Spectral Tales

by Jamie Campbell, Sarah Dalton, Susan Fodor, Katie French, M. A. George, Sutton Shields, Ariele Sieling, & H. S. Stone

  With the freedom gained by not having the hand holding her down, Malika hit him in the throat, leading with the stone.

  The man's eyes opened wide in surprise. He tried to talk, but no words came out. Both of his hands now went to his throat. Malika hit him again on the head. This time, he tilted to the side, and she pushed his body off of her. The man was still conscious, grasping at his throat.

  Malika found a larger rock a few feet away. The slave trader's attention was no longer on her. She stepped behind him and bashed the rock against the back of his head.

  He fell face forward in the dirt.

  His eyes closed, but his chest rose and fell in slow rhythm. Malika hadn't killed him. She had mixed feelings about the result, but as long as he was no longer a danger to her, she had achieved her goal.

  She set her sights on the house at the far end of the village. Her more immediate goal now was saving her sister.

  ***

  At the threshold leading into the building, Malika debated whether to sneak in from another entrance, perhaps a window. Her indecision ended when she heard the voice inside say, "I know you're out there. You might as well come in."

  Malika pushed the door open and took two steps inside, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer lighting. The second slave trader stood at the far end of the room, a knife in one hand. Kappai's prone form lay by his feet. Her eyes were shut, and she didn't stir at the older girl's entrance.

  Malika's heart pounded in her chest. She was too late.

  "Don't worry. She's not dead, if that's what you're afraid of," the slave trader said. "She's no good to me dead, and neither are you."

  Malika let out a long exhale. Her sister was still alive. There was still hope for both of them. She asked, "What do you plan to do with us?"

  The man twirled the knife in his hand. "That's a good question. I don't have a wagon and horses, so there's no easy way to transport you two, but I still need to bring both of you to the nearest town with a trading post if I'm going to make any money off of you."

  In a way, hearing the man talk of selling the sisters as slaves brought Malika relief. He wasn't a pervert like the man whom she had knocked out. He was only looking to make money. That made him both safer to be around and yet more dangerous because he couldn't be as easily enticed.

  Malika pointed to Kappai. "What did you do to her? How long will she be out?"

  "Maybe for just a few minutes. I gave her a dose of this."

  With his free hand, he brought out a small bottle. Malika hadn't seen it before, but she guessed that the slave traders used the same chemical on her and Kappai when they were captured.

  "Are you going to use that on me too?"

  "No. Lucky for you, I used the last of it on your sister. Besides, you're more useful to me awake."

  Malika needed to stall the man until Kappai woke up. Although the slave trader had a knife, perhaps the two sisters together could overpower him. No, she contemplated, the risk was too great. Malika wasn't willing to put her sister's life in danger. She thought of making a dash to the kitchen to retrieve one of the knives there, but she didn't know what the man would do to Kappai if threatened.

  There was also the first slave trader to consider. Once he regained consciousness, the men would outmatch the two sisters.

  Malika's eyes searched the room, looking for anything that might help her gain an advantage over the armed man.

  "Stop scheming!" he said. "I can see it in your eyes. Don't even think of escaping, or I'll cut your sister's throat."

  Her gaze returned to the man before her. She needed to lure him away from Kappai so that the threat of her life didn't weigh in any actions Malika might take. "I was just thinking that it would be easier if you bound our hands. We can walk to the nearest town, but with our hands tied, it'll be harder to escape."

  The slave trader pursed his lips and furrowed his brows, pondering the offer that Malika made. Finally, he answered, "Fine. Go find some rope." He crouched down, placing his knife next to Kappai's neck. "But if you try anything funny, I'll spill her blood."

  Malika nodded. She walked to the kitchen, careful to make slow, deliberate movements so that the man holding the knife to Kappai's throat wouldn't harm her sister out of panic. She made a show of opening every drawer and cupboard in the kitchen. Instead of rope, she found a ball of string used for tying up bags of food for storage. It looked sturdy but thin enough that she and Kappai might somehow escape from the bindings later.

  "This is all I could find," she announced, showing the man the string.

  He frowned but beckoned her closer. "Come tie your sister's hands together."

  Malika approached with the ball of string. The slave trader shifted his position so that he could keep an eye on her while staying in easy reach to cut Kappai's throat with one swift swing of his arm if needed.

  As she drew near, Malika saw the hair hanging in front of Kappai's face flutter with every breath. Her face maintained its healthy pink color. As far as she could tell, her sister was asleep but unharmed.

  She unwrapped a length of string and wound it around Kappai's wrists.

  "Tighter!" the man commanded.

  Malika made the next loop tighter, but she was careful not to let the string dig into Kappai's skin.

  "Two more loops," he added.

  She did as he asked and then tied off the string in a knot.

  "Now it's your turn."

  "How am I supposed to tie my own hands together?"

  "You get started, and I'll finish the knot."

  Malika didn't want to protest. She considered it a minor victory that he allowed her to tie her own hands because she could add a little slack to the bindings. She held one end of the string with one hand and looped the ball around her wrists.

  "That's too loose," the man complained.

  "I told you it was hard to tie my own hands."

  He brought his knife up, pointing it at her head. "Don't lie to me."

  "I'm not! I promise." Malika dropped the ball of string. It skittered away, unwinding more string as it rolled toward the kitchen. She turned around to retrieve it, and an idea came to her. "Can you let me use the counter for leverage?"

  The slave trader eyed the counter. It was clear except for a basket containing a loaf of bread. Deeming it safe, he granted her permission to move to the counter. He followed, keeping enough distance from her so that Malika couldn't reach him if she tried to grab his knife or attack him, but close enough for him to lunge at her and cut her in a split second.

  Malika leaned against the counter, setting the ball of string on it. She started tying her wrists again, but her hands shook.

  "What's the matter with you?"

  "Just nervous, that's all," she said with a forced smile. She fumbled with the string again. Then she glanced at the window next to her. "Can you move to the other side? You're blocking the light."

  The slave trader grumbled and did as she asked. Malika pressed her body as close to the counter as she could to let him pass. She held herself still.

  "Is this better, you demanding- " The man's face twisted in pain. An anguished cry left his mouth as he realized what had happened. He fell forward, and Malika jumped out of the way. Without checking, she knew he was dead. She unraveled the string around her wrists.

  The man's knife tumbled out of his hand and fell a few feet away. It landed not far from her, but Malika couldn't reach it because of the ghosts hovering where the knife lay. She saw them enter the house and hoped that they could do to the slave trader what she couldn't on her own.

  The nearest ghost brushed past her, coming within a hand's breadth of touching her and ending her life. Malika raced away from the kitchen and returned to her sister's side. Tugging at the string, she freed Kappai's bonds. Then she shook her sister until Kappai began to rouse from her sleep.

  "Wake up, Kappai! We need to get out of here. There are ghosts in this house."

  Malika turned to the door. It was too late. Th
e ghosts barred the route to the exit.

  ***

  With Malika's help, Kappai stood up on shaky legs.

  "What happened, Malika?" She saw the slave trader's body. "Did you kill him? Are we safe?"

  "Not quite," Malika answered. Her eyes swept the area between the door and the kitchen. Seven ghosts had passed through the walls and entered the room. They floated aimlessly, unaware of their surroundings, including the dead man on the kitchen floor. More ghosts streamed in while others left, unaware that they passed through walls as effortlessly as through the air.

  "Ghosts?" Kappai whispered.

  "Yes."

  "Where?"

  Malika swept an arm in front of her. "There."

  "How do we get out of here?"

  "I'm working on that. Can you walk on your own?"

  Kappai flexed her legs. "Yes, I think so."

  "Good, come on. Follow me." Malika slid along the back wall of the room, staying as far away from the front door and the kitchen as she could. She entered the only other room in the house, a sparse bedroom with a single window.

  There were no ghosts inside, and Malika sprinted to the window with Kappai at her heels. She unlatched the window and pushed it open. The ghost that passed just outside missed her face by inches. She recoiled in shock, bumping into her sister.

  "What happened, Malika? More ghosts?"

  Malika nodded, recovering from the startle. "There's a horde right outside the window. We can't leave from here either."

  "What do we do now?"

  "I don't know yet, Kappai." She left the bedroom. A gathering of ghosts still hovered at the front of the house, and two more joined the group by the door. Unlike the ones outside the house, however, these moved more slowly, almost lethargically.

  The ghosts at the door prevented them from leaving that way. They couldn't even reach the doorknob to open it. However, the pair near the kitchen window had dispersed somewhat, offering a possible chance to escape.

  "Kappai, step where I step, and the ghosts won't touch you." Malika held her sister's hand and slowly approached the window. She stopped three feet away from the nearest ghost. Malika glanced out the window. There didn't appear to be any ghosts outside the front of the house. She turned around and placed her hands on Kappai's shoulders. "Listen to me. You have to do exactly as I say. When I tell you it's safe to do so, you're going to jump on the counter and then crawl out of this window. You move exactly when I tell you to. You got it?"

  "What about you?"

  "I'll be right behind you, but I need to be your eyes right now so that you can escape first."

  "Malika?"

  "I'll join you as soon as possible. I promise."

  Kappai wrapped her arms around her older sister. "You'd better."

  Malika didn't look down at her sister. She didn't want the last image that Kappai saw of her to be a face full of doubt. No, Malika told herself, it wouldn't be the last time that Kappai saw her alive. They were both going to make it.

  "Get ready."

  Kappai balled her hands into fists, her legs ready to spring into action. Malika timed the movement of the ghosts before them. As soon as they left an opening for Kappai, Malika yelled, "Now!"

  She had never seen her sister jump so fast. The little girl leaped onto the counter, pushed open the window, and fell through to the other side. A moment later, her smiling face appeared. "I made it, Malika! Now it's your turn."

  In the seconds that it took Kappai to escape, the ghosts reversed their course and blocked the path to the window again. Malika waited for them to move out of the way, but one of them stopped as if it could sense her presence.

  Kappai inched toward the window. "What are you waiting for, Malika?"

  "Stay outside, Kappai! There's a ghost right in front of the window." The little girl backed away. "That's good. Just stay there."

  Malika took a step to her right to see if the ghost would follow her, but it didn't move. She walked back and forth in the kitchen, taunting the ghost to leave its place in front of the window. A second ghost passed through the first one, and both started moving again. Malika set off as soon as the path to the window cleared. She climbed onto the counter. Putting both hands on the window frame, she prepared to push off.

  The first ghost changed direction again. It came back in her direction. Malika pulled her body through the window. She kicked off with her feet and tumbled onto the ground outside.

  She had made it. She was still alive.

  Malika got to her feet. An assembly of ghosts continued to enter and exit the house, but none hovered outside where the sisters stood. Pulling Kappai along with her, Malika took a path around the ghosts and away from the village.

  They walked in silence until they reached the first line of trees in the woods.

  "Are we safe now?" Kappai asked.

  "Yes," Malika answered. Safe from the ghosts. Safe from the slave traders.

  "What do we do now?"

  "The same thing we had planned to do last night. We'll wait until the ghosts clear out, grab our food and water, and then head for Talin. How does that sound to you?"

  Kappai leaned her head against Malika. "It sounds great."

  Malika wrapped an arm around her little sister. If they could survive hunger and ghosts and slave traders, they could survive anything. "Don't you worry, Kappai. As long as I'm around, you'll be safe." She meant every word.

  About H.S. Stone

  Even before he could read, H.S. Stone wanted to write a book. Fascinated by the stories that seemed to leap from his kindergarten teacher's books, he went home and wrote his own book, with illustrations and bound by staples. Of course, since he didn't know how to read or write yet, the book was full of gibberish.

  Undaunted, H.S. eventually mastered the ABC's and continued to write throughout his grade school years, adolescence, and into adulthood. Despite earning a degree and working in a field not related to writing, he continued to pursue his writing passion.

  H.S. Stone's publications include novels aimed at Young Adult and Middle Grade readers as well as several short stories. He lives with his family in the San Francisco Bay Area.

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  Farewell Ohana

  (A Ghostly Mini-Wave)

  Sutton Shields

  Kauai Camp for the Curiously Creepy. Morning. Winter. Life in Hawaii had always been peaceful, simple, and existed almost entirely outdoors. We had plush sandy beaches that warmed your skin like a down comforter and an ocean so blue and clear, you'd think it was a painting come to life. And then there was the sky-a sky that proudly produced flawless rainbows against a perfect blue backdrop during the day and darkened at nightfall to show off its myriad of twinkling stars just waiting to be wished upon.

  Mom used to rock me in her arms in our big hammock, and say, "The spirits of night sing our land to sleep, tucking it beneath its deep blue blanket, readying it to face a bright, new day."

  She'd then ask me to pick a star, any star, to hear its story; it was our nightly tradition. I'd point my stubby little finger at the tiniest one I could find, and not simply because it looked sad and lonely and in need of a hug-I picked one Mom may not be able to find. See, I developed the talent of improbable night vision at a very young age. My eyes were basically the equivalent of night vision goggles?only better, way better. After many guesses and giggles, Mom crafted a spine-tingling, awe-inspiring story for even the most miniscule star; whether she actually ever found the one I'd selected or not remained a mystery. When the tale was over, Mom would stroke my hair and sing her version of Aloha ?Oe. I could still hear her deep, warm voice, singing me to sleep as the warm ocean breeze kissed our cheeks:

  "My baby, how I love you

  My love can't fade

  I'm there, one star away"

  Sitting on my small, rickety cot, the memories burning my soul, I roughly wiped tears from my eyes. Today was the anniversary of my
parents' deaths. My mom and dad passed away shortly after I was institutionalized, yet the cut in my heart was still painfully raw. What I wouldn't give for my last vision of my mom to be in that hammock, singing me to sleep. Instead, my final memory of her was from the day the Imperia-a special branch of government dedicated to institutionalizing youths who show unusual talents-ripped me out of her arms. I was just a child at the time. My beautiful mother's tear-stained face occupied my mind, as her piercing, wounded cries invaded my ears. I hadn't set eyes on the sand, sea, or sky since that day?and at this moment, I was afraid I'd never see them again.

  "Maile? Are you okay?"

  "She's thinking about her mom, Gus. We shouldn't bother her."

  Guston and Gullivere Pensmackden were my best friends in the institution. They were a peculiar set of twins I'd met my first night here; no one else wanted to be near them, though I could never understand why. Sure, Gully was a bit, well, odd, but weren't we all? I mean, so what if she starts jumbling her words when her hair falls down? Granted, it was a tad bizarre at first, but I'd learned to decode her babble on those occasions. Though, admittedly, I always tried to ensure her long honeysuckle-blond hair was tied up in a braid or ponytail. Gus, on the other hand, had always been quite intimidating, even as a small boy. He seemed to use his silent, stealth-like demeanor and severe caramel-brown eyes to distance himself from everyone but me and his sister. He'd since grown into my protector and boyfriend.

  "The day is dark," I said quietly.

  Gully sighed. "Yes, it is quite morbid. I hate draining days, when the doctors start trying to remove our talents. It's really very painful. And I hate the screaming?"

  I shook my head. "No, I mean literally the day is dark. I absolutely cannot see anything. At least I could see shadows and shapes yesterday. Today, it's like someone put a blindfold on me. You were right, Gully. Your decoding was dead-on."

  Being a code decipherer, Gully was able to de-cryptic just about anything. For several weeks, I'd had odd dreams, almost as if they'd been planted in my brain; when I'd wake up, my ability to see in daylight had dramatically deteriorated. Gully guessed my dreams were clues pertaining to my loss of sight, possibly sent to me by my ancestors.