Miles from Ordinary

by Carol Lynch Williams

  But I wasn’t so sure. When I stood up, my legs were so wobbly they almost couldn’t hold my weight. My body was so covered in goose bumps that my damp clothes hurt. In baby steps, I started down the hall. Sounds like the ocean pounded in my ears.

  “Into the kitchen. Into the kitchen. You just have to make it into the kitchen.”

  There was very little light. Outside the clouds hid the slender moon. From far away came the rumble of thunder. The wind still moved the trees with a swishing noise. I could hear it in the hall. Could see the movement through the screen door that seemed to stay far away, even though I walked closer and closer.

  “I’m in a dream,” I said, “a nightmare,” and remembered the mice with nails that cut.

  That dream had been an omen. An omen of bad things to come.

  In the kitchen I had to sit down again before I got the batteries from the cabinet and the flashlight from the drawer. My hands shook. My legs shook. Even my breathing was shaky.

  “Aunt Linda,” I said, when I at last had the energy to get back to my feet, “can’t you get here?”

  But though I waited for a moment, I didn’t hear her car in the drive.

  Do it yourself. You gotta do it yourself.

  So, at last, I did.

  Got the batteries in the flashlight. Flicked it on.

  A stream of light so bright it almost hurt slashed through the kitchen.

  “Okay, now. Okay.”

  For a moment the brightness seemed to help. Seemed to draw me along behind it as I pointed the way back down the hall. But when I got to the stairs, things appeared more eerie. More dark around the light.

  “You can do it,” I said. “Follow the light. For Momma.”

  Up the stairs, slow. One-at-a-time slow.

  The pictures, hanging on the walls, caught the beam and shone like little mirrors. I stopped and looked at the photo of Momma and Granddaddy, standing together.

  I had to keep going. “Can’t wait here all night staring at a picture,” I said. “Gotta find him. Gotta find Granddaddy.” I made my voice a little singsongy. “Go toward the light.”

  Wasn’t as funny as I thought it might be. My voice came out wispy.

  One step at a time. One step at a time. Up I went. So scared I could hardly make my legs move. The shaft of light trembled. I smelled dust from the floor above. I was getting closer. Getting closer to a place I did not want to be. Getting closer to a place I had to be on account of my momma being gone. And my dead grandfather being here.

  “It’s just not fair,” I said. “I don’t want to do this.”

  Ahead of me, up at the top of the dark stairs came a swishing, rustling sound.

  It was at that point I had to stop and gasp in a big breath. I felt tears drop out of my eyes.

  The door to one of the bedrooms clicked shut.

  “Granddaddy.”

  Keep going, I thought. If anyone knows where Momma is, it’s Granddaddy. He won’t hurt you. Dead things can’t hurt you.

  But I wasn’t so sure of that. Thoughts of Momma cutting herself with a razor blade popped into my head. Me finding her squatting in the bathtub. Her watching the blood splat out on the enamel like thin, red quarters. Me asking why. Momma saying, “Granddaddy told me to. Keeps us safe.” Momma looking at me. “Keeps you and me safe.” Aunt Linda gone. Me making Momma drop the blade. Squeezing her wrist. Squeezing it hard so she’d drop the razor. Then bandaging up the wounds.

  A wave of nausea swept through me. I doubled over and held my stomach, willing myself to breathe in deep. The ray of the flashlight glowed on my foot.

  “It’ll be okay,” I said to my toes. Even if Granddaddy told me something bizarre, it didn’t mean I had to do it.

  “All I need,” I said, before straightening up, “all I need is information.”

  He could give me that, and then I’d be outta there and looking for Momma.

  XIV

  If Granddaddy had been a nice ghost, you’da thunk he’d come out to meet me. Not forced me to get up to the second floor to search. But he was as nice as Momma made him out to be. He left me standing on the stairs till my courage filled up and I could walk.

  Ahead of me, the hall between all the bedrooms seemed like a place I’d never been before.

  “Good feelings. Good feelings,” I said. “Remember good times.”

  Like Aaron.

  I could smile because of Aaron.

  And other good times. Good family times.

  There were some. Aunt Linda and Momma and me, all up here in our jammies, playing hide-and-seek. All of us laughing so hard I wet my pants, and then the two of them laughing even harder.

  Me waking up in the middle of night for no reason. Waking the two of them.

  “Warm milk,” Momma would say.

  “Cookies,” Aunt Linda would say.

  And the three of us would come downstairs and eat a meal if we wanted, until we were stuffed and happy, then go back to our separate rooms and sleep until late in the morning. Even if it meant I missed a day of school.

  The times before Aunt Linda left, when Momma and me and her made a tent in one of our rooms and told ghost stories.

  Now, as scary as those nights had been—and I had done plenty of shaking and screaming and laughing—they seemed like nothing compared to this whole day.

  At last I stood in the hall. The bedroom doors all shut. Only the bathroom was open. With an unsteady hand I shined the flashlight toward that room. No ghost that I could see. But the sink and tub and toilet looked strange and white.

  It was while I looked at the tub that I realized Granddaddy wasn’t in Momma’s room. Why would he wait for me there? I knew, standing so weak-kneed, that he was in my room. If I wanted to talk to him at all, I had to go in my own room to do it, the place where he died.

  “Go now,” I said, my voice coming out old and crinkled like thrown-away newspaper. “Go now for Momma.”

  I took a step forward. “I can’t.” Kept walking somehow. Put my hand on the antique doorknob. So cold under my sweaty hand. Turned. Opened the door with a little push.

  “Granddaddy?”

  Heavenly Father? Momma didn’t believe in God. Only in ghosts. But Aunt Linda taught me to pray.

  Heavenly Father. Help me. I don’t think I can do this.

  I stood in my doorway. I made the flashlight beam trace over my room. Each thing. The lamp. My desk. Books. All around the room. Without meaning to, I gagged. I had to take deep breaths to keep from puking.

  Unmade bed. Closet door opened a bit. The flashlight beam spilling onto the floor. Dresser with a jewelry box on it.

  Nothing. No ghost. No Granddaddy.

  But I had seen him

  I had heard him.

  He was up here. I knew. I just had to find him. And say …

  And say what? She’s gone. Do you know where Momma is? Your oldest daughter? She ran off today?

  “Look somewhere else, Lacey.” I spoke aloud, trying to make myself braver. It reminded me of a time Momma and I had come in late from somewhere. She had been terrified of a serial rapist who was hiding out in Florida. Way south of us. She thought maybe he was in the house even though we’d used a key to get in the front door.

  “Follow my lead,” she had whispered into the side of my head as we stepped inside that day. And in a loud voice she had called out to me, “Lacey. You got the Dobermans?”

  “Huh?” I had said.

  Momma gave me a big wink. “The Dobermans? Our killer dogs.”

  I got it! “Sure do, Momma. All three of them. And they haven’t been fed today.”

  “Tear a man from limb to limb,” Momma said.

  “Yes they can.”

  Through the whole house we went, saying that kind of stuff. But there had been no one here then and we had ended up laughing.

  Talking out loud might help me now. “Look in another room. Take your time. You don’t need a Doberman tonight. Just your momma.”

  The scariest part was turning
around. I kept expecting that horrible white face—with no eyes—to pop out at me.

  I talked myself down the hall past Momma’s room. Deep cleansing breath.

  Momma was always telling me that.

  “Deep cleansing breath, baby. If you’re scared at school or on the bus or when you run errands for me, you just take a deep breath. It’ll help get all the evil out of your body. You’ll be able to think more clear.”

  Through my dried out lips I sucked in dusty air.

  Bam!

  Behind me my bedroom door slammed shut.

  The scream that came out of me, I know could have been heard down to the library. I stumbled forward, hitting into Momma’s door, trying to get away.

  “Help me.” My voice was shrill. “I can’t do this alone.”

  And then …

  “Help me.”

  My words, but not from me.

  A deep, low voice.

  Granddaddy’s voice.

  My dead grandfather.

  The words from Aunt Linda’s room.

  “I can’t do this alone,” he said, repeating me. “You need to help me.”

  “Momma? Where are you? Help me,” I said, my voice soft. Again I forced myself to move. I took a step toward Aunt Linda’s door. Took a step toward my dead grandfather.

  “Momma,” he said. “Help me. I can’t do it alone.” Such a rumbling voice.

  “Aunt Linda.” I cried so hard now I shook. My whole body shook.

  “Linda. Linda. Linda,” said Granddaddy.

  I took another step. Now all I had to do was reach out. Touch the knob. Turn it.

  And Granddaddy would be there. Could tell me where Momma was.

  “Do you know,” I said, “where she is?”

  “Do you know? Linda. Linda. Linda.” A voice like gravel.

  Step. Reach out. Hand on the knob. Slippery with sweat. Turning. Turning. “Granddaddy?” I said. “Where’s my momma? I lost her today.”

  Tears all over my face. My nose running. My hands sweating. The flashlight leading the way.

  Door open.

  “I can’t do it alone, Linda,” came the voice. “Help me.”

  Into the room went the light. And I followed it to find my grandfather.

  XV

  The whole room looked fake in the flashlight beam. Like something from a movie. Not real. Books torn up and everywhere.

  But it was real. And happening to me.

  “Granddaddy?” My voice trembled, like my words were afraid to leave the safety of my mouth.

  “Granddaddy.” This came from the other side of the room.

  I swung the flashlight toward the sound.

  Nothing but words taped to the wall. So many words.

  I took a step into Aunt Linda’s bedroom. I thought I might puke.

  “I’m here about Angela,” I said. My voice sounded scared to my own ears. And old like the pages taped up in this room.

  “Angela’s gone.”

  I turned the flashlight again, twisting around to see where the voice came from. My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

  “I know,” I said. My tears had stopped. Somebody watching might not think I was scared beyond anything I had ever been in my life. But my hands—they gave me away. I clenched the flashlight with both, like maybe I held on to a rope that would pull me from this darkness if I was careful. The beam of light shook like crazy, bouncing around like the little dot on kids’ videos showing which word should be sung in a song. “I know she’s gone, Granddaddy. I gotta find her. She’s alone.”

  I half expected Granddaddy to step out of Aunt Linda’s clothes closet. Walk through the door or something. Come out and help me find his missing daughter.

  But nothing happened.

  I moved the beam along, lighting circles of words. Past the covered window. Over the closet doors. Toward the dresser where drawers were taped shut with more words. To the bed.

  It was hard to look there. That mannequin frightened me something awful. I didn’t want to see it again. It had looked so much like a dead Aunt Linda that I was still afraid to let the light rest there.

  But I did. The glow showed the shape of the mannequin.

  And another shape. One that moved, just a little. Covered completely.

  It felt like someone had kicked all my breath away. My mouth opened and at that moment the second shape began to rise.

  Then all I heard was me screaming. I took a step backward and hit the dresser. I dropped the flashlight. It bounced twice, throwing light around the room in a funny arc. Then it went out.

  The room was black.

  Rustling sounds came from the bed.

  I dropped to my knees, onto the wool rug. Felt along for the flashlight. Tried to breathe at the same time. Couldn’t seem to take in air.

  Where is it? Where is that flashlight?

  Inside me I could feel another scream growing. Like a wave on the beach. Getting bigger. And bigger.

  Now I heard footsteps. Light like someone walking on tiptoe. I hadn’t realized that ghosts touched the ground when they walk. Where is that flashlight? My hands felt around. Frantic. Got to find that. Got to. Oh, help me.

  My breath came in gasps. My nose stuffed up from early tears. Hands out. Fingers reaching. Touching. Something warm. Alive.

  Or dead as a ghost.

  I threw myself backward with a holler. Crashed into the dresser.

  “Momma!” My cry was louder than anything I had ever screamed before. It tore out of me.

  “She’s gone,” Granddaddy said.

  “No!” I scrambled around. Trying to get away. Out of the room. Away from dead people. Away from here. And at last found the flashlight. Pressed the button. Snap, it came on. Lit up the carpet showing old roses.

  I swung the light around. Aiming right at Granddaddy’s face.

  “Where is my mother?” It was a scream.

  He turned from the light.

  Ghosts don’t do that, do they?

  Reached down for me.

  Getting close enough for me to see.

  Momma in my memory. “Daddy and me almost looked like twins. Same black eyes. Same dark hair.”

  “Momma? Is that you?”

  Her hands out. Taking hold of my arms. Shaking. Pinching. Hurting.

  “Momma?”

  “She’s gone.”

  But this was my momma. Now that I was so close, I could see that it really was her. I could see her soft skin. See the dark circles under her eyes. The deep scratches on her cheeks. Blood dried on her shirt and on her neck.

  Relief ran through my body so fast it felt like I’d fallen into a cold winter ocean, then into something hot. Momma right here. Right in front of me. Holding on to my arms. Talking crazy but here.

  “Oh thank goodness. I looked for you all day,” I said. “Looked for you all over the Winn-Dixie.”

  Momma’s hands loosened some. “Too much,” she said. “Too many people for her. I took her away.”

  Momma talking like a man. Like Granddaddy?

  “Momma?”

  “I told her,” Momma said. “Hanging’s not a bad way to go. You kick some. Try to get free. Try to breathe. But being dead leaves everyone else with the trouble.”

  “Momma?” I leaned next to her. She smelled sour. Bad. Still I came close, putting my face near to hers. “It’s me, Lacey.”

  “I see you, baby,” Momma said. Her voice soft and normal. Hers again. Tired. “Granddaddy wants me to go with him. He came to get me. But I said I had to wait for you. So we could all go together.”

  Excuse me?

  I felt like my heart changed places with my stomach.

  Momma put her arms around me, tight. “We waited for you, baby. So you could come along. I didn’t want you to have to do it alone. Didn’t want you to find me.”

  “What are you talking about?” I squirmed in Momma’s hold. Loosening her grip a little.

  “The hardest day of my life was getting your granddaddy down,” Momma said. Now h
er voice was sad sounding with her terrible memory. She got a better hold on me. “I didn’t want you to have to do that. Didn’t want you to have to breathe into my mouth. All cold.” Momma tried to get us to her feet, but I sat heavy so she couldn’t pull me up. She kept grabbing under my arms, like you might lift a baby. “Now that you’re here, you and me can go together.”

  “Go where?” I said, but Momma didn’t answer. She just kept pulling to get me to my feet.

  With a jerk I pushed her away. “What are you telling me?” Underneath my fingers I could feel the itchiness of the carpet.

  “We’ll do it in your room. Like Granddaddy did.”

  “We’ll do what? What are you saying, Momma?”

  “I found him in my closet.”

  “I know.”

  “Hanging in that closet that’s yours now.”

  “I know.”

  “We’ll join Granddaddy. It’ll make life so much easier.”

  Was Momma saying I should … was Momma saying I should kill myself? That we kill ourselves together? Hang ourselves like my grandfather had so many years ago?

  I tried to get to my feet.

  “No!” My voice came out loud. Harsher than I meant. “No!”

  “Lacey.” The Granddaddy voice was back. “I want you both with me.”

  “I’m not doing it!” I scrambled away from Momma, kicking the air and the floor with my feet.

  Momma grabbed me again, and this time she had such a grip that I knew a bruise formed under her fingers.

  “Ouch. Momma, let me go. You’re hurting me.”

  “Get into your room.”

  It was like with Granddaddy’s voice came a man’s strength. I couldn’t break away from my mother. So instead, I stood. And walked with Momma without a fight.

  “Lookit, Momma,” I said. “I’m not doing what you think Granddaddy told you to do. Whatever it is. I’m not going to do it.”

  “This is for the best,” Momma said in that weird voice. “We’ll be together. I’ve missed you both.”

  “Momma?” I squirmed a little. We walked into the dark hall, passing the stairs. “I never even knew Granddaddy. He couldn’t miss me. Let me go.”

  Across the hall. To my closed door.

  “Open it.”