Baylor's Guide to Dreadful Dreams

by Robert Imfeld

  “Listen, Mr. Papadopoulos, I’m sorry, but you need to pull yourself together,” I said sternly. “Who knows how long Helena has? I need to get on a plane right now so I can track her down.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, coughing and trying to sound calm. “You’re absolutely right. I’ll call the search team now to arrange the details.” He explained that a couple of his friends owned their own small planes and had been aiding in the search. That’d likely be the fastest way to get where we needed to go.

  “Call me as soon as you know something.”

  After we hung up, I had to find my parents and tell them I was making an impromptu trip south.

  My mom scoffed. “Like heck you are,” she said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Mom, a girl’s life is at stake!” I said. “Archie’s already dead, and she’ll be dead soon if I don’t help find her.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “There’s got to be another way.”

  “There isn’t,” I said. “If there was, I would have already helped find them.”

  “But . . . but Baylor, you’re just a kid,” she said, her eyes bulging. “You shouldn’t have to worry about stuff like this.”

  I blinked, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry?”

  She sighed. “That’s not what I meant. You don’t need to be sorry,” she said. “It’s not your fault.” She looked at Dad, who was paralyzed by the news, and said, “If anything, it’s our fault.”

  He nodded lightly. “So what now, Baylor?”

  “I’m waiting for a call,” I said. “One of the volunteers is going to fly us down. Apparently it’s a small plane and the turbulence gets pretty bad, but don’t worry, I have it on good authority the plane won’t crash.”

  My mom patted my dad on the arm and smiled. “Sounds like a good time for some father-son bonding,” she said. “Enjoy the flight.”

  * * *

  My dad and I each packed an overnight bag—this wasn’t going to be a long trip. All we really needed was a toothbrush and a change of underwear, but we each packed a spare shirt out of decency.

  Our pilot was a man named Scott Alvarez who’d been flying planes since he was sixteen years old. He’d known Mr. Papadopoulos since their freshman year of college, and he’d taken the last week off of work to fly around all day along with the coast guard and some other volunteer pilots.

  And it just so happened his wife, Jenni, who’d joined him on the flight up, was a huge Bayliever.

  As we were prepping for takeoff from the local airport—which was so small that only little planes were landing and taking off, and deer occasionally ran across the runway—Jenni asked me nonstop questions about what is was like to be Boy Wonder Baylor Bosco, the thirteen-year-old medium whose gift has been dominating headlines.

  “It’s really not that exciting,” I said as Scott performed his preflight safety inspection with Colonel Fleetwood hovering over his shoulder, carefully watching his every move. “I mostly just tell people random things their dead relatives say.”

  “But it’s amazing, Baylor,” Jenni said, brushing back her blond bangs for the twentieth time in less than five minutes. “I honestly think you must be one of the most gifted people living on the planet right now. I mean, you have a lifeline to Heaven! You could change the world with this gift.”

  “I’m not trying to change the world,” I said, shrugging. “I’m just trying to help people live their lives better.”

  “Aw!” she said, with a sharp exhale of breath, covering her heart. “And that humble attitude is why you’re going to make such a difference.”

  “This is disgusting to watch,” Kristina said, appearing next to me. “Charlie just tried to bet Colonel Fleetwood that she was going to ask you for your autograph, but he didn’t understand the concept of an autograph, so the whole thing fizzled out.” She pursed her lips. “I still think she’s going to, though.”

  “So what’s it like?” Jenni said in a hushed tone, suddenly leaning in, like she was about to partake in some big secret. “What do ghosts look like?”

  “They really don’t look any different than living people,” I said. “That’s why it can be tricky sometimes. I’ve had to learn to tune them out so I don’t get confused.”

  “Are they wearing the same clothes they had on when they died?” she asked.

  “No, they can change their clothes,” I said. Kristina, for example, often wore shirts with different animals on them. When I’d asked her why, she said something about not being able to have her own pets, so the shirts made up for it. The conversation had ended abruptly, though, because when I told her that logic didn’t make any sense, she told me to can it.

  “They change their clothes? So I’ll finally be able to wear Chanel?” Her eyebrows flew up. “I’ll just have to be dead?” She threw her head back in laughter. “Well, that’s comforting.”

  “All set,” Scott said. “You gents ready to go?”

  Dad was eyeing the sky, checking for any storm clouds. “We’re sure this is an all right time to fly? Not better to wait until morning when there’s daylight?”

  “Drew, there is a girl’s life at stake,” Scott said, still examining his clipboard and marking things off at random. “We can’t afford to wait.”

  “The name’s Doug, actually. And I understand that, but it wouldn’t make sense to put four more lives at stake if it’s not safe.”

  “I’ve been flying planes for thirty years, Dan,” said Scott, still going to town on his clipboard. “It’s safe out here. Believe me.”

  “Again, it’s Doug,” my dad said through gritted teeth.

  “Righty-oh,” said Scott, signing the paper on the clipboard with a big flourish. “I’ll drop off the paperwork and we’ll be all set to go. Jenni, help the guys load in.”

  The plane was tiny—my mom’s minivan may have had it beat—and she directed us to the tight backseat.

  “Scott likes me to act as his copilot,” she said, brushing her bangs back again. “We make a great team.”

  “It’s . . . cozy,” my dad said.

  “Right?” she said. “So much better than flying commercial.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Who enjoys having a bathroom handy when they’re stuck in a tight space for a few hours?”

  “Oh, we do have a bathroom,” she said. Dad and I looked at each other in confusion; unless you got to it by crawling out the window and opening a secret hatch on the outside of the plane, there was no way this thing had a bathroom.

  She reached under the seat and pulled out a plastic tub, just like the one we keep in the car for long road trips with Ella.

  “I don’t think we’ll have any room to use it, though,” she said, sounding sorry.

  “That’s really okay,” Dad said. “We’ll manage.”

  Scott arrived and started hitting all sorts of buttons. I’d only flown a few times, mostly to Florida, but each time had been more unpleasant than the one before.

  On my most recent flight, while returning home from a trip to Florida, there was a family in front of me who apparently very much enjoyed yodeling, and they had gone to Disney World to yodel at the Matterhorn ride since it was less expensive than flying to the real mountain in Switzerland. However, someone didn’t do their research properly, because the Matterhorn ride is only at the Disney park in California, not the one in Florida. It was quite the disappointment.

  I learned all of this, of course, from their relatives who 1) talked nonstop and 2) enjoyed yodeling even in the afterlife. (“The acoustics on this side are unreal!”) They spent the entire flight performing sad yodels, in solidarity with their relatives, until I couldn’t take it anymore. I very quietly and subtly tapped the passenger in front of me on her shoulder and, in one exasperated breath, said, “My name is Baylor Bosco and I can communicate with people who have crossed over, and I’m really sorry but you seem to have lost a lot of people in your life who just love to yodel. They’re here now, yodeling nonstop, because they feel bad your h
usband messed up the trip and took you to the park without the Matterhorn, so please just know they’re with you in spirit.” I sat back and turned to Kristina, who sealed off the connection with sheer glee. The yodeling stopped, but then the questions from the relatives started, and there was no way to zap them into another dimension—not yet, at least.

  Anyway, the point is that flying commercial was best avoided whenever possible, at least until I could exhibit more control over my power. I rubbed the amulet around my neck and wondered whether it had pushed me to another level. For the last week, tuning ghosts out had been far too simple. Minus the whole dreamwalking thing, it felt like I’d been living a relatively normal life. It was sort of nice.

  Scott got the plane out onto the runway, and before I knew it we had taken off and were soaring into the dark sky. Luckily tonight there was a full moon, meaning there’d be added protections from any lurking evildoers.

  We were wearing headsets to hear one another over the roar of the engine, and Scott said, “Enjoy the flight, everyone. Touchdown in Florida in three hours.”

  “So, Baylor,” Jenni said, “is there anyone trying to communicate with you now?”

  I tuned the ghosts in and jumped up in surprise, since some had appeared outside the dashboard window, staring at us through the glass.

  “Tell Jenni her hair is fab,” said an aunt who’d squeezed herself in the empty space between the front and back seats.

  I repeated the message, and Kristina sealed off the connection. Jenni, meanwhile, erupted in panic.

  “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god oh my god,” she said, gripping her face, her nails digging into her cheeks. “It’s happening, Scott, it’s happening.”

  I looked out the windows and counted about twenty relatives. I sighed to myself. Might as well talk to all of them—I had nothing else to do for a few hours.

  One by one, each ghost filled the empty space in the plane so I could deliver a message to either Scott or Jenni—and one for Dad, actually, from an old teacher of his from high school who was proud he’d made the leap to teaching.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” said Jenni, who’d been crying steadily for nearly an hour. “Who knew all these people would have messages for us?”

  “I actually had that same sort of realization recently too,” I said. “For the other side, the term loved ones is used pretty loosely. Your mailman could be a loved one if you talked to him enough, I think.”

  “Amazing,” said Jenni. “Truly amazing. I can’t wait to write about this on BaylieversUnited.com.”

  My cheeks burned deeply while Kristina cackled next to me.

  “She can’t be serious! Oh, this is too good,” she said.

  “You go on that website?” I asked.

  “All the time,” she said. “I love reading about the different messages you deliver. And I loved that they happen just about anywhere. You never know when Baylor Bosco might pop up to change your life.” She laughed and threw her hands up quickly. “Case in point! I had no idea this would happen today. Oh, I just feel so great. I feel so light and happy.”

  I was glad, if embarrassed, that she felt that way, mainly because my dad—who would never verbally admit it—was totally freaked out whenever he got a message from the Beyond. He usually curled up into a ball and retreated inside himself for a while, like a human armadillo, until the feeling of panic passed.

  I was amused by Jenni’s reaction, but quite suddenly I felt a pull in the deep pit of my stomach. I knew there was nothing wrong with the plane, but there was still something wrong.

  “Do you feel that?” I asked Kristina.

  She frowned. “Feel what?”

  However, Jenni asked the same question at the exact same time.

  “Sorry, Jenni, not you, I was talking to my sister.”

  Jenni tensed up, turning around slowly with her mouth open.

  “Wait,” she said, “is that Kristina?”

  “Um, yeah,” I said.

  “Kristina is your sister?”

  I nodded.

  “Oh.” She slapped her hands to her face. “My. God.” She looked from me to my dad and back to me. “You poor guys. I am so sorry for your loss. But how amazing it is you can still communicate with her.”

  “Oh, she loves that I’m dead,” Kristina said, rolling her eyes. “Can’t you just feel it oozing out of her? She’s probably going to tell all her little friends on your freaky fan site about me.”

  “Jenni, it’s not a big deal or anything,” I said slowly, “but could you maybe not mention that online or anywhere? Just to keep some privacy for me?”

  Jenni nodded very seriously. “I totally understand, Baylor,” she said. “Your secret is safe with me.” She winked dramatically, like we were best friends, and giggled quietly.

  “Oh, she’s going to tell everyone now,” Kristina said. “She might have forgotten if you hadn’t said anything, but now . . .”

  “Whatever,” I said, shutting off my headset so no one could hear me but Kristina. “I’ll deal with it later. The feeling is still tearing at the pit of my stomach.”

  “What is it exactly?”

  “I can’t describe it,” I said. “It just feels . . . off. Like, I feel like we’re doing something wrong, like we’ve gone off course.”

  “Then we’ve gone off course,” she said simply. “How do we get back on course?”

  “How am I supposed to know?”

  “Your soul is sort of the compass here, Baylor,” she said.

  Archie materialized out of nowhere. “Whoa!” he said. “I wasn’t expecting to land in a plane.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I could sense something weird and wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

  “It’s not,” Kristina said. “Baylor thinks we’re headed off course.”

  “Well, then get back on course.”

  “Thanks, guys,” I said, “ really helpful. Hold on.” I flipped the switch on my headset. “Hey, Scott, where are we exactly?”

  “We’re flying over North Carolina,” he said. “Shame you can’t see anything through the dark. The Smoky Mountains are really something.”

  I closed my eyes and focused on my connection to the boat. It’s a funny thing when I close my eyes. At first I can’t see anything; it’s just a black void. But then the black fades away and I can see the current scene in its pure state, which means everything looks a bit trippy. I could see my dad’s sickly green aura and Jenni’s shimmering gold one. The pulsing blue energy around the plane, a protection from the Beyond. And a wispy line of energy out the cockpit window that was veering to the left as we went continued flying straight ahead.

  “We need to head east,” I said, opening my eyes. “We need to land and head east.”

  Scott laughed. “No, son, we’re heading to Florida,” he said. “That’s where we’ll meet up with the rescue ops.”

  “You don’t understand,” I said. “Helena is off the North Carolina shore; it wouldn’t make sense to go to Florida.”

  “That’s impossible,” he said. “The coast guard looked at the weather patterns and the currents, and they determined the boat would be headed south.”

  “Maybe that’s why no one has found anything, then,” I said. “They’ve been looking in the wrong place.”

  “Son,” Scott said, “believe me, these people know what they’re talking about.”

  “Scott, I don’t want to sound rude right now, maybe because you’re in control of my life at this exact moment, but Archie is here with us now and he’s telling us we’re going the wrong way,” I said, feeling only slightly guilty about the lie. If that wouldn’t convince him to land, I wasn’t sure what would. “So you can either believe the coast guard that’s been wrong for the past week, or you can believe the ghost whose body is still with the girl we’re trying to find.”

  The roar of the engines was the only noise for a few seconds, until Jenni started hitting Scott’s arm. “Why aren’t
you turning yet?” she said, landing a punch with every word.

  “All right, all right,” he said. “It doesn’t happen just like that. I can go into a holding pattern, but I need to radio for permission to change the route and request clearance to land at an airport in the area.”

  “What are you waiting for!” Jenni said, her voice a shriek. “Do it already!”

  And so the process to land in North Carolina began. I had no idea so much went into flight planning; the radio back-and-forth, the charting on maps, the careful routing. It was a tedious affair, but ultimately we began our descent.

  “Baylor,” Scott asked. “What do we need to do once we land? I want to have an idea in my head of what’s feasible for tonight. There’s a chance we may have to wait until morning since we’ve diverted so last minute.”

  “No,” Archie growled. “It must be tonight. She’s in bad shape.”

  “It has to be tonight,” I said with a nervous gulp. “It’ll be too late by morning.”

  Scott and Jenni exchanged nervous looks, while Dad put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently.

  “I can radio in requests now,” Scott said. “Name it. We’ll see what we can get.”

  “This is crazy,” I said, “but we’ll need a helicopter.”

  “The coast guard could have one ready to go in just a few minutes’ notice,” he said, a hint of doubt underpinning his voice. “But it’ll be up to them.”

  There was a part of me that knew I could use my gift to strongly influence others. People in positions of power were much more likely to respond to someone who could pass on messages from their dead parents than they were to listen to someone with nothing of value to offer. I didn’t love to use my power for that reason, but at this point I was willing to deliver a thousand messages to anyone in the coast guard who would listen to me, so long as they could lend us a helicopter to find Helena.

  “If you can get me to the coast guard,” I said awkwardly, “I bet I’d be able to convince someone.”

  Jenni turned to face me, a glint of exhilaration in her eyes. She knew what I was trying to say, and she was loving every second of it. I expected to see a full write-up of the night’s events on BaylieversUnited.com in due time.