by Amanda Frame
As I stumbled, I also felt a drop in my stomach, like the feeling of falling in the middle of the night and then jerking awake, and a pain on the side of my head, but both faded in an instant.
Whoa! It caught me off guard. That was not what I had expected to happen. I didn’t know what I had expected, but that sure wasn’t it.
I turned back to the stairs, wondering if there was something physical I would be able to see, some kind of barrier I had broken through.
No.
There was no barrier.
What there was however, was…me.
Lying on the floor. A marionette whose strings had been cut. I backed away, not quite registering what I was seeing.
I stopped and hesitantly leaned forward but kept my feet rooted to the floor. My hands shook and I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again, hoping I would find myself staring up at my bedroom ceiling, waking from a nightmare.
No. It was still me, my face pressed against the floor. Or an exact copy of me. I could see its hair, my hair, dark brown and in need of a haircut, and my thick eyelashes. All six feet of my seventeen-year-old body were sprawled on the ground, and a slight trickle of blood leaked slowly from a gash on my head, staining the concrete crimson.
Am I dead? I wondered with increasing panic. Am I a ghost looking at my dead body? What the fuck is this? I knew without a doubt now that everyone had been wrong. I knew in the core of my soul that this was real. It had all been real, was real. I had been glimpsing a world that seemed to be the old and broken reflection of our own, and now, somehow, I was in it. Maybe it was an afterlife.
What now? What should I do? Would someone come find me? Did my mom hear me hit the floor? Gathering some courage, I took a few steps towards the body. My body. I clutched my belly, feeling an odd pulling sensation deep inside me. As I stepped closer, the feeling got stronger.
Is this what happens when people have a near-death experience? Was I not quite dead, just about to be?
I took another step. And another, the pulling getting stronger. I crouched slowly and reached a trembling hand toward my body, eyes wide, heart pounding, and delicately touched my fingertips to my arm.
There was a roaring in my ears and everything went dark as I again felt like I was falling. After a fraction of a second, I felt fine. Normal.
Then, pain.
My head throbbed and burned. I felt a warm wetness filling my ear. Blood. My cheek was pressed against the cold basement floor. I groaned and reached a tentative hand towards my aching skull. The pain was almost a relief. I am back. In my body.
Had this all been my imagination? Did I fall down the stairs, hit my head, and hallucinate the whole thing? No. I was at least twenty feet from the stairs, the washer and dryer directly in my line of vision, albeit blurry and sideways. I had left my body and now was blessedly inside of it again. I felt hysterical laughter bubble at the back of my throat, the kind that comes with intense relief.
“John? Did you find the tomato sauce?” my mom yelled from the kitchen. When I didn’t respond, I heard the door creak open from the top of the stairs. There was a pause.
“Oh my god! Oh my God! Rob! Rob, get over here now!”
I heard a set of heavy footsteps run towards the door that I recognized as my dad’s. Both my parents dashed down the stairs and were by my side in seconds.
“John!” My dad’s voice reverberated painfully in my brain. He crouched down and placed a hand on my arm, his expression too blurry to make out. I could see the shape of my mom’s head peering over my dad’s shoulder. As it slowly came into focus, I saw her face painted with terror.
“Is he alive? Is he okay? Rob, is he okay?”
“Yes, he’s alive,” my dad said with a sigh of relief. His voice got tense again, “but his head is bleeding.” My mom gasped and clutched her hands to her mouth.
“Can you stand?” my dad asked.
“I…I think so,” I croaked.
“What happened?” my mom asked from behind my dad’s shoulder.
“I fell…down the stairs,” I stuttered. My dad helped me to my feet slowly and I immediately vomited, the bile splattering on my dad’s shoes.
“What’s going on?” I heard Shannon call from the kitchen.
“Just stay up there!” my dad shouted back. He glanced briefly at his shoes but didn’t seem upset. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
CHAPTER 14
ANNA
That night over a tense dinner of mac-and-cheese, my mom told me it would be perfectly fine to skip school the next day. But I couldn’t. I had to know what was going on, and I knew there was going to be a lot of rumors about what had happened. I felt guilty about skipping class and guilty that I cared about skipping class when there were so many other terrible things happening around me. The mix of guilt, curiosity, and dread turned my stomach to jelly.
Becca texted me the following morning saying she needed to take a mental health day and I should too, but I went to school anyway. A disturbing quiet followed me through the hallways, punctuated by curious glances that quickly darted away when I tried to make eye contact. Everyone already knew what had happened. The speed at which information traveled in a high school would put Google to shame.
I ran my fingertips over the cool blue metal of the lockers as I walked down the hallway. I needed a break from the gossip. I was on my way to lunch and decided to chill outside instead. Clearing my head and trying to relax a bit sounded appealing.
Pushing open the double glass doors leading into the courtyard, I saw some other students sitting at the wooden picnic tables. I knew a few of them but I wasn’t in the mood for small talk, so I sat down on the parched grass against the side of the building by myself. Thoughts of food didn’t even enter my mind.
I pulled my knees up to my chest and picked at the grass by my feet. I needed to see Brian. I needed to know if he was okay. The guilt was eating me alive. It was my fault, as much as I was trying to deny it. Whatever I had done was responsible for what happened to him.
I would have to get ahold of him, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t have his phone number or his parents’ number. I didn’t want to ask Becca. I wasn’t a good liar and I knew she would be able to tell something was up. Aaron probably had Brian’s number.
I found Aaron after school stretching on the grass next to the track, waiting for all the other cross-country runners to show up. I felt awkward being there, like I was no longer a part of the team and was intruding, which I guess was partly true. He stood up when we saw me approach.
“Hey Anna!”
“Hey Aaron.”
“How’s it going? Are you coming to practice today?” He looked me up and down briefly and his smile faded when he realized I was wearing street clothes. I felt my stomach twist with guilt when I saw his disappointed look.
“Uh, no unfortunately,” I stammered awkwardly, ringing my hands. “The doctor hasn’t changed his mind about letting me run.” I tried to hide the heat creeping into my face. I actually hadn’t asked him again since he told me to take it easy for a while. Cross-country was the furthest thing from my mind at this point. I wasn’t the greatest liar.
“Oh. That sucks. We could really use you. We’re sucking particularly hard lately,” he said with an ironic chuckle.
“Yeah. Sorry about that. So I actually have a favor to ask you.”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“So…it’s about Brian.”
“Okay…” he said with furrowed eyebrows.
“Oh, it’s nothing big. I just need his phone number or his parents’ number, if you have it. I want to um… send him a card, you know, because I was there and all…” I let my voice trail off. I realized saying I needed to call them because I needed his address might be a mistake, in case somehow Aaron knew what it was. But I didn’t want to say I was going to ask to see Brian. He probably didn’t even know my name despite his cousin being my best friend.
“Oh, yeah, sure. I actually do have it. Before that fundrai
ser in November to resurface the track, we all exchanged numbers.”
The football team did laps on the track as part of their practice, so they had just as much incentive to resurface the track as the cross-country team did. I knew a few members of the team had exchanged numbers.
“Great! Thanks so much, Aaron.”
“Yeah, no problem. So uh, you think maybe you want to come to the meet on Saturday? I mean, not to run or anything. You could cheer us on.”
His last sentence was more of a question. I was actually flattered. As much as Aaron could be a douche sometimes, it was nice to know he wanted me around.
“That sounds cool. I can’t make any promises, though; I’ve got a few exams next week I need to study for.”
“Right. Of course.” He blushed. “Well, I hope to see you there.” I thumbed Brian’s number into my phone as Aaron recited it to me, and thanked him again.
I shook my head slightly as I walked away. He never acted this way around me. He was always cocky and flirty, but had never acted shy or embarrassed before. It wasn’t something I wanted to spend too much time pondering at the moment.
I pulled out my phone as I walked to the parking lot. I had forgotten I had no car and had missed the bus a while ago. I called my mom, who was thankfully off from work today, and told her I needed her to pick me up. She seemed annoyed but had no choice but to come get me.
I sat on the curb and waited. My mom arrived about twenty minutes later. She pulled up next to me and gave me a quick glance as I opened the door. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly and her jaw was clenched. I could tell she was mad and figured it was because she had to pick me up. She’d probably lecture me about being irresponsible. After a few minutes of silence, I had to say something.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I had to talk to Aaron about something. Please don’t be mad.”
“It’s not that,” she said curtly.
“Okay. What is it then?” God, what did I do now?
“Mr. Marshall called.” Oh crap. I had forgotten his trash again.
“Mom, I’m…”
“I know you have had a lot going on recently but you need to go apologize to him. Tonight.” I was about to roll my eyes but stopped myself. I didn’t want to piss her off even more.
“Fine.”
CHAPTER 15
ANNA
I shuffled over to Mr. Marshall’s house, not looking forward to the exchange. I had far more important things to worry about, like what I was going to say to Brian and his family. Hey Mrs. Wilkes. Just wanted to see how Brian was doing after he was attacked by some demon that I am responsible for unleashing into the school. How’re things with you?
I rang the doorbell and it played a little melody inside the house. I smoothed my hair back and tried to make my face look apologetic, but unfortunately I didn’t care very much at the moment. The dude was like a thousand years old; he’d probably forget about it in a few days anyway.
The door creaked open just a few inches and Mr. Marshall peeked through the crack. He looked at me expectantly, and seemed sort of…nervous. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, I figured he was waiting for me to speak first.
“Uh, hi Mr. Marshall. I’m just here to apologize for not taking out your trash for the last couple weeks. I know I promised to fertilize your grass for you, too. I’ve just…I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. You know, school and stuff.” I fiddled with the hem of my shirt and lowered my eyes. I realized I actually did feel bad.
As he opened the door fully, I noticed what looked like a strip of tiny bells rimming the top of his doorway; they chimed faintly as a gentle breeze blew into the house.
“Come on in.” I didn’t want to but felt obligated. He moved aside to let me by, but as I stepped hesitantly forward he raised his hand to halt me for a second. He tapped one of the bells so that a high-pitched trill echoed in my ears. Mr. Marshall leaned out the doorway and glanced around the front yard as the noise faded. I waited awkwardly, wondering what the hell he was doing, until he gave a satisfied nod and turned on a deft heel to lead me inside.
His house looked like it hadn’t had a makeover since the ’70s. He led me to the kitchen and pointed to a bar stool pushed underneath a fading yellow countertop.
“Sit.” It wasn’t a suggestion. “Lemonade?” he asked, pouring me a glass from a plastic pitcher without waiting for an answer.
“Uh, I guess? Sure. Thanks.” My foot tapped restlessly on the dingy linoleum floor. I wasn’t thirsty. He grabbed a second glass from the cabinet and began to fill it agonizingly slowly. I clenched my fists at my sides and tried not to start pulling my hair out. I just wanted to go home and figure out how to get in touch with Brian.
“How’s school going? You said you had a lot on your mind,” he said as he took the few steps he needed to cross the tiny kitchen and place the glass in front of me. Beads of condensation ran down his fingertips.
This was uncomfortable. I didn’t think we had had a conversation of more than two sentences in the six-ish years we’d lived next to each other. He was old and had no family in the area that I knew of; maybe he was just lonely. I never saw him get any visitors.
I cleared my throat awkwardly and took a swallow of lemonade. The sweet, tangy liquid was surprisingly delicious, and I felt myself relax the tiniest bit.
“Well, you know, just normal school stuff. Homework, tests, social drama.” I raised the icy glass to my lips and took another perfectly lemony sip. He stared at me with an expectant look and nodded, an expression encouraging me to continue.
After a moment, it felt okay to confide in him.
“I had to quit the cross-country team, which sucked, because I broke my arm and a few ribs in my car accident. Oh, I don’t know if you know about that, Mr. Marshall.”
“I do, and please call me John. I talk to your mother sometimes if we run into each other.” I didn’t know that.
“Okay. John. Yeah, it was pretty scary. I’ve never been in a car crash before. I mean, obviously I’ve seen banged up cars on the side of the road and stuff.” I wrapped my hands around the cool glass, and downed half the lemonade. I was noticing Mr. Marshall had a comforting vibe about him. He refilled my glass from the plastic pitcher and I drank some more. I was starting to feel a bit numb but the words kept flowing.
“I keep getting these headaches, you know? The doctor said it’s from the concussion…I had a concussion…but I Googled it and it’s not supposed to last this long. I just feel like it wouldn’t cause all this weird stuff.”
“What weird stuff?” Mr. Marshall asked delicately. He was holding his glass of lemonade but hadn’t drunk any. I wondered if I drank the rest of the pitcher if he would let me drink his too. I felt kind of loopy and tired. My words were beginning to slur. I rambled on for a few minutes and he nodded along.
“But it’s theses scary hallucinations that bother me the most, you know? This monster or whatever. Or I think that’s what…” Wait…what? What the hell was I saying? Why was I telling him this? My brain snapped to alertness, like it was all of a sudden catching up to itself. I stood up quickly, knocking the stool over in the process. I looked in horror at the almost empty glass of lemonade sitting on the counter in front of me, stumbling and dizzy.
“What…what? Did you…did you just…drug me?” I was so scared and angry at the same time, I didn’t know whether to run screaming from the house or bash in his leathery old face with the toaster to the right of me. Fight or flight were warring with one another, and all I could do was freeze in place.
“Anna, calm down,” he said gently, hands raised defensively.
“Calm down? Calm down? What did you do to me?” I backed away slowly. I could feel the blood drain from my face, my eyes wide.
“It’s all right. I just had to be sure.”
“Had to be sure of what?”
“That it was you. That it was you who let it out.”
CHAPTER 16
ANNA
I froze. �
��Wha…what did you say?”
“I have answers, Anna.” When I didn’t move or speak, he continued, “Please. Don’t leave. Sit down.”
“I think I’ll stay here, thanks.” I crossed my still-wobbly arms over my chest and tried to plaster on the best glower I could manage, but confusion, fear, and some lingering fogginess were making my hands shake. “Did you drug me?”
He shrugged and looked apologetic. “Well, sort of.”
I scoffed. “How do you sort of drug someone?” I took another step back as my heart leapt.
“It isn’t a drug in the conventional sense.” He shook his head and scrubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes. He had seemed so sure of himself since the moment I walked in the door, and seeing frustration on his face was kind of unsettling. “We need to hurry this process along, we don’t have a lot of time. When did you let it out?”
“I don’t know what you’re talk—”
“Spare me. We both know what I am talking about.”
My heart thudded painfully in my chest. I felt a flood of words on the tip of my tongue, and the dam was about to break. “I didn’t mean to! I don’t even know what happened!” I could feel guilt burning in my face and I silently pleaded with him to understand. “How do you know? What is all of this? I am crazy? Is it even real? Why is it happening?”
“The why is unclear, but…”
“But what?”
“I think it may be partially my fault.” He cringed.
I was so confused. “Your fault? How? Can you make it stop?”
“I have been crossing over a lot lately and I think I sort of…” He paused as though trying to find the words. “Pulled it toward you? Made you more aware by thinning the Barrier frequently, I think. Obviously, you already had the potential for it to happen, though.”
“But…wait. I’m understanding slightly less than nothing about what you just said.” I tucked my hair behind my ears and sat back down on the bar stool, splaying my fingers out on the cool countertop, arm muscles tensed. Yes, he had just drugged me, but I needed to hear what he had to say, regardless of how nonsensical it sounded. I should be sprinting out of this house right now and calling the cops. What am I doing?