The Hungry Ghosts

by Miguel Flores

  “Junebug?!”

  Milly sat up and the little borkoink jumped off her onto a wood floor. “But you—and I—and this—” Milly rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands.

  When she reopened her eyes, she found that she had been dressed in new clothes and placed in a bed. But the bed felt familiar, as did the rest of the room.

  Junebug ran around on the floor, trying to catch its own coil of a tail.

  Milly slid off the bed, trying to avoid stepping on the borkoink as it ran circles around her legs.

  “Where am I?”

  “That is a very poor question. I’m surprised you don’t recognize your own house,” said another familiar thing. She looked at one of the other beds and saw Jasper sitting there. “Hello again. Welcome to St. George’s.”

  Milly studied the cat the same way she studied a math problem. With both wonder and confusion. He didn’t look different. He didn’t sound different.

  “Are we . . . dead?” she said.

  The cat chuckled. “We are in the Rift, dressed in the clothes of East Ernost. This is home to all the in-betweens. Whatever you call a ghost or a prayer or anything else you throw into the thick of a wind, that all ends up here.”

  “But how did . . . how’d we get here?”

  “You jumped. I followed. Your little stunt broke the spell you had on me. I could’ve let you come in here alone, but—well, I thought you’d like the company.” The cat jumped down from the bed—when he landed, Milly realized that he didn’t quite touch the floor, but hovered just above it—and headed for the door. “Come on. I’ll show you around—no! Not you.” He swatted at Junebug, who had bitten through the cat’s transparent tail.

  Milly clambered after him. “Is Cilla okay?”

  “She’s here, if that’s what you mean.”

  It wasn’t.

  “If you want her back, you’ll have to ask the person in charge of this place.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The West Wind.” The cat’s tail twitched. “Hurry up, we haven’t all day.” The cat led her through a distantly familiar home. She had no reason to believe it wasn’t St. George’s, but everything felt a little off. The bathroom was on the wrong side. The beds were odd instead of even. The floor was worn in different spots.

  As they neared the kitchen, she heard their voices (faintly, like her ears were still underwater).

  They entered the room and Milly saw . . . everyone! Not just the girls she grew up with, but former residents of St. George’s who had been lost, memories of sisters and parents and brothers and pets. The ones whose names Doris remembered only in her sleep, the ones whom Milly had long forgotten.

  She’d chosen to forget. Forgetting was the easy thing to do.

  Sitting on the counter behind all the flickering memories sat Cilla. Getting her hair braided.

  Milly opened her mouth to say something, but Jasper shook his head. “Don’t bother. She won’t notice you.”

  “Why not?” she whispered, as if that would change anything. Salt stung her eyes.

  “You’re something of a trespasser. Ooh, I like the sound of that word. You can see them, but they can’t see you. None of them chose to be here—”

  “But Hightop said—”

  “He lied. Cilla didn’t choose this. But you did, and that makes you a trespasser.”

  Milly bit her lip. Of course Hightop had lied. Just like he lied about everything.

  Sitting on the counter behind Cilla’s hair was another little girl. This girl’s skin was painted entirely blue. She paused braiding Cilla’s hair and stared directly at Milly.

  Junebug exploded from between Milly’s legs and jumped into Cilla’s lap. Cilla laughed and hugged the borkoink, then jumped off the counter with her braids half done. She and the rest of the memories darted out of the room.

  The blue girl sighed and stood up, then floated down to the floor.

  “Who is that?”

  “You’ll figure it out,” Jasper said, then started to sink through the floor. “Assuming all goes well, I’ll see you again on the other side. If not”—he paused, his body halfway between worlds—“well, I suppose this might be goodbye.”

  “Thank you, Jasper.”

  “For what? I was supposed to take care of your sister. Feels like I did nothing but botch things for you.”

  “Thank you for being my friend.”

  The wind blinked once. Twice. Then nodded. “I’ll be waiting for you, witch.” With that, he sank the rest of the way through the floor.

  Milly gave him a stunned wave, then looked back at the girl in blue.

  The girl’s skin was a whole myriad of mismatching shades, as if a thousand different pieces of origami had been folded over and underneath each other. Her hair was draped in red-orange and yellow leaves and her nails painted to look like beetles and dewdrops.

  Milly hesitated before taking a step forward. “I’m here to bring my sister back.”

  “Yes, I know.” The blue girl tilted her head. “But what makes you think she’ll want to go back?”

  Give me Cilla! is what she wanted to demand. Instead, Milly said nothing.

  “Out there, all you people do is argue and shout and fight all the time. You destroy things that don’t belong to you, try to take things that should be left alone. In here, I can take care of the children and other odds and ends that you continue to throw away.”

  “Out there?” She looked at the girl’s dress, and now saw the intricate spiderweb laces lining its creases. “You’re the West Wind.”

  “I’m a lot tougher than I look.” The wind laughed at Milly’s shocked expression, then tilted her head the other way. “I’ll let you leave if you want, but you can’t take any of them away. They’re already safe here. Much safer than where you want them to be.”

  “Where exactly . . . is here, anyway?”

  The wind walked to the side of the house and looked out over the hill. “A place where magickers can’t ever hurt anyone again.”

  Milly looked at the other girls. “Are they dead?”

  “Oh, no. Their fate is much worse.” The wind’s lip twitched. “They’re forgotten. Your people, you keep memories of your loved ones alive with prayers. At least, you used to.”

  “I didn’t forget,” Milly said.

  The wind tilted her head at Milly. “Take my hand.”

  As soon as Milly touched her hand, a mighty gust blew through them. Milly grabbed tighter. The winds tore away at the walls and pulled the floor panels into the sky, transforming the room around them until they stood on a cliff. Milly looked down and saw that they were standing next to a small sapling on a hill which overlooked a valley.

  “Hello, Elma.” The wind bent down to kiss the sapling, then slid down the hill.

  Milly looked at the sapling, now recognizing the tree in its infancy, then followed the wind down the hill in similar fashion. She laughed when her feet met the wet grass, slick from the dew, as she sped down the slope. A soft, cool wind whipped her hair back.

  She tripped over a rock and screamed, the ground right before her nose, when suddenly her entire body halted in midair.

  The West Wind appeared in front of her, tut-tutting. “Be careful. I can’t always catch you.”

  Milly felt herself uprighted by the wind’s currents, then deposited back on the ground. She ran to catch up with the wind, who was now strolling through the trees with her hands behind her back.

  “This is East Ernost. Or at least, what it used to be.” The wind led Milly past a line of trees and into a bustling village. “They used to have festivals here. There’s Teddison Licks, Jeddison’s grandkid, playing his mandolin. There’s Lola’s Bakery, best place to find a pan de ube. And here”—she stopped, pointing at a little house—“is where Lilith lived with her little one, Carlitos.”

 
The door opened and out walked the old witch—except not quite as old, wrinkled, or hunched as Milly had last seen her—holding the hand of a very young Hightop.

  Milly’s eyes widened. “Lilith was his mother?”

  The West Wind nodded. “Almost everyone in East Ernost was a witch. Or related to one. It was here that the winds first discovered that Arrett had a heart. Or, as you call it, magicks.”

  Milly and the West Wind followed the vision of Lilith and Hightop through the village as they stopped by a local farmer to pick up strawberries, walked to a bookstore to pick up The Misshapen Misadventures of Tom Fool, waited in line at Lola’s Bakery for something sweet. Hightop shuffled his feet just from the smell of the rising bread.

  “He seemed so . . . innocent back then. Happy.” Milly shook her head. “Why did he disguise himself as his own mother?”

  The West Wind sighed, and with her sigh a soft wind blew through the scenery. Bigger walls popped up from the earth. The very ground under Milly’s feet shifted as stones rumbled up to make roads. Lilith’s back began to hunch over, and the child Hightop vanished.

  “Lilith moved them out of East Ernost when he was a young boy. He entered Nignip determined to forge his own way in the world, apart from his mother’s reputation. He was ashamed of being related to a witch. Knew other communities looked down upon them for being kind. For being ‘weak.’ So he changed his name to Charles. Became a world-renowned wizard and . . . well, he felt guilty, I think. After the war, he banished all the memories of his own mother from his mind.” The wind opened her hand, revealing a small vial. “Almost all of them.”

  The West Wind lifted her other hand and blew. Another soft wind brushed over her fingers. Grass withered and regrew crooked. Houses were torn down and trenches filled the ground in their place. The child Hightop had been replaced by a young man, now a wizard dressed in battle robes with a hard look in his eye.

  “Even during the war, the gnomes couldn’t live with what they’d done. But they would never admit that.” The West Wind walked Milly through the scenery until they were back at the foot of St. George’s. Sitting on the hill was a young Edaline showing a magick trick to Cilla and . . . a past version of herself! Milly ran up to take a closer look. Edaline was talking to a smaller, pudgier Milly, who was laughing as a tiny flame darted between Edaline’s fingertips. Edaline showed Milly the marks along her wrists, branches on either side.

  The West Wind came shoulder to shoulder with present-day Milly. “Turn around,” she whispered.

  Milly could hear screams coming from behind her, and the mighty howling of an angry wind.

  She shivered. “I don’t want to.”

  “Child, you must,” the wind said firmly, but not cruelly. “You need to know what happened to those who were forgotten.”

  Milly shivered against the wind blowing around her, then she felt a small hand enter hers and looked up to see the West Wind’s eyes piercing into her own.

  “It’s okay.”

  Clutching on to the wind’s hand, Milly slowly turned and watched as the entirety of East Ernost was ripped into the sea. The North Wind grew in size overhead, a mighty hurricane dragging the world apart. And, at its eye, Hightop with an outstretched arm, casting the spell.

  The world grew louder, the shaking more violent. Water fell from the sky in torrents, filling the gaps between the divorced halves of East and West Ernost.

  Milly gripped the West Wind’s hand tighter.

  Then—

  Everything stopped, and they were back in St. George’s. The entire back half of the building had been ripped away, and there was Doris, busy building a new wall for what Milly knew would become the library.

  “After my brother was tamed and East Ernost had been devoured, the witches had no choice but to hide and the shadows had no choice but to reveal themselves.”

  “What do they want? Are they going to destroy Arrett?”

  “Destroy Arrett?” The wind seemed genuinely confused. “Of course not. These shadows, they are not Arrett’s. They belong to you. They are your every shame, guilt, and unsaid prayer. They are shadows. They only want to be remembered. But Hightop, that wizard, is the worst offender. He thinks he can keep them away by erasing memories. Thought he could keep them away by erasing Cilla. By erasing you, the last witch. The shadows are nothing to be afraid of.”

  The wind walked Milly back through the different timelines until they were standing in front of the house again. “Arrett hid their heart for good, but it never left you. Part of it is here, in the Rift.” The West Wind pointed at St. George’s. “Part of it is in your home, in all the children who are lost, all the sisters whom you love.”

  Now the wind turned over Milly’s hand, and she touched the mark. The white peeled away to black, which peeled away to red. “Part of Arrett’s heart is in you.”

  “Because I’m a witch?”

  “Because you listened to the suffering of this world.”

  Unbidden memories came to Milly, of her half-giant friend and his mother, of the flutterwishes, Edaline and Emm, the thinning broombranches, her sisters living in St. George’s Home for Wayward Girls. Milly felt tears in the corners of her eyes. “What must I do to get my sister back? Please, I’ll give you anything.”

  The wind smiled. “Milly, all you ever had to do was ask.”

  As she spoke, a soft wind blew once more. It took with it the grass, the hills, and the house, too.

  When Milly turned, she saw not the wind, but Cilla. Sitting all alone in the grass with her eyes closed. Milly ran to her, gathering her sister in her arms.

  Cilla slumped down into her embrace, and Milly lifted her. The wind continued to pick up all around them.

  “Take your sister and return home,” the wind said. “Arrett needs their witch.”

  “Wait,” Milly said. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do!”

  “Remember us . . .”

  The Rift disappeared.

  And Milly awoke in the middle of the sea, clutching Cilla.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  a good witch is nothing without her kindness

  lightning cracked across the sky. In that brief flash of light, Milly saw a silhouette of Ash above her head.

  She tried to shout Ash’s name, but water snapped against the back of her throat and she sank beneath the waves.

  “I’m coming!”

  Milly kicked upward until she could reach up and out of the waters. She felt the broombranch at her fingertips and grabbed tight.

  “You’re still alive? Weird.”

  The broombranch hovered next to her, trying his best to not get his straw-like leaves wet, and she pulled herself onto the branch. She propped Cilla in front of her. “Cilla? Cilla! Wake up!” She hit Cilla’s back with a flat palm.

  Cilla coughed several times until she blinked her eyes open. “Milly?”

  Milly laughed as tears dripped down her face. “You’re okay!”

  “I knew you’d find me.” She smiled.

  Ash tipped to the side and briefly dipped into the sea. He pulled away and shook himself off, forcing the two girls to let go of each other and hold on to the branch.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt this fine meeting, but I am made of wood and this is a lot of water.”

  “Mind getting us out of here?”

  “You do not have to ask me twice.”

  “What are you going to do?” Cilla asked, fear back in her voice.

  Milly looked at the palm of her hand. The red outline was bright and fierce. “I’m not sure yet but . . .” She paused. “Ash, please take us back to the tree.”

  “Are you serious? The wizard’s still there!”

  “I know.”

  “Okay. It’s your second funeral.”

  The three of them flew fast and high, parallel to the wall of the cliff, until
they zoomed past the edge. Ash slowed, then looped around. From up above, Milly could see that almost the entire world had turned to shadow now. All except for a small flickering spot of light beneath the tree. Hightop.

  “We need to help him,” Cilla said.

  “I’m not going to help him. I’m going to make him pay!” Milly retorted.

  “No, Milly.” Cilla grabbed her hand. “We need to help him.”

  Milly couldn’t believe what she was hearing, after all that Hightop had done to them! “Why?”

  “It’s what a good witch would do.”

  Milly froze with her mouth wide open. She didn’t want to admit it, but Cilla was right.

  “Are you sure you want to go down there, little witches?”

  Milly locked eyes with Cilla. They nodded at each other.

  “Yes.”

  The broombranch descended until they were hovering just above the ground. Milly jumped down and landed among the shadows. Strangely, none of the apparitions reached for her. In fact, it seemed that none of them even noticed her. One of them did grab for the branch, and Ash darted out of reach.

  “Milly!”

  “It’s okay, Cilla. I’ll be okay. You and Ash keep your distance. I’ll be back soon.”

  “I don’t want to leave your side. I don’t want to be alone again.”

  “You won’t be.” Milly smiled to encourage Cilla to be brave. This time she believed it to be true. This time she wasn’t lying.

  Cilla opened her hand, revealing something. “You’ll need this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just take it.”

  Milly quickly grabbed the item before turning around, carefully picking her way through the gripes and gobblers and toward the tree. It was a vial. The same one the West Wind had shown her.

  Not a single shadow lay a finger upon her.

  Huddled beneath the tree stood Hightop, still dressed in the rags of his Lilith disguise, desperately throwing flashes of light in every direction. But the spells only bounced off the thick, pebbled hides of the gobblers. They disappeared into the inky substance of the gripes. Hightop’s magicks did nothing.