by Amy Cross
Finally I close my eyes, and that's when I hear another creaking sound, and then another.
Something's coming closer, entering the room.
Another creak.
It's right by the bed this time. All I have to do is open my eyes.
Thinking back to the boy in the photo, I somehow know that it's him. I can feel the extra coldness in the room, and even with my eyes closed I can tell that the flashing lights from the neighbor's Christmas display are filling the gloom.
The floorboard creaks again.
Kids are the worst type of ghost.
I take a deep breath and slowly open my eyes, and this time I can immediately tell that there's someone next to me. Turning, I stare into the darkness and finally I'm able to make out the shape of a little boy, no more than eight or nine years old. Thanks to the lights outside, I can just about see his features: he's staring at me with a kind of impassive curiosity, as if he finds me interesting for some reason he can't quite figure out. It's definitely the little boy from the photo downstairs, and I can tell instantly that he's been alone here for a while now. Like every ghost I've ever seen, he seems lost.
“Hey,” I whisper, “I'm just passing through, okay? I'm just using your house for one night.”
He continues to stare at me. Figures. Ghosts are usually pretty calm, and I can't expect much from a child.
“Christmas sucks, huh?” I continue. “I guess your parents moved out or...”
Pausing for a moment, I search for some flicker of emotion in his eyes, but there's nothing.
“I'm not going to do anything,” I tell him. “I don't know what you want or what you think you want, but... I'm not scared of you. I can't help you, I can't do anything, so just... I'll be gone in the morning. First light, I swear, and then you can carry on with whatever you do when you're alone here.”
I wait, and slowly he tilts his head a little, as if he's trying to better understand me.
“So goodnight, then,” I say finally, before rolling onto my side and turning my back to him. I know he's still there, but I don't think there's anything to gain by trying to talk to him anymore. He's got his world and I've got mine, and we're just like ships passing in the night. I just hope he doesn't stand there all night, 'cause right now he's making the room so cold, even the blanket isn't enough to keep me warm. No matter how hard I try to stay still, I quickly find myself starting to shiver.
After a few minutes, I hear the creaking sound again and when I open my eyes I see that the boy is walking slowly around the bed, until finally he stops and stares down at me again.
“Do you want to talk?” I ask him, hoping against hope that he won't take me up on the offer.
Silence.
“Then good night,” I continue. “Sorry, kid, but I really need to sleep. You're really making it cold in here, you know.”
With that, I close my eyes and – despite knowing that the ghost is still staring at me – I allow myself to start drifting off to sleep. Finally I roll over onto my other side, and I pull the blanket tighter as I continue to shiver. I just hope to hell that the kid goes away soon. A few years ago I slept in a freezing cold house in the middle of winter in the city, and I shivered so bad, I still have a recurring pain in my left hip. The way this night is turning out so far, I'm worried the same thing might happen again.
Still, I'll be gone as soon as the sun comes up. If I stay put any longer, there's a risk that I'll get noticed, and that's the last thing I need. I just wish I wasn't so goddamn cold.
Ten years ago
“It's okay,” Mom says, her voice filled with tension as we stand at the window and watch the men on the lawn. “They're not allowed to be here. This is all wrong.”
For the past few minutes, we've been watching as more and more men with S.U.I. jackets approach the hospital. They seem cautious, as if they're expecting something bad to happen, and now most of them have taken up position over by the main path while just one of them has come toward the building. He's deep in conversation with Leslie, the manager, but whatever they're talking about, they don't seem like friends. Looking up at Mom, I can see that she's agitated; she's even smoking a cigarette inside, which isn't normally allowed.
“It's like they're surrounding us,” I say after a moment.
“What?”
“They're making a circle around the edge of the hospital,” I point out. “With their trucks and stuff.”
“Typical,” she mutters.
“I'm scared.” I turn to her. “Mom -”
“Quiet!” she hisses, keeping her eyes fixed on the scene outside. “Fucking bullshit,” she mutters under her breath. “Why do these assholes have to come and interfere? Why are they so fucking predictable?”
“Mom -”
“Clay! Stop!”
I take a deep breath, determined to make sure that Mom can't tell I'm having doubts. She gets angry when I ask too many questions, and then things just get worse and worse. Still, I can't help feeling that the S.U.I. men aren't here for good reasons. Staring out at them, I suddenly notice that one is holding a camera, and as I look at him he takes several photos of us.
“Get back!” Mom says, grabbing me by the shoulder and pulling me away from the window. “That's what they want. They want to control us.”
“How are they going to control us?”
“They can put things in your head,” she continues. “Mr. Kenseth told me about it. They use cameras to beam ideas through the air, and then they get inside your mind and start seeding new thoughts.”
“They can't do that!”
“They can! It's all true!”
“But -” I pause for a moment, before realizing that if Mom says it's true, she must be right. “What does S.U.I. mean?” I ask finally.
She just shakes her head, and I can see that her lips are moving slightly, as if she's talking to herself.
“Do you know what it stands for?” I continue.
“Of course I do.”
“Why won't you tell me?”
“Clay, this isn't the time.”
“So can I go to the garden?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. I just want things to go back to normal.
“Don't ask stupid questions.”
“Meeting!” a voice calls from the door.
Turning, I see that one of the other managers, Hope, has come to fetch us. She's usually so kind and friendly, but today she's got a hint of fear in her eyes. I feel a shiver pass through my body as I realize that everyone in the hospital seems so nervous today, even the people who are usually so happy and optimistic. I swear, it's almost as if the tension is starting to thicken the air all around us.
“What's it about?” Mom asks her.
“Something's happening,” she replies. “I think... There's just a meeting, that's all. He'll tell us what's wrong when we get there. I think maybe... I don't know, maybe the higher calling has begun.” With that, she hurries away from the door, and a moment later I hear her telling other people about the meeting.
“This is it,” Mom whispers.
Looking up at her, I spot a tear running down her cheek.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“This is a great moment,” she continues, taking another drag on her cigarette. “This is what we've all been waiting for. It's the whole reason for everything.”
“Then why are you sad?”
“I'm not sad.”
“You're crying.”
“You don't understand,” she replies, “you're just a kid. Mr. Kenseth said it would be like this and he was right. We're too far ahead of everyone else, we're too special.” Finally she looks down at me. “This is it, Clay,” she adds, forcing a smile. “This is what we've been building up to all these years. It's the fulfillment of all the dreams and prophecies and visions that have appeared to Mr. Kenseth. The calling is upon us.”
***
“These people,” Mr. Kenseth says as he stands on the stage before us all, “have come to disrupt us. T
hey don't dream, they don't listen to the harmonious voices in the cosmos, they don't open their minds... They come only to destroy, to crush, to wipe away anyone who dares to question the status quo. It's not their fault, they've been brainwashed by the elites, but we can't allow them to steamroll over us. They've been monitoring us for a while now and they've seen that what we're doing here is a threat to their way of life, and they're worried that we'll make the ultimate breakthrough. That's why they've come now, and it's why we have to make a stand.”
Turning to look up at Mom, I can't help but notice that she's got a strange look in her eyes, as if she's just staring at Mr. Kenseth and not thinking at all. It's not the first time she's been like this, but I don't like it; sometimes I think she switches her brain off during these big meetings. Looking around, I realize that all the other women have the same expressions.
“We all knew this day would come,” Mr. Kenseth continues from the stage, pacing over to the far wall before coming back to the center. “It's the reason we all gathered here, it's the reason we've begun to attract so much attention. The people who rule the world, the people with the real power, will stop at nothing to protect their system. Any kind of threat is ruthlessly cut down, and there's no length to which they won't go. Murder, kidnapping, torture... We usually only get glimpses of these things when they happen in far-off lands, but now?” He pauses; I've noticed that he often takes these dramatic pauses, when everyone seems to hang on his words. “I guarantee you that the supine mainstream news networks won't be covering the events that happen here. And if they do cover them, it'll be in a twisted, slanderous form. They'll make out that we're crazy, that we're outliers, that there's something wrong with us and they'll bring up false accusations to cast us in a bad light. That's a classic tactic used by the mainstream to marginalize true pioneers, but it's okay, Attaroth has promised me that their games won't work, not this time. The third age of mankind is approaching.”
“They don't understand!” a woman calls out from the back of the crowd.
“That's right!” Mr. Kenseth shouts. “They don't understand, and that's why they're lashing out! They're afraid of us! If we ever needed validation that we're on the right path...”
Another pause.
“This,” he adds finally, “is the anger of a dying civilization that wants to hold back mankind's psychic progress. They will fail!”
He walks to the back of the stage, as if he's lost in thought for a moment, and then he turns back to face us all with a hint of great strength in his eyes. For a fraction of a second he glances at me and smiles, before looking out at everyone else.
“I received another communion from our great master Attaroth this morning,” he says finally, causing a gasp among many of the other people in the crowd. “He came to me in a vision and he told me to let you all know that he sees us and that he understands our sacrifice. He knows that we're doing the right thing, but he also knows that there is a price to pay so he told me that I must give everyone here a chance to leave. That's right, if any heart in this room contains doubts, this is the time for you to walk out and leave the project. You will not be stopped, you will not be ridiculed, for we are peaceful people. Is there anyone here who feels that way?”
“No,” is the reply from the crowd, including from Mom. Looking up at her, I can see the determination in her eyes but also a hint of fear. Her bottom lip is trembling, as if she's close to tears.
“The non-believers have given us a deadline,” Mr. Kenseth continues. “In twenty-five minutes' time, I have to lead all of you out of here, into their sinful arms, so that they can re-assimilate you into mainstream society and brainwash you all. That's what they demand, at least. Who here wants me to actually surrender to their will and abandon our quest?”
“No!” one of the women calls out.
“No!” shouts another. “We follow Attaroth!”
“Our master!” Mr. Kenseth replies, with more and more passion entering his voice. “Everyone in this room knows that we're on the path that leads to true enlightenment! Let the infidels stand at our gate with their weapons and their trucks, let them broadcast hate-filled propaganda that decries us as some kind of miserable cult, let them do their worst! They will never succeed, because we are the true believers!”
“That's right!” Mom shouts.
I take a step back, shocked by her outburst, but she puts an arm on my shoulder and pulls me closer.
“Even the children among us are more pure than the greatest men outside that gate,” Mr. Kenseth continues, turning to me. “Little Clay, will you come up and join me on the stage? Don't be scared.”
I look up at Mom. She smiles and nods.
“I don't want to,” I whisper.
“Come on,” she replies with a tearful smile as she grabs my hand and leads me over to the steps. “Clay, be a good girl. This is a great honor.”
“Mom -”
“Up you go,” she adds, physically forcing me up the steps until Mr. Kenseth reaches down and takes me by the hand. I hate the touch of his hands.
“Don't be scared,” he says with a smile. “This is our moment of destiny.”
Although I let him lead me up onto the stage, I can't help but glance back at the sea of faces. Mom is near the front, grinning with pride, and I know I can't let her down by showing my fear.
“Everyone in this room knows the girl Clay,” Mr. Kenseth continues, leading me to the center of the stage. “She's the youngest of our members here, and that makes her special because it means she's spent the least amount of time out there in the mainstream world being polluted by their ideals. The smog of their atrophied civilization has barely settled in her young thoughts, and it's for that reason that our master Attaroth has noticed Clay and sees that she's special. It is the children, ultimately, who will benefit the most from the changes that come with the new world.” He leans down and whispers into my ear: “Tell them, Clay. Tell them how you feel.”
I open my mouth to reply, but I have no idea what to say. All the other women are staring at me, as if they think I'm smart or insightful, but I just want to run down to Mom and beg her to take us away from this place. I know she's right about everything, but I'm still scared.
“Tell them,” Mr. Kenseth whispers. “You're happy, aren't you? I know you can feel the energy in this room, Clay. I know you understand the great calling that awaits us all when Attaroth allows us to ascend to the new level of consciousness. The wings of your mind are unfurling already as his fingers pick at your thoughts.” He squeezes my shoulders so hard, it almost hurts. “You're looking forward to that, aren't you?”
Staring at Mom, I watch as tears fall down her cheeks.
Finally, cautiously, I nod.
“She feels it,” Mr. Kenseth says, stepping past me and stopping at the front of the stage. “The child understands. When we defy the mainstream order and prove our loyalty to Attaroth, we shall finally begin to ascend to a new level of conscious reality. Our old fears will seem so trivial once we've reached our next evolutionary form as creatures of pure thought, pure emotion and pure love! And for anyone who does still have doubts, I can promise you one thing that Attaroth himself showed me in a dream not more than two hours ago. Do you all have your necklaces?”
As if they're robots, the women all reach up to their necks and take hold of the lockets Mr. Kenseth gave them. After a moment, I realize that I've involuntarily done the exact same thing.
“When the time comes, I want none of you to be afraid,” he continues. “The mixture in those lockets that hang from your neck has been personally formulate by Attaroth himself to hasten our ascension. The fools outside this place will eventually try to drag us out, and that is when Attaroth will pass overhead and draw us up to the new reality. I will give you the command at the appropriate moment, and I want everyone of you to drink, is that clear?”
They all nod, while still holding the lockets that hang from their necklaces.
He leans down and whispers in my ea
r again:
“You'll drink, won't you?” he asks.
Staring at my mother, I can see how much this means to her. Slowly, I nod.
“It won't hurt,” he continues. “Tell them that, Clay. Tell them that it won't hurt.”
I stare at the faces of the women in the crowd. They're waiting for me.
“Tell them,” Mr. Kenseth continues. “This is a message direct from Attaroth, via me, via you, to all the true believers and followers in this room. Tell them the good news.”
“It won't hurt,” I whisper.
“Louder.”
“It won't hurt.”
“One more time. Say it like you mean it.”
I open my mouth to say the words, but they seem to catch in my throat.
“Say it,” my mother mouths to me.
“It won't hurt,” I tell them, sniffing back tears.
“And how do we know that?” Mr. Kenseth asks.
“Because...” I pause, trying to work out what he wants me to say next. “Because... Attaroth promises?”
“That's right!” he shouts, grabbing me hard by the shoulders. “We are at the dawn of the Age of Attaroth, when our one true god will lead the human race into its next phase of existence, and we lucky few have been chosen to be the first to enter his kingdom! Praise Attaroth!”
“Praise Attaroth!” the others shout back, their faces filled with tears and smiles.
“Praise Attaroth!” Mr. Kenseth shouts again, tapping my shoulder. “Join in, Clay! Everyone! Let him know that we hear him! Let him know that we believe! Praise Attaroth!”
“Praise Attaroth!” the others, including my mother, shout again, as the sound of a helicopter can be heard overhead.
“Praise Attaroth!” Mr. Kenseth shouts.
“Praise Attaroth!” the crowd replies.
“Praise Attaroth,” I whisper, staring at Mom as she beams back at me. Looking down at my locket, I realize that the moment is coming soon when we all have to drink the poison. Mom says it's okay, though; she says that as the first true believers, we'll be given a special place in the new order. It all sounds crazy, but I know Mom would never lie and she can't be wrong. I'm just too young to really understand.