by Vered Ehsani
“You’ve just made my day,” I mumbled around my mouthful of toast. And she was right; the attic was going to be an oven, one that would be overflowing with dust and junk.
It was way worse than I had imagined. Judging by Shanti’s unrepeatable comments, she also hadn’t realized just how bad it could be and how ruined our holiday really was. The heat: imagine a steam bath without an on / off switch. And the junk? Forget about two or three generations of stuff; the attic looked like it contained two or three centuries of unwanted stuff that we had to sort through. Every bit of floor space was covered with stacks of boxes and sheet-covered furniture. Pushed against the walls were shelves crammed with a bewildering assortment of containers, books, knickknacks and glass bottles filled with whatever. The overwhelming clutter combined with the low ceiling, dim lighting and stuffy heat conspired to leave me feeling breathlessly claustrophobic. Of course, the breathlessness could also be a result of the inch-thick layer of almost solid dust that coated everything and floated up like a magic carpet as I took a tentative (or rather, nervous) step away from the trap door in the floor.
“Where do we start?” I asked, my shoulders slumped, my eyes glazing over as I stared at the floor. I clutched my school bag close to my chest, feeling the Book of History’s reassuring weight that held back the shadows. If there was any place that would be full of shadows, it was this attic. The shadows may not be able to dance until Christmas (whatever Kali had meant by that), but that didn’t mean they couldn’t lurk around and pounce on unsuspecting kids sentenced to a summer of cleanup duty.
I gazed around and sniffed. Big mistake. Something stunk worse than sweaty gym clothes left in a plastic bag over the weekend. I sneezed and dust motes danced around me. If I had been irritated and hot and sweaty before… well, all of that just went up a couple notches.
Shanti straightened her shoulders, cleared her throat and pointed to her left. “We start there. Mom asked us to label all the boxes and write down what is in each box, so she can decide what to do with everything. Anything not in a box must be put in one. Plus we have to wipe down all the dust and…” She hesitated and glanced towards a shelf that was full of a collection of glass bottles and spider webs.
I knew Shanti’s weakness. She only had one, as far as I knew, and it was spiders. Just the sight of one would send her bolting across the room shouting unintelligibly (in other words, screaming). Spider webs meant that the likelihood of encountering the owner was pretty high. Not that this knowledge could ever do me any good. If I were ever stupid or suicidal enough to try to use this information to my advantage, I would seriously suffer for it. So, since I would rather enjoy my life and limbs as they currently were, I practiced wisdom, kept quiet and started clearing a working space.
I don’t know how much time had passed when it happened. Shanti had just pulled an old leather trunk out from a corner, after clearing the lid of a stack of files that contained thirty-year-old bank statements (yeah, I think those can go in the fire starter box). Something I had learned that morning was that my sister was in fact a secret flea market fan. She was totally enjoying poking through other people’s junk.
“Check this thing out,” Shanti exclaimed. “This must be at least a hundred years old. Can you imagine traveling with this as your suitcase?”
I glanced over without a lot of enthusiasm. The trunk looked like it had seen way better days, like at least a hundred years ago. I was amazed it hadn’t fallen apart under the load of bank statements, from boredom if nothing else.
“Be careful, someone may have stored a body in there,” I warned her. The trunk was certainly big enough for that.
She rolled her eyes and gingerly opened the trunk. Despite its age and lack of use, the lid opened smoothly. She leaned over, rummaged around and pulled something out with both hands. Then she swung around in order to place a wooden chest down in front of her. It slipped from her fingers and landed on the floor with a heavy clunk.
“No dead bodies,” she stated cheerfully, “just some more paper stuff and this.” We stared at the chest. It was about a foot long, made of dark wood, with carvings etched into its shiny surface.
“A jewelry box?” I suggested.
“You’d have to have a lot of jewelry to fill this,” Shanti commented as she placed a hand on the latch that kept the chest lid closed.
I felt the air tremor around me and a sharp pang slashed at my leg. It was the shadow scar. I’d forgotten about it; it apparently hadn’t forgotten me.
“Shanti,” I gasped, rubbing at my leg. “Don’t open…”
She opened the lid, pulled something out and then screamed. Still clutching whatever it was she’d picked out, she kicked the chest away from her and scuttled backwards until she was pressed up against a nearby shelf loaded with moldering books. A spider the size of a large dinner plate flowed out of the overturned chest like a shadow. Actually, it was a shadow, a shadow spider, and it was skittering towards Shanti on overly long legs, sharp pincers snapping eagerly.
“Shanti, don’t let it touch you! Keep moving,” I screeched as I glanced desperately around for something to smack the thing with.
“Don’t shout at me,” Shanti shouted back, but her eyes were locked in horrified fascination at the eight-legged blob that seemed unaffected by the various books she was tossing at it.
Books. I grabbed my own book and launched myself at the spider. As the heavy, leathery old book made contact, the spider disintegrated with a hiss just as a pack of dogs howled fiercely from nearby.
“What the…” Shanti wheezed out. “Is it gone?”
“Yeah. Wow, talk about a huge spider, eh?” I tried to chuckle, like it was a totally normal thing to find a plate-sized spider hiding in the attic.
“Huh.” Shanti took a deep breath and then gazed around in confusion. “Where were those dogs from?”
“Dogs? What dogs?” I asked, widening my eyes and shrugging my shoulders, all innocence and ignorance. “Aren’t you going to thank me?” I raised the book to remind her of my invaluable service.
“Thanks. You’re my hero. Where’s the body?”
“Huh?”
“The spider body. There should be a big, gross splat on that book, but it’s not there.”
Shanti pointed to the cover of my book. She was right. There were no spider guts smeared anywhere, which of course there wouldn’t be if you’d just destroyed a shadow spider.
“Ah…”
“And I heard dogs, several dogs,” she continued firmly. She fixed me with a stare that did not bode well. “What’s going on? And don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ I hear things too, Ash.”
I stared at her, wondering what on earth she really meant by that last statement. And how could she be so brilliantly and annoyingly observant in the middle of having a spider-induced nervous breakdown? Just then, the doorbell rang. We could hear the cheerful chime echoing through the house. Guaranteed, our babysitter wouldn’t hear it. Shanti came to the same conclusion and reluctantly rose to answer the door.
Just as she descended the ladder to the floor below, she glared up at me, only her head visible. “Don’t think this conversation is over, Ashish Chandari.”
I knew her well enough to know it wasn’t. I breathed out softly as her head disappeared and quickly made my own escape out of the attic from Hell. As I descended the ladder, I had a mild panic attack of my own. What was going on? How could Shanti have seen that spider and heard the dogs? Most people couldn’t see the shadows, or at least not the shadows that could move on their own and do weird things. And where were those dogs coming from?
Brooding over numerous questions, I entered my bedroom and flopped down in my chair in front of my desk. I tapped on the obstinate book, and then traced a finger over the old, beaten-up leather cover. I flipped the cover open and closed while I chewed over what I should do. As I listened to Shanti slouch down the stairs, I had a nagging feeling that I was supposed to do or remember something important, something to do with Shanti.
It was right there on the edge of my mind, some warning, but I couldn’t pull it into the conscious realm.
“You are working,” I muttered, wondering whom I was talking to. “I’m not delusional. I heard the dogs. Please work, please.” Ok, I was talking to the book, an inanimate object. Hmmm, maybe I had better stick to talking to myself. At least I respond.
For the umpteenth time, I flipped through the leathery pages, glancing over delicate calligraphy and hand-painted portraits and sceneries, but nothing jumped out in bright colors to indicate a page was open. There was no indication of another opportunity to enter. Juna must think I’d abandoned her, given her rather dark view of the world in general.
Sighing, I placed my forehead on the open book and closed my eyes wearily. It wasn’t even the height of summer yet, but the temperature was oppressive. My window seemed woefully small, and what little breeze managed to float through only seemed to stir up the hot air rather than cool it.
Someone shuffled into my room. I vaguely wondered how she could have gone downstairs, answered the door and returned so fast.
“Yeah, yeah, I know it’s you, Shanti. There’s no one else here. We’ll do the attic later. Get out of my room now please,” I mumbled, too tired to raise my head or be really irritated. Why couldn’t I have at least one brother? I mean, was that asking too much? Instead, I was burdened with three pesky sisters.
A dog howled.
I jerked my head up so fast that a sharp spike of pain shot up my neck into my brain like a bolt of thunder. I was too shocked to curse or complain, for my room had been turned into some sort of a swamp or marshy forest, enshrouded by the darkness of night. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the dim light provided by a few stars floating up where my ceiling used to be. Where my bed had been, I saw a large log from which something long and low silently slid into the water. I lifted my feet up quickly as murky ripples swirled around my chair. Trees covered in leafy shadows stood as dark sentinels, their twisted branches and roots providing dark nooks and caves for numerous creatures, and I was sure none of them would be small, cuddly and friendly.
The dog howled again, followed by the barking and baying of several others. By the sound of it, there was a pack of rabid dogs running lose through my swampy bedroom and the canine demons were rapidly approaching me. Given my previous experience with a dog in the world on the other side of the veil, I wasn’t anxious to have another. I didn’t think I could afford another bite from a shadow dog. One was bad enough; it pained and itched whenever I lost my temper.
Licking my lips, I wiped my brow before beads of sweat could slide into my eyes. And I had thought Boston in summer was hot and humid. I felt like I was melting under the air heavy with heat and moisture. A sharp, pungent odor of decaying leaves, over-ripened fruit, stagnant water and something that had died a while ago assaulted my nose.
From a distance, several pinpoints of light flickered through the darkness. As they approached, I realized they were torches held aloft by a group of hunters, their guns held at the ready as they marched along a path that bordered the dark, unmoving water. The dogs eagerly bounced ahead, tugging on ropes. The group was still too far away for me to see more than the pale ovals of their faces shining under the flames of the torches.
Someone ran right past me.
I almost shouted something that would have sounded like “AAAHHH,” but bit my lip instead. I swiveled about and watched as a dark form silently squatted down nearby. At first, all I could see of the person was the bright whites of the eyes that stared fearfully at the approaching hunters and the noisy dogs. As I watched, my eyes adjusted again and I realized that it was the Sunday girl. She was dressed in ragged, dirty clothes and her feet were bare and muddy. She was breathing in heavy gasps, recovering from running, and she wiped a shaking hand across her face. Her skin was so dark that she was almost invisible. The dogs however didn’t rely on their eyes, and they were relentlessly leading the men towards her and, needless to say, towards me.
Before I could react, another figure joined Sunday; it was Juna. How she was managing to run in that ridiculously cumbersome dress was beyond me. Her face was flushed and sweaty, but she didn’t pause to rest. The girls sprang up and continued running, splashing softly through the wet parts of the marsh and pushing through bushes. They were trying to loose the dogs in the water. I’m not sure it was working. The dogs seemed to be gaining.
“I might be able to help with that,” I whispered and grinned. Oh yeah, those hunters had no idea that a ghost was waiting for them.
I watched as the girls disappeared into the night, and when I could no longer see them, I swiveled around, preparing to turn into a visible ghost, only to see my bedroom minus the swamp and the stars. Quickly, I gazed down at the book and saw the painting I had been leaning on. It was of a forest at night. In the distance I could see the torches, but the girls was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 6
Yet again, I was fully and knowingly preparing to break my promise. The sight of the bright swirls of paint seemed to draw my hand to the picture, and besides, I figured it was for a good cause. Juna and Sunday looked like they could use my help. As my hand hovered above the book, my awareness was still partly downstairs with Shanti. The whole ‘bedroom turning into a swamp’ experience had happened during the time it had taken Shanti to reach the front door and ask a few questions through the intercom; in other words, it had been pretty quick. She was now opening the door. I could hear the hinges creak angrily. I vaguely remembered that one of us should really oil those hinges; we’d been complaining about it for a couple months, but none of us had bothered to pull out the WD-40.
A little warning bell began ringing somewhere in the depths of my dim brain, and I had a feeling I should try to remember some allusive but kind of important memory. But it kept slipping through the mesh of my mind. I knew the squeaky hinges weren’t that important, but something was.
“Oh well,” I told my room. “If it’s that important, I’ll eventually remember.” My hand settled onto the page and I was pulled in. I heard a loud noise, an explosion actually, and couldn’t tell where it came from. It didn’t matter. I hurtled through and landed in the forest.
As I oriented myself, I heard the dogs howling and men shouting. Had they found Sunday and Juna? I swiveled around, trying to pinpoint the direction the noises were coming from. The closeness of the plants distorted the sound. Then I heard a sound that was definitely not distorted. The very air around me shook with the force of a scream that plunged a blade of fear straight through me.
“Shanti,” I called out, rather uselessly. I was floating above a swamp; she was opening our front door. But I could still hear her like she was standing right behind me.
She shrieked again and then shouted, “Ashish, help me. They’re inside. Really, really big spiders.” I heard some object smack against some other object. “And they won’t die!” she screamed. “Don’t touch me. Mrs. Garcia!” Something crashed. It sounded like the large Chinese pot in the entrance had just exploded all over the tiles.
That’s when I remembered the really important memory that I had inconveniently neglected to remember: Bibi’s warning. She had told me to stay out of the veil AND to keep the door locked and not let anyone in. I had failed in both. I took a deep breath and reached out for the veil. I could feel it opening up before me, pulling me in, and I stepped towards it.
“Ash,” someone called right behind me. I twirled about, in time to see Juna running past me, a dog right behind her. “Do something.”
“Keep running, Juna,” I yelled.
“This is so NOT peachy,” she shouted and then tripped over the hem of her dress. She pulled herself up and kept running.
“Try to climb a tree. I’ll be right back.”
“Are you nuts?”
“Yes, I am actually,” I shouted back. I couldn’t help her anyways. Whenever anyone called for me from my side of the veil, an invisible hand seemed to push or drag me back to home.
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br /> “Ashish, where the heck are you?” Shanti’s voice echoed loudly through the trees, causing the air to shake. I felt a force pulling me towards the veil as my uncharacteristically terrified-looking sister entered my room and slammed the door behind her, her hair swooshing about her like a long, dark curtain in a breeze. She was holding something. It looked like a rolled up parchment.
“Hey, that’s from the box in the attic,” I exclaimed as I stood up in front of her.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she panted back, eyes twitching. “There are huge, and I mean huge, mutant spider monsters taking over our house. And some freaky guy let them in.”
I was still eyeing the parchment. Something about it was familiar. Another little bell rang off in my brain. I wish they’d ring louder and send me a text message while they’re at it.
“About those shadows,” I started and then heard Juna.
“Ghost Boy, you’d better get your butt back here now.”
Shanti gasped and looked around frantically. “Who was that? And who’s ‘Ghost Boy’?”
“This is going to get complicated,” I muttered. Like it wasn’t already. “I need to go back in there.” I gestured to the book lying innocently on the desk. “Someone needs my help.”
“That someone is right here. And that someone is me. Your sister. And what do you mean, ‘go back in there’? Where?”
“Get out of the house,” I told her. “Climb out the window and down the tree.”
For once, she didn’t roll her eyes or make some sarcastic comment back. She was taking me very seriously. She was listening to every word I spoke like it was droplets of liquid gold. I wasn’t so sure that was a good idea.
“And then?” she asked.
“Find a safe place.” Where would that be?
“Ash. Any time now,” Juna shouted.
“I’m coming,” I yelled back, just as irritated. Shanti’s eyes widened even further at this display of possible insanity. Then again, she was hearing the bodiless voice too.