Hours passed, light changed. I never moved. Time was nothing to me now, and I had since learned patience. That was how the days usually passed for me.
Usually.
A thick, summer fog started creeping in from the bay and spreading across the lawn, its ghost-like movement almost putting me to sleep. Then I remembered I didn’t sleep anymore, and snapped myself out of it just as the pin-pricked sensation of spiky goose bumps erupted all over me like a fever, making me restless.
I began roaming through the neighborhood to scope the place out, drifting up the hill and across the lawn to Claire’s front porch, and then back again to the end of the dock. The chills seemed to come and go, making me feel foolish, like I was playing hide-and-seek with someone who wasn’t even there. A few months ago, I’d have said I didn’t have time for this…but, as it so happened, I had all the time in the world.
When I drifted back to my familiar spot under the tree, the chills came back even stronger, like ice water on the back of my neck. A wispy thread of fog started circling up my legs and spiraling around my throat, like it was trying to choke me. I gasped and brushed it off, then shifted away from the tree, out to the dock. The sounds of crickets and lapping water broke the silence as I turned in circles at the edge of the lake, my eyes scanning the darkness.
Who was out there? What was out there?
“Hello?” I called.
Something came up behind me.
I spun around to find the small, black eyes of a ghostly intruder watching me, just inches away. I held my non-existent breath.
“We finally meet,” he said with a deep, but surprisingly soft, voice.
At first glance, he didn’t look much older than eighteen or nineteen. He was unbelievably pale (like growing-up-in-a-cave pale), with a mass of black hair piled on top of his head like a Mohawk. His black eyes kept darting back and forth, like he was trying to focus on my face, but didn’t know how. I immediately sized him up, and figured he wasn’t any bigger or stronger than me (from what I could tell in the dark, the fog, and without a mirror for a decent comparison). Although I wasn’t scared of him, there was still something about him that gave me the creeps.
“I’ve been waiting so long for this,” he spoke again, pointing a finger at me.
I leaned away from the offending gesture and kept my mouth shut, but watched him curiously, since this happened to be the one and only time another ghost had ever spoken to me. I probably should’ve been taken aback, but was mostly just confused.
He crossed his arms in an apparent display of machismo.“Twelve years is a long time. As a matter of fact, do you realize you and I both died at the same age?”
Okay…
He paused, looking at me like he wanted me to say something, then started up again. “Are you bewildered and confused? Does that simple mind of yours run helter-skelter with possibilities you didn’t know existed? You want to know how you came to be here on the Fringe?”
He shoved his head through mine, our foreheads obscenely overlapping. Whoa. Everything seemed to meld together into one dark blur, bringing on a bizarre claustrophobia. I felt like throwing up.
“Fringe?” I said, pulling away from him before the dry heaves started.
But he was already onto the next subject. “Do you want to know how I found you?”
I wasn’t sure if I should ask, having not taken the class on crazy yet. Hoping the guy would get the hint and leave me alone, I turned away from him and floated out over the dark lake.
“Don’t you know who I am?” I could hear him calling after me, almost desperately.
Of course I didn’t listen to my gut and just disappear. No…I stopped halfway across the lake and turned around. I did want to know who he was, and took the bait.
“Who are you?” I asked, trying to throw in a little attitude, attempting to act tough.
“Come on. I don’t look familiar to you? At all?”
I cruised back and studied him more closely, but nothing was ringing a bell. I shook my head, wondering what I was missing. Just as I opened my mouth to respond, he rushed at me, his face scowling like he was struggling to suppress a scream or a laugh. I suddenly felt like a character in a Batman movie, face to face with the Joker. He stopped within inches of me, and I jerked back at the intrusion. Personal space is all you can call your own around here.
“Look at me!” he yelled, shoving his hands through the mound of hair on his head. “Don’t you remember when I died? Come on! Dig into that thick mind of yours for once.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
He threw his arms high into the air, and then stiffly drew them back to his sides. “How could you forget? There was thick, red blood everywhere. After you killed me, you LOOKED. You stood there and stared at me wide-eyed just like you’re doing now. You laughed inside when you saw what you did. DIDN’T you? I SAW YOU there. YOU KILLED ME!”
His eyes were bulging, and I considered the possibility that he may very well fold in on himself and cease to exist.
But I wasn’t so lucky.
When Claire’s porch light flicked off and we both turned to look, everything about him transformed; his scowl faded and his eyes lost their fire, replaced by an icy, calculating coolness, like he had just regained control of whatever force was boiling to get out. Like he now knew what to do with his anger.
He drifted purposefully backward toward Claire’s house, stopping just outside her window. His arms smugly folded across his chest, he turned to face me. “So, she’s the reason you’re here. I’ve been following you, wondering why you watch her the way you do. That’s it, isn’t it? You love her.”
Love? Um, that was definitely a matter of debate for another time. “What do you want?” I asked.
“What do I want? I want lots of things, just like everybody else. Problem is, we can’t really have what we want, can we? But I do believe this is getting fun. There may be some point in this sad, pathetic story, after all…or at least a way to make things right.”
“Will you start making sense, for once?” I yelled, this time trying to put a little more edge in my voice. Confrontation had never been my strong suit. “I don’t remember you!”
He flew at me.
“You fool, you stupid kid. YOU KILLED ME!” he screamed again, giving way to the flood of anger shooting through the red that seemed to glow in his eyes, shutting me up.
We glared at each other until I pulled back a little, hovering in silence in front of a ghost who appeared to be insane. Afraid to shift away from Claire but not knowing how else to escape this lunatic, I darted to the other side of the lake. Of course, he immediately caught up, and threw himself in my face.
“What do you want from me?” I asked.
“What. Do. I. Want. From. You,” he repeated, each word as if each was a single sentence. “You cost me everything. I don’t want anything from you now.”
“Then, go. Away.”
“But she is everything to you, isn’t she?”
My mind started to spin. No, I wanted to say, but couldn’t.
The ghost gazed out across the lake, a faint smile forming on his lips. “And now, I believe she’s everything to me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This will be fun.” He turned away from me like I was no longer part of the conversation. “Not exactly what I envisioned, but probably a lot more entertaining.”
“Stay away from her,” I warned, trying to act like I actually had some way to follow through. But the ghost only smiled at my bluff, staring at me while fading out, never looking away until he was gone.
I didn’t know whether to cry or cheer or fall over in exhaustion when he disappeared. What I did know was that I had to get away from Hidden Lake, to clear my mind of the chaos I felt. Right then, all I wanted to do was forget Claire…forget this place, the Fringe…forget caring…forget about everything so I could worry only about myself, like it used to be.
Was that too much to ask
?
Concentrating on going somewhere else, I ended up at Big Sur watching the sun peek out over the hills, lighting up the ocean as the deafening waves crashed through my mind, clearing out the remains of an unwanted voice lingering in my head.
Claire
I hardly slept that whole night, figuring almost drowning was a pretty decent reason for insomnia. All attempts to convince my parents I was fine had failed, and they insisted on taking me to the hospital, where I spent a couple of hours under observation.
It was embarrassing having everybody stare and talk about me like I was an anomaly, and I wondered if they expected me to suddenly drop dead. It was the only explanation for why I found myself stuck in a little blue piece of cloth undergoing way too many tests in the middle of the night. I was definitely not a fan of so much attention.
We got home around three or four in the morning, but I could only stare up at blurry shadows on the ceiling. Even worse, the insomnia gave me anxiety; the more I wanted sleep, the further it seemed to drift away as I tried to remember exactly whathappened in the lake, but couldn’t seem to recall all of the details.
After a couple of hours, I gave up sleep altogether and sneaked down the hall into the dark living room. For a while I lay on the couch and gazed out the window at the little spot of moonlight trying to break through the fog. Still unable to relax, I opened a window and snuggled beneath a blanket, letting the cool breeze tickle my face as my mind drifted.
I still couldn’t believe it. Daniel, who was dead, saved my life. How was that even possible? There was no explanation.
My head wouldn’t stop throbbing. It was probably begging me to quit thinking so much—but I couldn’t seem to rid the image of Daniel’s face from my mind, or his touch from my skin. I felt consumed by his presence, even though he’d disappeared hours ago.
Of course, I could never tell anyone what really happened down in the water. They’d assume I hit my head too hard and take me back to the hospital for reevaluation.
No thanks.
Even as the fog helped the shadows linger, nighttime vanished too quickly, and was already fading to morning. Trying not to wince, I touched the tender spot on my forehead where I’d hit the rock, and then pulled myself upright.
Something thumped against the wall down the hall. It made me jump, but then I realized it was probably Dad, up bright and early as usual, already getting ready for work.
My stomach growled, calling me into the kitchen. After sliding a piece of bread into the toaster, I waited at the mahogany table, staring at a too-perfect arrangement of yellow tulips, letting the bright color hypnotize me. When I felt my body finally starting to relax, the toaster popped, and I jumped as if the ding had been a bomb. The sudden movement seemed to initiate a dull, steady pounding in my head that ricocheted through my body, bringing on an ache that made me want to scream. I closed my eyes, massaging my temples until I could breathe again, and then headed for the counter to retrieve my toast.
Just as I dug my knife into a butter tub, a quick flash of something darted past my left shoulder.
I turned.
Dad?
But nothing was there.
My heart continued beating faster than normal, despite my attempt to ignore it. I snatched my toast out of the toaster and started spreading butter in a circular pattern until it looked like a work of art. I turned my head again just in time to catch a glimpse of a dark, shadowy shape jumping into the half-open pantry…it looked like the tail end of a black, flowing scarf.
Not Dad.
My nerves exploded to life as a tingling, simmering heat hovered just above the surface of my skin, like a fresh sunburn. I gripped the butter knife trembling above the toast, and ran through a mental checklist of every possibility—unexplained smoke, a wild animal, a raving axe-murderer—as if any of those suggestions made reality less frightening.
Peering from side to side, I made sure nothing was about to sneak up on me before I figured out an escape route, just in case. Escape? Not when I couldn’t even move. Fear had thwarted any possible plan of action, my heart protesting as loudly as the clock on the wall.
Whatever it was, it seemed to be waiting for me behind the frosted pantry door. This was so much worse than a spider, which meant there was a huge possibility I might faint. What to do? What to do? As scared as I felt, I really needed to know what that thing was. With the greasy knife still clutched in my fingers, I stood perfectly still, tense and terrified, trying to gather up enough courage to face the unknown before it got me first.
Six deep breaths and four carefully maneuvered shuffles later, I was close enough to touch the pantry door. I gulped, and then peeked around the corner. Inside, a wide, black, pulsing, ribbon-like thing about the length of the door was twisting back and forth, disappearing and reappearing every few seconds like the air was smudged with black chalk. It was silent, but seemed almost self-aware.
Still grasping my useless piece of flatware for a weapon, I stepped closer. The ribbon thing paused, as if contemplating its next move, and then dashed further into the pantry, almost stuffing itself into the corner. A chill raced up my arms, even after I reassured myself it wasn’t some bloodthirsty madman with a bigger knife than mine. I tried to hold still, my hand just barely touching the doorway, but I couldn’t stop shaking. After contemplating running away and hiding in the safety of my bedroom, I finally braced myself for the worst, and flung the door wide open.
The ribbon shot right into my face. I clamped my eyes shut and screamed, turning and running toward the sink. A grinding, metallic noise hissed all around me, echoing through my ears as it seemed to wrap itself around me like a giant coil, cold against my skin, hard and sharp.
“Claire!”
I screamed again, spinning around with the buttery knife held high for my attacker, but found myself engulfed inside my dad’s arms. He held my wrist above my head until the knife fell to the floor with a metallic clink. The ribbon thing instantly unwound itself from my body, darted past Dad, and disappeared through the wall.
“What are you doing?” asked Dad, nearly shaking me. “What’s wrong?”
“What was that?” I asked, afraid to look.
“What was what?”
I peered around Dad’s shoulders, but there was no evidence of my tormentor.
Dad held me tight, rubbing my back and smoothing my hair. “Claire,” he said again, his deep voice soothing. “Was it a nightmare?”
I looked up into his eyes. “Serious? You mean, you didn’t… No. I…I’m fine. I just… But, didn’t you see it, too?”
“What?” he asked, looking around the kitchen. “See what?”
How could he have missed it? “You didn’t see it, Dad? That…that thing?”
He placed a hand on each of my shoulders and looked at me. “I didn’t see anything. Just you, Claire. And you were acting like you’d seen a ghost, or something.”
“Ghost?”
He nodded his head. “Are you sure you weren’t dreaming, or sleepwalking?” Dad asked as I pulled away and found my way back to the table, slumping low in one of the chairs.
He seemed reluctant to let it go, but finally fell into his normal routine of Frosted Flakes alongside a glance at the sports section. Closing my eyes, I rested my head on the table, listening to the commotion, still wondering why Dad hadn’t seen or heard anything. How was it possible?
After Dad finished his breakfast, he stood behind me, tickling my back. “You know, you hit your head pretty hard last night. Maybe the doctor should have another look at it.” He lifted my chin with the tip of his finger until I looked up at him to find his familiar smile. That was one thing I loved about my dad—he always managed a smile, whether happy or not.
“No, Dad,” I protested. “I really hate hospitals and doctors. Especially now.”
He kissed the top of my head. “Are you still taking the medicine they gave you? Maybe this is some kind of side effect.”
“Dad, really,” I sighed. “It
’s not the medicine. You seriously didn’t see anything?”
He shook his head and started walking away.
“Nothing?”
“Why don’t you go back to bed? Maybe you need more sleep.”
“There wassomething there, Dad,” I said, noticing the frustration breaching his patience. He stopped and leaned against the doorway, observing me with an irritated look combined with his unique smile. That was what he was good at, what he was trained to do—to listen, observe and solve problems. But he couldn’t solve this one.
“I’m going to talk to Mom about taking you back to the doctor,” he said. “Just to be safe.” Then he walked out of the kitchen, down the hall.
“Come on, Dad,” I called after him.
He was already gone.
I rested my head back on the table and let my eyelids droop. Despite the lingering vision of ghostly ribbon wrapping itself around me, I found myself finally drifting off to sleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
MOONBEAMS
Claire
The demented ghost thing didn’t return that day…or the next, or the next. I finally decided to call it a “ghost” because I couldn’t think of anything else it could possibly be; my imagination was pretty lame. Daniel hadn’t come back, either. He’d vanished along with reality. Sometimes it felt like I was living inside the head of someone else’s dreams.
I took a risk one day, and asked Addie how often she thought about Daniel. She didn’t answer right away, but kept turning pages of a magazine we’d been flipping through for the last half-hour. We were lying in my family room in our pajamas, having just finished doing our nails after a ton of homework. Mom and Dad were in the city for a Giants’ game. They invited me, but I never liked baseball once the popcorn and drinks disappeared, which usually happened after about ten minutes.
“What if he’s somehow still out there, still connected to our world?” I asked as we sunk deeper into the leather sofa.
“I don’t believe in all that stuff,” Addie said, looking the other way as she dragged her hand through her smooth hair.
On the Fringe Page 5