Reapers Never Smile

by Stephanie Prochaska

  I’d never fixed a lamp before. I’d helped Marcus with his junk-building projects, and my dad had made me help him around the house, but electrical work wasn’t something I’d ever tackled. At least I couldn’t make the lamp any worse, I told myself.

  I set the tools down on the floor next to my chair. I grabbed the lamp and looked it over. It was about a foot and a half tall with a tarnished brass base and a glass chimney. The base was probably six inches tall; the bottom three inches looked like a stand that swept up to meet what looked like a brass ball that had been flattened on the top and the bottom. The whole base, even the stand part, looked like one solid piece. Probably for holding the oil, I figured.

  The chimney was attached to the base by tiny brass prongs around the edge. It flared out into a huge balloon shape before tapering off towards the top. There seemed to be etchings around the top of the chimney, but I couldn’t tell what they were supposed to be.

  I managed to take the chimney off without too much trouble before carefully unscrewing what I later realized was the burner. I peered inside and realized that this was going to be more difficult than I’d first thought.

  ……

  I went on the internet and looked at a few diagrams. I didn’t know much, but everything I could find said I was going to have to replace the burner. It took me a couple of days to get around to it, but I finally made my way to the store. I even shelled out the money for a new wick while I was at it – the one I had was looking pretty bad. Normally I wouldn’t have wasted money on something like this, but the lamp was so different looking, and I really wanted to see what it would look like when it finally worked. Besides, it would give me something to do when I got home; it’s not like I had anything better to occupy my time with.

  When I got home, I put the new parts on my desk next to everything else. The lamp was still in pieces, and the whole thing was starting to take up a lot of room. Before I put everything back together, I took a couple minutes to hammer out some of the bigger dents I’d found in the base. Then, I took some pliers and pulled the bottom edge back into a circle. When it finally looked like something I hadn’t found in the garbage, I set it up right. I pushed it lightly with my finger, and I was glad to see it didn’t wobble anymore. Good. Now, if my parents saw it, they wouldn’t get mad at me for having a fire hazard in the house.

  I threaded the wick through the brand-new burner and tested out the little knob that raises the wick. It seemed to be working. So, at least I’d done that right. Nothing seemed to be wrong with any of the other pieces at first, and for a minute I thought I wasn’t going to be able to do anything else to fix it. I was about to put the whole thing back together and test it out when I noticed that the place where the oil was supposed to be was completely dry. So, I was going to have to make another trip up to the store.

  I bought oil the next day and put it into the lamp. Finally, I was ready to put it all back together and see what happened. It took me two more days to finally get all the pieces lined up and back where they were supposed to be. It was amazing how it only seemed to take a fraction of the time to take it all apart. But now that I was trying to put it all together, it seemed like some of the pieces just wouldn’t fit. Why was it always so much easier to take things apart than it was to put them back together?

  Finally, I managed to get everything in the right place. I set the glass chimney back on the base, and took a step back to admire my handiwork. I had to admit, it looked pretty good. I wasn’t sure if I’d done everything that needed to be done, or even if I’d done anything right, but I was still pretty proud of myself. Now all I had to do was see if the thing worked. I took a lighter I’d bought to the lamp’s wick; I’d know in about two minutes if I’d done it right. I didn’t know a lot about lamps, especially old lamps, but I did know that it looked just like the pictures I’d found. If it didn’t work now, I wasn’t sure how much more I could do. The light flickered for a minute, but it stayed lit. Once I was sure the flame wasn’t going to go out, I put the glass cover back on and headed over to my bed. I laid down with my fingers laced under my head and watched the light flicker against the wall.

  As I lay there, thinking about what an amazing lamp-fixer I was, something strange happened. The orange light glowing off the walls started to change to an unearthly cold blue. I turned to look at the lamp. What had been a perfectly normal flame when I’d lit it was now glowing a deep, bright blue. The flame got darker and darker, until the tip looked almost black. The room got dark, and the lamp seemed to almost glow.

  Strange patterns danced around the room, swirling out from the lamp in a spiral pattern. I started to feel motion sickness coming on, so I closed my eyes a minute to steady myself. When I opened them again, the room had stopped spinning, but it was still bathed in dark blue light. And standing in the middle of my bedroom was a girl.

  Chapter 7

  “Hello.” the girl said. I just stared at her.

  Normally, I would have been pretty scared at the sight of someone I didn’t know appearing in the middle of my room. But the whole thing was so surreal, and the light so dim, I wasn’t actually sure if my mind was playing tricks on me. Even when I finally realized that she really was there, I didn’t scream, or jump up, or do anything at all. It wasn’t that I was too cool to be rattled by something like this; it was shock.

  She stood in the center of the room, a smile on her lips. Her dark hair flowed out around her face in wisps, and her skin was so pale I thought I could see it glow even with the minimal amount of light that was now in the room. Her dress had frills around the edges and was such a pale blue it was almost white. The dress ended in ruffles a couple of inches above where her knees would have been – if she’d had any. I could see a faint outline of legs coming from under the dress, but they faded into nothing well before they got to where her feet should have been. She wasn’t exactly transparent, but she didn’t really look solid, either. More like a collection of thick spider webs bundled loosely together.

  She kind of shimmered, an almost neon white hovering around her. Blue light swirled lazily around her, not going anywhere near as fast as it had when the lamplight first started turning blue. Now it hung in the air and on the walls, but never seemed to quite penetrate the girl’s own unnatural light. After staring at her for about five seconds, I could tell that this girl was definitely no longer amongst the living. She smiled as she walked – or floated, whatever –towards me. I tried as casually as I could to move from the edge of my bed to a place closer to the corner. I tried to sound big and brave when I asked who she was, but judging by the giggle I got in response, I was less than successful. I cleared my throat and tried again.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” I asked.

  “My name’s Samantha. Samantha Corben.”

  “What do you want? Why are you here?” I demanded.

  “You have a lot of questions!” she laughed cheerfully. Her eyes were still sparkling when she asked, “Are you scared?”

  “No.” It was a pretty transparent lie, but what did she expect? There was no way I was going to admit it.

  “No? Really?” She shrugged. “That’s good, I guess. Anyway, since you asked, I don’t really want anything.”

  I blinked. “Then why are you here?”

  “Because of the lamp.”

  “The lamp?” I asked. “What? Like a genie or something?” She sure didn’t look like any kind of genie I’d ever heard of, and she didn’t really strike me as the kind of person who would be granting wishes anytime soon.

  “No! Not like that at all.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s just that I like this lamp.”

  Apparently. I’d turned on hundreds of lights before, and not one of them had ever caused some strange girl to magically appear.

  “So, what’s so special about it?” I asked.

  “It’s the last thing I saw before I died.”

  She let the sentence hang there, and I could tell she was watching closely for my reaction. I didn’t
say anything for a full minute; I didn’t know how to respond. What do you say to that? Finally, I settled on “Oh.”

  “I usually hang around near it – it’s just that you don’t see me until it’s actually burning.”

  “So… were you watching me fix it?” I asked. I really didn’t like the idea that she’d been watching me.

  “No.” she reassured me. “It’s really hard to see anything without the lamp’s being lit.”

  “It’s not exactly the brightest lamp I’ve ever seen.” I squinted over at it, trying to see if it even lit up the edges of my desk.

  “I know. Maybe it’s because it’s the last thing I saw, but when it’s lit, it lets people see me.”

  “So you hang around it, so that when people light it, they’ll be able to see you?” I asked. That sounded like a pretty terrible existence to me.

  “No, I don’t hang around it all the time, just a lot of the time.” she had an edge to her voice, and I wondered if she’d picked up on my thoughts about her. “I do other things too. It’s just that when it is lit it’s pretty much the only thing I can see.” I stared blankly, trying to figure out what that meant. Apparently I wasn’t suitably impressed, so she continued. “Once I died, things got really dark. Literally. It’s kind of like everything’s covered in a bluish-black fog. But when the lamp lights up, things look a lot better.”

  “So… you haunt the lamp?” I asked hesitantly. I didn’t mean to sound callous. That’s just what I’d gotten out of what she said.

  “Why not?” She stiffened. “I like it. It reminds me of when I was alive. I used to see it all the time before I died. And I told you already, it makes things seem nicer.”

  “Oh… I’m sorry.” She seemed pretty touchy about the lamp, so I decided to just let it go. It obviously made perfect sense to her, and who knows? Maybe if I were a ghost, I’d feel the same way. I tried to think of something to ask her, but all I could come up with were questions about her being a ghost; I wanted to think of something to ask that didn’t seem like it would have quite as much potential to insult her.

  “So, how old are you?” she looked about my age, but it was the only thing I could think to ask; my mind was just too clouded by things I felt were more important but didn’t know how to bring up.

  “I guess I’d be seventeen now.” she told me. “I was sixteen last year, so…”

  “Oh.” It was amazing how even a simple question could turn so awkward. I tried to think of anything else to say, but the only things I could think of were about her dying. Finally, I realized that if I wanted to talk to her at all, I was going to have to break down and ask her. “If you don’t mind me asking… how did you die?”

  “I drowned.” she said, and there was a definite edge to her voice. “You’re very nosy, you know.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It's just that I’ve never met a ghost before.”

  She shrugged and nodded in a way that let me know she saw my point without her having to actually admit it. She crossed her arms and tilted her head back as she studied me. She didn’t say anything for a minute or two. Finally, she decided to ask me a question.

  “What school do you go to?”

  “Parkside High.”

  “I thought so.” she said, nodding. I tried to look impressed, but since there were only two high schools in this town, I wasn’t giving her much credit. Besides, she didn’t even guess it – I told her.

  “That’s the school I went to.” she said quietly, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Did you like it?” I asked.

  “It was ok. I mean, I never really liked school, but it wasn’t that bad. Why? You like it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh? Trouble at school?” She seemed to be interested suddenly. I had to admit I was kind of glad; she was the first person I’d talked to who seemed to actually care about my problems.

  “I guess I don’t know as many people as I’d like. Everyone says to just give it time, and I know I should. I guess I’m just a little bit frustrated.”

  “Don’t worry.” she shrugged. “It really does take time. And in a year or two, you’ll know a ton of people.”

  “But I’m a senior now. I don’t have a year or two to wait.” And even if I did, who in their right mind would wait that long?

  Samantha blinked in surprise.

  “How old did you think I was?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Sophomore? Maybe a junior.”

  “Really?” I asked, somewhat sarcastically. I’d never been told I looked younger than I am; people usually thought I was already in college.

  “Well, I don’t recognize you. I just assumed it was because you’re younger. Why else would you be here and not know anybody?”

  “I just moved here.” I was about to tell her about how my dad made us move and how I knew a ton of people at my old school, but before I got the chance, the door slammed shut downstairs. I glanced at the clock on my dresser. 7:06.

  “My mom’s home.” I told her.

  “Then I think it’s time for me to leave.” Samantha told me. She studied me for a minute before adding, “I like talking to you. I’ll be back, ok?”

  I barely even had time to respond before she faded away. The room turned back to its normal cream color, and I was left wondering what had just happened.

  Chapter 8

  That night when we sat down for dinner, my dad asked me the same thing he did every night.

  “How was school today?”

  “It was ok.” I told him.

  “Did you meet any new friends?” He knew I’d been having trouble meeting people here.

  “Well, I did meet one person today.” I said slowly. A ghost was still a person, right?

  “That’s great, honey!?” my mom cut in, a little too excited. “What’s his name?”

  “Uh… Sam.” She hadn’t really said I could call her that, but there was no way I was going to tell my mom that my new friend was a girl. Mom would want to know all about her and would keep bugging me about when she could meet her until I had to finally tell her that Samantha was actually a ghost. And then what? My mom would think I was crazy for not only believing in ghosts, but for thinking they were my friends. And even if she did believe me, she’d probably be disappointed that I couldn’t make any friends that were actually alive. So let her think that Sam was a guy in my class. Why not?

  “Oh, I’m so glad.” My mom told me. Like this was the first time I’d ever made a friend. Was it really that impressive?

  “Thanks.” I replied. Apparently she missed my sarcasm because she continued right on as if I hadn’t said anything.

  “See? I knew you’d make friends. I’ve told you before, you just have to be patient and not worry so much. So when are you going to bring this Sam over so we can meet him?”

  “What?” I almost choked on my drink. So much for my theory that she wouldn’t care as much about meeting my guy friends.

  “You don’t want me to meet him?” she sounded almost hurt. “I’ve always met all of your friends, ever since you were little.”

  “That’s because I met half of them when I was still playing T-Ball. You had to drive me to their houses.”

  “So? Is that any reason to stop being involved in your life? Just because you’re older doesn’t mean I can’t keep track of who your friends are.”

  “Dad, make her stop.” I pleaded.

  “Stop what?” he asked. I couldn’t tell if he’d been tuning out our conversation or was just refusing to get involved. Either way, it was obvious that he wasn’t going to be much help.

  “I don’t really know him that well.” I told my mom. “But I’ll bring him over once I get to know him better, ok?”

  She didn’t look like she thought it was ok, but she nodded anyway. I made a mental note to never bring Samantha – or Sam – up again. I could only hope that in a couple of weeks she’d forget all about this conversation.

  Chapter 9

 
I’d been talking to Samantha for almost a week before it occurred to me to ask her about Karen. I knew that Samantha had been a junior last year, so odds were really good that she’d know her. She’d be able to tell me how to impress Karen for sure.

  “So, who’d you hang out with at school?” I asked, warming up.

  “Eric Milner.” She said almost immediately. She got a faraway look in her eye as she said, “I used to go to his house every day.”

  I knew Eric Milner. He was in my math class and captain of the basketball team. More importantly, I’d seen him talk to Karen once or twice. Chances were good that if Milner knew Karen, Samantha would too. If they’d actually been friends like I’d hoped, she could tell me all about Karen, and I could finally do something to make her notice me.

  “So, did you know Karen?” I asked hopefully.

  “Yes.” she said, her eyes narrowing. She folded her arms across her chest.

  I knew she wasn’t happy, but I didn’t care. I needed to know about Karen. I pushed for more information, figuring Samantha would get over whatever was bothering her. But the more I pushed, the more annoyed she seemed to become.

  “I don’t want to talk about Karen.” she practically spat. “She’s a terrible person. I can’t believe you’d even ask about that backstabber!”

  “Ok, ok. I’m sorry.” I said quickly, throwing up my hands. It was clear that I’d really upset her, so I decided to back down before things got really ugly. Normally, if someone had acted like that, I’d be asking what their problem was. But with a ghost, I wasn’t sure if that was such a good idea. I mean, I’d seen a lot of movies, and none of them had ever shown a nice little harmless ghost. Those things could hurt you if they got mad enough.

  I wanted to ask what happened to make her hate Karen so much; it would probably be a good idea to know if there was anything wrong with her before I tried to go out with her, but I decided not to press my luck any more for the time being. If I made Samantha mad enough, I might not get a chance to ask again. I’d have to try again later, once she’d calmed down some.