by Vered Ehsani
“What about Mrs. Garcia?”
I shrugged. “Don’t worry about her. They’re not after her and she can’t see them. At least, I don’t think she can.”
We both heard the stairs creak at the same time.
“Take the book, Shanti,” I ordered her as I smacked my hand back on the painting.
“Where’d you go?” she gasped and then peered down at the page. “Hey, you’re in the painting. Sort of.”
“Yes, that’s why you have to take the book and run.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.” I could almost hear Bibi telling me to stay in the house and not let anyone in. Well, a bit too late now. “Don’t let them touch you,” I warned.
“What?”
“The shadows, Shanti, the shadows! Don’t let them touch you. And keep the book open,” I shouted as she grabbed the book and lurched upwards; I saw the pages fluttering down.
She pushed them back. “Why?”
“I’ll get stuck in here, in the past.”
“And that’s a bad thing because…”
“Shanti!”
“Ok, ok,” she shouted back. She was so busy glaring at me that she didn’t notice the shadows suddenly forming all around her. They began to peel off the walls. They were blocking the window.
“Shanti, run,” I screamed at her.
“Ash,” Juna shouted from somewhere behind me. “A little help. NOW.”
I glanced through the veil, which I was keeping open so I could make sure my sister really escaped. I could see part of Shanti’s arm – she was clutching the book to her side – and an upside down view of the stair railing bobbing by as Shanti bounded down. Someone shouted and began to follow her down the stairs. Shadows were going nuts all around her, but the book kept them back.
“Mrs. Garcia,” Shanti called out as she ran towards the guest room. “We’ve got invaders in the house.”
“Ok, dear,” Mrs. Garcia responded, her thin voice barely audible above the TV. “Yes, we do have potatoes in the house. Would you like them for dinner?”
Shanti didn’t bother to stop, but kept pounding down the hall towards the kitchen. I turned around and willed myself to fly towards Juna. Nothing happened. It was just like when I had tried to bring her through the veil: something about her blocked my efforts.
“Probably her sweet voice and charming character,” I muttered as she shouted at me to hurry up.
I flew through the forest, following the sound of physical bodies crashing through branches and leaves. A shadow flashed in front of me and I swerved into a tree to avoid its waving limbs before realizing the shadow was actually Sunday. By the time I figured that out, I was already floating inside the tree, where the appearance of solidity disappeared. Blobs of molecular reality zipped around me in a swirling cloud that continuously dodged just out of reach as I swam through a lot of empty space towards the surface of the bark. No matter how many times I float through solid looking objects, I still feel disoriented and nauseous. All those molecules bouncing around in a disturbing vastness really messes with my sense of reality.
I pushed myself out, in time to see Sunday disappearing into the denseness of the forest. From the opposite direction, I could hear howling and screaming. I sped through the air and within no time, saw the source of the howling (a pack of hunting dogs) and screaming (Juna – man, she’s loud). She was standing in a small bog surrounded by the pack. The dogs stayed on solid ground; maybe they didn’t like getting their paws dirty, or maybe they thought she might actually hit them with the stout branch she was waving around threateningly. I doubted she could manage that; the way she was spinning it over her head, I figured she had a better chance of giving herself a concussion.
I guess one of the dogs thought so too, for it lunged at the stick and held on for dear life. The other dogs quickly moved in and one jumped towards her, its teeth bared in a lethal display of canine aggression. I could see every muscle stand out as it strained forward, easily clearing the distance to its prey. Just as I started to materialize (I had no idea what I was going to do, apart from being bitten) and the dog’s front paws grazed the front of her ridiculous dress, it happened. I felt the air around me tingle, like it does right before a lightning bolt or storm hits. Bits of dust and leaves began to swirl around Juna and then – wham! – a small tornado engulfed her. Dogs and dirt went flying in all directions and, when the scene cleared, Juna was gone.
“Ash.”
I spun around and glanced towards the veil floating before me. Shanti had just exited the downstairs hallway and was standing in the kitchen, which looked like a small bomb had exploded. Dishes that had been neatly stacked in the drying rack littered the ground in fragments. The fruit bowl was upended and bits of fruit were splattered over all surfaces.
“What a mess,” I muttered, knowing we’d have to clean that up before Mom came home, or we’d never hear the end of it.
“Forget the mess, Ash,” Shanti ordered.
That’s when I noticed the swarm of shadows blocking the way to the kitchen door and freedom. Shanti twirled around to go back down the hallway and jerked to a stop. I had an upside down view of a pair of icy, pale blue eyes that glowered at me. Kali’s reflection had arrived.
“Don’t stop,” I shrieked. “Don’t let him touch…”
That was about as far as I got before Kali’s reflection leaped at Shanti. The book flew through the air and as it landed, slammed shut.
Chapter 7
One minute I was floating along, all comfortable and safe as a ghost, and the next, I was sitting in the puddle of mud that Juna had recently and dramatically exited. Definitely not very comfortable and probably not that safe, either. I glanced around frantically, but the veil was gone and so were my ghostly powers. I was solid and vulnerable and trapped in 1860, several months before the Civil War started. I looked up, as if expecting to see Shanti’s face peering down at me. Nope. Nothing there either. Upon closing the book, Kali’s reflection had effectively closed the veil and my only portal back to my reality, my life, my body. Bibi had warned me. I had ignored her. Now, I was stuck and I had no idea for how long.
As my numbed brain tried to absorb this seriously disturbing bit of information, I realized that I was still sitting in the mud. My nose was twitching with the strong smells of the swamp, and my shirt was already sticking to my sweating back, even though I hadn’t even moved. Yuck. And on top of that, the dogs (wherever Juna’s tornado had thrown them) seemed to have recovered. I could hear them barking nearby as they regrouped. They began to appear from behind trees and under bushes as they moved cautiously towards me, sniffing carefully. Although they were still a bit distracted and nervous, I decided that it would be safer if they couldn’t see me. Without thinking, I automatically shifted my focus so my body would dematerialize.
It didn’t.
I stayed very solid, my sneakers sinking into mushy ground and my body sweating way too much. “Great. Now what?” I asked, rather rhetorically.
I was stuck back in history in a solid body with no way of escaping and a pack of dogs easing towards me. I had lost Juna. And I had better start moving. My only consolation was that it appeared Sunday had escaped in all the confusion, and Juna was out of danger, at least temporarily, until she created the next disaster. With a heartfelt sigh, I pushed myself up and began to trudge into the forest. The dogs didn’t follow. They were still sniffing around in confusion. I wondered what the hunters would think when they saw how Juna’s track had just vanished, only to be replaced by a set of footprints that literally had dropped down from the sky.
Within minutes, I was not only hot and stiff from drying mud, but I was thirsty and surrounded by a swarm of really irritating little flies. I started thinking about Shanti, and decided not to. There was nothing I could do except freak myself out with all sorts of nightmarish possibilities. Not helpful.
I hoped she was all right.
Ok, so I was freaking myself out thinking about all the poss
ible scenarios, most of them ending in some nasty way, nasty for me, at least. What would Shanti tell the rest of our family, if she couldn’t open up the book again? That I’d run away, because I couldn’t handle Mrs. Garcia’s food anymore? Knowing Shanti, she’d come up with a better story than I could, but I sincerely, really, truly hoped she wouldn’t have to. Did Shanti still have the book? If she had it, why the heck wasn’t she opening it? What was taking so long?
Then another fearful possibility presented itself: what if a few minutes in the 21st century translated into months or years on this end? Maybe Shanti only had the book closed for a few minutes as she found a way to escape, and I had to spend the next several birthdays without indoor plumbing, Internet and my home.
While I dwelt on these pleasant thoughts, the scenery began to change, the boggy ground dried up and the close trees thinned out. After more trudging, I could see a field up ahead that had nothing growing in it except weeds. On the edge of the open space was a barn. As I took in the scene, light began to seep up from one horizon and the night receded towards the other. I couldn’t see or hear any sign of pursuit. There was only the chatter and chirp of birds, animals and insects.
I had been walking for hours and hours. Ok, maybe not quite that long, but I was about to collapse. My eyes were barely open, just enough to see immediately ahead of my feet, as I plodded towards the wooden structure. There were various tools stored inside but it was otherwise empty, which suited me just fine. Too tired to notice how hungry and thirsty I was, I fell onto a stack of empty gunnysacks and was instantly asleep.
I slept the kind of sleep that only the truly exhausted or the comatose can experience. The barn could’ve collapsed around me and I doubt I would’ve twitched or stirred. At one point, a shaft of light crept to where I was; I peeled back one blurry eye, rolled over and drifted off, not wanting to face reality just yet. That’s when I started dreaming again.
I was back home. I didn’t recognize the place, but it somehow felt familiar and I knew it was my home. A dry breeze, laden with the rich aroma of red soil and tall, sun-dried grass, gently brushed through the wide branches of the thorn trees that shaded the village. Under a tree, a woman was grinding corn between two flat stones while chatting with a mother cradling a baby. Young children chased a chicken around the central fire pit, where the village elders met. The warmth of the sun soothed me, and I breathed in deeply, relishing every moment that I could linger in this tranquil setting. A flicker of movement caught my attention, and I floated towards the entrance of a round, mud hut.
Then it changed. As I stooped slightly and entered the hut, the walls dissolved and I stood at the edge of a small clearing that was surrounded in a wall of thick fog. The air was filled with glowing white flecks. The place was absolutely silent. In the middle of the clearing, a dark object floated at about the level of my eyes, but as I approached, it rose until it was just out of reach.
Just then, someone else entered the space. The young man seemed unaware of my presence and he looked as if he was waiting for something to happen. I glanced around, wondering if there was anyone else, and that’s when I saw a shadow move through the mist.
“He’s in danger,” I whispered.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” the youth shouted, spinning around but still not seeing me. That’s when I realized who he was. He was me.
The ground beneath me opened and I fell down into a small space created by the roots of a giant tree, just as Sunday awoke with a gasp, shivering.
“Danger is coming,” she whispered, staring up towards me, her eyes unfocused. “The shadow man is waiting. You need to let go. Let go.”
This time I was the one shivering. My body convulsed slightly as I jerked away from Sunday. Then I was awake, still shivering despite the heat.
I woke up to hunger, thirst and the start of a headache. I started to stretch, then grimaced. Add stiff neck to the list. I pushed myself up, feeling pretty much the way I looked: horrible. Every patch of clothes and skin was covered in mud, scratches or both. And now, I was really thirsty and had started sweating again. How was that even possible? I wasn’t doing anything, apart from breathing.
To distract myself from my long list of physical discomforts, I turned my attention to my dream. Had I been in Sunday’s dream or had she been in mine? And why would that even happen? There was only one thing connecting the runaway slave and me: Juna. Juna was trying to help Sunday. But what was connecting me to Juna? Before, on my last time travelling experience, I had been connected to Sara, my great, great… you get the idea… grandmother. I really didn’t think Juna and I were related. I hoped not, anyway.
And what was I supposed to let go of?
My head hurt. I groaned and then paused.
I could hear whispering.
Well, not exactly whispering. More like fluttering. I frowned, trying to identify what the sound reminded me of. Wings beating? No, not smooth enough. Something shuffled behind me. I glanced around. The barn was still completely empty, apart from the cloud of little flies that was reforming around my head. I swatted a few away from my nose and cautiously snuck towards the open doorway.
The sound of something dry and crinkling floated on the slight breeze that managed to survive the stifling humidity. The crinkle noise morphed into murmurs, almost intelligible, but not quite. I peered outside. More flies eagerly joined my personal swarm, fluttering around my sweaty face, but apart from them and the occasional bird swooping over the surface of the field, the scene was empty.
So why could I still hear whispers?
I snorted. I could hear voices because hey, that’s what I do: hear voices, see ghosts, turn into a ghost, watch shadows turn into monsters. And the list of fun things to do on my spare time keeps growing.
I walked around the barn, just in case, but there was no one. I tried to make sense of the faint voices, but the words were blurred and distant. And this wasn’t helping me at all. I needed a plan, I told myself. The other part of myself rolled its eyes and told me what an idiot that first part of me was. There was only one plan: survive long enough to find a way home.
“Yeah, but how do I get home if Shanti has lost the book?” I mumbled back. I knew the answer to that. There was no way back. I’d be like Kali – trapped here, unless and until I could find some other portal. Unlike Kali, I hadn’t retained any of my powers, so it would be a long and difficult, probably impossible, search.
Yeah, I was feeling really optimistic.
“Ah.”
A whisper had formed a word, sort of. It was so faint that at first I thought that one of my fly buddies was buzzing into my ear.
“Ash.”
Ok, that was definitely not an insect learning to talk. I twirled about on the spot, but saw nothing. I licked my lips, tasting salt, dust and a fly. I spat the fly out. Had I imagined it? Was it wishful thinking or delusion or extreme dehydration that made that vague whisper almost sound like Shanti calling me? I waited, barely breathing in case I’d miss it.
“ASH!”
Shanti’s voice, rather difficult to miss this time, screamed through the air, shaking the world around me. As beautiful as her voice sounded at that moment, even more wonderful was the familiar pull I felt whenever someone from home called me. It meant the book was open. Shanti was searching for me. I could now distinctly hear crinkling pages fluttering faster as she flipped through the book, looking for a page that would open up the connection. The pull became stronger. I didn’t resist, but let it lead me to the veil. I willed it open and then it was shimmering all around me.
I caught a glimpse of Shanti’s face. She was peering through the veil somehow. I didn’t care how. I just jumped through into a cool, dimly lit room, and then impulsively reached out to hug her. I quickly stopped that little impulse when I realized just in time that she was wielding a kitchen knife the size of a machete that in the right hands could carve through a pumpkin like it was warm butter.
“Do you have a death wish, or so
mething?” Shanti demanded as she shifted the lethal weapon away before I could impale myself on it. She stood there, one fist on a hip, the other holding the knife behind her back, clearly expecting an answer. “What’s wrong with you?”
Wow, talk about a loaded question. I stuttered some lame excuse about severe dehydration and near starvation. I glanced around nervously. I didn’t recognise where we were, but it was a kitchen. Abandoning my attempt at a coherent answer, I asked hopefully, “Any food in here?”
“Is that the only thing you can think of? Did you leave some brain cells behind?” Shanti demanded. “Not that you had many to start with.”
“Well, you’re the one holding the giant knife,” I responded as I scanned the area for traces of edible substances. “How is that supposed to help you fight off shadows, eh?”
“You know,” she retorted, her eyes two slits of pure sisterly scorn. “I’d have thought that you could show just a tad more gratitude to someone who just saved your sorry hide and rescued you from being trapped in the past. And…” She gestured toward a table with a flourish. “Kept your portal opener.”
“My what?” I glanced to the roughly made wooden table and saw the book.
“Apologies and thank yous are all accepted,” Shanti stated grandly. “And yes, there’s food. I bought some on my way: bread and peanut butter on the counter there, just for you.”
“Brilliant,” I breathed out.
“Wash your hands first,” Shanti ordered. “You’re filthy. And you stink.”
“And the compliments keep flowing,” I muttered back. Hands washed, I quickly went about solving my immediate problems: hunger and thirst. Shanti sat watching me. Actually, she kind of sat glaring at me. The moment my mouth was full of bread and sticky peanut butter, she launched her verbal attack.
“Out with it, Ash. Who was the creep chasing me and why was he destroying our house?”