Echoes

by Ellen Datlow

  “He’s led a pretty active life. He must have a lot to draw on.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “Has he said anything about his ex? Jill, was it?”

  “Gillian, yeah. Not really—only that he hasn’t heard from her. There’s another woman staying here, Annie something. I saw her yesterday on the way in, walking the dog. I haven’t met her, yet.”

  “Really.”

  “Apparently, she’s a psychic. Hunter says she’s here to help him. I don’t know with what.”

  “I’ll avoid the obvious remarks,” Melanie said.

  “I thought the same thing, but I’m not sure it’s the case.”

  “Either way, Hunter’s a big boy. Anything else going on?”

  Carl hesitated, weighing a description of his early morning driveway encounter with the child and the weird animals. Already, though, the event seemed distant, dreamlike, if not a product of the Scotch, then colored by it. He settled for, “Not much. I ran into a couple of coyotes when I went out to the car for my bag.” The instant the words left his mouth, he realized how false they sounded. Even through liquor-clouded lenses, the things he’d seen had not moved like coyotes. He remembered their strange, spread-eagled crawl, their elongated skulls. No, not coyotes, and not cougars, and not anything with which he was familiar.

  “Holy crap,” Melanie said. “What did they do?”

  “Oh, they prowled back and forth in front of the woods for a minute or two, and ran away.”

  “Be careful. It’s more wild up there.”

  “Yeah,” Carl said, but he had an obscure feeling it was too late for caution.

  X

  There wasn’t space for him to practice his morning (now afternoon) kata in the guest room, so once he and Melanie had said their good-byes, Carl made his way downstairs. He was considering finding a spot outside, but during the time he had spent in the guest room, clouds had thickened the sky, obscuring the Adirondacks and releasing torrents of snow. In the kitchen, he stopped to watch the crowns of the red pine swaying this way and that, as if engaged in a vast conversation about the snow accumulating on their branches. Behind him, a voice said, “It’s supposed to last all day.”

  He turned, and saw a woman standing on the opposite side of the kitchen island. Late twenties, he guessed, dressed in a white cable-knit sweater and jeans, her chestnut hair pulled back into a ponytail. On the marble in front of her, a number of oversized cards had been arranged in a circle—Tarot cards. The woman was holding the rest of her deck in her left hand. “Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Annie.”

  “No need to apologize,” Carl said. “I’m Carl. Hunter maybe said I was coming?”

  “He did. I saw you on the driveway yesterday.”

  “You were walking a dog.”

  “Rufus, yes.”

  “Where is he? I haven’t seen him at all since I’ve been here.”

  “Hunter’s rehoming him with some friends. I took him over there yesterday afternoon.”

  “That’s . . . oddly responsible of him.”

  “You aren’t the first person to say that to me.” Annie picked up the card at the top of the circle and returned it to the deck.

  “Am I interrupting you? Because if I am, I can get out of your way.”

  “It’s all right,” Annie said. “I was done, anyway.”

  “I take it from the cards you’re Madame Sosostris.”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “What were you doing the reading for? Or can I ask you that?”

  “I was—you might say I was checking on Hunter.”

  “And?”

  “Your friend is very sick.”

  Carl nodded. “Yeah. A week or two, he said.”

  Annie lifted the last card from the island. Without looking at Carl, she said, “It’s a little less. Days, really. If he passed this afternoon, I wouldn’t be surprised. You shouldn’t be, either.” She placed the deck on the island.

  “That’s . . .” The words were a roundhouse kick to his unprotected head. “I mean, I knew he didn’t have long. It’s why I’m here. But I assumed we’d have a little time together. He’s—he seems fine.”

  “Hunter possesses more willpower than anyone I’ve ever encountered. I’m fairly certain that’s what’s keeping him going at this point.”

  “He’s always been stubborn.”

  “Yes, I can believe it.”

  “We met in karate class,” Carl said, crossing to the island. He slid out a stool and seated himself on it. “I don’t know if he’s mentioned this. There were some things he was good at right from the start. Free sparring, in particular: he was fast, and he was ferocious. He would hit you four times before you knew what was happening. The forms, though, the kata, were a challenge. He had a hard time remembering the sequences of moves, and then performing them at the proper pace. For some students, this would not have been a big deal. They would do whatever kata they were responsible for well enough to earn their next promotion, and that was that. Not Hunter. He wanted his forms to be perfect. Every time he made a mistake, it was back to the beginning, running through the form until he had it right, no matter how long that took. I used to practice with him after class was over. We would stay an extra hour, longer. While we were training, his focus was absolute. Those sessions made me a better martial artist. Without them, I doubt I’d have ended up with my own studio.”

  “He told me a version of that story,” Annie said. “In it, he wants to go home, but you insist he keeps working until he does the form properly.”

  “Well, there may have been a little of that,” Carl said. “What about you? How did you meet Hunter?”

  “On a message board. He had some questions he was looking to have answered, and he reached out to me. We corresponded for about a month, then he invited me up here.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m not sleeping with him, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “No,” Carl said, glancing away. “I mean, it’s none of my business if you are.”

  “You’re right,” Annie said, “it isn’t. But I don’t want anything distracting you from what we have to do.”

  “Which is?”

  “Help him as he leaves this life.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “I’m not talking about another marathon drinking session.”

  “Thank God,” Carl said, and smiled. “It’s been years since Hunter and I discussed these things, but time was, he didn’t have much use for notions of the afterlife. I’m guessing that’s changed.”

  “Yes and no,” Hunter said, entering the kitchen. He had changed from his gray tracksuit to a white long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. His faded blue baseball cap perched on his head.

  “Hey,” Carl said.

  “You’re ready?” Annie said.

  “Getting there,” Hunter said. “First, my friend and I need to discuss a few things.”

  “We do?”

  “Why don’t you make yourself some lunch? There’s plenty of stuff in the fridge.” Hunter pulled a stool toward him and climbed onto it, adding, “I’m not hungry.”

  “All right,” Carl said. “How about you, Annie? You want anything?”

  “Thanks, I’m fasting.”

  While he was retrieving bread, cold cuts, and mustard from the refrigerator, Carl heard Hunter say, “Well?” and Annie reply, “It’s as good a time as any. You see what’s happening outside.” Hunter said, “I take it you checked the cards.” Annie said, “I did. Let’s put it this way: You’re lucky your friend is here.” Hunter grunted. Annie said, “Do you want me to give you time with your friend?” “It’s all right,” Hunter said, “I don’t imagine this’ll take too long.”

  His smoked turkey and Swiss assembled, a glass of milk poured, Carl resumed his place at the island. “So,” he said to Hunter. “What is it you want to talk about?”

  “It’s my sister,” Hunter said.

  “Which one,
Vicky or Heather?”

  “Neither,” Hunter said. “Natalie. The dead one.”

  XI

  “Come again?” Carl said.

  “I lied to you,” Hunter said. “All those years ago, when I told you about me dying.”

  “Your first death.”

  “Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, the drowning part was true. My heart stopped. I was gone. My mother had to resuscitate me. The lie was me saying there was nothing after I died.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m just gonna describe what happened,” Hunter said. He swallowed, licked his lips. “Start with me underwater. My vision closing off, contracting to a single point. It was like the reverse of the stories about moving through a bright tunnel. I seemed to be traveling backward along a dark passage, away from the light. Or, could be the light was moving, leaving me behind. It was a little frightening, but mostly, I was sad watching it go. I’m pretty sure the sensation of floating was the last thing I felt.

  “And then I was on my hands and knees, gasping. I was no longer in the water. I was back on land. Not the beach, though. My fingers and knees were pressing into thick, gray mud. I was still wearing my swim trunks. I looked up, and saw the mud rising to a line of scrub grass. Overhead, dense gray clouds blocked off the sky. I stood, and glanced behind me. An enormous brown river, so wide its other shore was a distant line, flowed from left to right. Patches of mist hung above its surface, which swirled and eddied with competing currents. Despite that, I had the oddest impression I was watching a gigantic snake, something fit to wrestle Godzilla, sliding to a destination I didn’t want to know. I turned and headed for the grass. The mud made it slow going; I kept tripping and almost tripping. I wasn’t upset or scared—well, maybe some, at the prospect of a monster snake. What I mean is, I wasn’t especially freaked out at slipping under the waves and opening my eyes next to a river. Could be I was stunned, overwhelmed, but I mostly remember being curious about this place, which didn’t resemble the afterlife I’d learned about in Catholic school. I knew enough Greek mythology to think of the River Styx, except there was no sign of Charon the ferryman, and the rest of the shore was empty.

  “As I approached the grass, I saw stands of trees, birches. In their midst was a structure—when you were a kid, did you make forts out of old cardboard boxes? You know, big ones, like the kind an appliance comes in?”

  “Sure,” Carl said.

  “What was in front of me was the biggest box fort I had ever seen. It was the kind of thing my siblings and I would have fantasized about building. There were boxes of all sizes, some large enough to hold a refrigerator. A low wall of cereal boxes separated a cluster of the biggest boxes from individual boxes scattered around its perimeter. Some of the boxes had pictures on them, the kind of crude figures small children draw, done in mud. Seeing the fort filled me with happiness. This was the kind of afterlife I wanted. Plus, I assumed the fort meant there were other kids here. I didn’t know who, but if they built something like this, I was sure we would get along. I hurried forward.

  “As I passed one of the boxes outside the low wall, I saw the word JAIL written on it. From inside, someone whimpered. I stopped beside it. The box was washer- or dryer-sized. I circled it to see if there was an opening in one of its sides, a door to the jail. None. I leaned in close to it and said, ‘Hello?’

  “Right away, a pair of voices burst out crying, ‘We’re sorry! We’ll be good! Please let us out!’ One of them started sobbing, the other went on pleading to be released. They both sounded young, four or five.

  “ ‘Hold on,’ I said, ‘I’ll get you out of here.’

  “Upset as the kids were, I thought they’d be happy to be released. But the one who was crying cried harder, and the other one shouted, ‘No!’

  “ ‘Why not?’ I said. ‘You guys don’t sound like you’re having much fun.’ I ran my hands over the top of the box, searching for a loose corner to pull on, but the flaps were sealed tight.

  “ ‘No,’ the kid said again. ‘If she finds out, we’ll be in trouble.’

  “I said, ‘Aren’t you already in trouble?’

  “ ‘Please,’ the kid said. ‘We have to stay here.’

  “ ‘How come?’ I said. ‘What did you do? Who put you in here?’

  “ ‘The queen,’ the kid said. ‘We made her mad, so we had to go to jail.’

  “ ‘Who’s the queen?’

  “The other kid’s sobs had diminished; my question revved them up. ‘She’s awful,’ the first kid said. ‘You should probably run away before she sees you.’

  “The second kid stopped crying long enough to wail, ‘I don’t wanna be a dog!’

  “I didn’t know who this queen was, but if she was ruling over a box fort, I guessed I could handle her. I said, ‘This isn’t fair. You guys shouldn’t be in here.’ Which only provoked more protests and sobs. I crouched, sliding my hands along the base of the box in search of a hole or tear an opening I could work to enlarge. Nothing. When I stood, I saw my sister, Natalie, standing on my left, between the jail and cereal box wall.

  “She looked the same as she did in the photographs hanging around the house. In the year since we’d buried her, I had stared at those pictures a lot, afraid that, if I didn’t, I would forget her. Her hair had grown in to what it was before the chemo took it, down well past her shoulders. She was wearing a cardboard crown, a red T-shirt, and jean shorts. She was barefoot. She cocked her head and said, ‘Hunter? What are you doing here?’

  “ ‘Nat!’ I said. Strange as it sounds, I think this was the moment I realized I was dead; I mean, when it really hit me. I ran over and threw my arms around her, the way I never had while she was alive.

  “She stiffened. ‘This is my place,’ she said.

  “I released her. I said, ‘You’re the one who put those kids in that box?’

  “She nodded. ‘I’m the queen,’ she said.

  “ ‘They’re little kids,’ I said. ‘One of them’s crying.’

  “Natalie walked to the box and bent over to it. She said, ‘I’m the queen. Isn’t that right?’

  “ ‘Yes!’ the kids shouted. ‘Yes, you’re the queen! Yes!’ The first kid added, ‘Please let us out, Your Majesty. Please. We’ll be good. We’ll do everything you say.’

  “ ‘Come on, Nat,’ I said. ‘Listen to them. They’re really scared.’

  “ ‘They’re fine,’ she said. Leaning on the box with her left hand, she trailed the fingers of her right over the cardboard. She said, ‘They’re going to be my dogs. Aren’t you? You’re going to be my dogs. Aren’t you? Aren’t you?’ She turned the question into a song: ‘Aren’t you, aren’t you, aren’t you?’

  “In response, both kids cried. I mean, they cut loose, with the kind of full-throated abandon kids can tap into. I said, ‘Nat, come on.’

  “ ‘Shhh,’ she said, holding her index finger to her lips.

  “The crying continued, until it wasn’t crying anymore, it was laughing, then screaming, the hysterical laughter of someone who’s been overwhelmed by the joke. It sounded too big for the box. The kids started to pound on the walls, shaking it.

  “ ‘Nat!’ I said. ‘Please! Will you let them out?’

  “ ‘Here,’ she said. She straightened, put her hands on top of the box, and pulled the flaps apart. The pounding ceased, but the laughing continued. With a mocking bow that was pure Nat, my sister stepped away. ‘Happy?’

  “I ran to the jail, ready to lift one or both of the kids out. The cardboard prison was empty. The laughter seemed to surround me. For a moment, I thought my sister had played an elaborate joke on me, allowing the kids to exit the box while I was distracted by her theatrics. I circled it, but aside from the laughing, there was no sign of them. ‘What’s going on?’ I said. ‘Where are they?’

  “Natalie didn’t answer. She gave me this look—her face went blank, except for her eyes, which burned like blowtorches. She said, ‘Shut up,’ and the laughter died away
. ‘You don’t belong here,’ she said to me. ‘This is my place. I’m the queen here.’

  “I said, ‘Nat—’

  “ ‘Stop calling me that!’ she screamed. ‘That was my old name. Now I have a new one. I’m Natalya, Queen of the Hungry Dogs.’

  “I started to laugh, but her expression stopped me. I decided to shift to big-brother mode, because even in the afterlife, I still had that over her, right? I returned her stare with a frown of my own and said, ‘Listen—’

  “Apparently, my sister hadn’t gotten the memo about me still outranking her. She said, ‘No, you listen. You don’t belong here. I don’t want you here. This is my place. I made it. You need to leave.’

  “ ‘I can’t leave,’ I said. ‘I drowned. I can’t go back.’

  “ ‘I don’t care,’ she said. ‘Leave.’

  “ ‘Nat,’ I said.

  “ ‘Queen Natalya.’

  “I had forgotten how stubborn—how ornery my little sister could be. I was annoyed, and under that, scared at the prospect of spending the rest of eternity with someone so unreasonably hostile to me. I mean, I was her brother, for God’s sake. Shouldn’t we be sticking together?

  “From the way Natalie was acting, the answer to my question was no. I felt my irritation bubbling into anger. ‘Well, Queen Natalya,’ I said, ‘what if I don’t want to leave?’

  “ ‘Then I’ll make you,’ she said.

  “ ‘You and what army?’ I said, a favorite taunt from our childhood.

  “ ‘This one.’ She raised her right hand to her mouth, put her index and ring fingers between her lips, and blew. Her whistle was sharp and clear. Immediately, the laughing returned, but louder, as if it was coming from dozens of throats. I saw movement in a stand of trees to my left, and watched as a pack of animals raised themselves from where they’d been lying on their bellies and sides. I glanced at the other groups of birches, and the same thing was happening in each of them, these animals standing.”

  “Animals?” Carl said.

  “Man, I don’t know,” Hunter said. “They were on all fours, which made me think they were the Hungry Dogs Nat had referred to. But they didn’t look much like dogs. They were hairless, and tailless, and their heads—there was something wrong with their heads. They were misshapen, no two in the same way. Some were long and knifelike, others squashed flat. This one’s jaw was too big for its mouth, that one’s ears flared like fans. You might have thought they were a child’s drawings, brought to life. Or death, I guess. They were the source of the laughter, each one a voice in the mad chorus. They started in our direction, and they didn’t move like any dogs I’d ever known. They crept along the ground, the way you would if you were sneaking up on someone. Of course I could see them, but I had the sense this didn’t matter. They wanted me to watch them coming closer. I was suddenly conscious of myself in my bathing suit, with no means of defense but my hands and feet, which seemed woefully inadequate for the job. The laughter seemed to draw a line under that fact, to emphasize how defenseless, how vulnerable, I was. I didn’t know if I could die a second time, but I guessed I could be hurt. I turned to Natalie and said, ‘All right, I’m sorry. Maybe there’s someplace else I can go.’