by Leo Hunt
I wait in the yard opposite my gate for an hour, maybe more. I see the Heretic go wandering out the front door, screaming, orange flames playing around his shoulders. He makes it to the gate and then disappears. The postman pulls up in his cheerful red van and, unbelievably, doesn’t notice the butcher’s shop that has been set up in my front garden. He strolls up the drive, drops some advertisements through our letter box, and drives away.
The final visitor appears as I’m preparing to leave. My possessed body comes strolling down the road, still humming to itself, sneakers and jeans covered in mud. It walks with a loose, easy stride, hands swinging. It’s terrifying and fascinating to see yourself walk, see your own eyes shine with a pleasure you don’t share.
Getting near Elza is tricky. My house is warded by one type of magic, hers by another. Her hazel charms, these eight-pointed stars of wood that she carves herself, are hung in trees and bushes all over Towen Crescent. Before I was a spirit I’d never realized how many of them she’d made. Individually they don’t do much, just emit this weird hum when I get up close to them, but when I try to actually get anywhere near number 19, the hum rises to a scream, like a supersonic plane taking off, and I can’t take even one step farther. I’m stuck a few paces from her front gate, walking against something that feels like a raging wall of wind. I make my way around her house, hazel charms whining in my ears, looking for any way of getting inside and talking to her, but the place is locked up tight. When I’ve completed my circuit, I come back out to the front of the house and find Elza standing in the doorway, glaring out into the street. I raise my hand in greeting and her face falls.
“Luke,” she says, “I’m so sorry for everything.”
Ham pokes his fluffy face around her legs.
“Look,” I say, “running off in a snit last night was a jerk move. You’re forgiven. It’s probably best you weren’t there. Can you let me into your house?”
“I’m not sure how to say this, but . . . you’re dead.”
“No, Elza, no. I’m not dead.”
“You’re a ghost, Luke. I’m so sorry! You can’t get near my house because of the hazel charms. I felt something trying to break them. I assumed it was one of your Host. I came outside to try to see what it was. You’re a ghost.”
“No, listen, OK —”
“Denial doesn’t make it easier on either of us, Luke. I know it’s hard, but . . . you died.”
“I’m not dead. My body is still walking around.”
“Your body is what?”
“I went through the park, and my body was there. Like, sitting with my friends. Then it went up a hill and it . . . it ate an entire bird.”
“So you’re possessed?”
“Yeah.”
“So the Host didn’t kill you? I mean, I suppose they can’t, but . . . what have they done to you?”
“They did enough. The Vassal, he’s gone. My dad’s demon ate him. The Shepherd’s in control. I think they severed me from my body somehow, and now the demon is driving it around. They locked me out of my house, too. There’s a magic . . . barrier, a wall.”
Elza comes down to her garden gate. Ham bounds after her.
“So you’re still alive,” she says.
“Kind of. I think I’ve been . . . evicted. They must have some other plan to actually kill me and get free.”
“Which might require them having use of your body. I see.”
“They’ve got it all worked out.”
Elza runs her fingers through her hair.
“Look, can I come into your house?” I ask.
“Oh, sorry.”
She comes out through the gate, Ham trotting at her heels. It’s insane to think that Elza used to be this anonymous background figure in my life. I’m struck by how incredibly glad I am to see her, even though she ran away last night. When only one person in town can see you and talk to you, it’s a lot easier to forgive them. She takes one of the hazel charms out of her hedge and speaks to it.
“This stranger is welcome.”
She raises the star of wood up to my forehead. There’s no flash of light or burst of intense cold or any of the things I’ve come to expect from magic, but the deafening shrill of the charms fades, and I find I can float into Elza’s front garden without a problem.
“I wasn’t sure if that would work,” she remarks.
“You’ve never tried it before?”
“You’re the first ghost I’ve ever been on good terms with.”
“Where did you learn to make those?”
“I was thirteen and found some of them at my grandma’s house. They were in an attic, really old. Like I said, my parents don’t have second sight, but some of my ancestors must’ve. There was something about them that was . . . interesting to me. I looked them up and found they were a folk ward against the dead. No more ghosts in our house after that.”
Ham keeps trying to jump at me and greet me, but he passes through my legs. He’s increasingly bewildered, staring at me like I’m playing a trick on him.
“Anyway,” she says, “let’s go inside? I can’t stand out here talking to myself.”
I follow Elza and Ham through into her kitchen. Nothing’s changed in here. The sink is full of dirty pans, like sunken oil-leaking warships. A fly is head-butting the window.
“So what happened to you?” I ask.
“Luke, I want you to know how sorry I am. I should have stuck with you . . . it’s just, I’m proud. I’m too proud. All I could think after that bitch drenched me was ‘I came here to save her, and she didn’t deserve it.’ And that was wrong. She did deserve it. Being a good person isn’t just about rescuing the people you like and leaving the rest to hang.
“I made it about halfway down Wight Hill when I came to my senses. I knew I couldn’t just leave you. I was on my way back up to the party, and I felt they were there. This was just after midnight. I tried to get the doors open and I couldn’t and it was so cold. I could see people’s shapes through the windows, and nobody was moving. I could feel black magic, like this sickness in my head, coming out from the house. I tried to get back in but . . . I don’t know. I must’ve passed out. I woke up in the front yard at eight this morning. I must’ve slept all night there. People were waking up inside the house, so I just got out of there. I’ve been calling you, but —”
“It’s all right. Really. There was some sort of spell, everyone at the party just blacked out. You were right. I didn’t have a plan. I had nothing. I managed to get the Judge in my power somehow, with the sigil, but they had everyone else hostage. They were going to kill Holiday. I gave up the sigil and the Book, and they . . . this demon, the Fury . . . ate the Vassal, and cut me loose from my body.”
“Right,” Elza says. “The Host has the sigil and the Book of Eight. So your dad’s notes are no good to us until we get those back.”
“Any plans on how we’ll do that?”
“Not a clue. You?”
“I want my body back before we do anything else. And my mum . . . Mum’s in there with them. I can’t get in to see her. I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning. I need to see her. I need to know how she is. They must want her for something, but I don’t know what. . . . I need to see her.”
“If I could hug you,” Elza says, “I would.”
Mrs. Moss comes back from her Saturday shift at the county hospital in the afternoon. Elza’s mum is short and soft-looking, with a wide face and curly rust-colored hair. I assume Elza gets her height and severe features from her dad. Her mum wears a stained fleece over a nurse’s pale-blue uniform, and her hair is slicked down by rain. She comes into the kitchen and begins clattering the pasta pans, yelling upstairs for Elza to come and clean them, like she was meant to do yesterday. There’s this weird thrill in knowing that only Elza can see or hear me. I could potentially follow her mum around for the rest of her life, get to know her better than anyone else on the planet. Elza’s mum herself is probably not the best candidate for this, but I’m wi
lling to bet there are lives worth subscribing to.
Elza flumps downstairs and sets about washing the pans in the most dramatic way she can manage, huffing and deliberately slopping water down the front of the sink, while Elza’s mum sits with Ham’s heavy head in her lap and asks Elza if she doesn’t think maybe she’s a little old to throw a fit over being asked to clean up.
“I was busy.”
“I’m sure. When is your friend going to come and collect this dog?”
“Like I told you, Luke’s mum is ill. You don’t get handed a timetable when you’re sick. I said we’d take care of Ham for a few days is all.”
“You should’ve asked me before you made promises like that. And it’s been a few days now, surely.”
“It’s been one night, Mum.”
“Why don’t you call and ask when he can take the dog back?”
“I don’t want to bother him.”
“I see. You don’t want to ‘come on too strong.’ ”
“We are friends. You start buzzing like a spy satellite whenever I mention a male name. It’s pathetic.”
“Your father and I have been married a long time,” says Elza’s mum with a little smirk, which I recognize from Elza’s own face. “I have to vicariously experience a love life through my only daughter.”
Elza laughs, and I realize what I thought was tension between them is a long-running game. Elza’s mum scratches at Ham’s ears, and I feel fairly confident I can leave him at the Moss place for as long as I need to. That’s one small problem sorted out. Maybe they’ll adopt him if the worst happens.
I haven’t even left a will or anything.
Elza and her mum start work on some kind of pie. They talk about the dreary weather, about the shifts Elza’s mum got at the hospital. When the pie is in the oven, Elza catches my eye and nods toward the hall, and I move out into it, passing through the wall, which is something I’ve started to enjoy.
“Look,” she whispers, “this is sort of awkward, but do you mind leaving for a while?”
“Sorry?”
“My house, Luke. I’ve never particularly liked talking with real people when there are ghosts around; it’s like having someone listening on the line while you’re on the phone. The fact that I know you personally is making it even more weird.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Not at all. You’ve been very quiet and polite. I’m just not sure if I can deal with talking to my mum any more while you listen in. It feels unfair to her. I hope you’re not offended.”
“I hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest.”
“Plus, I mean, it’s not like you’ll get cold outside at night. And I’ve been getting more and more worried about the demon driving your body around. About what would happen if it decided to come here.”
“Your charms won’t keep it away?”
“I think they would. But it could be hiding just down the road, for all I know. Waiting for the next time I have to go buy milk. If you could find it, I’d feel much safer.”
I rise up like a puff of steam, the amazing insubstantial man, melting up through the dust-smothered attic of Elza’s house and then through the roof into the night sky. I stop about fifty feet off the ground. Dunbarrow is spread out beneath me; the houses look like fantastically detailed models. I can see someone hurrying down the street, her umbrella spasming, turned inside out in the wind. I’ve no idea where to even start looking.
I head for the center of town. It’s Saturday night, I realize; one week ago I was over at Kirk’s place without a care in the world, didn’t even know Dad was dead. I sink down toward the town square. It’s surrounded by pubs, and I see the standard crowd milling around, gangs of lads in polo shirts, and lurching girls wearing heels. There are doormen, too, done up like mafia butlers, hard-boiled egg heads and long black coats. I’m watching them, hovering at roof height, wondering if I’m even going to make it past Halloween. If Mum will, if Elza will. Wondering if I’m going to make it to eighteen, ever be able to drive, ever actually be able to go into one of these pubs and buy a drink. There’s still so much I haven’t done, so much the Host is trying to take away from me.
As I’m about to leave, I hear someone shouting my name in the crowd.
“Luke!”
I pause in midair. There is definitely someone waving directly at me, a guy standing in the town square, someone I don’t know. He’s wearing a pink polo shirt. As I watch, a couple of girls walk straight through him. The ghost beckons me and then walks off through the wall behind him into a club called Vibe.
I follow him in. I’ve never been in here before — the bouncers are very keen on seeing people’s IDs. It’s pretty much what I expected: sticky dance floor, drunk people, a dry-ice machine. A table in the club’s upper balcony seems to be populated by ghosts. Three of them are boys about my age, one of them the guy in the polo shirt who called to me. They’re all dressed in sportswear, hair gelled forward into wet-looking spikes. The other two at the table are the Judge and the Oracle. I pause at the sight of the shaved-headed ghost, but he just stares down at his pint of beer.
“All right, boss,” he says.
“Judge. What are you doing here?”
“Ah, these lads come in every weekend. We got talking outside, they invited us along. Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“They called me in,” I say with a shrug. I suppose the Shepherd gave him a night off.
“Luke, mate, good to meet you,” says one of the young guys.
“Do I know you?”
“I’m Andy. This is Jack and Ryan. We used to live here. In Dunbarrow.”
“OK,” I say. “You seem a bit familiar.”
“It’s embarrassing,” says Jack.
“Could’ve happened to anyone,” says the Judge indulgently.
“Makes us look like dickheads though.”
“You all died at once?” I ask them.
“Car crash,” says Ryan. “He was driving.”
He points at Andy, who rolls his eyes.
“Never let that go, will you?”
“He was drunk,” says Ryan.
“So were you!”
“I think I remember this,” I say. “Three years ago? You were in the papers.”
“They said we were taken away too soon,” says Jack.
“Know how that is,” says the Judge. “I got cut down in the prime of my flowering as well.”
“How did you die?” I ask him.
“Fight, boss. Took a brick to the head. Good night.”
“That’s grim,” I say.
“Don’t even remember it too well, boss, tell the truth.”
“Speaking of being cracked over the head, Judge . . .”
“Ah, I knew you’d start with that —” he begins.
“You sided with the Shepherd!”
“Listen, boss, I was backing the winning horse. You know how it is.”
“No, I don’t know how it is. They’re going to kill me, Judge. You’re helping them.”
“A key that fits no lock,” says the Oracle.
“You what?” Ryan asks her.
“For what it’s worth, boss, I’m sorry. What happened with the Vassal —”
“That was horrible.”
“He never said it would be like that! Never said they’d eat anyone!”
“So you already know each other?” the boy named Andy asks me.
“We go back,” I say.
“The book is a labyrinth,” says the Oracle.
“If you’re sorry, then why don’t you help me?” I ask.
“I can’t,” says the Judge.
“Big guy like you? I thought you stood up for yourself,” I say.
“They’ll cut me up, too, boss. You can’t stop that dog-headed bastard from eating me, so I’m no use to you. Even if I wanted to be. Which I don’t.”
“All right,” I say, “forget it. I didn’t want any of this to happen either.”
There’s a lull
in the music, and then a new track rushes up to fill the silence.
“So you come here all the time?” I ask Jack.
“Most Saturdays, yeah. Just helps you remember, you know?”
“We miss coming here,” says Ryan.
“We watch the rugby games, too. That’s how we know you.”
“Right . . .”
“How did you die?” Andy asks me.
“I’m not actually dead,” I say. “It’s . . . weird. I’m trying to get back into my body. Some of his”— I nod at the Judge — “friends took it from me. I’m trying to find it right now.”
There’s a general silence. The boys give one another looks.
“Can’t help you,” Jack says at last. “Haven’t seen it.”
“Good luck, though,” Andy says.
“You will meet a man with unlined hands,” says the Oracle.
“You gotta cut that out, love,” the Judge tells her. “Shepherd ain’t gonna like that.”
“Does she actually make prophecies?” I ask.
“Do-lally, boss. Don’t make a lick of sense. Never understood why your pa kept her around. Must’ve seen something in her. She’s sort of me opposite number, you know? I’m all hard truths; she’s all vapors and visions. Maybe you need both of us in a Host for some balance.”
A really drunk girl in a black dress sits in the same seat as Jack, and they look like a horrible double-exposed photograph. Then she shivers and gets back up and staggers away from the ghosts’ table. I resolve, if I end up dead, that I’m not going to haunt a tacky club in Dunbarrow.
“Who knows?” I say to the skinhead after a moment. “Enjoy your night, Judge, Oracle, lads.”
I fly up through the ceiling, arrowing through the roof of Vibe and into the sky. I fly across the town, leaving the bright-lit square and the rows of shuttered shops, pass over the silvery strip of the river and past the park’s bandstand, its duck ponds and bales of orange leaves. I’m about to head back for Elza’s place, with no idea where my body might be hiding, when I hear someone shouting my name and turn in midair, back toward the town center.
Ryan flies toward me, cutting low through the trees.
“Told the skinhead I’d gone to hover in the girl’s bathrooms,” he says.