My Soul To Keep

by Jackie Sonnenberg

  MY SOUL TO KEEP

  A novel in the semyhR yresruN collection inspired by classic Nursery Rhymes, and retold with dark twists and Horror motifs.

  There are some things Mother Goose left out…

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016, 2021 by Jackie Sonnenberg

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever. Printed in The United States

  Cover art by Deranged Doctor Designs

  This book is a product of semyhR yresruN books

  MY SOUL TO KEEP

  Jackie Sonnenberg

  "Now I lay me down to sleep

  I pray the lord my soul to keep.

  And if I die before I wake,

  I pray the lord my soul to take.”

  ~18th century children’s bedtime nursery rhyme

  Chapter 1

  September 2012

  I was only at school for five minutes and already I was seeing ghosts.

  I saw someone—or something—flicker along the sides of the building and in between trees, and then disappear. The overbearing sunlight caused me to blink repeatedly; one, two, three times, and each time it was like the flashes of a camera bringing people in and out of focus until they were gone.

  People say that seeing is believing… or is it believing is seeing? Truth is I never knew if I believed in spirits before I had a reason to.

  Spirits were all I obsessed over after my own brush with death.

  In my grief, I started to look for him everywhere, trying in vain to see if there was a part of him that still floated around, to see if anything still floated around. My mom took me to different doctors: The kind that gave you medicine and the kind you had to sit and talk to. I spent my time alone when I wasn’t in school. Except, of course, for these doctor sessions:

  “I have the poem you wrote in school,” the lady said gently. She held the unfolded notebook sheet in her hand, spread out against a clipboard with my name, grade, date, and teacher’s name scribbled in the top left corner. “Can you tell me what was on your mind when you wrote it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “It’s a very morbid poem for a sweet girl like you,” she said. She handed the clipboard over to me. “Will you read it to me?”

  I looked back at what I wrote for class, the one that made the teacher cross her brow at me worriedly and call home, as though any single thing I did meant I was emotionally unstable.

  “ ‘Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the lord my soul to keep. And if I die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take.’ ”

  The doctor just nodded, holding the tip of her pen to her chin.

  “Is it about wanting to be protected, no matter what happens to you?”

  “My dad will protect me,” I said.

  “He will always be with you,” the woman said.

  “He is with me right now.”

  “Yes, in spirit he is.”

  “No,” I said. “I think he’s in the chair next to me.”

  I wished everyone would just leave me alone. Anyone that asked me how I was doing, I said I was getting some peace and recovery. My friends understood and tried to treat me normally. I got the classic response: “If there is anything I can do just let me know!” Which, everyone knows is just an empty line to tell a grieving party that you care. No one actually needs anything, and no one is going to do anything about it. It is such a stupid thing to say.

  I almost jumped when something brushed my hair and turning around, I saw my mother’s still concerned face.

  “Sky? Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” I said right away.

  She and my younger brother and sister came out of the building behind us. My mother carried most of the stuff: The blue information folder and packet we got for Orientation, including a map of the campus and my assigned dorm. There were too many buildings at this place for me to keep track of. Some were academic and others were residencies, and according to the snobby brochure, it said Applewhite Preparatory Boarding School would “plant the seeds of success into young, barren minds.” My mom fell for it, thinking it would be the best thing for me and packed me up for it barely after my thirteenth birthday. Just like that, my next life was already set out for me.

  “Did you take your meds?”

  I sighed. “Come on, Mom.”

  “You know how important that is. The school is going to make sure you are taken care of, but you still need to take care of yourself.”

  I just nodded, and dared to look around to see if I could still see…whatever I saw.

  “Honey, you’re going to be just fine,” my mother continued. “The lady we talked to was really nice, wasn’t she? You are going to have everything you need here. This is such a good place for you, and much better than the public school!”

  I fought the urge to groan. She squeezed my shoulder while my brother and sister just stood there and stared at nothing. I knew they stared at nothing. They weren’t looking to see anything, but I was.

  “Remember honey, don’t talk about ghost stuff here.”

  I stiffened.

  “Skyler, remember what we talked about. It’s part of counseling. It’s part of moving on. We are all doing the same thing. This place will help you get you back on your feet.”

  “He’s here,” I said.

  My family just looked at me, expressionless and numb.

  “He is always here…” my mom said choking on her words.

  And with that, it was time for them to leave me. We hugged and promised to keep in touch, everybody leaking out tears but me. I had none left. They left and made their way towards the visitor parking lot where other families headed after abandoning their children.

  There were some surviving droplets on the concrete steps from that morning’s rain, which meant mud puddles to avoid. Using my map I made my way back to my dorm where an exciting day of unpacking awaited me. The sun managed to break away from a horde of clouds in spurts, revealing the aged brick on the buildings.

  I saw a girl walking across the street, and I stopped to watch her. It could have been the glaze of the sun, or the fog of the morning, but somehow something made her seem transparent.

  A boy sat on a bench behind me, facing forward and not saying anything. I thought I saw the girl walking, and the next cloud that passed over the sun revealed that there was no one there at all.

  “Did you see that?”

  He looked at me, almost startled to see that not only was I standing there, but I witnessed the same thing he did.

  “See...what?”

  “That girl disappear.”

  He smiled. “You think she disappeared?”

  “Well,” I answered. “It looked like it.”

  “She was just finding some peace: taking a nice walk and clearing her mind of stress.”

  I didn’t realize it, but I blurted out that I wish I could, too.

  “I know how you can.”

  “Yeah, how?”

  “If you find the right outlets, you can find your inner strength.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” I said.

  “I know how you can heal yourself.”

  I paused and turned to look at him as I realized he was giving me a flyer.

  “Oh, thanks,” I said taking the lime green sheet. It was the same thing I already had in my Orientation folder, just printed on different paper to stand out on its own. The boy smiled at me, his curls falling into his eyes. They were
almost the same color and it was strange I couldn’t figure out what. It was too light to be brown but too dark to be blonde.

  “Student Activities event soon. Hope to see you there,” he said. “Please come by and check out our booth. I hope that you find happiness, peace, and guidance in your journey to greatness.”

  I looked at him, slightly dazed. Before I could stop myself I let out a snicker.

  “Are they seriously making all of you recite that to the incoming newbies?”

  It was so cheesy I couldn’t help but laugh, but I stopped immediately since this guy had not cracked a smile.

  “No,” he said looking at me quizzically. “Why would anyone make me say that? Shouldn’t we all want happiness for one another?”

  I didn’t know what to say to this, really. “No, I don’t mean it like that. I just didn’t expect that, that’s all.”

  I noticed he wore a black t-shirt with a yellow logo on the right, similar to the one on the flyer. The letters were “G.O.L” inside of a rectangle shape. A cage? A lantern.

  “It is important for new students, and anyone for that matter, to know the right way to live a life of fulfillment. You think you do, but you really don’t. There is so much darkness and not enough light. I am with an organization that will help you find your way. We are here to spread the message to find the Light. We hope you have the strength in your heart to come and see what we’re all about, and make the choice to be the one in control of your life.”

  I just stood there, clutching the flyer, eyes wandering from it to the boy.

  “Look for us,” he said with a smile. “We’re the Guardians of Light, and we’re here to shine a beacon of knowledge for a better world.”

  “Okay, that’s nice. Thanks,” I said. I neatly put the flyer in my packet and then I headed to my dorm like I was in a hurry, but really, I did not want more word vomit. It made me cringe the way he just preached to me like a television evangelist. And although it seemed rehearsed, I knew that he believed every word he said to me.

  I opened my door to reveal my bedding and boxes of stuff still lying around from that morning. My mom and I came in, dumped off my stuff, and headed off to Orientation. I was happy that my new roommate Deanna was still out and about, because what I was about to do required me to be alone. Alone—but not completely.

  I rummaged through my backpack to find it, wrapped up in a T-shirt to prevent my mom from seeing it. The title alone won my attention once I set foot in that “special” bookstore: Contacting the Deceased: Making a Connection to the Spiritual Channels. I held the leather cover book for a moment, even getting a slight chill from the Gothic lettering. It reminded me of when I was at a sleepover in 4th grade and we watched The Craft. It freaked me out then, but it did not freak me out now. They were able to make things happen, and they made things happen by making spiritual connections. I learned that it was possible—only if you believed in it.

  I killed the lights and closed the curtains, allowing only a thin line of light in the room so I could see. I moved a desk chair out of the way to make more room, and then I got the piece of chalk out of my backpack. I sat down with that book and drew a circle on the floor around me, light enough so that I could clean it off later. I also wrote down his name, underlined three times. Next I lit two little tea light candles and put those very close to the edge, but not over. I opened to the page that I folded down into a little triangle I could find when needed, and took a deep breath.

  “I call you,” I chanted. “I call you, Jeff Monroe, to enter my circle. Enter my circle, Jeff Monroe, and come to me. Come to me.”

  I placed one hand on the three lines as I continued this phrase, holding the book in the other hand. I closed my eyes and concentrated on his face, just as the book instructed. I changed my breathing rhythm from slow to slower.

  “Come to this circle. Come to me.”

  Both my hands rested on the lines, like the home row of a keyboard. I exhaled as slowly as someone letting the air out of a balloon, little by little until my lungs were deflated enough to refill. I didn’t open my eyes or stop concentrating, even when I heard my door push.

  It moved in the doorframe gently at first… then it graduated to a full force shove. I jumped and opened my eyes, smearing some of the chalk lines. The door moved again, consistently, jamming in the doorframe. I shuffled around on the floor, slowly backing up but not quite leaving the circle I made. Somehow, I thought I should stay inside of it.

  “Hello?” I asked pitifully.

  The door pushed again, forcefully.

  “Hello, who’s there?” I asked again, a little louder.

  The door suddenly slammed and I grabbed my shaking knees as something at the bottom both frightened and confused me: My room was starting to flood. The pools were small at first but took no time getting bigger and spreading down my entire floor. I got up and jumped on my bed as I realized the water was well on its way to kill the candles and the circle. The chalk erased on the rippling wood.

  “Anybody there?” I cried. “Anybody?”

  I looked down when I realized that spell book was still there and the pages were drowning. My back against the wall, at that moment I knew the book was the last thing in the world I wanted to touch. I yelled out again and suddenly the door burst open, causing me to jump and grab my blanket.

  My roommate tiptoed in, iPod hanging from her ears and kicking an empty water jug. She looked up at me bashfully, taking out an earbud.

  “Oh my God, hi. I am so sorry! My key got stuck and wasn’t working and I dropped that stupid jug and now the whole place is wet! I have towels though, can you help me get them?”

  She threw the other bags she was carrying to her bed and got out some beach towels to lay on the floor. I needed my body temperature to go down to somewhat normal before I could spring to action. I got down off my bed, thankful I was still wearing shoes, and lay down some more towels. My roommate mentioned something about getting paper towels or a mop and left the room. As soon as she was gone, I went back to my backpack to get something else. I took some big gulps from my own water bottle and swallowed two of my pills.

  Chapter 2

  The mirror had to be playing a practical joke on me. This wasn’t me. This was never something I would be caught dead wearing, but here I was, and here it would stay. It was the entire dorky package of prim and proper cardigan, blouse and pleated skirt, complete with the knee high socks and those strap Mary Jane shoes. Some guys are into the schoolgirl thing and this only made it worse. I was going to be a walking fetish for any perverted janitor. I grabbed my backpack off my bed and set out for the first day of torture, suddenly thinking that I would have a series of strict teachers at this place.

  My first class was Music Appreciation and History, and thanks to the Orientation paper the buildings and room numbers were all color coded and highlighted. I felt it would be easy to have a no-brainer elective class first thing in the morning.

  Applewhite Prep was almost like a tiny college; the academic buildings were grouped together along with common buildings like the library and athletic center. Dorm houses were scattered according to age: 7th grade to 12th. I read that some of the houses were for individual student groups, too. As I made my way down the sidewalk and passed said buildings, I saw several of the student masses trickling out at the same time, all going to different classes but all at the same time. Everyone in the navy cardigans and pants and gray pleated skirts all packing together like sardines. Like the parts of one big controlled brain.

  I got to class and immediately sat down in the first empty seat on the right, not wanting to draw any attention to myself. I realized it was a stupid thought, as everyone looked exactly the same, and even though in this elective it was mixed of both 7th and 8th grade I could not tell who was who. That was, except, for the three girls seated at the back.

  I turned around to loop my backpack around the chair and almost dropped it. I only saw the uniform skirts and stocking legs underneath the desk, b
ut seated at the desk were three black hooded cloaks, long and disguising. Their heads were bent down so I couldn’t see their faces, but they were talking softly and they made me feel creeped out. They looked like three Ghosts of Christmas Yet to Come…waiting to point a ghostly finger to someone’s doom.

  I turned around as soon as the teacher walked in and announced “good morning!”

  My first teacher looked like any other teacher: A middle aged woman dressed business-like with her hair neatly tied back. I didn’t know what I was expecting, a nun? It didn’t mean that the teachers here would be any better or worse than a regular school. I soon discovered what she made of the three girls.

  “Ladies in the back,” the teacher said folding her arms. “I don’t believe those things you are wearing are uniform. You need to take those off.”

  “We can wear them,” one of the girls said defiantly. She looked at the teacher as though she had no control over what she could do.

  “No Iris, you cannot. They are not uniform.”

  “Mitchell says we can,” the one named Iris stuck her nose up, and for a moment she and the teacher had a stare-down.

  “Mr. Books. We do not call teachers by their first names!”

  “Mitchell wants to be called Mitchell, he’s different and cool. And these cloaks are uniform because they are a part of a student group. It’s for spiritual reasons. Our faith is offended if we can’t wear them.”

  I saw the teacher struggle with this internally, and then throw her hands up in defeat. “I will talk with him about this.”

  She turned her back and proceeded to write some things on the chalkboard. I turned slightly to look at the girls, and I regretted it. The one named Iris looked straight at me in another attempted stare-down.

  ***

  My next class was the one to really make me feel the intimidation of the teacher. He was a middle-aged man with greying hair and of short stature, but he held the class’s attention. He was not doing anything at the desk at the front of the room except watching everybody come in. His look alone told you that he was, in fact, in charge of the classroom and you’d better pay attention.