by Jen Jensen
The figure turned and there was emptiness where its face should have been. It threw back the cloak and screamed. The mouth opened like a small patch of light inside an otherwise dark room. The sound choked Jamis; she perceived the sensation of hearing physically. A stench rolled off the figure, and then danced in front of her eyes like bright, spinning, chaotic lights. Wherever she was, her senses were scrambled and confused. Smell was sight, and sound pressed against her windpipe, trying to snuff out her life. She lay down on her side, clawing at her throat, thinking there was something there she could pry off. But there wasn’t.
She thrashed, pushing back to her hands and knees, finally to her feet. Terror wasn’t a good enough word to describe the state where she found herself. There was nothing between her and the oblivion the figure represented. The creature’s shadow was so long, Jamis feared it would consume her. It moved independently, long fingers stretching toward her. Humans were not meant to confront such darkness. Even Jamis was unprepared.
Jamis felt ripped open, like an ax had split her in two, head to toe, right down the middle. She had to get free of its orbit, find solid ground. She closed her eyes, an act of exceptional bravery, and ran into the middle of the yard, putting distance between them again.
It was enough and Jamis jerked back into the present. She was outside in the freezing cold, alone. She rushed into the house, slamming the door. Her watch showed ten minutes had elapsed. Her breath marked the frigid air.
“I asked for that. Was that you?” Heaviness filled the air and fell like a memory foam mattress topper on her shoulders. “It would be nice if you weren’t quite so hostile.” The pressure mounted again.
“Let’s talk more later.” The terror of confrontation had left her shaken, unsure of her own sanity. It was enough for the day. Jamis wanted to flee, but the door wouldn’t open. Snow blew at the window. Desperate, Jamis connected with the door with her shoulder, throwing all her strength and weight behind it. The door opened, and she sailed through the air.
“Well, hell,” Jamis said, as she hit the ground on her back. “You are so rude,” she yelled back at the house. The door closed. Jamis held up her birdie fingers. Then she crawled through the front yard on her hands and knees looking for her glasses.
This was a new experience. Heavy, dense, cold air. Unseen force that interacted with objects. Psychic visions and transference between points in time. Jamis experienced them in isolated events in the past, but never all at once. This could be real. She found her glasses, slipped them on, and sat in the snow, looking up at the house.
Despite her excitement, Jamis was energetically drained and her stomach growled. The only thing she needed to think about next was food. Everything else could wait.
* * *
It was a little after six p.m. Night descended with taillights glowing in the mist of melted snow, splashed up from tires on the road. The day felt like a dream. The intensity of seeing her mom in the body bag provoked disassociation as Jamis drove away from the house. The poltergeist played dirty resurfacing that memory. Or was it her? Did something in Jamis connect the experience in the house to that formative moment? Maybe she was in a therapy session with the universe and could expect her core issues to get resolved with whatever was happening in Sage Creek. It was a comforting thought, even if absurd.
The grocery store Tess recommended was made of industrial cinderblock, painted dark gray with “Town Market” stenciled on the front. Bright green-and-white shamrocks for St. Patrick’s Day were painted on the windows. The bell on the door chimed loudly as Jamis opened it. She lifted a small handheld basket from a stack. There were only six aisles in the store, and Jamis gathered groceries quickly. At the deli in the back, Jamis peered over the counter at a woman placing items in the display case.
“Hello,” Jamis said, meeting her dark eyes. Jamis grinned, taking in her short dark hair, streaked with gray. “Tess told me to tell you she sent me here.” The woman wiped her hands on her pants.
“Tess did, huh?” She strode from behind the deli counter. “I’m Carmen.” Jamis introduced herself. “Why are you here?”
“I’m hunting ghosts.”
“Well, that’s not something I hear every day.” She waved at the small basket Jamis held. “You ready?”
At the register, one with old-fashioned push button numbers, Jamis took the groceries from the basket and set them on the counter. Carmen tallied the cost.
“That’s it?” Jamis dug in her pocket for cash. “I only have a card.”
“It’s fine,” Carmen said, swiping it. “I was getting ready to close up and go get a beer. Wanna come?”
“Sign me up,” Jamis said. The idea of not returning to the hotel room alone was appealing. Jamis hated being alone, though she often was. “But I’d prefer gin and tonic.”
“Well, it might be called gin and tonic, but I can’t promise what’s actually in it. You’ll understand once we get there,” Carmen said.
Chapter Four
A single neon light cut through the darkness and Jamis pointed, standing beneath it. “The Silver Nickel?”
Carmen held the door open. The bar was full of smoke. When Jamis walked inside, her shoes stuck to the floor and made squeaking noises. “I thought you couldn’t smoke in public places.” Carmen shrugged. The walls were covered floor to ceiling with license plates.
“It’s a dive, I know, but the beer is good. The gin and tonic?” Carmen raised her hands to indicate non-commitment.
“Whatever you’re having is fine.” She’d eaten a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the truck on the way over. Carmen let her use the break room while she closed up. She’d left the groceries in the back of the rental car in the parking lot since it was colder than a fridge outside.
Carmen waved at the bartender, who filled a pitcher and brought two glasses to the booth where they sat. He looked disinterested and turned away without a word. She looked at Carmen who stared into the glass of beer she just poured. “Why did you ask me for a drink?”
“I don’t meet many new folks like you. I was headed here anyway. Shot in the dark.”
“Folks like me?”
“Queer,” Carmen said without apology. “Gay. Lesbian. Whatever.”
“To queer, gay, lesbian, whatever solidarity.” Jamis held up her beer to toast Carmen. She sipped her beer and grimaced. “But honestly, am I that obvious?”
“Are you serious?” Carmen raised an eyebrow. “It’s better here than it used to be, but there’s not a lot of us.” She drank the rest of her beer. “Or maybe some of it is generational. I’m sixty-three this year.”
“No, you’re not. Really?” Carmen was striking, and despite her hatred of the word when used to describe butch women, handsome. “Are you single?”
“Yeah,” Carmen said. Jamis poured them both more beer. It was already moving to her head, and a fleeting thought told her to stop. But she didn’t. Instead, Jamis pointed. “What’s with the license plates?”
“I think the decor makes the place. Sets the tone,” Carmen said.
“If that wall were in a modern art museum people would be walking around it, saying shit like, ‘This represents the vast mobility of American life and its loss of center and roots.’”
Carmen laughed and held her glass up in the air. “So, you’re ghost hunting?”
“A poltergeist. Do you believe in ghosts?” Jamis took a long drink and refilled her glass.
“I wish I did. I wish I knew for sure we kept on after this.” Sadness settled into Carmen’s eyes and crept across the table to Jamis. The pressure of emotion wrapped around her heart and spread into her lungs. Instinctively, Jamis reached across the table and put her hand on top of Carmen’s.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Just tired.” Jamis withdrew her hand, letting Carmen recover on her own terms. “I’ve never seen a ghost. But there’s lots of stuff I’ve not seen. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen,” Carmen said a few moments later.
“Yeah. I suppose.” Carmen poured another beer. “Tell me about your poltergeist.” Jamis shared the video and day’s event. “You really think poltergeists are real?”
“Generally, I’m prone to the unconventional.”
“You don’t say,” Carmen said.
“I think it’s possible our consciousness evolves and transitions at death, but some of us get stuck in between forms because of our attachments.” Jamis paused to think and drink. “Like the Zen proverb which says we should die before we die. Well, what if we don’t do that? What if we can’t? What if we carry so much pain and grief, or hold so much love, we can’t let go? What happens then?”
“You assume consciousness exists separate from the body,” Carmen said.
“Oh yeah. I do. But what if consciousness somehow informs the physical form? What if, as we punched forward into modernity and scientific rationalism, we got some of it right but the most important thing wrong? Who is to say that existence precedes essence? Why can’t essence or consciousness be what initiates existence? And what if we’re all that spark? What if God is the spark that lives inside all life, urging it to grow and manifest in the physical?
“We can’t explain that underlying desire of life to live. What if that creates all of this, and we play our role as the story unfolds? Maybe we’re a piece of the whole, and as we grow and learn, the whole changes and evolves with us, but we keep what’s unique. I mean, the mystics of all the world’s religions are so similar—they can’t all possibly be wrong, right?”
Jamis took another drink and switched gears. “What if the aliens we talk about understand more of this and can move in and out of dimensions? What if some ghosts are alien anthropologists? Or what if some ghosts are images of different times that momentarily bleed through? Or beings in other dimensions who somehow slip through into our awareness?”
“Jesus Christ,” Carmen said. “I just wanted to have a beer and chat.”
“I get a little carried away.” Jamis set her glasses on the table. She unwrapped her ponytail, tying it into a bun on top of her head. She put her glasses back on.
“You should hear me talk about organic cheese.” Carmen waved to the bartender.
“You’re welcome to talk about organic cheese, if you want,” Jamis said.
“I think I’m good. But you keep talking.”
They wound through the hours in comfortable conversation. Jamis showed Carmen videos of her television show on YouTube. Other customers joined them, recognizing Jamis.
“It’s midnight,” Jamis said. They were the only two people left in the bar. Carmen scooted lower in the seat. “I’ve talked nonstop.”
“I mumbled and encouraged you.” Carmen fell over in the booth and lay on her side. Jamis kicked out under the table at her, and Carmen caught her foot and pulled. Jamis slipped down and they laughed harder, looking at each other under the table.
“How the hell are we going to get home?” Carmen’s expression was concerned.
“I might be able to drive.” Jamis scooted from the booth and tried to stand. She teetered, laughing. “Maybe not. Can we call a cab?” Carmen’s reaction was incredulous. “No cabs, huh?” Carmen shook her head. “Uber? Lyft?” Jamis put her head on the table. The world spun.
“There isn’t much public transportation to choose from in Sage Creek. I’ll call us a ride,” Carmen said.
“I’m drunk at the Silver Nickel and need a ride home.” Carmen said apologetically into the phone. She hung up. “She’ll be here in about twenty.” Jamis lifted her head. “Do you really think there’s a poltergeist?”
“God, I hope so. Isn’t that crazy? At a certain point, I can’t just keep doing this because I don’t know what else to do. Something has to pan out. I actually wanted to be an archaeologist, you know? I have a BA and half a graduate degree in it. But I wasn’t disciplined enough. I found the process exasperating. I don’t like other people’s rules.”
She sat up. “Give me your phone,” Jamis said. Carmen did. Jamis tapped the screen and handed it back to Carmen. “Put in your code.” Carmen reached across the table and tapped in her code. “I’m adding me.” Jamis texted herself and picked up her phone, showing Carmen. “Now, I’ve got your number. We are officially friends.” She gave Carmen her phone back. They drifted into tired silence, heads foggy.
The door of the bar opened, and a rush of cold filtered in. A woman wearing faded jeans and work boots stepped inside. She took off her knit hat and dark blond red hair fell around her shoulders.
“That’s our ride. Johnna, over here,” Carmen said, waving.
Time stilled for Jamis as Johnna moved toward them, like a scene in an old movie when the heroine crosses the screen toward the hero for the first time. Jamis heard the crescendo of an orchestra as she approached the table. Behind her, giant strobe lights lit up the license plates on the ceiling. Maybe the MGM lion even roared. It was probably the alcohol and excitement of her day, but her impulse was to ask Johnna to leave with her.
Maybe nothing else was open on a Saturday night in Sage Creek, Utah. Didn’t matter. Jamis wasn’t beyond sitting in the food court of McDonald’s at the twenty-four hour Walmart they passed on the way to the bar. Johnna was so beautiful her presence would make it a five star restaurant. Then Johnna smiled at Carmen and Jamis was close enough to see her green eyes twinkle and the small dimple in her right cheek. After that, she was prepared to charter a plane to take them anywhere together. She’d empty her savings account. Sell off her investments.
Carmen covered her eyes with her hands. Johnna turned to Jamis. “I’m Johnna.”
Jamis stuck out her hand to Johnna, who took it. “Jamis.” Johnna’s hand fit nicely in her palm, just the right length and width, like they were carved to fit together. Jamis stared at their enclosed hands.
“Can I have my hand back?”
“Sorry,” Jamis said. “I’ve had a lot to drink and you’re really beautiful.” She forced herself to let go of Johnna’s hand.
“Watch it, Ghostbuster,” Carmen said.
Johnna smiled and sat next to Jamis. The bartender came to the table and mumbled at Johnna. She turned and made eye contact. “I’m fine, Bill, thank you though.” Johnna wiped crumbs from the table with her hand and grimaced.
“We got a little carried away,” Carmen said.
Jamis thought the color of Johnna’s hair was a miracle. Maybe even proof of God. Then Johnna arched and stretched her arms above her head. Her shirt lifted. There was a sliver of skin just above the waistband of her jeans. Jamis felt a flush of desire. It was shocking because it had been so long since she felt anything like it. The previous year was stale and empty. She’d worried the depression had snuffed out any chance of future companionship. No matter the depth of darkness into which she sank, Jamis had found an unending capacity for life to surprise her. What she needed always arrived on time, even if it wasn’t always what she wanted.
Carmen pulled cash from her wallet and left it on the table. Jamis moved to take money out of her pocket.
“Nah, I got it,” Carmen said. Jamis held her hands together in thanks, bowed her head.
“I can get you home tonight. I’ll come pick you up in the morning and take you to the store,” Johnna said. She turned to Jamis. “Where are you staying?”
“I’m staying at the motel Tess owns. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember the name.”
“I know it.” Johnna slid from the booth. Jamis followed unsteadily and leaned casually against the side of the bench.
“Jamis is so drunk,” Carmen said.
“Am not,” Jamis said. “I’m beer drunk, which is only half of gin drunk. I look cool standing here like this.”
Johnna laughed and followed Carmen out the door. Jamis stepped consciously behind them, watching Johnna. Her hair fell down to the midd
le of her back and tiny wisps danced with each step. Johnna had the most perfect walk and hair Jamis had ever seen. Johnna was also kind because she turned to wave to Bill as they left. Jamis needed to get a journal to write down all these things about Johnna to remember when she was sober.
In the truck, Jamis stretched her legs across the back seat. Carmen wanted to get back there, but Jamis refused. Johnna looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Tight fit?”
“I think you should get one of those size limits things like they have at amusement parks and set it in the back of the truck. Cap it at five-nine. I’m about two inches over the limit.”
Johnna held eye contact with her via the mirror. Jamis grew quiet as the noise of the day faded away when she looked into Johnna’s eyes. They’d arrived at the point in the old movie where the screen faded to black just as the hero and heroine realized they were star-crossed lovers. Either that, or Jamis was approaching a blackout.
Johnna broke eye contact first, and Jamis watched her hands on the steering wheel, long fingers wrapped around it. Jamis rested her head against the window, soothed by the cold. “We’re coming up on the motel.” Jamis pointed to her room from the back seat, and Johnna pulled into the parking lot. Jamis climbed out of the truck.
She stuck her head in Carmen’s rolled down window and kissed her cheek. Carmen pushed her away and she stumbled toward her room. Their laughter filled the dark, icy silence of the night. There were heavy storm clouds in the sky. She opened the door after two tries and turned before she stepped inside and waved. She wanted to yell, “Johnna, don’t leave.” Instead, the truck faded from view.
Once inside, she slid out of her clothes, fell on the bed, and planted a foot on the ground to stop the spinning until her toes grew too cold. She pulled her leg in, burrowed under the covers, and scooted to the middle of the bed. With closed eyes, she saw the hint of Johnna’s stomach peeking from beneath her shirt. She grabbed a pillow from above her, put her foot on it, and shifted back to put her foot on the ground. How would Johnna’s skin feel under her fingertips?