by Ellery Fenn
I carefully wrapped my arms around her and draped myself over her body. If I could just hold her tight enough, then maybe she wouldn’t hurt anymore. Maybe I could take the pain from her. Make it mine. But it already was mine.
She began to shake again, and I was worried the memories returned, but she was crying. I didn’t know she could cry.
I squeezed her in my arms and placed a kiss on her brow. “You’re okay. You’re okay. It’s over now.” I rocked her gently, muttering whatever comforting words I could think of.
She was in so much pain, my body. And throughout my life, I did nothing but hate her. The very idea of those thoughts horrified me now. How could anyone hate her? She was innocent, didn’t have a bad bone in her body. She just existed and asked for nothing but that existence.
I bit my lip in an attempt to muffle my tears. My dear Corrie, neglected, harmed, violently killed. How had she functioned so long without breaking down? She was stronger than me, sweeter than me.
“I love you.” My words were so quiet only the moon could hear them.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Corrie
I lay in Lisa’s arms, hollow and empty in a way that was neither good nor bad, just open. Her hand glided gently over my scalp, over my shoulder, my arm. I shivered. The touch was opposite to the one I’d been remembering, as opposite as a wildfire and a wildflower.
Her fingers wound themselves through my clenched fist, loosening the tension until my hand fell open and our fingers intertwined.
“I’m so sorry,” Lisa said.
Perhaps she’d never stop apologizing for things that weren’t her fault. I slowly sat up. She fell off me like a blanket, but her hand never strayed from mine. Her eyes searched my face, her forehead creased in concern.
“Are you okay?”
“Am now.”
The familiar blush bloomed across her cheeks.
“Thank you.”
Her gaze lowered to our hands. “You’re welcome. Healing you heals me.”
The rightness of that statement coursed through my body. I felt like the blind man touched by Jesus and healed, as though I could see for the first time in my life.
I saw in her eyes that she felt my revelation. “Yeah,” she said, but it didn’t mean anything in particular.
I let her hand slide from mine and stood, stretching away the tension of memory. The creek at my feet rushed through the night, carrying with it all my reservations, the inhibitions holding me back from the beautiful soul that sat beside me, gazing up with curious eyes.
I offered my hand and helped her to her feet. As always, she floated inches above the ground.
We stood side by side and watched the night drift by. The air finally matched the mood. Our calm was reflected in the waning moon and gently blowing breeze. It was easy to forget our duty. Easy to forget there was any point to existence other than existing. Hours passed this way. The moon slipped across the sky in endless motion.
At some point, when the night was at its deepest, Lisa laid herself on the earth, her hair spread around her like silk. I sat watching her. There was a moment before she spoke when I somehow knew what she was going to say. Her voice pierced the night.
“I feel different.”
I folded my hands over my stomach and felt the stretched skin under my shirt. “Act too.”
“Yeah. It makes me wonder, you know? About what we are. Body and spirit. Sometimes I feel like… more than that though.”
I remembered the feeling of water on skin that wasn’t mine. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” She propped herself on her elbow. “But I don’t feel like just Lisa anymore. When I was alive, I was… confused. There was a lot I denied about myself, a lot I forced myself to be. And I didn’t know how sad I was.”
“Was?”
She grinned. “Was. It’s better being dead. Or not necessarily dead, but just like this. Free. No constraints.” She lay back and spread her arms wide. “I feel like I could do and be anything. Like, if I wanted to be a star, I could just-” She pointed her finger skyward. “Bam. Make it happen.” A falling star glinted overhead. “But I don’t really want to. I just want to be here, doing exactly what we’re doing now.”
I couldn’t imagine being happier than I was at this moment. Pondering her words was all I wanted to do. “Little Lisa, Big Lisa,” I said.
She laughed. “Yes, exactly! My existence was so small before and now it’s everything. Like I was a bird in a cage, and now I’m free.”
I didn’t mind being the thing that had restrained her. She’d held me back as well.
“Not that I think of you that way!” she amended, rolling to face me. “That was a bad metaphor. But I can’t think of a good one. I feel like I was… supposed to be with you. Like all of this was supposed to happen.”
She really was changing. Her intuition was stronger, wiser, and terrifyingly accurate. More accurate than mine. “S’posed to die?”
“Yes. And supposed to live. I was supposed to be Lisa the ghost, and you Corrie the zombie.”
I mouthed my name.
She propped herself on her elbows again. “Oh my god, was Clarisse right? Is that really how you chose the name?”
“Tried say ‘corpse’. Failed.”
“Ha!” She rolled toward me. “Seriously?”
I nodded.
“That’s hilarious.”
Our eyes met. Her lips parted slightly, and silver blush flooded her face. More than anything, I wanted to touch her, to feel her, to be one with her forever and ever, into eternity. I could barely restrict my limbs from reaching out.
Her hand twitched toward me. I could almost feel it on my skin, even though it never got there. She almost touched me. She wanted to touch me.
She couldn’t. She wasn’t perverted. I was.
I pushed the thoughts to the back of my head and stared at the stars.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Lisa
Corrie lay quietly staring at the sky. She’d been that way for a while now. If she saw a ballet in a creek, then what kind of masterpiece would the stars be? How did she see me?
The old familiar tingle returned. I placed my hand over my stomach. No. I wasn’t going to do that. I wasn’t going to think of her like that. Not her! Not my body.
But the tingle was stronger than ever. It was fireworks, shooting down my legs, sparkling in my chest, radiant and wonderful. How could something that felt so good be bad? My hand formed into a fist. Self-control. I would have self-control.
A drop of zombie juice dripped from her face and landed on a leaf. It went unnoticed. Untouched. And all my self-control fell away.
I went invisible slowly enough that Corrie wouldn’t notice. If that was even possible. But I didn’t think of that. I couldn’t. All I could think of was the droplet on the leaf, and the anticipation fluttering in my chest.
I silently floated over her. Her eyes were wide, her face serene. Moonlight glinted off the honey-colored liquid. I carefully lowered to the leaf beside her. It was so close to her face. So near.
I closed my mouth around the leaf and licked it clean. Fireworks. Gunpowder. I couldn’t feel things like Corrie, but this had to be damn close.
It looked like honey but tasted sweeter. Like old cider, like canned cherries, like nothing I’d ever had before. And even though I couldn’t eat or drink, it still spread through my body and satisfied me.
Nothing could possibly taste better than this. It was like someone mixed together all the most wonderful things in the world and made a magic potion that would make all your wishes come true. And for a fraction of a second, they did.
I sat back down in my spot and let shame overcome the brief spark of joy. Why would I do that? Wasn’t that disgusting? Well, obviously it wasn’t, but it should’ve been. I shouldn’t have wanted it so badly, shouldn’t have liked it so much. Shouldn’t like her so much. And I did like her.
Everything comes with a price. I could have a taste, but
I could never eat the meal.
Chapter Thirty
Doug
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the Michael Myers action figure sitting atop a folded paper next to me on the pillow. I swatted it across the room. My arm flared with fresh pain, shooting into my fingers and shoulder.
I struggled to take a breath. The bandage under my sleeve was pink with blood, but not as wet as it had been. I carefully undid the bandage. My forearm was hot, red, and the wound was rimmed in purple.
I ran to the bathroom and cleaned it as best as I could. It hurt worse today. I could barely think through the pain. None of my baseball injuries had been this bad. Granted, I went to a doctor for those. But what would I tell him if I did go in? That a floating piece of wood stabbed me? I bandaged my arm and returned to my room.
I grabbed the note from my pillow.
‘I have your journal. Meet me in the woods by the rock shaped like a loaf of bread.’
I crinkled it in my one good hand. Loaf of bread. Where we went on picnics as kids.
Michael. That son of a bastard bitch.
I skipped breakfast and headed straight for the forest. It was a late sunny morning. Everyone was at school.
The woods looked the same as they always did. We used to come here so much. I still knew the way to the rock. It was a little shorter than me, in a bright clearing filled with ferns. I pressed a path through the tall plants, holding my injured arm to my chest. No one was here.
There was a scent, heavy and low in the air. A scent I recognized from hunting trips when I was a kid. The scent of death. My stomach turned.
“Michael,” I called. “Let’s settle this.”
“I’m not Michael,” came the reply. A girl’s voice in a nearby tree. I squinted, but the sun was too bright, and I couldn’t see her.
“Who are you?”
“I stole your journal.” There was something familiar about the voice, but I couldn’t place it. She sounded like every girl I went to school with.
“Give it back.”
She giggled. “No.” Her voice echoed unnaturally around the clearing. The sun shot into my eyes through the trees. The sickening scent, the swaying wildflowers, the crippling pain, it was like something out of a nightmare.
“I don’t have time to play games.” Shielding my eyes didn’t help. It was like the sun was sitting with her in the tree. “I need it back.”
“I need it more.”
“Why?”
The leaves rustled, but she didn’t answer. I nearly gagged as the smell got stronger. Sweat dripped down my back.
“Why did you take my book?”
“Evidence.” I could hear the smile in her voice.
“Of what?”
“Your crimes against womankind.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please.”
“You’ve been the subject of nightmares for countless girls, the worst thing that ever happened to them.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Wendy Jones. Thirteen when you raped her. Lucy Miller. Fifteen. Michelle Hampton. Sixteen. Jenny Wybeck. Nineteen.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. “They wanted it too. Everyone knows girls don’t mean it when they say no.”
A branch creaked. “What else would it mean?!”
“Hey! Don’t go accusing me of something I didn’t do. Every one of those girls was asking for it.”
“Asking for it?” she hissed. “Asking for it?”
“Yeah. I never got with a girl that didn’t want me to.”
“Ha! Tammy Thornton. Fourteen. Susan Clement. Fifteen. Dawn Jacobs. Eleven!” The sun blinded me. “Lisa Bittermann. Sixteen.”
The blood rushed out of my face. “Is that what this is about? I didn’t have sex with her!”
“No. You didn’t. You just killed her.”
My heart skipped a beat. “No I didn’t.” Pain seared through my arm. “What the hell is that smell?!”
“I don’t smell anything. Maybe it’s your guilt.”
“Shut up!” I ran to the base of the tree. “Shut up!” There was no one in it.
The voice came from the other side of the clearing. “Make me. Make me quiet just like you did Lisa when you smashed her brains out.”
“I’m going to kill you!” I ran to the voice, but she was gone again.
Not a blade of grass rustled, but the voice came from behind me now. “That would be something you’d do, wouldn’t it?”
I spun around to grab her, but again there was no one there. I scanned the clearing. “Where are you?”
The voice was a whisper, so quiet it felt like her lips were pressed to my ear. “I’m in your head. I’ve always been in your head.” She giggled like it was the funniest thing she’d ever said.
“I’m not crazy.” I snapped toward her but found only empty air.
“When are you going to learn that you can’t catch me? I’m the only girl you can’t touch, and I’ll make sure you never touch another girl again.”
My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. “And how are you going to do that?”
“By locking you up in prison till you rot.”
“You can’t do that! You have no proof!”
“You’re forgetting something. I have your diary. There’s enough in there to get you ten life sentences.”
There wasn’t. I couldn’t get in trouble for what was there, right? If I’d known, I never would’ve written it.
“Give. Me. My. Book.”
“Nope, nope, and nope!”
The heavy sick smell wrapped itself around my brain, pushed itself into my arm. I could hardly breathe. “Stop.”
“Why should I? You didn’t stop when Lori Valentine asked you to, or Sandra Whitman, or-”
“Shut up!” My mouth and nose were filled. I was surrounded by death, drenched in it, drowning in it.
“Oh Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie, raped the girls and made them die.”
“I don’t care what you say.”
“Oh? You should.”
“Why’s that?”
“How’s your arm doing?”
My heart faltered. “How do you know about that?”
“Let’s just say a little birdy told me. Do you want to know his name? It’s Michael.”
I growled. “I knew he was involved in this! That double-crossing son of a-”
“Not your brother. God, you really are dumb, aren’t you? Michael Myers.”
“Michael Myers?” I furrowed my brow. The toy. The toy in my room. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Not yet. I guess we’ll see if you can figure it out.”
Something pressed against my arm. I screamed and doubled over in pain, clutching the wound. There was no one there. Nothing to have touched it.
“Oops.”
A strange, horrible laugh came from behind the boulder.
“Why are you doing this?” I gasped.
“Oh, you know, got to keep busy somehow.”
The smell was coming from behind the boulder. Whatever made that sound had to be making the smell. I took a step toward it.
“You can’t hurt me,” I said.
She laughed. “Well that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. I already have. And you can’t keep me from doing it again.”
“Yes, I can.” I approached the rock.
“No, you can’t.”
Something was barely visible beyond the far edge of the boulder, peeking over the edge. I crept closer. “Why’s that?”
“Because of this.”
The thing was a hand. A rotten, desiccated, purple, human hand. The hand of a corpse.
“Boo!” The voice screamed at full volume in both my ears.
The smell was so strong I could taste it, like the hand was in my mouth, down my throat. Choking me. There wasn’t any air, just the smell. Just death.
I ran. Her laughter echoed behind me.
Trees whipped past. How? How could she have known every
thing?
My arm throbbed with every step, sending blinding pain through me. I couldn’t think. I broke through the tree line and continued until I collapsed inside my door. I couldn’t catch a breath, couldn’t even stand. My muscles trembled from fatigue and fear. And pain. Blinding, terrible, pain.
“Doug!” Mom rushed to my side. “What happened? Are you okay?” She was gone for a moment before she returned with water. She propped my head up and I drank and drank like I was a desert. “What happened, sweetheart?”
I held my arm tight to my chest. “It was horrible, horrible.”
“What was?”
“She knew. How could she know?”
“Who knew? Knew what?”
“She was taunting me! Torturing me!”
“Who was? Doug, answer me!”
“I don’t know,” I moaned and rolled into her lap. “She was invisible.”
“I think you need to lie down.”
“No! No, I have to find her! Have to stop her.”
She scooped my limp body into her arms and stood, her body bowing under the weight. My arm flared in pain where she touched me.
I let out a strangled scream. “How could she know? How could she know?”
She strained, struggled to climb the stairs.
“I didn’t do it,” I said.
“I know.” She reached the second floor, panting.
“And the smell! Why can I still smell it?”
She opened my door and stepped gingerly over the mess.
“I won’t leave me. It’s on me, it’s in me!”
She laid me on the mattress. The pain pulsed. “What is, Doug?”
“Death.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Corrie
Lisa squealed with glee once she was sure he was gone. “That was perfect! The hand was a brilliant touch.”
I leaned on the rock with a smile. “Thanks.”
“Now that we’ve got him scared real good, we can give it to the police. He can’t recover from that.”
I shoved my misgivings to the farthest corner of my brain. I didn’t truly believe that the police could keep him from doing harm, that prison could keep him from it. He would never stop. Not as long as he had his strength, as long as he had his sex.