by Amy Cross
I try to pull him closer, but at first he's too heavy. I have to stop for a moment and rethink my approach, and finally I grab his left arm with one hand and his left leg with the other, and somehow I manage to haul him back over toward the walkway. At first I assume that the metal cord around his neck will be too short, but to my relief I manage to get him onto the walkway and then I work frantically to get the cord from around his throat. My hands are shaking violently and I can barely manage to get the cord loose at all.
“Wait a moment!” I shout, as the man lets out a series of faint, guttural groans. “I'm almost done! I swear, you're almost -”
Suddenly the cord snaps away from my hands, and I fall back. For a moment, I'm too startled to realize what happened, but finally I figure that I must have somehow pulled the cord loose. Filled with relief, I crawl back over to the man and look down at his face.
“Are you okay?” I gasp. “Say something!”
And then I see the truth.
The man's head is gone.
Staring down at the walkway, I see only a corpse with a bloodied and torn neck. There's blood everywhere, running freely between the metal panels. For a few seconds I can only stare in horror at the awful scene, but then slowly I turn and look to my right, and my eyes open wide with shock as I see the man's severed head still hanging from the metal noose.
Blood is dribbling down from the base of the head.
“No,” I whisper, convinced that this has to be some kind of mistake, “please...”
I stare for a moment, and then I look down at the headless body. I hesitate for a few more seconds, and then I reach down to touch the dead man's chest. As I do so, the body fades away entirely, and I'm left all alone on the walkway.
Even the blood is gone.
For a moment, I can only stare at the spot where the body lay, and then slowly I look back over toward the noose. The head is gone, but the metal is still hanging down over the pier's edge.
“No,” I whimper again, before pulling back a little. My whole body is starting to tremble and I feel as if sheer panic is rising up through my chest, threatening to overwhelm me entirely.
I know what I saw.
I also know what's possible.
And I know that what I saw just now can't have really happened.
I have to get out of here.
Suddenly the panic bursts and I turn, scrambling as fast as I can up the metal steps. I quickly trip and fall, slamming back down, but I immediately pull myself back up. I almost reach the top before I trip again, and this time I clatter all the way back down the steps and land in a heap at the bottom. I turn and try to pull myself back up, but in that moment I slip again and this time I start tumbling over the edge. I cry out, but at the last moment I'm able to grab the side of the walkway.
Wincing with pain, I dangle for a few seconds, high above the waves. I try to haul myself up, but I'm not strong enough. I try again, but my grip is already slipping and I can feel myself getting weaker. I try yet again to pull myself back onto the walkway, but I only succeed in a sliding down a little further. My fingers are burning with pain, and I scream as I try one final time to drag myself to safety. As I do so, however, the pain becomes too much and I let go of the walkway.
At the last moment, just as I'm about to tumble down into the waves, a hand reaches down as if from nowhere and grabs my wrist.
VII
“You saved my life!” I stammer for the hundredth, perhaps the thousandth time, as I cling to her. “I can never repay you! You saved me!”
“Like I said,” the girl from the pub replies, “it's fine. Really. Feel free to stop hugging me quite so tight. You're going to crack one of my ribs.”
Finally pulling back, I find that I'm still shivering with shock and fear as I see her grinning at me. After dragging me back up onto the walkway, she somehow managed to get me all the way back up here onto the fishing arm. I want nothing more than to get off the pier entirely, but my legs are trembling and I honestly don't think I can even walk right now. I don't want to admit that, of course, so I figure I'll wait a few minutes before I risk embarrassing myself by getting up.
“What are you even doing out here?” I ask finally.
“I could ask you the same thing,” she replies.
“I'm supposed to be here,” I stammer. “I mean, it's my job. I mean, I'm paid to...”
My voice trails off. How can I even begin to explain everything that's happened tonight? After a moment, I instinctively try to get back up.
“Wait,” she says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Not yet. Just wait a moment. I think you're in shock.”
My legs are still trembling, so I guess she's right.
“Sometimes I like to just hang out in places at night,” she explains. “I don't come out here every night, but some nights it's kind of cool to get away from the center of town. I guess it's just lucky that I was here when you needed me, huh?”
“I saw...”
Again, my voice trails off.
She's staring at me, waiting for me to continue.
“What?” she asks finally. “It's okay, you can tell me. I won't laugh or make fun of you or anything like that.”
“Do you promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to... Well, you know what I mean.”
I take a deep breath, and I tell myself that maybe I can trust this girl after all. I have to tell someone what happened tonight, and Frank and Mum are both completely out of the question. I just need to find a way to put everything into words. A way that won't make me seem like a complete lunatic. After all, this girl is hot and funny and smart, and I'd love to hang out with her some more. Not that a girl like her would be interested in someone like me but, hey, a guy can dream. At the very least, I don't want her to think that I'm some kind of total wimp.
“Did you see a ghost?” she asks suddenly.
I stare at her, shocked by the question.
“Your face is classic,” she continues. “What's wrong? Don't you believe in them?”
“I...”
“I know,” she says, “it can be hard. Even when you see one right before your eyes.”
I take a deep breath, and then I think back to our conversation earlier.
“You told me,” I say finally, “that a man hung himself from the end of the pier a few years ago.”
“John Miller,” she replies. “Yeah, sure. Everyone around here knows about it.”
“And you told me his body kind of got... separated from his head.”
“Because of the wire he used. Sure, that happened. His head was left -”
“I know,” I say, interrupting her. I pause for a moment as I try again to work out how I can explain.
“Is that what you saw?” she asks cautiously. “Did you see the ghost of John Miller?”
“I saw something,” I tell her. “I saw something that was there, and then suddenly it wasn't. But when it was there, it was like...”
“You saw him die again?” she asks. “I think some ghosts are like that. There are different types, and some of them just repeat their deaths over and over. I guess it's like a kind of post mortem post-traumatic stress disorder. PMPTSD, if you like.” She smiles. “You know what I mean. It's kind of pathetic, if you think about it. I mean, what's the point of fighting against death and clinging to this world, if you're only going to drift around like some kind of shadow? You'd think a ghost would be more forceful. More angry.”
“He was right in front of me.”
“Seriously?”
“It was crazy,” I explain. “He wasn't shimmering or anything like that. He looked totally real.”
“And he didn't do anything to you?”
“He asked me the time.”
“Like I said, pathetic.” She shrugs. “Then again, if he was pathetic while he was alive, it's not like you can expect him to be any different now that he's dead. Imagine reliving your death over and over again. That's just... sad.”
I pause for a mome
nt, listening to the sound of waves hitting the concrete legs beneath the pier, and finally I feel as if my legs are getting stronger. I'm freezing cold out here, and more than anything I just want to go home. Part of me just want to leave right now, but I tell myself firmly that I have to be strong, that I have to finish my shift. I can't be unreliable and unprofessional.
I start to get up.
“Are you sure about that?” the girl asks. “You still seem kinda -”
“I'm fine.”
I somehow manage to haul myself up. I'm aching all over, and I feel strangely stiff. Still, I somehow manage to stand, and then I turn and take a step away from the edge.
Suddenly I feel something pull tight against my neck.
Confused, I turn and see that a metal wire is running from a nearby post, connecting to my throat. I reach up, and sure enough I find that a length of wire – the same wire that was hanging down from the pier earlier – is now tied tight around my neck.
“What?” I whisper, trying to work out what this means.
“Like I said,” the girl says behind me, as I start trying to pull the wire from around my neck, “some ghosts are pathetic. They drift around, relieving their death. They're like shadows. But you shouldn't be too disappointed. I mean, if they were like that in life, they why shouldn't they be like that in death as well? I'm sure you saw that tonight. You saw my father's ghost. He's still so pathetic. All he does is wander around and occasionally ask people to tell him the time. It's like he's stuck on repeat.”
“I -”
Suddenly I freeze. I still don't have the metal loop untied, but I slowly turn and see the girl staring at me from the darkness.
“Your... father?” I whisper.
“Oh, that's right,” she says with a smile. “His daughter did die in that car crash after all.”
She leans closer.
“Then there's another type of ghost,” she continues. “There's the type that sticks around because it's furious at having its time cut short. It wants revenge, maybe on the person who killed it, or maybe just on the living in general.” She steps forward, and I see that one side of her face is entirely bloodied, as if she's been in some kind of terrible accident.
Like a car crash.
“Do you think you'd stick around as a ghost?” she asks. “Would you relieve your death over and over? Would you torment the living? Or would you just fade away to nothing? Would your life end, with no new chapter coming after your final moment? Would your entire existence have simply reached an end?”
“What are you talking about” I stammer, as I start frantically trying to loosen the wire from around my neck. “I -”
“Let's find out,” she adds.
“Wha -”
Before I can finish, she shoves me hard, sending me stumbling backward. I reach out to grab the railing, but I'm too late, and I find that one of the panels in the safety railing has been removed. I try to catch myself, to steady myself, but I'm too late. I fall over the edge and tumble down through the darkness, hurtling toward the rough sea below, until finally the metal around my neck pulls tight and I'm sent swinging into one of the concrete pillars.
Gasping for air, I reach up and try to free myself, but already the wire is digging deep into my neck, cutting through the flesh and sending blood rushing down onto my fingers.
“Help me!” I splutter.
“You can't say you weren't warned,” the girl says, watching me from above. “You were told several times. If you think you see someone, don't go out onto the pier.”
I try to cry out, but I'm too weak. The wire is slicing through my neck. I turn and see that the moonlight is casting my shadow against one of the concrete pillars. The pain in the back of my throat is intense, and I can feel my remaining strength starting to drain away.
“Do you think you'd stick around as a ghost?” I hear the girl asking again, as she starts laughing. “Would you relieve your death over and over? Would you torment the living?”
Suddenly I feel a terrible jolt in my body, and I watch as part of my shadow falls away. Wide-eyed with terror, I see that now my shadow shows only a severed head trapped in the wire noose.
“Or would you just fade away to nothing?” the girl's voice asks, as there's a heavy splashing sound far below. “Would your life end, with no new chapter coming after your final moment? Would your entire existence have simply reached an end?”
I open my mouth and try to scream.
Please let there be something after this. Please let there be another chapter in my story. Please don't let it end here.
Larry
Prologue
Sometimes, Jasper, I look back over the events of the past year and I think I must have lost my mind. I think that none of it can really have happened. I think that I must have gone temporarily insane.
And then I think of you.
Our years together were some of the happiest of my life, and I still can't believe that they're over. I think about that truly awful moment when I lost you, when I felt as if my life might as well be over, and then I think about what happened after. I think about Larry, and about Justin, and about Deborah and Mr. Seymour, and about that thing that almost destroyed everything. I think about how people would look at me if I started to tell them the truth.
Which is why I had to write it all down.
Every moment.
Every sliver of madness.
And if people don't believe me, then I can't control that. I'm not sure that I'd believe me, if I hadn't lived through it. There are even moments when I continue to doubt the whole story, when I wonder whether it could still have been a product of my imagination. Deep down, however, I know that it all really happened. And as I sit here now, I come to understand something else, something deeper. Something that I learned from someone who didn't even know that he was teaching me.
Larry was right. And in order to embrace that fact, in order to face the future, I first have to set down my version of events. Because despite everything else, I know that it all really happened. And I know that it started on the worst, most traumatizing, most painful day of my life. It started when I lost you.
Part One
THE INCIDENT
Chapter One
One year earlier...
Come on, old boy. Let's get you home.
As I lean down to attach your lead to your collar, you let out a pained sigh. I know you're getting old, and I know you're in pain. I also know you don't like to show any of that, so I guess tonight you're feeling particularly bad. When we get home, you can rest on my bed. I know that makes the pain go away a little. Don't worry, Jasper. Just a short bus journey and then we're there.
“Are you sure you don't want to take a taxi?” Mum asks as she comes through from the front room, where the TV's still blaring. “Your father and I'll pay for one.”
“We're fine,” I tell her, as I take a moment to double-check that the lead is connected. Don't want you getting loose, Jasper, do we? Then again, you're not much of a runner these days.
“It's almost eleven,” Mum continues. “You won't be home 'til midnight.”
“It's okay, Jasper likes the bus.” I look down at you and smile. “Don't you, boy?”
You stare up at me with those sad, pained eyes. It breaks my heart to see you in such distress, but you just have to hang in there. We're going back to see the vet again on Thursday, and I'm sure the latest test results will be positive. Then we can schedule your next operation to cut out the tumors in your hip. Just trust me on this, Jasper. Everything's going to be okay eventually.
“Oh, he looks so old, doesn't he?” Mum says, rather unnecessarily. “I remember when he was just a puppy, bouncing around everywhere.”
“He's still a puppy at heart,” I tell her, as I lean down and pat you on the shoulder. “He's never really grown up.”
“And you haven't given any more thought to what the vet said, Paula?” Mum asks. “I know it's hard, but maybe you're just prolonging the -”
/> “We have to go now,” I say, interrupting her as I head over to the apartment's front door and pull it open. “Come on, Jasper. We don't want to miss the bus, do we?”
“Paula, look at him. He can barely walk. He must be in absolute agony!”
“The vet says there's still a chance,” I tell her, as I turn and watch you limping after me. “As long as there's a chance, we're going to wait things out. We're not at the point yet where we have to think about anything else.”
“But -”
“And that's the end of that conversation,” I add, turning and glaring at her. “Nothing's changed since last time you brought this up, Mum. Jasper and I are fine. I help him relieve the pain. Just stop fussing.”
I look down at you and smile.
“Come on, boy,” I say to you. “We're going to take the bus. You like the bus, don't you? Bus!”
You seem to quicken your step slightly as you come out to join me in the hallway. I can still hear the TV running in the front room, and to be honest I'm glad to be getting out of Mum and Dad's apartment. The place always feels like such a pressure cooker. I know you feel the same.
“He's getting old, that's all,” Mum says as you and I head down the steps toward the building's front door. “I'm thinking about his quality of life. He looks so sad. Sometimes I look in his eyes and I think he'd rather just be put out of his misery.”
“Funny,” I mutter, “I think the same about Dad.”
“Very funny,” she says with a scowl, before reaching closer and picking something off my face.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“You had something on your eyebrow!” She holds up a greenish fleck. “It looks like... mold!”
“Why would I have mold on my face?”
“I don't know, darling, but...”
Her voice trails off.
“It's not mold,” I mutter, taking the fleck and wiping it away. “I might not live the most exciting life ever, but I'm pretty sure I'm not moldy!”