Jeepers Reapers: There Goes My Midlife Crisis

by Marianne Morea

  She raised a hand. Her subtext loud and clear. Shut up, I’m concentrating.

  Moments ticked by like hours. Finally, she walked trance-like toward the potted trees, stopping short of the shadows as if something halted her in her tracks.

  Not a leaf moved, and the air was suddenly thick and heavy. “Your Emmie hasn’t moved on, but it wasn’t her you sensed. Whatever was here came to assess you.”

  The hair on my arms stood porn star erect. “What do you mean exactly?”

  “Sizing you up.” Thea backed away from the shadows before turning to walk the rest of the way. “As you would an adversary before a clash. Still, only one was confrontational. The other, I’m not sure.”

  Her words froze the breath in my lungs. This wasn’t something clinical. There was nothing wrong with my brain or my eyes. The weird was real. My heart bashed against my chest hard enough to crack a rib.

  “This is my house! I don’t care if they held hands and danced a polka around my roof. I refuse to be scared off like a child.” I bristled, throwing up a hand. “Adversary? Confrontation? I don’t think so. I didn’t invite this. I don’t want this. This can take a flying leap off my roof.”

  I turned on my heel for the roof door, but before I could take a step, three birds screeched from the shadows. They were blacker than night, and the length of my arm in size with twice the wingspan. They circled the rooftop once before veering toward the sky.

  “What the fuck?” I stared after them, half crouching.

  Thea hooked her arm under my elbow, helping me up. “You don’t often see karma react in real time, but there you go.”

  I turned, incredulous. “Karma? What did I do to deserve crows dive bombing my head?”

  “They were ravens, honey. Not crows.”

  “Who cares!”

  Thea gave my arm a shake. “You should. Something is sending you a message. For whatever reason, it has fixated on you, and we need to figure out what will evict it from your roof and hopefully, your life. Burying your head is not the answer.”

  “I didn’t invite this, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I lifted my chin. “I don’t dabble in the occult. Hell, I leave the breakroom whenever you pull out your tarot cards! And I’ve never touched a Ouija board. So why is this happening?”

  Thea shrugged. “I can’t say. I can tell you this much, though. The entities that showed themselves to you are not spirits, yet they’re not people, either.”

  “Are you saying they’re something in between? Like zombies? Something undead?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Louisa. I don’t know what this is, but there’s conflict here. You might not dabble, but they certainly have. I can smell it on them.”

  “What do you mean you can smell it on them?”

  The word brimstone banged inside my head. I could deal with a ghost or two, maybe. But something demonic? Hells no.

  “I don’t mean an actual smell. More like a vibration.”

  I relaxed a notch. No Eau du Hell. Good. “So, you’re saying what, then? That it’s more like a gut feeling?”

  Thea shrugged, steering us both toward the door. “I can’t explain it. All I can say is they feel connected to death.”

  I stopped short. “Are you saying those birds were a kind of harbinger? I have trouble enough with birds, let alone kamikaze ones. Growing up, I was taught birds were bad luck. Unless they pooped on your head. Then it was all good. Italian superstition. Go figure.”

  “How is it good luck if a fowl fouls your head?”

  “I never understood it, either.” I scanned the roof and what was left of the cheese and crackers. “Look, can we get out of here? I’m creeped out enough, and the idea of lurking rats make it worse.”

  “You’ve got paranormal shadow stalkers, and you’re creeped out by rodents?”

  “Rodents, adversarial entities. One unwanted pest as a time.” I linked my arm with hers. “And on that note, we both need a problem-sized glass of wine. After that you can do your hoodoo and clear my space.”

  Thea reached inside her neckline, pulling a doobie from her décolleté. “First, we both need to relax.”

  The same chill I felt twice today wrapped around my spine, but I didn’t turn around. Instead, I slammed the door and shot the bolt, but not before faint laughter brushed my ear again.

  Chapter Four

  I SCANNED THEA’S CHICKEN SCRATCH list of items to cleanse my space and banish bad energy.

  She smudged the house with a small braid of sage she brought with her, but it wasn’t enough, which meant a new-age shopping spree for me. I had some items in my pantry, like sea salt and bay laurel, but where did she think I’d find the rest of this stuff?

  Turning the scrap of paper over, I found the name and address of a new-age shop scribbled on the back.

  “Well, ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer.”

  Exhaling, I put the hoodoo list on my night table and then dug out a nightie from my dresser. “You asked her to help…correction, begged…begged her to help, so be grateful.” I jammed my arms through the nightgown’s sleeves, tugging the garment over my head.

  “You’re talking to yourself again, love.”

  With a start, I twisted around inside my tangled nightie, peering through the neck hole to the dresser mirror.

  “Holy shit!”

  “Did you really think I’d depart without saying a proper goodbye?” Emmie laughed, looking back at me from the silvered glass.

  My own reflection was there as well, but Emily stood beside it in negative space. Wrangling my nightgown the rest of the way down, my mouth went dry as I stared slack-jawed at the mirror.

  “It’s good to see you, Louie Belle.”

  “You’re dead.”

  “That would be correct.”

  Taking an involuntary step backward, my head went back and forth in denial. “I’m stoned. Simple. Thank you, Thea.”

  “You’re not stoned.” Emily grinned. “Well, maybe a little.”

  “If I’m not stoned, then I’m asleep, and this whole day has been one God-awful dream.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, but when I opened them again, Emmie waved at me from the mirror.

  “Squinch your eyes all you want, lovey, but I’m not going anywhere until you hear what I came to say.”

  “But you’re dead.”

  “We’ve already established that, dear.” The statement earned an indulgent smile. One of Emmie’s trademarks for tiresome conversations.

  “Thea sensed you hadn’t moved on, but I didn’t believe her. Not at first.”

  “You should. Thea has a gift. One you’ll come to appreciate soon enough.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Don’t you think I’ve been freaked out enough lately?” My brows knotted, and I scrubbed my eyes with both palms. “It’s been two weeks of crazy, and now I’m having a conversation with my dead friend in a mirror.”

  “I am your friend, Louisa, and you mine.” Emmie’s smile seemed so real it made my heart clench. “I watched everything you did for me today. And for George. You don’t know how much I love you for it. I’ll need you to look in on him a little more often. He’s not taking my passing as well as I had hoped.”

  Emily looked real enough to touch, but when I reached out a hand, there was only cold glass.

  “Two weeks of weird shadows, then death vibrations on the roof, and now this.” I pulled my hand back from the mirror. “A person’s life doesn’t go from normal to screwball in less than a fortnight without a reason.”

  “You’re right. I should’ve explained things when I had the chance. I should’ve told you everything, but I can’t anymore. All will be made clear very soon.”

  “No, Em. That’s not good enough. If I went to the hospital and they found a hidden mass in my parietal cortex, I’d have an answer then and there. Why can’t you tell me?”

  “Your friend, Thea, was dead right. Pun intended. My spirit hasn’t moved on, but I’m not at liberty to tell you why. You
’ll just have to trust me.”

  Emmie turned at that moment, and I jerked for her, reaching for the mirror. “Em! No! I’ll listen. I promise! And I won’t question whatever it is you have to say. Just stay with me a little longer.”

  Another figure appeared in the distance behind Emily. A woman. She seemed ageless as she walked toward Emmie, yet something about her felt old. Ancient, even.

  “Emmie. We’ve got company.”

  Elegant in patent-leather slingback stilettos and a fitted black dress with a fishtail hem, the woman held a serene, yet probing expression. Her hair was long and dark, with a single shock of silver to one side. Very upmarket chic.

  “It’s time, Emily.” The woman held out her hand without a spare look for me.

  “Rude much? Emmie and I are in the middle of a conversation.”

  The woman turned dark eyes toward me, and an icy chill spread across my skin.

  “You’re sure she’s the one?” she asked, keeping an unblinking gaze trained on me.

  Emmie nodded.

  “Okay then.” She took Emmie’s hand, and the two turned, their images receding into an elongated path of light.

  “Wait! Emmie!” Ignoring the bitter cold, I touched the mirror again, leaning close enough for my breath to fog the glass.

  The old woman looked over her shoulder, and her smile was contented. Joyful even. “I’ll see you soon, Lou. I told you. You’re a keeper. Remember, memories hold power. They can be the key that helps you let go.”

  Emily blew me a kiss. Seconds later, she and the strange, elegant woman vanished, leaving only my reflection looking back from the mirror.

  White knuckled, I gripped the edge of my dresser. I stared at the glass before pushing myself back. What did Emmie mean? Was she even there at all, or was she a stress induced hallucination? Was the weirdness on the roof the same, or a harbinger like Thea said?

  At this point it didn’t matter anymore. Emmie was dead. And that wasn’t going to change no matter who sensed what or where they sensed it.

  Still, did Emmie’s words mean I was going to die soon? I shook off a cold, clammy feeling, dismissing it.

  Emily always shot from the hip. She’d never cause unnecessary worry by being cryptic. For as long as I knew the old woman, Em had no patience for that. In fact, she considered it rude to play cat and mouse with people. Especially when something was of import.

  With a tired breath, I turned for my bed. My cellphone was on the nightstand next to Thea’s hoodoo list. Emmie said trust Thea’s gut. Should I fill her in on the latest installment of my strange new world?

  Shaking my head, I pulled the covers back and climbed underneath. There was something comforting about crisp, clean sheets against the skin, and my body relaxed against the normalcy of it, despite all the bizarre.

  Was what I saw and heard for real? It certainly felt that way. What about that elegant woman? Who was she, and what was her connection to Emmie?

  I burrowed deeper under the covers, and uneasy laughter broke free. “Coming to a reflective surface near you! The Dead and Loving It tour, in Let’s fuck with the living and not say why!”

  Punching a lump in my pillow, I rolled onto my side. So much for wanting an all clear. It was more like all metaphysical-systems-go-for-launch.

  Emmie acknowledged Thea was right about her not moving on, but Em didn’t say a word about what called my name on the roof. Or why it divebombed my head in the form of ravens.

  Settling back, I stared at the ceiling. “I’ll see you soon,” I repeated Emmie’s words. Was that a comfort or warning?

  The strain of the day took its toll, and the last of my energy leeched into nothingness. Sleep found me, but it wasn’t peaceful. I floated inside a vivid twilight, straddling wakefulness and oblivion, in the place dreams lived.

  I walked through Jefferson Street Park, the path glowing with a curious, muted light. Everything was quiet. Strangely so. Tents dotted the grass, but no one slept al fresco, despite the soft weather.

  Looking across the green to Emmie’s tent, the same muted light from the path glowed inside its nylon walls. The tent’s zipper was open, with one flap tied back. Someone had taken up residence in Em’s place.

  Anger welled. My friend had been dead one day. One stinking day. Exhaling, I let the jagged wave ebb the way Emmie taught me. People needed what they needed, and who was I to say no?

  I squinted into the dim light to see which of the park residents had claimed the vacant tent. The closer I got, the more unsure I became. Emmie was dead, but there was something eerily familiar about the shadow against the inside nylon. Eerily familiar, as in Emmie-shaped.

  “Em?”.

  No reply made me pick up my pace until I was close enough to peer through the open tent flap.

  Stunned, I held my breath. Was this some kind of cruel joke? Emily was inside the tent. She looked the same as ever, except she didn’t answer. In fact, she didn’t seem aware of me at all.

  “Emmie?”

  The old woman didn’t reply, and she didn’t look up. Instead, she continued placing items into a strange box.

  In three years’ time, I had never seen this box. Wooden, with unusual markings. And I didn’t find one like it when George and I sorted Em’s things.

  Stranger still were the ordinary items Emily stowed inside. A perfume atomizer. A letter opener. A small, round music box.

  The oddest item was a pair of red sparkly slippers. Where did Emmie get this stuff and why?

  The tent opening shimmered, and I took that as a welcome. I reached to push the flap aside, but jerked my hand back as if scalded.

  “Ow! Shit!” I cradled my hand against my chest. The opening wasn’t hot. It was cold. As in liquid nitrogen-burn-your-skin cold.

  “They’re waiting, Em.”

  I jerked around at the voice. The same dark-haired woman from the mirror waited on the path, only the path was no longer asphalt. Paving stones replaced blacktop, and the muted light now glowed an iridescent gold around each rectangular brick.

  “Ruby slippers and a yellow brick road. Who does that make me? Dorothy?”

  Emmie closed the curio box. On its lid was a strange gold sigil, glowing like the pavers. The symbol wasn’t familiar at all. In fact, it didn’t resemble anything I’d seen in all my years as a librarian. It was occult. But from where and what kind?

  “You’re dreaming, Lou,” George’s wheezy chuckle answered from behind. “If you’re Dorothy, then I suppose that makes the old girl, Auntie Em. Get it?”

  At his familiar laugh, I turned. Of course, George was nowhere to be seen. I pivoted back just as quickly, but everything had gone. Emmie. The tent. Even the park.

  “Remember, Lou.” Georgie’s voice drifted from the emptiness. “There’s no place like home, and home is where the heart lives...”

  I woke with a start, sitting bolt up. My hand stung like crazy, and when I lifted it to see why, my breath locked. A shape similar to the box’s strange sigil burned at the center of my palm.

  “What the—”

  Curling my fingers into my hand, I squeezed my eyes closed and let an expletive fly. When I opened them again, I found nothing but smooth, unmarked skin.

  “This is so not funny, Emmie!” I rubbed my palm with my thumb. “Your ghost buddies need to stop messing with me!”

  I inhaled. I needed sleep, minus the dreams, and right now only one thing guaranteed that.

  Getting up, I padded to the bathroom to rummage through the medicine cabinet. “Jay Z got it right, but the city isn’t the only thing that never sleeps, so I’m slipping me an Ambien.”

  Uncapping the prescription bottle, I tapped two white tablets into my palm. The same palm that had disappearing markings.

  “Here goes nothing.” Without missing a beat, I swallowed both pills and then closed the cap before padding back to bed. “Next stop, Land of Nod. Go directly to sleep. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200…”

  Chapter Five

  I SAT BEH
IND THE REFERENCE DESK with my elbow on the table, and my chin in my hand, as an Ambien hangover thudded behind my eyeballs.

  Welcome to forty.

  Not that I had big plans. Losing Emmie put the kibosh on wanting to celebrate anything. That, and the unwelcome presence on my roof last night. Not to mention that weird ass dream.

  The sleeping pills I took did their job. All sleep. No dreams. Except I took them too late, earning me the top slot on Alistair’s shit list for being late. Again.

  Happy birthday me.

  With a stifled yawn, I lifted one hand to my stiff neck, lifting my face to the library’s vaulted windows. Their bright stained glass usually cheered me, but even their muted light made me wince.

  “Happy birthday, bubbaleh!” Marigold chirped, stopping opposite the reference desk with her book cart. “Ugh. Honey, you look awful!”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  The older woman raised a thin, pencil-lined eyebrow. “I may be old, but I can still recognize a dirty stay out when I see one. Forty’s a milestone! That means you’re entitled to a hangover and a hung over.

  “A hung over? I don’t even want to ask.”

  “Ha! I’ll tell you anyway my shayne maydel. Hung as in like a horse!” Marigold cracked a smile, and like always, there was more lipstick on her teeth than on her lips. “I hope he was worth it.”

  “Goldie, please.” I winced. “My head feels like I snorted your hairspray.”

  Marigold had been volunteering at the library since God was a boy. Like Thea, she was a character in her own right, with an old-fashioned wash and set beehive requiring a full can of spray to maintain.

  Her coif was four different shades of red, and its style made her head seem three times the size. Still, Marigold was as much of a sweetie as she was a nudge and a busybody.

  Her snort of a laugh made me smile, but Alistair’s appearance from the back stacks left that short lived.

  “Ms. Jericho. How nice of you to join us.” Alistair’s presence cast a pall over the library, but in the gentle hues from the stained glass, he looked slightly less pasty today. “You do realize it’s almost lunchtime.”

  The question was obviously rhetorical, but I answered anyway. “I can read a clock, same as you, Alistair. If you check your inbox, you’ll find I sent an email this morning saying I’d be late.”