He watched Max for a while, a feeling of sadness swallowing his rage as his brother sat with his head bowed, looking very small and alone. Donny stayed with Max throughout the day and noticed the way the other kids bullied him, much the same way that he himself had been tormented. It was different with Max however; he was not teased for his own failings, rather for the failings of his family. Donny heard the other kids call him a loser and repeatedly ask him where his mother was, and his brother. Max began to cry and the teasing accelerated until he could take it no longer and fled from the school at the sound of the final bell. Donny followed Max home and curled up next to him as he lay in his small bed, sobbing and crying into the night.
A week passed and Donny’s concern for Max occupied his every thought. He felt so hopeless, in that he couldn’t touch things in the ‘real’ world and he couldn’t make himself be heard. He was at a loss as to what he could do to help Max. The bullying continued and seemed to plateau to some degree, but Donny knew it would never go away. He followed his brother to school and home again, noting that his brother took similar routes to the ones Donny used to take to avoid Poggin’s gang.
Eventually, Donny’s thoughts returned to his predicament and he wondered whether he was destined to remain trapped forever in his dreary existence. He thought about his mother and what his father had done and wondered if he would see her, or at least her spirit, ever again. Most of all, he worried about his little brother, as he waited patiently for him to emerge from the school buildings.
He watched his brother exit the classroom and hurriedly proceed to the side entrance of the school grounds. He followed behind at a distance as Max hurried up the street. Donny froze, in the distance he saw the three familiar figures advancing. He could see their shit-eating grins and acne scarred faces as they swaggered down the street. Max stopped dead in his tracks; he had seen them too and was visibly frightened by their approach. He hesitated and fidgeted with his bag, before turning back toward Donny, but by then it was too late. Poggin, Pitz and Kerrit were upon him in an instant. Poggin ripped Max’s bag from his shoulders as Pitz and Kerrit each grabbed an arm and forced him up against a fence.
“So what do we have here, boys?” quipped Poggin.
“Looks like we have Spaz’s brother on the loose, eh.”
Max was crying, a long trail of snot hanging from his nose. Poggin slapped him hard across the face, a splash of blood spotting Max’s shirt.
“You a fucking spaz like your brother?” Poggin leaned in close before launching one of his customary globules of phlegm into Max’s face.
Max choked back his tears and replied with anger, “Don’t you say a thing about my brother or I’ll . . .”
“You’ll what? Huh? You’ll what, you little chump?” Poggin stepped back before landing a hard uppercut to Max’s stomach. The other two thugs laughed as their leader bought his knee up into Max’s face, an audible crack resounded as his front teeth broke and he dropped to the sidewalk.
Donny screamed with rage but the bullies appeared not to notice. He swung his fists like a windmill but his punches were of no consequence to the living. Tired of their exploits the three teens continued on their way down the street as if nothing had happened. Before they were out of earshot, Poggin turned and called out to Max.
“Better keep your mouth shut fucktard or you’ll end up in the woods with your brother.”
Donny now knew what it was that he had to do. He had to protect Max at all costs. The overwhelming sense that he could not let Poggin’s gang continue to attack innocent people filled Donny’s mind. He helplessly watched Max pick himself up off the ground and cup his hand over his bleeding mouth before heading home. Their father was passed out on the living room floor as they entered the house and Donny realized that he needed to address his parent’s situation also. Max slowly climbed the steps and entered the bathroom. He wet a face cloth and dabbed at his wounds, peeling his split lip from the shattered front teeth to survey the damage. Both front teeth had been broken and were hanging by threads, as he gently settled his bloodied lip back down, the strands of gristle finally frayed and the remains of his teeth fell into the sink. Donny watched as his brother bravely turned on the tap and rinsed away the shattered ivory down the plughole.
“It’ll be ok,” he whispered into his brother’s ear.
“It’ll be ok.”
Donny started as his brother turned unexpectedly and moved into him. Thoughts not of his own making filled Donny’s head. As he glanced in the mirror and saw that his brother was standing inside his own body, like he was inside a suit of clothes or a costume. Max’s reflection was solid inside him but Donny’s semi-transparent form seemed to be a chrysalis or second skin around his brother’s smaller body. And he could hear what Max was thinking.
. . . What was that? Shit, my mouth hurt. Gee it’s cold in here . . .
“Max, it’s me - Donny.”
His brother looked suddenly very confused and scared at the same time.
Who was that? That sounded like . . .
“Max . . .”
“Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it . . .” cried Max, his small hands cupped over his ears, his eyes shut tight.
Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us . . .
“Can you hear me, Max?”
“Yes, yes, yes, I can hear whoever you are. Leave me alone. Please leave me alone,” Max pleaded, as he sank to the floor and covered his head with his hands, bringing his bruised knees up to his bloody chin as he sat trembling on the bathroom floor.
“Please leave me alone, I don’t believe in ghosts. I don’t believe . . .”
A ghost? Was that what he was – a ghost? Donny knew that was exactly what he was. He was a spirit, a ghost, like the ones he’d read about in the school library. History was full of accounts of ghosts and supernatural things not easily explained. He’d always scoffed at the things he’d read regarding the subject, considering them as imaginative creations of people’s minds, but now . . .
Donny realized that he couldn’t hear Max’s thoughts anymore. He listened to his brother’s quiet sobbing but could not hear the same internal dialogue he’d heard moments before. He looked down at Max curled up beside the sink, one wet eye peeking from behind his little fingers. Donny leaned down and positioned his head above Max’s before enveloping the smaller boy’s head with his own.
. . . Father who is in Heaven, hello be your name, Your . . .
Donny smiled at his brother’s mispronunciation of the prayer, remembering happier times when they sat together in the local church for Sunday school reciting similar mantras with the other children.
Donny spoke out loud to his brother but the stream of inner monologue continued unabated. He paused, uncertain how to communicate with Max but then a though struck him.
Hello Max, he thought.
Huh, who’s that? Max answered instinctively with his own thoughts.
It’s me, your brother Donny. I miss you Max.
Max stopped crying and looked around the small bathroom, holding a tentative arm up as if feeling for something in the air.
“Where are you? Where are you Don? Why are you hiding?” asked Max, his voice quivering and a perturbed look on his puffy face.
I’m here inside you Max; can you feel me?
Max got to his feet and looked in the mirror and then slapped himself hard across his own face.
“Owwww!” he howled, as the pain from his mouth stabbed at his brain.
Donny stood up quickly, merging his form with that of his brother, wincing at the string of expletives bouncing around inside Max’s nerve-wracked brain.
I’m here to stay, Max. What will it take to convince you that it’s really me?
Max stood very still, the eerie voice of his brother echoed inside his young mind for a full minute before he replied.
“You, whoever you are, need to tell me something only my brother would know,” said Max, slowly looking around the room as if searching for a hidden mi
crophone or for something that would reveal what was happening to him as just an elaborate prank. He’d seen this kind of thing on TV before, when people played scary jokes on each other and videoed it to make money.
Donny paused a moment before answering.
You and I spent the whole night in the closet when mum and dad had “the big fight.” Remember?
Max gasped, his eyes opened wide as his pasty skin grew an extra shade lighter with shock.
“Is it you, Donny? Is it really you, Brother?”
Yes Max, it’s me and I’m here to help you. You don’t have to worry anymore; I’m here to protect you.
Max returned to bed that night and Donny settled himself on his own bed opposite his brother’s, thinking that something had changed. He didn’t feel so alone anymore and as he looked at his little brother, lying on his side with a peaceful look on his face, he knew that things would be all right now. Another emotion flooded through Donny’s body as he watched his brother sleeping, an emotion he had not felt for a long time. The love he felt was a relief from the burning anger that consumed him since discovering his situation. The thoughts that came tumbling through Donny’s mind were tinged with rage but now he had the inklings of a plan, driven not just by the volatile energy that coursed through his form, but by the knowledge that he now had the ability to put such a plan into action. A sense of hope lit a small flame deep within him, as he watched over his brother and practised focussing the energy of his mind while the rest of the world slept.
It wasn’t hard to find Poggin and his gang of Neanderthals. As usual, they were slouching and spitting outside the corner store. Donny watched them from a stone’s throw away, taking a small amount of pleasure in their ignorance and complete oblivion to his presence. As they annoyed passers-by with crude innuendo and requests for cigarettes, he decided that he would begin with the lesser of the three. Melvin Kerrit didn’t say much, less for wisdom, more for sheer lack of functioning IQ. All he ever thought about was his mother’s breasts and whether or not Poggin thought he was a tough guy. Combined with his subnormal looks Kerrit was truly ugly, inside and out.
He watched them some more. A white-hot crackle of energy buzzed around Donny as he hovered above the sidewalk, his rage burning imaginary holes in the three hoods. Kerrit lent on the fence, picking his stained teeth with the tip of an open switchblade, attentively listening to Poggin sound off about his latest conquest.
Donny moved closer, standing central between Poggin and Pitz and their banal conversation. They were talking about Max.
“. . . going to fuck that little shithead up. We should take him down tomorrow after school gets out.”
“Nah, that ain’t how we do it. Poggin sneered. “We’re gonna be waiting for spaz junior when he gets home, I hear his old man has a decent liquor cabinet!”
Donny changed his mind. He’d start with Poggin.
After the group dispersed, Donny slipped in step behind the stout walking Poggin and followed him home. He lived in an average house, on an average street, with average parents who he ignored as he opened and then slammed the front door before moping to his bedroom. Donny tried to strangle him then and there, but after ten minutes of fruitless throttling while Poggin flicked through his death metal tunes on his I-pod, he gave up. He watched the bully put his earphones in and turn on the raucous music, lying back on the pillows on his bed. Donny inhaled deeply, trying to swallow some of the energy around him, as he lay down on top of Poggin.
All he could hear was the blaring drone of the music; not a single thought, until the end of the song . . .
Fuckin’ a – hardcore.
Then the next inaudible noise blasted from the earphones.
Turn off the music you piece of shit!
“What the fuck?” Poggin yelled, as he ripped the earphones out and looked around the room, eyes wild with fright.
Donny followed him like a college wrestler, making sure he had harnessed the bully’s thoughts.
MOVE AGAIN AND I WILL KILL YOU AND YOUR FAMILY, he screamed loudly, in Poggin’s scared brain.
He watched him shrink back against the wall, clutching at the curtains, tears streaming down his freckled cheeks.
“Who are you? Are you S-s-s-s-s-Satan?” the bully stammered. A knife whipped from his hip pocket, stabbing at the air wildly around him.
“Where are you? Where are you?”
Donny spoke again, forcing his mind to sink the words deep into the frightened brain he now inhabited.
Yes, Jeffrey Poggin, I am indeed Satan.
Poggin froze for a minute, and then resumed looking around the room. Donny watched from behind his eyes with the same point of view.
I know you are a MUR-DER-ER and a bully!
Poggin collapsed onto the floor, no longer able to bear the weight of his experience. His mind felt fractured, as though he had lost his grasp on reality, as Donny continued to talk.
I am Lucifer and I own your soul! If you want a chance to live instead of burning in HELL you had better lissssssssten to me boy!
“Wh-wh-wh-what do I-I-I-I have to do?” he blubbered.
Donny hesitated, he had not thought this far ahead. He needed time to plan his next move and so he stepped out of the sweating, trembling physicality that was Poggin.
“Are you there? Hello? Is anyone there . . . ?”
Donny heard the bully’s parents approaching down the hallway and then the rap of knuckles on the youth’s bedroom door.
“Jeffrey, are you ok in there?” asked his mother.
“Fuck off, Mum,” replied Poggin, as he frantically searched every inch of his room, under the bed, in the closet, behind the curtains. He stood in the centre of his room scratching his head and looking very small and scared.
Donny stepped through the wall and materialized in the driveway that ran down the side of Poggin’s house, leaving the bully to a sleepless night filled with fear. Fear that he was losing his mind and afraid that maybe he wasn’t.
Donny had read a lot about supernatural phenomena when he was “real,” having a natural curiosity for things unexplained or mystical. His lonely lunchtimes spent in the school library had provided him with much information that he was now able to process rapidly. His mind felt so alive that he sometimes doubted the reality of what he had become, or that he was actually dead. He instinctively knew that the majority of the supposed factual accounts of paranormal instances were false reports; that they were largely the products of over-active human imagination and superstition. Donny couldn’t define what he was, or which plane of existence he presently inhabited. He knew, however, that his condition was inextricably linked to human energy and the disintegration of conceptual time and space. He had no sense of time as he had when he was alive – now he believed that existence was measured by distance, particularly the distance between the living and the dead. He thought of his mother and her grim state and knew that she was occupying some other realm of experience, despite having a common form of death by murder. He made a mental note to confront his mother soon.
He told Max to stay home from school; they needed to talk about things. He felt he needed to let his brother know about everything that had happened to him and all the things that were going to transpire. Donny focussed his energy on Max, feeling a greater connection with him than he had on the previous occasions he had occupied his mind. He could trace his new sense of power back to its origin, in the fear that coursed through Poggin’s body the previous night. He had felt the fear as if it were his own but had quickly learnt to compartmentalize the energy generated from the bully’s emotional angst.
Donny and Max came to an arrangement; when he wanted to talk with him he would signal his brother that he was ready and would lie down on his old bed. Max would then lie down in the same position, using the pillow as a point of reference. Subsequently, Max would be able to relax and Donny would be able to communicate with his brother all the more clearly.
I know what I need to do Max but I need your h
elp. Do you want to help me Max?
“Yes,” replied Max out loud, “what do you want me to do Donny?”
I need you to listen to my story. I am a ghost, Max. Does that scare you?
“No. It did at first but you’re my brother and I love you even if you’re a ghost or whatever.”
Donny smiled and continued to tell his brother how he had died and how he wanted to stop the bullies from ever doing it again to anyone else.
“I’m scared of those guys Donny,” said Max quietly.
I know Max, I know, but here’s what we’re gonna do . . .
Max walked as he was instructed, following Donny’s telepathic guidance exactly. Turn left at the end of the alley, go straight ahead down the back of the fence that borders the high-school, turn right at the felled willow tree by the hole in the fence, traverse the ditch next to the dirt track and cross the path to the overgrown scrub and finally, enter the grove of trees next to the river. He stopped when Donny told him to, standing right over the shallow grave where his dead brother lay buried. He took out his notebook and pen as instructed and made the outlines of a crude map with a large “X” in the canter of it, designating the exact spot where his brother was. Retracing his steps and noting the various landmarks along the way in his notebook, by the time he returned home, Max had a fairly accurate map of where his brother was buried. Max hid the notebook under his mattress and thought to himself, now what?
Now, I have to tell you about our mother. She is dead, Max.
Four Ghosts Page 9