Living Soul

by S. B. Niccum

“But you are moving it,” I said to Agatha, in spite of the goose bumps that I had on my arm. In a dramatic display, Agatha raised her hands up, letting go of the cursor and the thing kept moving on its own toward E-D. KILLED, it spelled.

  “What? They were killed? By who? Who killed them?” My heart was now raising and a greedy need for information flooded my mind. I could see why people got addicted to this thing; it was real! Was it?

  Upon my request for more information, Agatha mumbled some cheesy summon asking the spirits that be, to grace me once again with an answer. Then grabbed some smooth pebbles and shook them in her hand, she let them drop on the board and they scattered in an odd manner to spell F-A-T-H-E-R.

  “No,” I gasped and covered my mouth. “It can’t be.”

  “We didn’t end up here because our parents were stellar people, Tess.” Agatha said soothingly. But I shook my head, it couldn’t be. That wasn’t right, I knew it wasn’t right; they were lying!

  A terrible laugh sounded in my ear, and I could hear it now so clearly that it froze my blood. My eyes grew big and I looked up at Agatha to see if she heard it too; she did. She tried to look as if it didn’t scare her, but it did. I could see that part of her was glad I was sharing this nightmare with her, just to have someone who understood this burden. But there was another part of Agatha that was slowly surfacing before my eyes that was glad for my misery because she enjoyed it.

  I stopped my ears, hoping that the awful evil laugh would not reach me, but it was in vain. I stood up and rushed out of her room with the darkness and the laughter trailing behind me. “We can tell youuu … the truth … you can know what happened that night … we know … ” I started running up the stairs and tripped half way up, landing hard on my chin. They laughed even louder now, I got up and kept going, the race to my room seemed interminable, but as soon as I crossed the threshold of my room, a shiver went through me and a thunderous voice said, “Depart!”

  Dorian seemed to know that something was on my mind, because he followed me with his eyes as I paced the room like a grenade about to go off. As usual he said nothing, but looked up at me questioningly.

  “I can hear them, Dorian,” I told him, without any other explanation. “I don’t know who or what they are, but I can definitely hear them. Does this mean that I’m a freak like Agatha?

  A wide grin crossed his face, making him look very handsome and quite grown-up. He didn’t have to say a word, I knew what he was thinking, “Not a freak like Agatha, a freak like me.”

  “You’re not a freak,” I told him and then sat by his side. “You’re special.”

  I curled up in bed with him and he stretched next to me. He covered my shivering arms with his blanket and draped one arm over me. For the most part Dorian didn’t seem to like human contact, so I appreciated this grand gesture. I read that Autistic kids are ultra sensitive and all their senses are heightened, so things that wouldn’t bother us bother them. Smells or visual stimuli and a simple touch may be heightened for them. But none of these things seemed to bother him right now or if they did, he found a way to deal with them. We lay in silence for a long while as I tried to come to terms with what had just happened. Dorian’s silence was soothing to me; we could have whole silent conversations like this. They were more like assisted introspections for me; I don’t know what they were to him.

  After a while I told him what happened. He listened, and was silent, but his silence conveyed a message—you’ll be all right. And I believed him.

  That night I had the first dream in months. Sadly, it wasn’t about Alex, it was about today. In my dream I saw the events of the afternoon unfolding as a third party floating from above. To begin with I see myself drying the dishes, and Agatha coming to talk to me. As she leaves me in the kitchen, I see the shadows attack me; but from this perspective, I can see them zooming all around me like chords of darkness that bind me, almost squelching my own light.

  Then I see myself going into Agatha’s room with an odd determination. The shadows are still there, but hovering and no longer bothering me. Agatha starts her chanting and the shadows start circling and the shapeless faces in the shadows look happy. Not in a good way, but happy in a cruel and malicious way.

  Once she’s done with her chanting, the distorted shadows start churning and swirling madly; the candle light flickers and some of them enter Agatha through her open mouth. She starts moving the board and spells KILLED. She shudders and the shadows exit her body the same way they went in. She looks sick to her stomach but tries to hide it. Then I call her on it, and the shadows gather thickly into one large mass that keeps growing and growing invisibly right before us. The mass of dark shadows take the shape of a demonic looking dragon and manages to move the pebbles and spell the word, FATHER. Then the dragon rears its ugly disfigured face on me and appears to peer into my freaked out face. It loves it!

  I get up and start running up the stairs, with the dragon at my heels. It stretches its claw-like fingers and tries to snatch me, but miraculously, it misses. As I pass through the threshold of my bedroom, I also pass through a gigantic winged figure that blocks the entrance to my bedroom. He is almost too big to be inside this house, and is pearly white, with long feathered wings.

  Somehow, I pass through him, and I see myself shivering, then the creature extends his enormous arm and stops the dragon by declaring: “Depart!”

  Immediately the dragon explodes into thousands of smaller black pieces before retreating back down the stairs like a swarm of locusts, and enters Agatha’s bedroom through the gap under her door.

  “There’s work for you to do, Tess,” a soft purring voice says. “This is part of your mission.” I turn my head toward the sound, and I see a golden face unlike any other. The face is that of a human, but slightly feline, her golden eyes are cat like and her skin shines like gold and fire mixed together. I startled when I see her, in spite of the fact that she doesn't frighten me, I am just surprised to see her there, so close to me. There is something strangely familiar about her too. For a split second, I even feel relief at the sight of her, but then she starts to fade.

  “Wait!” I tell her, “I know you …”

  “Remember, Tess … it’s what you were trained for. It’s your mission, your responsibility … your destiny,” she says then fades completely out of view.

  I woke up feeling rested and oddly at peace. But the night wasn’t over; in fact it was only 3 a.m. “Go to Agatha’s room,” I felt the command in my head; it reverberated in my thoughts over and over again until I felt compelled to get up. Before I even realized it, I was passing the threshold of my door again, and shivering—again. I turned to inspect the doorway, half expecting, half-hoping to see the huge winged man standing guard, but all I saw was my rickety old wood door with all its usual marks and scuffs.

  My feet directed me down the stairs and I stopped right outside of Agatha’s door. It was locked, but the lock would not be hard to pick, all I needed was a nail. Oddly, I found one on the floor right by my feet. “Strange,” I mumbled, “I swear it wasn’t there before.”

  The lock gave way and soon I found myself inside Agatha’s room, again. What I was doing here of all places was beyond me. Why did I feel so compelled to be here? Agatha was dead asleep on her bed; so much so that she actually looked dead, only the faintest movement of her chest gave any indication of life.

  Her room looked more disheveled than it had looked earlier, her clothes looked as if they had all been taken out of their drawers and thrown every which way. It also smelled gross, an odd combination of incense and something acid and metallic, which made my stomach turn. Her desk had a laptop that I hadn’t noticed before. I don’t know how she ever managed to afford it; she didn’t have a job. Next to it were scattered papers, scribbles and tarot cards. I touched the mouse-pad and the dormant screen came to life displaying the title, “Corpus Hermeticum”. My eyes automatically went to a paper that was placed right next to the computer, upon which were scribbled the same wor
ds, plus some other comments; “Astrology: magic has a natural power that comes from the stars. Powers comes when sacrificing to the Source.” Then below that, the words “Enneads, Neo-Platonism, Rasputin,” and “Khlysts—only through ecstasy can we experience closeness to the Source.” This was underlined several times.

  I had no idea what all this meant, but I surmised that she was doing some sort of research on some ancient type of magic or astrology mixed up with some weird mystic-orthodox society. As I turned away from the computer and scanned the room one more time, my eyes caught sight of something that was sticking out from underneath her bed. It was half covered by her underwear, which I flung out of the way with one of her pencils.

  I don’t know why this item caught my eye, but it did. It was very old, the leather binding was falling apart, and the pages were yellow and thick, and roughly cut. Unsure of what I was doing, but certain that this was what I had come in here for—I tucked the book under my arm, placed the pencil back where I found it, and locked the door behind me—holding my breath as the door clicked shut.

  Once inside my own room I climbed out the window and waited for my normal heart rate to return, before opening it. Most of the writings seemed to be in another language that I couldn’t decipher at all. There were pictures in it as well, pictures of horned demons, dissected animals, and the grossest human anatomy ever—with drawings of limbs that looked as if they had been ripped out then sliced open. I closed the book with a thud, sickened by it, and I set it aside, wanting to put as much distance as I could between it and me.

  The night was heavy with humidity, promising another three-digit day as soon as the sun rose, but for the time being, the air felt cool. As I drew my knees up against my chest, I looked up at the stars. They were bright and the moon looked beautiful as the sunlight only touched one side of it, leaving the other in semi-darkness. I love looking at the night sky and I love looking at the moon; I always felt an odd longing and a yearning when I did this. Why would that be, I wonder? Why would I long for a place as foreign as the stars?

  On top of the roof stood a massive white winged creature, his skin irradiated a polished marble white glow and his chiseled arms were crossed over his bare chest. Beside him, a golden creature landed softly, tucking her leathery bat-like wings behind her back. She was equally impressive and emanated a fiery glow.

  “Is she asleep yet?”

  “Shh … not yet. Almost though,” the white giant said quietly as he stretched one of his huge feathered wings out and shook it a little as if stretching out a stiff leg. He eyed the golden figure beside him and a smiled. “It’s like she’s your baby.”

  “She is in a way,” the golden creature sighed. “I just hope the training I gave her was enough. I personally chose each one of her classes, and missions. What if—”

  “You did great, Dayspring. No human was ever more prepared … well … maybe not ‘no human’ … there might have been a few others … but the point is, Tess was ready. She is ready. This is the right time and she’ll make the right choices, just wait and see.”

  “I hope you’re right, Kerubiel. Or our wedding will be indefinitely postponed,” Dayspring added smugly.

  “Well, you know me! Always willing to help out when it comes to you…and yours,” he beamed and eyed Tess. “Just tell me what—”

  “Just take her to bed,” Dayspring said with a roll of her eyes, as she sauntered down the roof with feline agility and picked up the book that was lying on the roof; a flame shot out of the palm of her hand that consumed the book in an instant.

  Kerubiel lifted Tess’ body, as one who would pick up a porcelain doll, and started for the tiny window. Soon, he realized that he would never fit through the opening, but he tried nonetheless. He tried going in head first, but his wings got stuck on the window sill, then he tried fitting one of his wings first, but his shoulder blade, torso and neck wouldn’t fit either. Dayspring stifled a laugh, then suggested that he hand Tess to her, then go inside the other way and she could hand Tess to him through the window. This he did, amid repressed laughter and some other awkward moments. Finally, Kerubiel managed to put the sleeping Tess down on her bed, and tucked her in with the tenderness of a father.

  I opened my eyes when I felt the glow of the sun behind my eyelids. My bedroom window was open and light was streaming in hot and bright. It’s amazing to me how the sun, a star so far away from us, could give so much light and heat. And how, on a day like today, that star could give off so much heat that it will drive people indoors, just to escape it. Yet in winter its glow will feel so far away that it will barely provide any heat at all. Who designed this? Who orchestrated the whole thing? Surely it wasn’t all coincidence; surely all of this was not a random act of nature. Laws can exist, but someone, something has to set them in motion—nothing just happens without someone first starting the chain of events.

  I hopped out of my bed, and took inventory of my body and realized that I felt more rested than I had in a long time. Brushing off a faint feeling of disorientation, I squatted down and retrieved my valise from under my bed. This little suitcase was with me when I came to Charlotte’s home, and it contained all my most valued possessions. They weren’t many, and most of them had no monetary value, but they were my treasures. The little suitcase itself was a treasure, because it was one of the few items that I have from the first five years of my life—the mystery years. It was light brown, imitation leather with a map of the world on the outside. Every time I opened it, it smelled familiar, but the smell would only take me back so far. It smelled of love and happiness, but then there was a block, a huge gap that cut the fleeting memory short. This feeling was incongruent with the despairing picture that was put before me last night. How can love and happiness end up in murder? I shook my head and opened the suitcase.

  Inside it I kept a satin sachet with the pearl earrings I was wearing on the day I came to Charlotte’s. They were real pearls, because they were gritty against my teeth. Someone bought these for me; someone who loved me gave me these. Surely a child of five is not just given pearl earrings if they are not treasured in some way.

  The other items in my valise were more mementos than anything else; papers that I wrote for school with shiny A’s on them, swimming ribbons, report cards, my social security card, my prom dress that Alex touched, admired and held as we danced. And finally, the valise held the pictures that Dorian gave me.

  These pictures I took out to bring with me outside onto the roof—then I remembered! Last night! Didn’t I go back into Agatha’s room last night? I rushed to the window and looked at the spot, where I clearly remember setting a strange book down. But the book was gone. Did Dorian take it? He was already gone, but I doubt that he took it. He never veers from his routine enough to even come out here to look. He wakes up, eats breakfast, then showers, gets dressed, and, depending on the day, starts on his chores, or goes to school. The sound of the lawnmower below, told me that he was sticking to his chore schedule, so he wouldn’t have taken it, he wouldn’t have gone out the window.

  So where was it? I would have heard Agatha if she had tried to retrieve it; the whole neighborhood would have heard her! Did I dream that? Was it all just a bizarre dream? I’ve had plenty of those.

  I looked down to the pictures in my hands, the woman…the house with the sailboat, me sitting on the bus bench and Alex in front of me with the trailing dark figures behind me…. Tears came easily enough, blurring my vision and stinging my hot cheeks.

  “Heee … hasss aaaa gfft … ” a familiar, soothing voice zoomed past me. I froze in place, and shivered in spite of the heat. I rubbed my arms, trying to get rid of the goose bumps on my skin, and my eyes immediately stopped producing tears.

  “Like you,” the same voice uttered somewhere off to my left, so I turned abruptly to look at it, but there was nothing there.

  “Who said that?” No! Not again, I thought.

  “Don’t be afraid, Tess. I’m her.”

  My eyes rev
erted instinctively to the drawing of the woman, the one with the gray eyes. I picked up the paper and studied it closely. “That’s right. That’s me,” she said.

  “Who are you? What are you?” I asked, much against my better judgment, but curious.

  “Your Guardian Angel.”

  Chapter 10

  Chills filled my frame again. I tried to say something, like “am I dreaming?” or “am I losing my mind?” but no words would come.

  “You have a gift, like Dorian, but different. You see…he can see things in his head, things that have happened or will happen, or that simply exist—like me.”

  “Am I related to you?”

  “I can’t tell you that, all I can say is that I’ve been watching over you since the day you were born.”

  “So you know my parents? You can tell me what happened to them, why I’m here, in foster care—”

  “No, I’m sorry. I can’t tell you that either.”

  “Then what are you good for?” I reproached. “If I’m going to hallucinate, then let’s make it interesting. Let’s come up with a good story and some answers.”

  “Ha!” she retorted, with something like an attitude. “You did not just say that! I can leave you know. I don’t have to hover over you day and night, keeping you safe. Heaven knows the extents I’ve gone to make your life easier, smoother, and happier, in spite of your circumstances. But if you don’t think I’m any good then I’ll just … ”

  “O.K, O.K, I get it!” I laughed, not only was an Angel talking to me, but she was nagging me! “Let’s start over. What can you tell me? Can you tell me your name?”

  “Yes,” she sounded somewhat mollified, but not entirely forgiving.

  “ … And it is?”

  “Celeste”

  “Celeste. You pronounced it differently than what I expected. You said it in Spanish, with the short `e at the end.”

  “Nothing gets past you, does it? Yes, I do say it in Spanish, because I was from Spain. It means ‘light blue’.”