Elatsoe

by Darcie Little Badger

  “I have business in the lavatory!” the devil woman said, raising her glass. “Second time tonight. There’s so much to drink.”

  “During your trips, have you seen a green sitting room?” Jay asked. “Or a bunch of women in matching outfits?”

  The woman closed her eyes and tapped her chin, as if trying to remember a complex mathematical formula. “Ye-eees,” she said. “During the spring luncheon, I ate cucumber sandwiches in a green room.” She pointed down the hall. “That way. Somewhere. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make room for more of these.” She finished off the bubbly drink and sashayed around a corner.

  “The ballroom is a tinderbox,” Ellie said. “I can’t waste any more time.”

  “You two go ahead,” Al said. “I’ll find the green room.”

  “Good luck, bro,” Jay said.

  Al nodded once, and the group divided and went separate ways. At the ballroom entrance, Jay and Ellie hesitated. They turned around, looking back. Al was gone.

  “He’ll find them,” Jay said.

  The two friends linked arms and stepped into the ballroom. Designed for hundreds—if not thousands—of guests, it was a vision of opulence. Its auburn hardwood floor shone, somebody had painted a Renaissance-inspired fresco on the ceiling, and palatial marble arches with gold accents leapt around the ballroom’s perimeter. A cello, a drum set, a baby grand piano, and an electric guitar were arranged on the low stage. The musicians were on a break. Without music, the throng of guests mingled under the golden lights of electric chandeliers. The hum of their combined voices was loud enough to drown out a high school cafeteria during lunchtime.

  Ellie skimmed the crowd, searching for anyone she recognized. Masks seemed to be optional because most of the attendees had exposed faces. One person was eerily familiar, a woman with bright red hair. Had she been the waitress in the Willowbee diner?

  “I’m going to call my mother,” Ellie said. She dialed Vivian, and this time, the emissary did not interfere. Ellie was right where he wanted her, after all: in the haunted house.

  “Mom?” Ellie asked. “You there?”

  “Yes, honey. What’s wrong?”

  “Listen. We freed Al, but a spirit of vengeance that formed during Trevor’s death wants to reenact the bloody prom scene from Carrie.”

  “Slow down. You found Al already? How?”

  “It’s night! You’ve been in that room for hours. We need to evacuate now!”

  Ellie heard muffled conversation from her mother’s end of the call. “On our way,” Vivian said. “Ellie, I want you to—”

  The phone call was dropped as a hush fell over the ballroom. From her vantage point at the edge of the crowd, Ellie could see Dr. Abe Allerton step onto the stage with a wicker basket in his arms. He was dressed like Uncle Sam, with red-white-and-blue-striped pants and a star-spangled suit jacket. Allerton tipped his blue top hat at the crowd. Smiling, he sidled up to the microphone and tapped it twice.

  “Happy birthday, Willowbee!” Allerton said, his voice buffeted by applause. “Ladies, gentlemen, and spelling bee champs, this is the moment you’ve all been waiting for—”

  A delicate scale in D minor danced across the piano keys. The doctor turned, one eyebrow cocked, and the room burst into a fit of good-natured laughter. “We have a prankster in our midst,” Allerton said. “Who did th—”

  With a discordant clang, every key on the piano slammed down.

  “Run!” Ellie shouted. “Get out of here!”

  Her warning didn’t have the intended effect. Nearly every head in the ballroom turned to look at her. Some people seemed confused. Others smiled, as if they mistook Ellie for a performer, just another one of Allerton’s jesters. And some of the people—including the red-haired waitress—stared in a hard, guarded way. Like they wouldn’t do what she said for a million bucks. And in that moment, when the guests were distracted, it happened.

  The piano flew up as if seized by a tornado, sailed over Dr. Allerton, and plummeted toward the now-screaming crowd.

  THIRTY-ONE

  VIVIAN WONDERED IF SHE’D made the right decision by bringing Ellie to the party. She admired her daughter’s courage. Of course she did! But the world presented too many opportunities for brave people to risk their lives. Wisdom helped reduce those risks; the inexperience of youth increased them.

  If only Ellie could see things from Vivian’s perspective.

  “How long has it been?” Ronnie groaned. She’d been pacing the green room since the butler left, hands thrust into the deep pockets of her trench coat.

  “Ten minutes,” Vivian said, glancing at her phone. “Let’s wait another five before we start breaking things.”

  “Sit down,” Alice said, patting the sofa cushion beside her. “We need to save our energy.”

  Vivian wondered what they expected would happen. A ballroom blitz? “What’s with the matching outfits?” she asked. “I hope you realize that it’s my nature to get nervous when I see kids in trench coats. I’m a teacher. You could be hiding anything.”

  No matter how many times she confiscated smartphones from her students, they pulled new ones out of the ether the moment she turned her attention back to the dry-erase board. To be fair, Vivian understood the utility of a device that could communicate at a global scale and pull knowledge from every corner of the internet, but did they have to be so small? So easily hidden in purses and pockets?

  The basketball team exchanged sly glances, and then Ronnie opened her coat. Vivian had the sudden mental image of a street vendor flashing his counterfeit Rolexes in a dim alley. But Ronnie wasn’t carrying ten pounds of fake gold. Thin, metallic stakes, the kind used to secure camping tents, hung from loops in the lining of her trench coat. There had to be ten on each side.

  “What are those supposed to be?” Vivian asked. “Do you all have them?”

  “Silver-coated stakes,” Ronnie said.

  “They’re important,” Martia said. “You know what this place is?”

  Jess interjected, “Before he went missing, Al learned that King—the cursed guy who owns King’s Ranch down by San Antonio, you know?—he visits Willowbee every few years, and he isn’t the only big guy who does.”

  Vivian was vaguely aware that Mr. King, an oil baron and cattle dealer of some ilk, was one of the oldest vampires in the country. However, it was said he didn’t associate with people outside the wrought-iron gates around his ranch. She always assumed that he was too wracked with bloodlust and sensitive to light. But if he visited Willowbee on the regular, that couldn’t be the case.

  “Okay,” she said. “And the weapons? They’re for him?”

  “Anyone, really,” Ronnie said. “Powerful vampires travel with entourages. Big ones. I heard about the gathering you interrupted. It’s lucky you escaped. We might have to fight our way out of these walls.”

  “Silver stakes,” Vivian mused. She drummed her fingers across the arm of her sofa, gazing thoughtfully at her reflection in one of the many mirrors. “Have you ever killed somebody before?”

  Alice laughed in a strained, forced way, like she was responding politely to a terrible joke.

  “It’s a serious question,” Vivian said. “If the silver is pure, those stakes can kill. They’ll need to kill, in the situation you just described.”

  “No,” Ronnie said. “Have you?”

  “Yes.”

  Now, everyone was looking at Vivian, but she continued watching her reflection. Her hair was the kind of shimmery, ethereal gray that an even mixture of white and black hair produced. Not unlike the silver that the girls had carried against their chests. “Do you know about the power of my lineage?” she asked. “We can wake the dead.”

  “That’s the opposite of killing,” Alice said, smiling, and Vivian suspected that she was the kind of person who couldn’t abide a serious situation without jokes to break the tension.

  “We know,” Martia said.

  “My mother,” Vivian continued, “is allergic to d
ogs. Cats, too. So we never had them growing up. I didn’t mind. We lived in New Mexico. I love Texas, but the land of my father will somehow always feel more like home. It’s difficult to describe the beauty of those plateaus. Or how vast and clear the sky can be when you’re standing on a mountain filled with millions of old bones. Fossils, mostly. I think that’s how my mother got the idea to make an extinct thing her companion.”

  “A dinosaur?” Ronnie asked. No longer pacing, she sat cross-legged in front of Vivian. “Oh! You can raise an army of dinosaurs to help us!”

  “A mammoth,” Vivian said, nipping that idea in the bud. “Really not much different than your typical elephant, except for the tusks. They’re also much larger. Fluffier, too.”

  “Wow,” Alice said. “You could see it?”

  “Sometimes. Usually, it was just this massive, shimmery bulldozer that rumbled through the desert behind our home. Ma would spend hours training it after school. She started in the wilderness, miles from our house, in case the beast was unruly. After a few years, the trust between them was such that Ma did her training sessions near my playhouse. It was actually an old car. Broken down, no tires. Dad let me play in it because I begged, and it wasn’t like anyone needed the thing, even for scraps. After school, I’d sit on top of my car, shaded by an umbrella, and watch her shout commands to the shimmer. When I came of age, she taught me how to shout commands too. By that time, the mammoth was well-behaved, and I think it loved us both. They’re very much like elephants in that way too. Capable of affection. Intelligent.” She exhaled through her nose, making a discontented hff sound. “People don’t give animals enough credit sometimes. Or maybe they give humans too much credit.”

  She checked her phone again. Only three minutes had passed since she last looked at its thumbprint-streaked screen. Three minutes? Was that all? She thought it had been longer.

  “What happened?” Ronnie asked. “Who did you kill?”

  “Don’t rush stories,” Vivian chided. “That’s sacrilegious.”

  “Sorry. I’m just …” Ronnie rubbed her face and groaned. “Angry.”

  “I know. So am I. But this is important. That’s why I’m sharing now, of all times.” She looked again at her reflection. “I loved the land so much. Sometimes, I’d go for long walks through the desert, looking for lizards and bugs. My favorite time for these was late afternoon, when the sun was low enough that these long, cold shadows stretched from the plateaus. It felt like walking among giants. I’d follow this red, sandy road between them. It was mostly for locals. Outsiders often had the wrong kind of car for our roads; you needed something light with good tires. Sometimes, a tourist would get lost and become stuck in the fine red sand. My father liked to tow them free and provide directions to the nearest paved street. They’d try to pay him for the kindness, but he refused. My mother would tell him to get over his pride. That we needed the money. Didn’t have much back then, except for each other.

  “Anyway, when I saw the pickup truck, I figured a tourist took a wrong turn and was driving in circles, trying to get to the road home. I was thirteen years old at the time. Small for thirteen, though. Didn’t have my big growth spurt till later that year. So a stranger might have taken me for ten or eleven.

  “As the truck approached, I went closer to the roadside. Naïve, yes, I know. But I hadn’t been afraid of strangers since Ma taught me how to wake the dead. The power went straight to my head.

  “It happened quickly. The truck stopped right there in the middle of the road—nobody around for miles, so it’s not like the driver had to worry about causing an accident. A man exited. He was tall, maybe forty-something. To children, adults look old, and it’s hard to tell thirty from forty or fifty. I remember that his body language frightened me. It was aggressive and confident. He strode around the car, carrying a knife in one hand and reaching for me with the other. The blade seemed this big—” Vivian spread her hands two feet apart, like somebody describing a fish she’d just caught. “—but that’s because I was afraid. It was probably a little hunting knife or Swiss Army knife. Something people carry in case of emergencies.”

  Momentarily, Vivian lost her train of thought as she remembered the pocket knife Trevor used to own. He’d been so confident that it, with all those foldable gadgets, would protect him from life’s unexpected crises.

  Ellie had the knife. Was that wise? Maybe it should have gone into the earth with Trevor’s body. Or maybe, with an object valued for its utility, a burial was the worst possible fate.

  “Did you know him?” Martia asked, and she sounded furious, as if the attack had happened that day instead of thirty years ago. “Who does that?”

  “No. I’d never seen him before. That might have been the first time he drove through our neck of the desert. Like I mentioned, it was an isolated place.” She crossed her arms. “Back then, I didn’t know many white people. Mostly saw them when my family visited cities like Flagstaff. I’m sure I would have remembered him if we met before.”

  Vivian noticed that everyone but Ronnie seemed amused by that.

  “Do you … miss that?” Ronnie asked.

  “I just miss being around my family,” Vivian said, “and people who understand my rare in-jokes. It’s been a long time since I lived in New Mexico. My parents divorced when I was fifteen, and Ma took me to Texas.”

  “What happened to the man?” Jess asked. “How did you kill him?”

  “Hey, now. How do you know that he’s the one who died?” Vivian asked.

  “Just wishful thinking, I guess.”

  She chuckled at that. Her smile dropped quickly. “I think he was the kind of monster who drives around and looks for … opportunities. Lucky for him, there I was. He said one thing: ‘Get in the car.’ I remember wanting to scream but realizing that any sound I made would be swallowed by the vastness around us. I also wanted to run but was afraid that he’d stab me in the back. So I called for the mammoth.

  “She appeared as a shimmer beside me. The man didn’t seem to notice. Still. It’s not like he had any chance to react. The mammoth must have realized that I was in trouble. They’re smart. Protective. Before I could say a command, she reacted. It happened quick as a snakebite. One moment, the man was reaching for my arm, and the next?” Vivian clapped. “Flying through the air like a rag doll. Head over heels. Clutching that knife the whole time. He landed in the middle of the road about twenty feet behind the truck. Alive.

  “When I was in college, I went to a rodeo with my friends, and we saw this spirited bull immediately knock off his rider. But that wasn’t enough. The one-ton animal rounded on the fallen cowboy and tried to stomp and gore him to death. Thankfully, a circus clown saved the day.

  “That’s what the mammoth did to my would-be kidnapper. Stomped and stabbed. But she was six times heavier than a bull. Angrier, too. I watched her invisible feet flatten him limb by limb. She stomped until I couldn’t tell he was a person anymore. Until his bones became mash and his blood dyed the earth a deeper shade of red. Believe me when I say this: the mammoth saved my life. I don’t know what that man planned to do—or what he’d done to others—but I’m confident that the truck was my coffin.

  “Despite that, his death is the most horrible thing I’ve witnessed. I don’t feel guilt, but I wish that I could have kept my innocence just a little longer. The lucky will go their whole lives without witnessing such violence. It changes you in unpleasant ways. Do you understand?” Vivian looked at each of the young women—they were still children, in her eyes, barely older than the students she taught—and was pleased to see them all nod in agreement.

  “Ma’am,” Martia said, “do you still go on walks with the mammoth?”

  “No. It’s been a long time since I saw her. I can’t wake the dead like I used to.” She glanced at her phone to check the time. “Well! I know my stories tend to drag on, but this can’t be right.”

  According to the analog clock projected on the screen, it was well past nine in the evening
. Maybe, her phone had switched to the wrong time zone. Glitches like that happened in the presence of ghosts. Vivian stood, moving to open the door.

  Before she had the chance, it flew open, narrowly missing her outstretched hand. A disheveled Al stood in the doorway. Wide-eyed, he looked around, his gaze finally settling on Ronnie.

  “Babe!” she cried.

  “Babe!” he agreed.

  Each leapt forward, colliding in a hug.

  “You escaped!” Ronnie said.

  “Jay and Ellie helped. Quick. We need to get out of here. Trevor’s ghost is on the warpath.”

  Vivian cleared her throat. “You mean he’s awake?” she corrected. “Where’s my daughter?”

  “We split up. She and Jay are evacuating the ballroom. It’s on the way out.”

  How was that possible? The ball wasn’t supposed to start until evening. As Vivian jogged into the hallway with the rest of the group, she found her answer through the window: it was dark outside. She heard rain pattering against the roof, as if a storm had swept in while she and the starting lineup were trapped in some kind of time pocket.

  Her phone beeped four times.

  Missed call from Pat: 4:48 P.M.

  Missed call from Pat: 7:00 P.M.

  Missed call from Pat: 7:15 P.M.

  Missed call from Pat: 8:50 P.M.

  The double doors connecting the eastern wing to the central ballroom were closed, but Vivian could hear a tremendous commotion behind them. It wasn’t the kind of noise she expected at a party. The voices were panicked. A few clear cries for help raised above the overall discordant hum:

  “Help us! Oh God!”

  “You’re crushing me!”

  “It doesn’t work. Do something!”

  The sound she’d mistaken for raindrops was actually dozens of fists rapping against the wooden doors. The walls also trembled with muffled knocks, like the whole ballroom was trying to get free.

  Vivian grabbed a bronze door handle and pulled. When that didn’t work, she pushed with all her weight. The door wouldn’t budge. “Ellie!” she shouted. “Can you hear me? Are you there?”