when she found out grandma had given it to me, but she soon changed her attitude. Maybe I will tell you about that someday. Now where was I? Oh yeah, my first time.
Let me begin by telling you that Tyrone shouldn’t have pissed me off at school that day. In a way, this really was his fault. After school let out, I followed him home from a distance, I needed to see where he lived. Lucky for me, he did not live too far from my house. I went home afterwards to read more of the diary. I wanted to make sure I was going to be doing this right, after all it was my first time. After reassuring myself, I grabbed my jacket and headed out the door. Once I was about to Tyrone's house, I figured it was a good time to get prepared. Going into the ghosting state, as the diary called it, was easier than I thought. Focusing on the thought of being transparent, it happened instantly, there was no feeling of the transition happening. The only feeling I had from it was like every hair on my body was standing up, it felt awesome. It was time to party now.
Walking around his house, I peeked in every window to see where he was, and who all was home. To my surprise, it appeared Tyrone was home alone, this was perfect. Now it was time to see if the ghosting state worked. I knocked on his door, stepping back as he opened it. Tyrone looked around; the disgusted looked on his face and the way he shut the door, told me it worked like a charm, he never saw me. This was awesome, it was like being the invisible man. I rang his doorbell next, this time when he opened the door and didn't see anyone there, he stepped out on to the porch yelling: "Whoever is messing with my door, knock it the hell off!" I took that opportunity to sneak into his house.
Once inside, I walked over to the corner of the front room. I had to make sure I was out of his way. Ghosting state is misleading, you are still a solid entity. Nothing and no one can pass through you - you were just invisible. Tyrone had returned to the couch where he was sitting when I first knocked on the door. "The movie is about to start!" He yelled. I missed seeing his guest when I peeked through the windows earlier. There was no missing her now, Samantha Bridgers, hips swinging as she walked out from the hallway. She was wearing a form fitting pink tank top, and tight as hell miniskirt that gripped every curve of her fine back side. You know I always thought she was a cheerleader, but I was wrong. Samantha joined Tyrone on the couch, snuggling up to him as they got ready to watch their movie.
I let them get just past the beginning of the movie before it was time to have some fun. I have always been able to manipulate electronics: mainly radios, TV’s, phones, and light bulbs. I focused on the TV - making small electric static wakes roll up the screen. As Tyrone tried to make adjustments through the TV and DVD settings menus, I increased the amount of static to the point of producing a strong buzzing sound. It sounded like the noise you get when you put a cellphone by older TV’s and PC monitors, only more intense. Tyrone turned the TV off and then back on again thinking he fixed it. That was until I overloaded the projector bulb to the point that it blew. You should have seen both of them jump, oh it was too good.
With the TV out of commission, Tyrone and Samantha headed back to his room. Of course I followed. I waited for them to undress each other before leaving the room. I went to the front door, knocking on it several times. Tyrone came running out with a blanket wrapped around him, peeking through the peephole before opening the door. “For crying out loud, who the hell keeps messing with my door?” He bellowed, slamming the door shut. As he turned to rush back to the bedroom, I stuck my foot out causing him to trip. He looked so confused as he got back up, looking around trying to figure out what tripped him. Man this was too fun.
I could hear them going at it in the bedroom as I made my way to the kitchen to knock over a vase of flowers sitting on the table. Man, the words that came out of his mouth when he heard the glass break, I could hear them all the way from the bedroom. I kept this going for a while: breaking things, knocking things over, you know typical haunting stuff.
Samantha went to take a shower and Tyrone got out his dads handgun, ‘To protect her.’ That’s what he said anyway. While he made his trip around the house looking for the cause of all the commotion, I made my way to the shower to see Samantha. I allowed myself to refract the light causing a shadow to be cast on the shower curtain. Samantha giggled playfully as she pulled back the curtain. Her giggled faded when she saw that nobody was there. I waited for her to pull it shut again before casting my shadow once more. She quickly flung the curtain open hoping to catch Tyrone on the other side. Again, there was nobody. Before she shut the curtain again, I reached out squeezing both her breasts. Her scream was freaking loud, but I expected that. Tyrone came running to her, gun in hand.
Before I continue, one of our other powers is the ability to make someone see whatever we want them to see. I have only played with this once, and it takes a lot of energy to do at my age. Speaking of energy, this ghosting effect takes quite a bit as well, the dairy said: one who is not fully manifested must feed immediately after prolonged use. Let’s just say, I was feeling the power drain. Alright, back to where I was.
Tyrone came flying in to the bathroom, gun in hand. Samantha jumped from the tub hurrying to get to him. As she wrapped her arms around him in fright, Tyrone shoved her away. “What the hell are you?” he screamed as Samantha tried to approach him again. “Stay the hell back or I will shoot!” Samantha tried to tell him it was her, he never heard a word she said as he pulled the trigger, killing the hideous monster that was coming at him.
As he stood there breathing heavy with fright, I released the vision I had given him. You should have seen how quickly he dropped to his knees when he saw that he shot Samantha. Man, did he turn pail. I didn’t know a dark skinned person could turn that white. “What the hell is going on?” he cried “Samantha, what have I done?” I let him cry for a minute before reaching down, putting my hand on his shoulder. He quickly jerked away about falling over. “Who the hell is in here?” he asked with a shaky voice.
“BOO!” I hollered as I released the ghosting state.
“Eli…” Is all he got out. I frightened him so bad he passed out, hitting the floor.
It was time to f
east. The diary said it would come naturally, man, it was right. As I rolled him onto his back, I could feel the demonic instincts kicking in. The nails on my fingers grew long, thick and sharp. Instinctively, I thrust my hand at his chest, ripping through his skin, breaking his ribs and sternum as I grabbed and ripped out his still beating heart. Holding it in my hands and watching it beat, I had never felt more alive. As I feasted on his heart and soul, I could feel it replenishing my spent energy. The feeling of taking ones soul is un-describable, but so enjoyable.
That is the story of my first time. The first soul feast, first kill, first haunting, and first time that I, Eli Rye ‘The Soul Eater’, truly felt alive.
*
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Chapter 33
“Sleeping Beauty”
Katherine Rochholz
Waterloo, Iowa, USA
Once upon at time there was a vain Queen and King, they had a child who was as pretty as can be. They hired three witches to bless the child with beauty, grace and pose.
But there was a fourth witch that was not invited. She came to the christening and gave this proclamation. “This beauty, Twila, shall have her beauty, grace and pose, as long as her beats within her chest. The moment her heart stops beating, she will lose all three. Her body however shall never die!” The witch, bent and kissed the sleeping beauty on the head.
She turned on her heel and disappeared from the castle, leaving them to ponder who words, what she meant. The Queen bent and picked up her child; they found the note left by the witch. “Twila shall prick her finger on a spinning wheel on her eighteenth birthday. That shall stop her heart from beating, bringing about the curse.”
The Queen and King were worried about the curse; though unsure of how it would be possible. The sent the baby to live with the three witches. The years went by and the young Twila grew up with a normal childhood, never once told that she was the heir to a mighty kingdom, which meant that one day she shall be Queen. She grew up as Twila, the ever loving peasant girl, who had the beauty of a queen.