Everything feels wrong now. It’s the morning of my funeral, and I know I promised Hilda that I’d meet her so she could teach me how to remain uncrossed, but I’m beginning to have serious doubts about that plan.
“I’m miserable,” I say as I approach the snow cone stand. But that’s probably typical. I bet most people feel this way on the day of their funeral, especially when they’re young, like me, and have lost everything. Everything. I’m not sure being uncrossed is going to make my situation better. The more I think about it, the more I start to see the obvious flaws. So I’ll just stay here and watch everybody I love grow older and older. Until they eventually die. Then what happens? I just keep staying here? If I refuse to cross now, does that mean that I never cross?
I’m inside the hut now, and it’s just as Hilda and I left it. Straws and napkins scattered on the floor. Sticky flavorings drip down the sides of the bottles. I try to shake off a feeling of depression. Because this isn’t where I’d stay. I’d hang out in my bedroom. The hallways at school. Until my friends graduated. It would be weird to keep hanging out in high school when I didn’t know anybody. I’d get to see the seasons change. See my family buy groceries and eat dinner. Attend the twins’ birthday parties.
But I wouldn’t feel any of it. It would be like going to an aquarium. Lots of interesting things would be happening, but I’d always be stuck on the other side of the glass. What’s the longest I’ve ever stared at an aquarium, anyway?
“I’m here, Hilda.” I’m still trying to avoid thinking or saying things in the form of a question. I don’t want Louise to know what I’m considering. “Hilda,” I yell. It’s rude for her to be late. I’m running on a pretty tight timeline. If I do it, I’ll be crossing over in just a few hours.
As crazy as it seems, I’m starting to feel like I should just cross. It’s part of death. The hardest part is not knowing what’s going to happen to me.
I see Hilda, and I voice my concerns right away. “I just don’t want to be the sort of ghost who never goes anywhere, who never advances into anything else.”
“Being a ghost is a form of advancement,” Hilda offers.
“Right,” I say. “But I don’t want to be stuck in this place where everybody else is living and feeling and getting on with their lives and I remain in my bedroom, unchanged.”
“That’s death, Molly,” Hilda says.
“No,” I say. “That’s something else. Something stagnant. I’d feel creepy tailing everybody I loved. What? I’m going to watch Henry fall in love with somebody else? That would be terrible.”
“Maybe you could interfere and prevent him from falling in love with somebody else.”
That sounds appealing. For two seconds.
“No,” I say. “That’s terrible in a different way.”
“Molly, stop doubting yourself,” Hilda says. “Today I’m going to take you to a park and teach you how to possess a stranger. It’s going to be harder than possessing Sadie. But I’m certain you can do it.”
“Possess a stranger?” I’m horrified. That’s not who I am. I don’t want to be the kind of person who races around on the day of my funeral jumping into strange people’s bodies.
“You really have a gift for it,” Hilda says. “Not everybody can inhabit a body as effortlessly as you did and make it function properly.”
I can’t handle hearing any more compliments about my innate skills for possessing people. The more I reflect on it, the more I’m ashamed that I did it in the first place.
“Hilda,” I say, “I want to learn this stuff. But at the same time, I don’t want to learn this stuff. It feels unnatural. I really don’t think I can go along with it.”
“Let’s go down to the river,” Hilda says. “I’ll let you choose the person.”
When she puts it to me that way, it’s clear that I absolutely cannot do this.
My funeral is in a matter of hours. I should be comforting people. I shouldn’t be violating the laws of souldom.
“Just follow me,” Hilda says.
And I’m not sure why I do. I guess I want her to understand why I’m backing out. Plus, I hate disappointing people.
“At this point, it just doesn’t feel like the path I should take,” I say as we approach the bridge.
Hilda refuses to stop.
“Really,” I say, “I don’t see this second possession happening.”
She keeps moving. And I keep moving. Because I want her at least to acknowledge that I’ve completely backed out.
“Just give it one try,” she says.
I slow my pace. Hilda needs to accept my decision. Because I’m not going to make the same mistakes in death that I made in life. While alive, I was way too much of a follower. Now that I’m dead, I’m planning to be a little more proactive.
“Hilda, you don’t seem to be listening. I’m not going to do it,” I say. “It feels wrong.”
Hilda’s anger travels through the air and lands on me; it’s the closest thing to heat that I’ve encountered since I died. It’s time to get out of this. For real.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done,” I say, “but I need to go.”
She ignores me and picks up a small mallard. Then she turns to me and her face is wild with rage.
“You led me to believe you would do this,” she says. “You’re a liar.”
“I don’t think I lied. I thought I could do this, but now I don’t think I can anymore.”
“Look at what you’re doing. Look at how you’re treating me.”
Her grip on the duck is so tight that the bird lets out a quack.
“Why are you holding that duck like that?” I ask.
“To show you what you’re missing,” she says. “I can touch anything. Move any object. And if I feel like it, I can possess any body I want. You could have this too.”
“Right,” I say, taking a few steps back.
Her reaction seems severe. I just met her and she’s acting like a jilted lover. Like she’d pinned her whole future on teaching me how to possess somebody.
“Calm down,” I tell her. But based on her glare, I guess that our conversation is having the opposite effect. I don’t know why she’s acting this way. All I can think is that she must be lonely. She must have figured we were going to become friends and spend hours and hours of soul time together. I’d become her apprentice and we’d navigate the uncrossed place together. Sure, she’s probably disappointed, but it’s not like I made a promise to her.
“I’m going to cross,” I explain. “You shouldn’t take it personally.”
I look around beneath the bridge as the river slips quietly by.
“Your family will go on without you,” she says.
“They’ll move on either way,” I reply. “I’m dead. I matter in a different way to them.”
Just as with Sadie, I can feel Hilda aiming her anger at me. I take a step back, and then another. She slowly sets down the duck and it flies toward the water.
“I should probably be going,” I say.
“You’re making a mistake,” she says.
I shrug. “I’ve made a lot of those. And this doesn’t feel like one of them. It feels like the right thing to do.”
She shakes her head. “Why did you even come here?”
“I guess I wanted to tell you face to face,” I say, truly trying to let her down easy.
She smiles. “You have doubts. That’s why you’re here.”
And I do have doubts. But I’m not going to admit that to Hilda.
“No,” I say. “I’ve made my decision.”
“Well, you’ll have a lot of years to live with it.”
Hilda walks under the bridge, but before she gets too far, she turns and says, “You’re going to be miserable.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But maybe not.”
She glares at me. Then she smiles a very creepy smile and says something that’s confusing and unsettling.
“You’ll only cross if I let you.”
> Then she’s gone, and I want to believe it’s for good. But her threat makes it very clear that she’s not done with me yet.
I’m going to have to tell Louise what I’ve done. Everything. I can’t leave anything out. Because when you’ve been threatened by a menacing uncrossed soul, really the best (and only) place to turn for help is the intake counselor of your soul. I’m not sure why it takes several attempts to make a tunnel appear again, but it does. And when it finally arrives, things seem to move much slower than normal. Usually I enter and rush to where I’m headed at the speed of thought. Not this time.
Just like before, I arrive in the hallway instead of the actual transition room. Louise stands waiting, presumably for me.
“Where have you been?” she asks.
I’ve got hours before my funeral, so I don’t understand why she’s so upset. And I also don’t want to tell her where I’ve been.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“What did you do?” she asks.
I thought I would ease into telling Louise about what I’d done. I’m not sure how to start confessing things. Fortunately, it looks like I don’t have time to do that right now anyway.
“Something has happened. You only have twelve clocks left,” she says. “And your funeral is about to start. Why are you late?”
I don’t know why I’m late and I can hardly process what she’s saying. “Twelve clocks! Is Henry still there? My parents? My grandma?” Maybe it’s okay that I only have twelve clocks left.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Louise says. “Your funeral is about to start.”
She grabs my soul and makes a tunnel, and just like that I am swooped to my funeral. Where did the time go? Hilda. She must have done something, but I don’t know exactly what.
I walk into the mortuary and see my friends and family gathered in the cushioned pews. My body is at center stage.
“Has it just started?” I ask.
Louise nods. She looks concerned. Why should she be so concerned? I’m the one with only twelve lousy clocks.
I spot my parents seated in the front row, next to Aunt Claire and my grandmother. I don’t see Henry. Did he not come? Tate and Sadie are sitting with Joy and Roy Ekles. Wow. Joy and Roy make a great couple. I wonder if my death helped motivate her to get that relationship off the ground. If the shoe were on the other foot, I bet one of my friends’ deaths would have affected me that same way. If there was something I wanted to do, I’d do it. If there was somebody I liked, I’d make my move. I’m happy for her. I really am. Then I start looking around for Henry.
But Ruthann Culpepper is here. She doesn’t look as sad as when she came and spoke to me at the funeral home. She looks pretty happy. And she’s not wearing black. She’s wearing a brown skirt with a tangerine blouse, short-sleeved, of course. How else could everyone see her scratches? She hasn’t come with her parents. She walks over to Joy and smiles.
“This is so heavy,” Ruthann says. “Hey. Have you seen Tate?”
I keep scouting around for Henry. I even leave the room. He’s not in the bathroom. I leave the building. He’s not in the parking lot. Where is he? Do I not matter to him?
I return to the room, and a group of parents are descending upon my grieving family.
“The flowers are lovely,” a woman says.
“Thank you,” my grandma says.
“We’re very sorry for your loss,” she says.
My grandma chokes back some tears and takes a deep breath. It looks like her mind is spinning. I bet she’s thinking about Grandpa Jean.
“Her sweet spirit is in a far better place,” a random person leans down to tell Aunt Claire. Gross. What’s that supposed to mean? My sweet spirit is right here.
I glance at my body and notice a large arrangement of flowers hanging on an easel. A banner that reads OUR BELOVED DAUGHTER is draped across it. Who ordered that?
“This is the saddest day of my life,” I say.
“It’s supposed to be,” Louise says. “It’s the last time you’ll be connected to these people in this way.”
“Louise, what’s going to happen to me? I don’t want to be all alone.”
“It’s different for everyone, Molly,” Louise says. “I’ve already told you that there isn’t anything more I can offer.”
“But I saw a dead man and his wife together. I mean, I saw their souls. I think she helped him cross. Maybe I’ll get that. Maybe you can go with me and help me.”
“They were life partners and were headed for the same destination. It was prearranged. You don’t have a life partner.”
“No, I don’t.” All I can do is think of Henry.
“This is what I know. During the service, toward the end, you’ll be presented with a door. You’ll move toward it, and you’ll be pulled through as if by a breeze.”
Really, I think. I think I’ve seen a commercial for a dryer sheet that is a lot like that. A woman walks to an open set of French doors, takes a deep breath, and is sucked out into a meadow.
“Then you’ll progress,” she says.
“Okay,” I say.
“Whatever happens, I assure you that you’re going to be okay,” Louise says.
But Louise doesn’t know what I’ve done. I need to tell her about Hilda. Because when she told me that I would only cross if she let me, I don’t think she was lying. Her threat felt genuine.
“Louise, please don’t get mad at me, but I need to tell you something.” How do I phrase this? “You’re not the only soul who has been helping me.” I look at Louise and smile, trying to pass this off like it’s not a big deal. But Louise’s face radiates concern.
“Molly, you didn’t.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I might have,” I say.
“Molly Weller, you did not invite an uncrossed soul into your life.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Then what soul have you been talking to?”
“Well, I invited an uncrossed soul into my afterlife.”
Louise buries her head in her hands. I think she’s crying.
“It can’t be that big a deal. I’ve decided to cross. I’m not going to listen to her. I never even learned how to possess the body of a stranger. It’s okay. I’m on track.”
“Molly, it’s not that easy. You’ve committed a grave error. Did you let her teach you anything?”
My mind flashes back to possessing Sadie. I don’t want to admit that I did that. “Louise, you never even told me about uncrossed souls.”
“I tell a soul what it needs to know.”
“That’s not true!” I say. “You’re hardly ever direct. I mean, I had to figure out a lot of stuff on my own.”
“That’s the point,” Louise says. “You’re supposed to strengthen yourself.”
“Well, not only did I do that, but I also managed to clear my room of all that stolen stuff. And that seems important.”
“Why would that be important? And how did you manage to do that?”
It’s time to fess up. “I sort of possessed my friend Sadie.”
“What?” Louise looks and sounds aghast. “Why would you do that to Sadie? You can’t put somebody’s soul in jeopardy like that.”
“She’s fine,” I said. “I was able to write letters to my loved ones, which she’s presumably distributing. It’s working out really well.”
“You possessed your friend and penned notes beyond the grave and you call that working out really well?” Louise wags her finger in my face. “When you possess somebody, you dislocate their soul. And the souls of the living are very fragile. Some don’t make it back. Some get damaged. It’s unnatural to force a soul from its home.”
That makes sense. Hilda never told me that. “She’s fine. And the letters are going to help everybody grieve. I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye. I died too soon.”
“It was your time! We’ve been through this.”
“But if I’d had a later exit date I could have gotten more done. I would have said those thin
gs to people. I didn’t really change anything. I fixed something. And I don’t feel bad about that. I did die too young.”
I wait for Louise to launch into an argument, but she doesn’t. Judging by the look on her face, she seems to agree. “You died very young. I don’t agree with what you did, but I understand it.”
Upon hearing this, I start feeling so much better.
“Molly, we need to get back to a serious issue. I need to know where you invited the uncrossed soul into your life.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say. “I’m upset. Watching everybody I love grieve at my funeral makes me feel like I wasted my whole life.”
“Molly!” Louise says. “This is important. Tell me how you invited the uncrossed soul into your life?”
“It just happened.”
“When?” she demands.
“A couple of days ago,” I say.
“Where?” she presses.
I point into the hallway, to a spot next to the water fountain. “Right about there.”
“Here, in the funeral home?” Louise looks horrified.
“Yes,” I say.
And then a saxophone begins to play. It’s Henry. The sound coming from his horn makes my soul begin to glow. Brighter and brighter. Just like Louise said, I’m becoming light.
“I love him,” I tell Louise. “I think we were meant to be together. How can I leave him?”
“Oh, Molly, this is more serious than I thought. You may not be going anywhere.”
I can’t explain what it feels like to see the first guy you love playing a saxophone at your funeral. It sucks and it’s wonderful at the same time. And the song. Once I recognize it, the melody sweeps over me. It’s enough to break my already broken heart. Henry is playing “I Remember Clifford.” The song that was written for the trumpet player who was killed in that car crash. The sound escapes Henry’s horn like a mournful cry. I am going to miss him. I am going to miss everyone.
My attention keeps getting split between Sadie and Henry. Why? There’s something dragging my focus to her. That’s when I notice the notes. People are holding pieces of paper. My grandma, Ruthann, Aunt Claire. Sadie already handed them out. That means that Henry has his note too. I am so relieved. She is such a good friend.
Death of a Kleptomaniac Page 19