by Jane Tara
And then she saw a door. Calypso had been trained well, and knew that doors were never to be taken lightly. She turned, and as she suspected, the stairs she’d just climbed disappeared one by one behind her. With space beside her, and nothing behind her, she had no choice but to take the door in front of her. It was always the best option. So she opened it and – with a touch of apprehension and as much determination as she could muster – she closed her eyes and stepped through.
She fell.
Her petrified scream echoed around the realm. Her body hurtled toward her fate. In that moment, she had the strangest thought. She remembered her grandmother Emma telling her how sometimes souls leave their bodies just prior to their actual death, if it’s going to be a particularly traumatic one. Calypso stepped out of her screaming, hurtling, falling body and viewed it from above. From that angle she couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about; she felt quite detached from her human fear. She cocked her head and watched herself with what could only be described as amusement, although it wasn’t even that, but something we can only feel in pure spirit form.
The physical Calypso plummeted through the air, terror across her face, arms flailing, grasping at nothing in a vain attempt to survive. The spirit Calypso found it all fascinating: her fear of death, her desperate attempt to hold onto a life that she hadn’t truly been living for some time. And with that realization, she slammed back into herself, opened her eyes, and realized she wasn’t falling at all. She was sitting on a chair.
Calypso quickly got her bearings, as, section by section, the room came into focus. She was seated at a dining room table. The room was nicely furnished, but had a heavy air to it. There were photos of children on a sideboard. She heard the clink of cutlery, and watched as a woman came into view. Calypso realized with horror that she’d come face-to-face with herself, twenty years in the future.
Her first reaction was delight at how well she’d aged. But then she noticed the faint lines around the eyes and mouth that told of sadness rather than laughter. She stood and walked to the sideboard for a closer look at the photographs and realized they weren’t her own children, but Nell’s. She wasn’t a mother. She was the doting aunt.
She felt breathless. This couldn’t be her life. This was no life. What had happened to her that she’d ended up here? She realized with horror that she was being watched. She swung around and came face to face with her older self, standing behind her. She could see her and was staring at her with such contempt.
“You blew it!”
Calypso stared into her own aging face, into eyes that were filled untold regret. Those eyes drew her in and in … falling and tumbling through the lost chances, missed opportunities. As she fell a hand reached out for her again, and again, and again … She screamed as she reached for it.
“Taran!”
Everything went black. She sensed him first: she could smell him, the heady scent that drove her wild. She reached out her arms in front of her and touched him. Taran didn’t say a word as he laid her back and slipped off her clothes. She couldn’t see a thing, but she could feel him, and hear his breathing as it became more and more heated. He slid into her and they both cried out. There was the sound of drums in the distance. Or perhaps it was their heartbeat, together, as one. Calypso disappeared inside her head, and then merged into his. She lost awareness of where she ended and he began. All she felt was pure pleasure and a ferocious need for him. More and more and more, their lips and breath and hands and whispered words devouring each other, until they both exploded, their whispered promises carving their way across the universe.
Then he was gone.
And Calypso opened her eyes and realized she was lying in a freshly dug grave. She heard voices above. Crying.
“Hello?”
But no one answered.
And then the first shovel load of dirt hit her in the face. And then another.
“Stop! I’m not dead!” Calypso screamed. “I’m not dead.”
The dirt kept coming, she grabbed at the side of the grave, trying to claw her way out, but the grave got deeper, and deeper, and the damp, foul soil kept filling up. And all the grief and anger and sorrow she’d felt for three years came barreling out of her body in one heartbreaking howl. She was at Scott’s side as he died. She was at the viewing of his body. She was at the funeral, the wake and Ash Cottage, where she broke apart. She hurtled back further. She was in Bangkok, pacing the room. She was in the bar, with Scott and Taran. She saw their bond, that one brief but profound moment they shared. She saw Taran look at her. She saw Taran smile at her. And Calypso realized she’d made a terrible mistake. She wasn’t at all prepared for this journey. She should’ve spoken to some of the wood folk, or her mother, or at the very least googled “How to return from Summerland.” Google probably would’ve also shown results for not possible and death … It dawned on Calypso that she had just signed her own early warrant.
“I’M NOT FUCKING DEAD!”
And just like that the grave fell away and she was surrounded by mist. She ran her hands across her body. She grabbed at her chest. Her heart was racing. But she couldn’t let her fear win. Three deep breaths – she could do this.
She cocked her head and heard it … the sound of oars on water. She walked toward the sound, setting one foot carefully in front of the other. She needed to reach the side of the lake, but couldn’t risk stepping into it. No one had ever returned from under that lake.
One step … and another … to the edge.
The surface of the lake was like cobalt-blue glass. Calypso could see her reflection in it. She stared at her own features for a moment, feeling herself drawn in by a powerful force toward the lake. She blinked and broke the spell, berating herself for being so naïve. It was a one-way ticket into that lake. She glanced back at her reflection, which had now morphed into the face of a stranger with hideous features and a silent scream so morbid, Calypso almost caught it and started screaming herself. But she didn’t. And as soon as the creature realized it had no power over her it darted away, to the depths of the lake that entrapped it.
“The lake of lost souls.”
She could see them all clearly now. Below the surface of the lake were countless souls, swimming by in an endless dance of sorrow. Some moved slowly, weighed down by the lake and the events that led to them being trapped there. Others darted to the surface, and for a moment it looked like they’d break through … but they’d stop, horrified, as they realized they were stuck under what appeared to be an indestructible mirror, in which they’d see their own reflection and start to scream.
Calypso turned away. She’d seen enough. She’d heard about these souls, but nothing had prepared her for the misery in their faces.
“As in life, so in death,” she said to herself. Freedom from misery didn’t come simply through death. It came through love, of oneself and others. That much she knew.
She stepped back from the water’s edge and listened for the sounds around her. She couldn’t hear the oars any more, but there were gentle slaps, water on wood. The mist was now lucent enough to see the boat waiting for her. The mists parted ever so slightly and Calypso noticed the oarsman standing at the rear of the ornate boat. He was wearing a long dark cloak and hood, although the hood was positioned back far enough to see his craggy face.
He watched her for a moment. Waiting for a reaction, Calypso thought. Or just waiting. He was in no hurry. He had all the time in the world … and beyond.
She looked at the boat. She had no idea how long this part of the journey would take. She’d heard from her grandmother once that it depended on the person making the journey. Some people crossed the river quite quickly. Others took years.
She stared across the lake and the mists evaporated and there, on the other side, standing at the water’s edge, was Scott.
Calypso’s heart leapt. She could see him clearly … his smile, the lift of his hand as he waved to her. And the shake of his head as he told her not to cros
s.
Calypso took a moment to study him. There were subtle changes. Not in him, but how she felt about him. Scott was still perfect in every way to her, but suspended in time. He seemed so young, while she’d been forced to grow up through losing him. She was three years older and wiser and more damaged. Three years of growing and sinking, of grief and joy and new love. Three years she hadn’t shared with him. Changes, events, time he hadn’t witnessed, at least not in human form. Three long years etched on her soul. She was a different person now. And yet Scott stood before her, exactly the same as the day he died – and suddenly she realized she’d outgrown him. She still loved him, she always would, but she’d moved on. Despite the pain and the struggle and her apparent inability to do so, she had in fact moved on.
Calypso realized how foolish she’d been to visit the Summerland. There were no answers for her here. Answers weren’t as important as the questions. There was no unfinished business. Death finishes it for you, whether you like that or not. It was over with Scott. It had been for both of then, the moment he died in her arms. And as heartbreaking and awful as it was at the time, she accepted it now. Her greatest betrayal to Scott was not surviving, or even falling in love again, but not embracing that.
Calypso realized she didn’t want to get into that boat. It was not a journey she needed to take right now. She had to get home.
She gazed across the water at Scott. He grinned, and held his hand to his chest. She was there, in his heart, as he was in hers. And in that instant the mists closed and he disappeared from view. She couldn’t see him any more, but she felt him. She smiled. She’d felt him fly free from her once before, but this time was different. This time was okay. It still hurt that he didn’t get to live a full life, but it hurt her, not him. He existed in a space where he knew he’d lived exactly as he’d meant to, for the time he’d predetermined. He had lessons to learn and had done so. He had lessons to teach others and had achieved that. He’d done exactly what he was meant to do.
“Christ, you’re a pain in the ass.”
Calypso staggered backward as Taran stepped out of the mist behind her.
“How did you get here?”
Taran drew a packet from his pocket. “Sylph dust. I thought Madam Linzbichler was freaking nuts when she gave it to me, but apparently she’s not. You are.”
Calypso was horrified. Putting herself at risk was one thing, but what if Taran couldn’t get home? Sylph dust was no guarantee. “You should never have followed me here.”
“I’d follow you anywhere, Cal.”
“I don’t need you to ride in here on a white horse and save me.”
Taran did a mock search around him. “I could’ve ridden a horse here?” He grabbed her with more force than he normally would. “You crazy idiot. You should never have done this, and definitely not without Sylph dust.” And with that he kissed her, it was deep and long, and as close to home as she’d ever get, despite where they were.
“Don’t get into that boat, Cal,” Taran pleaded.
“I’m not going to. I made a mistake. Whatever happened between you and Scott is in the past, and that’s the one thing I need to let go of.”
Taran lifted her chin and looked deep into her eyes. “Hey, you and I will talk about it. And I’ll tell you all about what a great guy he was, and what an amazing night we had, and how this stranger believed in me when I needed it most … and some of his passion for life rubbed off on me and motivated me to paint. Cal, we can revisit it all … but we’ll do it at home, with a wine …” He gave her a grin. “It’s more normal that way, babe.”
Calypso had tears streaming down her face, but almost laughed anyway.
“Now, Nell told me how your magic has disappeared around me, which under normal circumstances bodes well for me. But it ain’t great here, because we need it.”
Calypso nodded. “Give me the Sylph dust. We’re going home.”
“You can do this, Cal.”
“I know I bloody can.”
Taran handed her a small packet of white powder. “I wasn’t the only person at my opening with a bag like that in my pocket,” He laughed.
Calypso glanced around the lake. She didn’t want to show how frightened she was, but she’d also heard so many tales about this place. Getting out of here wouldn’t be easy.
The mists shifted and Calypso realized that the darker energies were now aware of their presence. Summerland and the realms around it were as dangerous as they were safe. As with all light, there was a flipside of dark, and those energies would feed on them and off them if they caught them. It was time to leave. Returning from Summerland was always hazardous; especially once these energies took hold.
“You want to hurry up, Cal? This place is creeping me out.”
“I just need to think this through.”
“Think fast.”
“I’m trying.”
Taran shut his mouth. But it was too late. Everything around them began to vanish. The vibrations shifted and swallowed them and Calypso knew they were in danger. There were eternal mazes of energies and layers. Once lost in them it would be impossible to find a way out. Spirit drifted through the realms quite easily, but being in human form, they were unable to sense the very subtle shifts that were necessary to get them through.
Taran held her close. “It’s okay. Don’t panic.” It was obvious from his voice that he was.
There was a sense of motionless. Nothing. Endless nothing. It began to engulf them.
“Oh Taran, I’m so sorry …”
Taran held her, kissed her. “It’s okay. I’m with you. That’s all that matters.” He tried to cheer her up. “And it could be worse … we could be in Hackney. I went there once and that was hell.”
Calypso giggled. But they both knew they were in deep trouble. Calypso tried to shift the veils, but she hadn’t used magic in a while, so couldn’t raise the energy they needed. They sank deeper away from any reality, and into nothing, a despondent eternity … There were creatures around them. Shadows of tortured souls. Circling, circling, bearing down on them, pressing the breath from them … when suddenly a woman appeared before them.
“YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE!”
Calypso and Taran screamed as this creature rushed toward them. Taran grabbed Calypso and held her tight, turning to face the creature himself. And then …
“Enid!”
“I told you I was keeping an eye on you,” Enid snapped. The ghost stared at Calypso and Taran, whose eyes were wide in disbelief. “Honestly … I don’t know what you’d do without me. Come on then.”
“I didn’t think you’d recognize us with our clothes on, Enid.”
Enid snapped her head back and glared at him. “I don’t have to save you. Just her.”
“Point taken,” Taran mumbled.
Enid moved between them and guided them away from the abyss. They flew through dark tunnels and alleyways. The smell of sewage filled the air. It was dark and cold and there were screams that chilled Calypso to the bone.
“This is a great place,” Taran said. “We should bring the kids here for holidays.”
“This is no place for children. Or anyone. Come this way.”
Calypso had the overwhelming sense that Enid had existed within the abyss before, which is why she knew it so well. The pace quickened, the energy jolted, as they moved into a more familiar space. The vibrations became familiar. Calypso had worked with these energies before, although not with Taran around.
There was light up ahead, but Enid stopped. “I don’t go any further.” She looked at Calypso. “You will find the way.”
Calypso gestured toward Taran “My powers don’t work around him.”
“You also thought you only had one,” Enid snapped, as if Calypso were quite stupid.
Calypso breathed deeply. Enid was right. She had allowed family myths and legends to control her for too long. She knew these vibrations. She glanced at Taran. He’d come in to save her, but really he had no idea how to do th
at. She owed him, and would get him home safely.
Calypso turned to Enid, searching for the right words, so the ghost truly understood what she meant to her. But Enid shook her head.
“I’ve watched you grow up. It’s my duty to make sure you’re safe.” And with that, she disappeared, back to the pub where she herself felt secure.
Taran looked nervous. “Any more creepy realms to traverse?”
Calypso giggled, as she dipped her finger into the bag of Sylph dust. “Hold onto me, Taran. And don’t let go.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do, Cal.”
Calypso closed her eyes. She refused to allow negative thoughts to govern her. She knew how to do this. The veils shifted. Further … and again. She was there, she could feel it, she blew them wide open and the remnants of the dark energies evaporated behind them. She was back in that space she’d missed so much. Back and then some. She felt more powerful than ever before. The cobwebs that had collected in the corners of her mind were swept away. And she knew exactly what to do now. She pulled Taran toward her. It needed to be exactly right or they’d never get out. There was one force more powerful than them all. She held him, pressed her lips against him and he responded … and she moved onto him. He was so deep inside her that they became one. Together they got lost, this time in each other, because nothing else existed. It felt like they were traveling that way for hours … perhaps they’d been missing for years.