I decided to run, first jogging, then sprinting, then running faster than I had ever ran while alive. It was fun, but the whispering grew louder. It sounded like a noisy restaurant. And I had the sensation that someone was watching me.
I ran faster. The feeling that someone or something watched me increased. I looked around, expecting to see a pack of—I don’t know, monsters?—following me. Nothing there.
I kept running and the noise grew into a dull roar, like a waterfall. In addition to the feeling of being watched, I felt danger. As if my very existence hung in the balance. The roar grew harsher and louder. I closed my eyes.
Silence.
I was in the hospital room again, my body dying in the hospital bed, mom sleeping in the chair.
Shit. I closed my eyes, imagined the camping trip when I was eight, opened them and was there.
“How far’d you make it?” Jeremy asked.
“Probably a couple miles.”
“That’s awesome. Was it scary?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s scary the first few times. I got totally paranoid, but it gets easier. Okay, now moving through time. We’ll just move to tomorrow here. It’ll be easy because our live bodies will be near. The old ghost told me when you move through time you get anchor points that help you return, but you have to imagine time changing to get there the first time. Days turning to night or the seasons changing. Close your eyes and imagine the sun going around the earth?”
I laughed. “The sun doesn’t move around us.”
“Whatever. Imagine it however you want. Point is you want the sun to be the same place in the sky tomorrow. See you there.” His eyes closed and he disappeared.
I couldn’t imagine the sun moving around the earth. How stupid. I closed my eyes, imagined the earth spinning a full rotation, heard a whoosh, opened my eyes and was at the campground.
“You did it!” Jeremy said. “Took me a while to get it down.”
“Well, maybe if you learned about Copernicus it’d be easier.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
“The next jump will be harder,” Jeremy said. “Let’s move to tomorrow again. If we get separated meet back at my place with the pizza.” He looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Ready?”
I nodded.
He disappeared. I closed my eyes, imagined the earth spinning again, the roar started but this time it became so loud I yelled out, surprised. It sounded like I was in a tunnel with a freight train, horn blaring. I opened my eyes and looked around the campground. Our tents and cars were gone. Then I snapped into the hospital room again.
There I lay, still in a coma, mom still asleep.
What the hell had happened? I closed my eyes, imagined the pizza at Jeremy’s place when Rover the Cat walked on it, and was there.
Jeremy was laughing when I arrived. Live us were at the dresser, going through the playlist. I ignored them.
“What the hell happened?” I asked.
“We left the next day, remember? You were like fifty miles from your body.”
“Yeah, I saw. No tents.”
“You made it there?”
“For a second.”
“Whoa, dude. Impressive.”
“How am I going to go ahead of my death? I mean I’ll be a long ways from my body won’t I?”
He shook his head. “It’s different when you move past death. A few days past death is probably like half a mile away from your body. Fifty miles is, I don’t know, it’s got to be over 100 years past death.”
“When you first met me in the hospital, you were two weeks past death?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“What’s that like.”
“I don’t know. Maybe like a mile away from your body.”
“A mile isn’t too tough. I went a lot further than that.”
His shoulders sagged. “I know. I get easily distracted.”
Jeremy figured Dennis Spleenk would slip Ivy a roofie at the school dance. We decided to meet in my hospital room the next day at 6pm—funny when you’re a ghost you always knew what time now was. Don’t ask me how, you just know.
Since the dance started at 7pm we figured we’d move forward in time then walk to the high school. Since we were doing it tomorrow I had time to watch what I’d been putting off. My death.
I went to the hospital. Stood at the foot of my bed, waiting.
Marty appeared. He hooked a thumb around the one strap of his overalls and stood beside me, watching my body. “How you doing, kid?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“Good. Any plans on interfering with the living?”
“How could I?”
“Good. Whatcha been up to?”
“Hanging out with my friend Jeremy.”
“I toldja, stay away from Percival. He doesn’t follow the rules.”
One of the machines hooked up to my body started beeping loudly. Mom woke, look around. A nurse rushed in, looked at the machine and called on the intercom for help.”
Mom hovered over my body, holding my hand. The nurse put an arm around mom. “Mrs. Phillips, I need you to step out.”
“What’s happening?” Mom asked.
Others rushed in. One pushed a cart. The nurse herded mom from the room.
They tried shocking me. It didn’t help. I died.
“This the first time you watched it?” Marty asked.
I nodded.
“It’s tough the first time.” He sighed. “Let me know if you need anything. I have to run.”
“How do I contact you?” I asked.
He was already gone.
The next day Jeremy and I met in the hospital room. The dance started at 7pm, an hour away, but we were three days earlier, a bit after 9pm. We decided to move forward past my death in a series of hops.
We went forward two days on our first jump. I closed my eyes, imagined the earth spinning around twice, heard a slight howl in my ears, and opened my eyes. Jeremy had made it too. We were in the same hospital room, only an old woman slept in the hospital bed I had been in.
The constant sound I heard from being past death wasn’t bad. It sounded like paper rustling.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Now,” Jeremy said, “let’s move forward half a day. Imagine the sun going halfway around the earth.”
I didn’t point out his error. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“Let’s do it,” he said.
I closed my eyes, imagined the earth spinning halfway around, opened them up. Jeremy appeared an instant after I did.
Daylight filtered through the hospital window.
“Cool,” I said. I pointed to the large wall clock. It read 9:12.
“Now, imagine the clock hands moving around until it gets to now.”
I closed my eyes, imagined the hour hand spinning around 10, 11, 12, all the way up to 6:09. I stopped in the now and heard, in the background, constant whispering.
“Dude!” Jeremy said. “We’re here.”
I grinned. This wasn’t so hard.
“Let’s go,” Jeremy said. “Follow me.” He ran to the closed window, didn’t slow down, and disappeared through it.
I rushed to the window and looked down. Jeremy stood on the street below, waving at me. The hospital room was on the fourth or fifth floor. This seemed crazy but I couldn’t kill myself. Could I? I ran to the window like he had and through it, except I tripped, tumbled through the window, falling neither headfirst nor feet first, but flipping end over end all the way down. I tensed for the impact, but it’s not like I had a physical body with muscles I could tense. Sometimes, being a ghost is confusing. I hit the ground and just stopped. No impact. Just stopped.
Jeremy snickered. “You need to work on your landing.”
I stood up, glaring at him.
We headed down Fourth street. The school was half a mile away. There were a few cars on the road and almost no foot traffic. I heard the whispering noise, a bit louder now, but not
bad.
“Keep focused, man,” Jeremy said. “Like on the buildings, little things, like the green awning over Geovani’s Produce. It helps you stay present. If you lose hold you can always come back to any point you focused on.”
I looked around and did as Jeremy suggested. Across the street a pawn shop’s neon sign glowed red, the letter “a” from “Fast C_sh” missing.
We turned right on Madison. The neighborhood changed from storefronts and businesses to residential. We went another couple blocks, passing small, brick apartments and a few duplexes, and then past a park and then Warner’s Crest High. The time was 6:23.
“Now, explain again how I control Dennis Spleenk,” I said.
Jeremy wasn’t around.
Crap. Now what? Should I wait for him or keep going toward the school? I wasn’t comfortable jumping into Dennis Spleenk. Jeremy had said to run and jump into his body. Creepy.
I hesitated, trying to figure out my next move. The rustling noise gained volume and my surroundings dimmed. I focused on the street lamp near me, felt a whoosh in my head, and snapped back to the now. Close call. Stopping to think about things made it easier to lose grip of the now.
I decided to keep going. Jeremy would catch up.
Kids and parent chaperones were already at the high school. I went through the front doors, glad I didn’t come here any longer. Sure, I would have graduated in a few months, but it felt good to not have high school looming over my head.
Two long tables sat side-by-side, decorated with red, white and pink ribbons and hearts. The Valentine’s day dance. Two girls sat at the table with a closed cash box, both texting.
How did Dennis Spleenk plan on slipping Ivy a roofie? No way she’d be at this dance with him.
I went to the gym and looked around. The lights were bright. They’d dim them when the dance started. The decorating committee had went wild. Red, white and pink balloons, most of them heart shaped, were tied everywhere. White and red ribbons hung from the ceiling, from the walls, from basketball hoops ratcheted up, out of the way.
Several tables holding punch and Dixie cups lined one wall. Dennis Spleenk stood behind them.
He had volunteered to help with the refreshments so he could drug Ivy.
I looked around, wondering what to do. Should I try jumping into Dennis Spleenk and see what happened? I wished Jeremy would show up. Someone turned down the lights and music began playing softly. The background noise in my head was louder.
I moved behind the table, next to Dennis Spleenk and scanned the room, looking for Ivy. I didn’t see her.
I looked at Dennis Spleenk. Now or never. I jumped into him.
It felt as though I had broken through a glass window and the glass shards sliced me as I went. I could see out of two sets of eyes, images juxtaposed. Slowly, the images coalesced into one and I saw only from his eyes. The distant sounds of whispers had grown to shrieks. It sounded like a hurricane.
I lifted my arm, Dennis Spleenk’s arm, and looked at my hand. How disconcerting. Then I was gone.
Back to the hospital room on the night of my death. It was so … quiet.
Shit. I had lost focus somehow, but I had been focusing on my hand, or Dennis Spleenk’s hand.
Jeremy wasn’t here either.
I closed my eyes, focused on the image of the ticket table at the school, and was there. I looked at the clock on the wall of the school. 6:49 yet I knew now was 7:15. I closed my eyes and pictured the clock’s hands moving forward to 7:15. I opened them and was in the now again.
In the gym, many more couples had arrived. A classical Journey song played. I spotted Ivy drinking punch off to the side with her date, Eric Bunting, a stupid jock. Don’t ask me what she saw in him.
Dennis Spleenk stood a few feet away, grinning like he had just won the lottery.
I was too late. She’d already taken the drug.
Without thinking I jumped into Dennis Spleenk again. I ignored the feeling of being sliced and the screech of a thousand yelling voices. I took a slow, unsure step with his body, moving like Frankenstein’s monster. I stepped again, moving toward Ivy and Eric Bunting. I poked Eric in the chest with a finger.
His eyes went wide. He must have been shocked to have this nerd anywhere close to him, let alone touch him.
I found my voice, Dennis Spleenk’s voice. “I drugged your girlfriend and later I’m going to rape her.”
I didn’t see Eric’s fist coming, but I felt it, a sledge hammer against my jaw. Dennis Spleenk’s legs crumpled and he/I fell backward.
I scrambled out of his unconscious body.
The music stopped. The lights came on.
Eric Bunting had his arms around Ivy, helping her leave. She staggered as if drunk.
Jeremy appeared. “Dude! You did it. You saved her.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I think I did.”
Memory Fades
Miss Esther Horace of Number 18 Eddington Way looked out her kitchen window while washing her teacup and saucer. Across the street, atop the Chapman’s house, a boy appeared in a bright flash of red.
She dropped her teacup. It clattered into the porcelain sink, but she took no notice. She dried her hands on her apron before bringing her glasses to her eyes, the glasses which hung around her neck on a beaded necklace—her far-away glasses. She kept two pairs of glasses around her neck, forever tangling them. The other pair, the up-close glasses, dangled on a thin chain, easily distinguished from the beaded string. Better to untangle the glasses than get a migraine from bifocals.
Glasses on, vision clear, Esther verified, yes indeed, a boy stood on her neighbor’s house. He was on the roof’s peak, one hand on hip, the other pointing a sword to the sky. The boy wore red tights, with a blue cape fluttering in the wind.
He couldn’t have appeared in a flash of light. Ludicrous. It must have been the sun playing tricks on her eyes.
Esther shook her head. Boys will be boys. Playing super heroes was harmless, but not on a roof. If he fell he’d break his neck.
She removed her glasses, dropping them to her chest, and crossed the kitchen to the telephone. “I better ring the Chapmans, George. Tell them what their boy … what’s his name? Jimmy? No. Similar to Jimmy.”
She spoke to a small, aged, framed photo on the wall of man in uniform, George Smythe, her childhood sweetheart. George had never come home from the war. They never married. They didn’t grow old together.
“Billy. That’s it. Billy Chapman. Didn’t know he was back from hospital. Poor dear. Good news he’s home though, but he shouldn’t be up on the roof. Not in his condition. Oh dear, now I can’t recall just what type of cancer he had.”
She stood lost in thought for a moment.
Now what was I doing? Must remember to call the repairman.
The Grants had been kind enough to lend her a space heater while her furnace was on the blink. She heated her bedroom at night with it.
Did I leave the heater on?
She noticed the telephone. “Oh yes. Call the Chapmans.”
She put on her up-close glasses and opened her address book to the letter C. She ran a finger down the list to the name Chapman, and dialed the number, double-checking each digit as she dialed.
Ring.
Leukemia. That was the cancer.
Ring.
Nice family. A boy and girl, man and wife. A good balance.
Ring.
Good neighbors. Quiet neighbors. She always bought the candy the kids sold for school or scouts or what have you. Even though she couldn’t stomach sweets anymore.
Ring. "We're sorry. We're unable to come to the phone—"
Esther disconnected. “Bloody machines for everything these days.” She caught herself. “Sorry George.”
She went back to the window above the sink and swapped eye glasses. The boy still stood in the same spot, posing, like a hood ornament on an automobile.
She’d have to go over there herself and tell the boy to get down.
&
nbsp; Esther made sure the stove’s burner was off for the second time since taking up the kettle. One couldn’t be too careful. Did I turn the electric heater off?
She fetched her jacket from the hall cupboard and her purse from the kitchen counter into which she placed the photo of George. Ever since Margerie Kimball’s flat was burgled eight years prior, Esther never left home without George. She eyed the umbrella hanging next to the door. It wasn’t raining; it was sunny—wasn’t it? No matter. Umbrellas were always handy. She grabbed it and hooked it over her arm before working the door locks.
Going to ask Billy Chapman to get down from the roof. He had Leukemia. I live at Number 18 Eddington Way. If you repeated facts and actions in your mind it kept you mentally sharp. Years ago she had learned the trick from her dear friend Edith, God rest her.
Before removing the door chain Esther checked the stove’s burner again. Can’t be too careful. She looked through the door’s peephole. No stranger lurked on the doorstep. She stepped outside, put on her far-away glasses, and looked up and down the street. No neighbors working in their gardens and, most important, no ne’er-do-wells lay in wait. Across the street, the boy still stood on the house, sword extended.
Going to ask Billy Chapman to get down from the roof. He had Leukemia.
Esther switched to her up-close glasses, closed and locked her front door. She removed a toothpick from her purse and stuck it in the doorjamb, beneath the middle hinge. Another trick from Edith. The toothpick would fall if anyone opened the door while she was away. She walked the short path to the street, using the umbrella as a cane.
Eddington Way was a narrow street, stretching half a mile in a lazy loop, almost a spiral, before dead-ending. Retired couples, mostly, lived in small, box-like houses fringed with trees lining the street. Not an affluent neighborhood, but people kept their garden trimmed.
Esther had never been accosted in her neighborhood, but vigilance was the price for safety. She walked with one hand in her purse, clutching her screecher, a small aerosol can which emitted an ear-splitting shriek when depressed.
She glanced both ways before hobbling across the street.
In front of the Chapman house she looked up at the boy, shielding her eyes from the sun with a hand. “What’re you doing Jimmy?”
Strange Perceptions Page 3