Reaping Havoc

by AJ Rose

  “Yeah, sure.”

  They tromped out to Nate’s Jeep, deciding to veg at his apartment with a couple beers rather than go somewhere and spend money. Nate passed a bottle to Troy, who’d gotten comfortable in the corner of the couch.

  “So you can’t just say you’ve been hugged by a ghost and not tell me that story.” Nate made himself comfortable, turning sideways on the sofa and kicking his leg up onto the cushion.

  Troy’s cheeks colored, and he took a swig of his beer. “My mother’s always been into spiritual stuff. She’s studied a majority of the religions of the world, practiced Wiccan principles, thought for a while she might be a medium—all kinds of things. She’s kind of easily distracted,” he said diplomatically. “But I learned a lot of stuff growing up. During her medium phase, she visited a family who were convinced their house was haunted. She was going to do a séance or something, cleanse the house or whatever.”

  “Wow. Was she able to?”

  Troy huffed a laugh. “Not that I’m aware. She dragged me along to help her bring her props in from the car, and I tried to stay out of the way in a chair in the corner. She was going through all her hoodoo stuff, the family around their dining table holding hands, and the room got real cold. When she asked the spirits in the house to make themselves known, my skin went icy. All the candles in the room flickered. None of us knew what was happening, my mom included. She asked for a sign, and my breath went smoky in front of my face. Then I felt freezing arms wrap around me. I couldn’t talk so no one else had a clue what was happening. After a moment, the room warmed, the candle flames stopped dancing around, and the heaviness in the air went away.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Nothing,” Troy answered, taking another sip.

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah, kind of anti-climactic. I never said anything to her, and she said she got rid of all the ghosts in the house. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. I told her I wouldn’t help her again after that. Too freaked. She quit the medium thing a few months later and moved on to something else.”

  “Huh,” Nate chuffed, thinking.

  “Why are you so interested?” Troy wanted to know.

  It was Nate’s turn to be embarrassed. “Well, I just wondered. I’ve… always been interested in stuff like that,” he lied.

  Troy stood and walked to the window, looking out on the mountain. “You know what’s odd?”

  “What?”

  “I wasn’t scared when it actually happened. It was almost comforting. Like whatever it was just wanted some kind of contact with anybody capable of making the connection. It wasn’t until I thought about it on the ride home that I got weirded out.”

  Nate stepped out on a limb, knowing if he didn’t get around to making his point, he wouldn’t get what he was after, which was another opinion on how to talk with Tate. “I get that feeling, too, sometimes.”

  Troy’s head whipped around. “I knew there was more to your questions. You think your apartment is haunted?” He looked around as if expecting something to fly off an end table or a door to slam down the hall.

  Now or never. “I know it is.”

  “How?”

  “The picture I have of me with my sister has moved from my nightstand to the middle of my bed. I’ve seen movement in reflections, like someone’s behind me, and I know I’m home alone. I had a conversation with her a week ago.”

  “Her?” Troy apparently didn’t miss much.

  “Yeah.” Nate took a deep breath. “I think it’s Tate. My twin sister. She died last spring.”

  “I remember the news stories when it happened. I’m sorry.”

  Nate did what he always did when accepting condolences—looked at his hands and mumbled thanks.

  “But you say she’s hanging around? How do you know it’s her?”

  Nate spent the next several minutes explaining how he had a friend who might be sensitive to paranormal events, who had basically confirmed it, though he left out names. He relayed the details of his chat with Tate before he’d returned Mitch’s DVD and the writing on the Jeep’s fogged window.

  “It just feels like her. I can’t explain it, and I really want to talk to her more.”

  “Have you tried a Ouija board?” Troy asked.

  Nate grimaced, feeling silly. “I’m kind of afraid to. You know all those stories about people inviting something horrible by using a board by themselves. Hell, that’s what sparked the little girl’s possession in The Exorcist.”

  “Yeah, but you know it’s your sister, not something worse.”

  “I suppose. Just feels rudimentary, you know? I have tried to think of other ways of doing it, but I know fuck-all about this kind of thing, and googling is a black hole of crazy people trying to exploit grief-stricken families or looking for their fifteen minutes of fame. No thank you.” Nate finished his beer and gestured to see if Troy was ready for another before going to the fridge for round two.

  “You could try automatic writing,” Troy suggested, accepting the cold bottle Nate held out.

  “What is that?”

  “You sit down with a pen and paper and try to clear your mind, emptying yourself of all emotion and distraction. Supposedly, the spirit then taps into your energy and you channel them, and they write what they want you to know.”

  Nate considered that despite how hokey it sounded. “I would want to have a back and forth conversation, though,” he decided. “If I’m channeling someone else, I wouldn’t be aware enough to ask about her, would I?”

  Troy walked to the other side of the room, poking the spines of the books Nate had finally gotten a set of shelves for. “I don’t know. I’ve never done it. My mother said she did, but then the next week, she was chasing Gandhi’s teachings and fasting for spiritual purity. I have no clue if she was faking or not.”

  “There was this one guy online who kind of looked legitimate,” Nate admitted, feeling abashed for considering going to a supposed professional medium, because who knew if they were the real deal. “He’s done some work with police departments in solving missing persons cases and murders. Plus he didn’t have some big schtick, selling his abilities to the public. I couldn’t even find a phone number to figure out if he was for hire.”

  Troy winced. “That guy’s probably super expensive, if he even stoops to dealing with people wanting to talk to their Great Aunt Bertha.”

  Nate stiffened his spine. “As opposed to me wanting to talk to my sister? Why is talking to a dead relative stooping?”

  Troy backpedaled. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant for, like, scamming an inheritance or something. You want to talk to her because you know she’s hanging around and you have the chance to. Hell, I would, too.”

  Letting Troy off the hook, Nate put his beer on the coffee table. “What else is there besides automatic writing and Ouija boards?”

  “All I can think of is a séance,” Troy answered.

  “I don’t know how to do that. Just a bunch of candles and people sitting at a table holding hands, right? What words do you speak to call the dead to you?”

  “Do you have to call her? She’s already here, right?” Troy still looked around as though he could spot signs of paranormal activity.

  “I can’t hear her or see her,” Nate said. “Even if she’s here, I have no way of knowing what she’s saying without some way for her to talk to me.”

  “Well, maybe we can google something about how to do a séance. If you’re specific, you might find something legit you can use off the Internet.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Nate agreed, pulling his laptop out of his backpack beside the couch and booting it up. “Maybe we can search other ways to contact the dead, too. I’m determined enough that I’ll risk going cross-eyed looking through the bullshit to find something workable.”

  Troy moved closer while Nate pulled up a browser window and typed in “how to contact the dead.”

  There were 539,000,000 hits in one second. Mayb
e he wasn’t that determined.

  “Be more specific. Ask about séance procedures.”

  They poked around on a few websites, mostly finding accounts of past séances and people who swore they were real, people who swore they could perform them (for the reasonable rate of $69.95!), and people who swore they were a load of bunk.

  “There, click that.” Troy pointed to a link that promised the most authentic supplies one could buy for a genuine séance. “Maybe it’ll have a ritual book or something.”

  “Can’t you call your mother?” Nate asked, getting frustrated.

  “You said you wanted to talk to Tate for real. My mother is no guarantee of that.”

  They paged through one website that had a short description for the right state of mind in which to conduct a séance, as well as several suggestions for the type of candles and supplies that worked better than others.

  Then the screen went blank.

  “What the…?” Nate asked, taking his hands off the keyboard.

  “Uh oh,” Troy said. “Are you about to get the blue screen of death?”

  “I hope not,” Nate bitched. “This computer is less than a year old, and I don’t want to wipe out my savings on a new one.” But the screen changed, and Nate realized it wasn’t blank at all. “Wait. It’s a Word document.” His jaw dropped when the sound of clicking keys filled the silence.

  Hey, bro.

  Nate stared, mouth slack. It seemed so simple, yet was so elegant. He looked at Troy, who mirrored his astonishment. Troy recovered first, snapping his mouth closed.

  “Do you want me to go?” he asked. “If you’d like some privacy?”

  Nate considered for a moment. “If you don’t mind, could you stay? It’s Tate, but it’s still kind of freaky. Unless… wow, that’s thoughtless of me. You told your mom you didn’t want to help her anymore because you were weirded out. I won’t be upset if you’d rather not be here.” He knew he was babbling, but he wasn’t able to shut it off.

  Troy held up a hand. “Calm down, dude. It’s a little different when you know who you’re talking to. Can I see a picture of her?” He set his beer down and rubbed his palms together, almost as though he were excited by the turn of events.

  “Sure.” Nate scrambled to his room and grabbed the photo that had so offended Mitch and returned to the couch to show it to Troy.

  “Wow, she was easy on the eyes.” Nate glared, and Troy laughed. “Relax, man. It’s not like I can try and steal her virtue. I’m just saying she was pretty.”

  The computer keys clicked again, and Nate and Troy stared as words appeared on the screen.

  Thank you.

  “I guess it’s working,” Troy murmured in awe. “It’s, um, nice to meet you, Tate. Well, sort of meet you.”

  You, too.

  “Is it really you?” Nate asked, leaning forward over the computer only to recoil as he realized he must be in his sister’s way. Or even more disturbing, that she’d have to pass through him to reach the keyboard.

  Yes.

  “How do I know for sure? You could be a demon pretending to be Tate.” He’d read way too many horror novels.

  I snuck you into the house through my bedroom window the night you lost your virginity to Marc Baxter.

  A ripple of intense relief and happiness circled Nate, followed by embarrassment. “What’d I tell you about outing people, Tate?” Not that he cared if Troy knew his orientation. The guy had mentioned the same-sex honeymooners without batting an eye. A hand landed on Nate’s shoulder, and he looked up.

  Troy stifled a laugh. “No big deal, bud.”

  “I know,” Nate said, going back to the computer screen to read the next message.

  Oops. Sorry. I haven’t talked to people in soooooooo long. At least not so they could talk back. I guess I’ve lost my social grace. ;-)

  Nate couldn’t stop a pang of loneliness on Tate’s behalf, despite her little smiley face. “Has it been really bad where you are?”

  Not really. I’m still with you and have been since the moment I saw you and Mom and Dad at the hospital. I was really frustrated when you didn’t know I was here. Tried everything to get you to notice me. Which grossed me out, feeling like a teenage kid going after a crush when you’re my brother!

  “Is this hard for you, talking on the computer?” He wanted to know how long they had. Her lengthy answer to his last question made him think she was good and strong, but he honestly had no idea.

  Not hard. Taking energy from the electricity. I feel powerful right now. Won’t last, though.

  “Can I ask a question?” Troy said. Nate had honestly forgotten the guy was sitting beside him, reading over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, go ahead.”

  Sure.

  “What’s being dead like?” Troy scooted eagerly forward. “My mother will flip her shit when I tell her I talked to a ghost, and I’d like to know what to tell her.”

  Nate nodded, wanting the answer himself, not to slake his curiosity but to gauge how easy this existence was on his sister.

  It’s got its good points. I overhear LOTS of juicy gossip. Kind of make myself scarce when Nate needs privacy, because ew, awkward. Though I did like the guy before your last hookup, bro. Mainly, I follow Nate around, which is cool, because he’s skiing again, and OMG I MISS IT. I’m attached to him the same way I was attached to my reaper, so I don’t actually have a choice. I’m haunting a person, not a place.

  “Reaper?” Nate’s blood ran cold. “As in grim reaper?”

  Yeah. He explained things to me right after I died, told me every soul has a reaper who helps them move on to the next level, whatever that is. He was kinda new, so he didn’t answer a lot of questions, and I couldn’t ask because even though he could see me, he couldn’t hear me. He said he attached to my soul just before my death, and when my heart stopped, I went to his side, out in the hospital hallway.

  “He was there at the hospital?” Nate asked, incredulous. “Did we see him?”

  Probably. He was dressed as an orderly, pretending to wait until you and Mom and Dad left the room so he could transport my body to the morgue. He was there for my soul, though.

  “That’s fucking creepy,” Troy said, reaching for his beer and taking a sip.

  Kind of, but only when you think about the dead body bit and that I’m a ghost now.

  “So why didn’t you move on?” Nate asked, equal parts glad she hadn’t, considering he was talking to her again, and sad for her. Would she get the chance to move on later, or was she stuck? Would she get another reaper? Would someone show up and take her from him again? His chest burst with sudden pain, and he massaged his sternum, trying to dispel it. One thing at a time.

  He took me to where Mom and Dad were waiting for word that I was gone after the machines were turned off. He told me to say goodbye, and when you came out of the room, I could say goodbye to you, too. I wasn’t allowed to go near my body again. He said it was dangerous but didn’t explain why. After that, some kind of door was supposed to appear for me with instructions for the next level so I’d know what to do. The door never showed up.

  Nate frowned. “Why not?”

  I don’t exactly know. You came out of the hospital room, found Mom and Dad, and sat there like a zombie for I can’t say how long. I crawled into your lap to say goodbye, and the next thing I knew, when you were leaving the hospital, I was bouncing along after you, and my reaper was going apeshit about how I needed to stay with him. But I couldn’t.

  A niggle of memory jogged loose in Nate’s mind, and he remembered—barely—leaving the hospital with his parents after Tate’s machines were shut off and she’d gone. As dazed as he’d been, nearly choking on grief, a man in scrubs had run up behind them and shouted at thin air.

  You can’t go with them! You have to stay with me!

  Nate had been jarred out of his stupor long enough to startle, expecting the guy’s vehemence to be aimed at him somehow. It was almost as if the man knew the struggles he’d f
ace with his parents in the coming months and how stifled he and Tate had been feeling since beginning classes at Dartmouth. He’d even thought then would be a perfect time to peel off from following his parents and disappear. God knew he couldn’t take any more pressure from his dad, especially without Tate.

  But the man hadn’t been looking at him. He’d stared just beside Nate, talking to no one. Or so he’d thought.

  It had been enough for Nate to turn and follow his parents, get into the back of their car, and go home. He hadn’t wanted to miss Tate’s funeral anyway.

  “I remember that,” he said. “Security grabbed the guy and after that, I stopped paying attention.”

  He was yelling at me. But I couldn’t help where you were pulling me.

  “So you’re what, attached to your brother instead of a reaper?” Troy chimed in.

  Yes. Like a kick-ass balloon.

  “Reapers are real,” Troy said, blinking in awe and staring at Nate. “My mother’s going to freakin’ die.” He turned to the computer quickly. “No offense.”

  Haha, none taken. Nate dated a reaper.

  “What?” Nate shouted and stood, the beer in his hand forgotten as he stared at the screen.

  That Mitch guy with the adorable dog. He’s a reaper.

  “How do you know?” Nate demanded.

  They have a light of some kind around them. My guy had an acid green one, and I can’t explain it, but it felt insecure. It’s weird, and all I can think to call it is an aura, but I don’t know what it is. They sort of show what kind of emotions the reaper is dealing with, but I don’t think they even know they’re there. Mitch’s is aqua, which turns almost white when he’s mad and goes nearly royal blue when he’s happy. He was royal blue a lot around you.

  Nate reeled. It was all too bizarre. First, the revelation that his sister had been tagging along with him since her death, and now this, that there were people walking among them who could take their souls at any moment. Nate had no reason to doubt Tate’s account, but if people couldn’t communicate with her, how had she gotten her information?

  She had a reaper herself, he thought. Which kind of makes her an authority, doesn’t it?