Riverside National Cemetery
Riverside, California
8:30 AM
I took one long breath and exhaled as I drove past the cemetery’s gates. My right hand kept scratching Keeji’s back tattoo. For luck’s sake at least.
The drive was the same but my anxiety was high. I kept looking everywhere for anything, or anyone. A crazed nut job attacking terrans. An unchecked cop. A rogue tumbleweed or tire on the highway. Every crazy scenario raced through my head, almost exhausting and distracting me.
But nothing happened. Just a typical morning with the usual traffic.
Some routines couldn’t be ignored. I stopped earlier at a florist nearby to buy some flowers. The seller was cautious of me the moment she saw my ears and tail. What’s worse was she knew me for years, and now, I was more or less dead to her. No matter how good-mannered I was, she wanted me gone.
The cemetery was almost empty. A familiar guard, Mark Stenson, was by the gate. I sent him a nod and a short wave. I got a nod back. I didn’t want to wonder if he had the same disposition as the florist. Just be the same person as before, I told myself.
Just past the POW/MIA memorial, unmovable Wave crystals were still on and in the ground, three bus-sized ones. Two laid on their sides blocking grave sites, one stabbed through the ground by the visitor center like a frozen purple explosion. Everything else was as clean as the last time I visited. No open or disgraced graves.
I turned a few corners and parked at my usual spot under the oak tree by the second lake. I turned the car off. I sighed again as if I held my breath passing Mark.
“You know, we can go out for tacos instead,” Keeji joked. I didn’t respond. “Worth a shot,” he mumbled.
I got out, let Keeji out from the passenger side, and then grabbed the two bundles of flowers and my backpack. The car was locked tight.
As I walked, I started walking on an imaginary path across the grass toward the family parcels. The lawn was clean-cut and deep green. Within three steps, a sickening weight suddenly formed in my stomach, turning into a deep anxiety-filled divot.
I leaned on the oak tree to take a few breaths to calm down.
“You sure you don’t want tacos?” Keeji joked again.
“Not now,” I told him between breaths.
I knew how worrisome he was, trying to deviate me from facing the plots. He was at it ever since I got on the highway. Can’t be ignored when a piece of your gut feeling in the real world is pestering you. My totem leaned on my leg, and in some manner, I gave him some neck scratches.
I looked back at the gravesites. That weight in my stomach was still there.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Bum……Dumm.
My ribcage contracted a little. That feeling was still new to me after being off for months. It happened several times since I left the winery. Making fresh mana for magic. A weighted reminder of what I am now.
I collected myself before carrying on with my walk.
The family gravesites are a tight group amongst others. Each grave has five coffins in the ground stacked on top of each other. Just two plots housing the family on this side of the country. Most of my Dad’s family, a huge military family, are buried in Virginia, dating back to my Ireland ancestors when the colonies were established. The rest immigrated before the great potato famine happened. Most of them served in battles and wars in all branches, while a small lot of them were regular citizens; business owners, and public servants. The Dunne family served, lived, and died for this country. On Mom’s side of the family, they immigrated from Scotland to New York when Ellis Island was at its peak. Just a regular family, with no ties with fighting, even scoffed at the drafts, until Mom decided to join the Air Force, and met Dad while serving.
Now it’s just me. I never joined a branch or got drafted. A man with a lot of history in my blood and the only one that broke mentally before I served. Once that happens, it’s an immediate disqualification.
Try asking anyone still on active duty that never heard of my family’s reputation. To this day, not a day goes by when one that knew my parents or older ones decide to call me up for a talk or be invited to their homes, on rare occasions, visit local bases.
The gravesites faced the lake. Their recessed gravestones in the grass were etched with their names. I let out my breath I realized I was holding.
I make this trip every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Mom and Dad’s birthdays. And with each trip, I go alone. I once brought Katie with me on Mom’s birthday, but seeing me talking for hours at the gravesites kind of put her off. And it was grape harvest season.
I faced the gravestones. The first had my parents. Harold Dunne. Vanessa McTavy Dunne. Grandpa Jack, Dad’s younger brother and former U.S. Marine, was below them. The two other people I knew nothing about. The next plot over had Uncle Terry at the top of the stack. Uncle Terry worked in the aerospace industry all his life in Tacoma until a massive heart attack took him at age 63, a few years before my mind went to shit. I remember when I got sane, my parent's will state the cemetery had to move my uncle’s coffins closer to them. Family sticking together.
“Morning,” I said. “Happy birthday, Dad. And late Christmas. I know I look… weird. And I have a dog now.”
“I’m a dog?” Keeji asked.
I eyed Keeji. “But I can explain. And uh… hold your britches, Uncle Terry. You’ll need to hear this.”
I sat down on the cool grass and explained everything the last time I spoke to them.
Nothing was held back from what happened from the Big Bear apartment to last night. Why hide the existence of aliens and magic when they’re dead? I joked about how it took a magical force to finally lose the weight I gained. Terry was big in sci-fi so I was certain he’d get a kick out of them. Explaining our time with Jaruka, Area 51, and onboard an alien battleship was hard for me, thinking about how would they react and how hard it was to describe every alien species I saw. Both parents were skeptical of UFOs, even the alien movies I grew up watching. I’m certain Mom and Dad would clock Jaruka out the moment they meet. Explaining the magic part was also difficult.
This went on for an hour.
“And just yesterday, Jaruka’s friends arrived,” I said finishing my sandwich. “He’s got a new ship too. Just parading his alien-ness, something, to everybody. Me and Kate and her parents can’t do much about it and I don’t know if his friends or his sister we never heard about can help him. Just…” I grunted. “Thinking about it pisses me off. It’s all bullshit.”
Words came out of my mouth easier by then. It felt freeing.
Keeji, as I ranted on, got bored within five minutes and just plopped onto the grass to sleep and sunbathe. For being part of my mind, his laziness is on point.
“Oh, get this,” I continued, “the bat alien expects to experiment on both of us. Figure out how this transformation works. Can you believe that? Cliché up the wall!”
I drank from my water bottle before saying, “I get it, Uncle Terry. You’d love to punch him to Yosemite.” It was his catchphrase when he was alive. Also protective. He was a wildcard in the family. He never enlisted due to his temper and permanent record from grade school. No one had seen him punch anybody, always with verbal threats when not working on airplanes.
I stood up from the grass and a huge indent of my ass and legs was visible. “Like just… so much shit going on,. I don’t know if we have to do something or not. We can’t control Jaruka in or out of the winery, the neighbors hate us, Katie is somehow a Twitter meme, and I swear, Jonathan has more grey hairs on his head than a couple of weeks ago.” I took another drink of water. “Oh, and the winery is probably bankrupt. Brenda ain’t saying it but I can tell just by looking at her.”
I noticed more visitors arriving as the minutes ticked. Just saying their respects, but quickly leaving once they saw me and dumdum beside me.
“What am I supposed to do?” I said to the gravesites. “Dad, if you were here, you’d have an answer. You always did.”
A headache formed, frustrated from it all, from the loneliness, the craziness I expressed, being a freak of the cemetery.
I tensed my forearms, say that Gaelic word, and lit my arms up. Every tattoo smoked with energy. It felt right to show them the real result of my change.
“How can I continue living my life with this?” I asked showing the gravestones my arms. “To all of you, I’m a living weapon. Soon everybody will. I hate it… just…” Tears started forming.
Bum……Dumm.
My chest contracted, but harder, catching me off guard. I grunted and almost fell backward from the force.
Keeji woke up, looking concerned for me. “You okay?”
I shook the dizziness from my head. “I’m good, I’m good… that was… Ah hell!”
Bum……Dumm.
Bum……Dumm.
“Shit. What the hell!?” I exclaimed.
Each contraction in my chest got stronger with each beat from my mana heart. I could feel energy pushing in and out of my spine and arms. Back and forth, back and forth. The headache got stronger with each flow.
Then I noticed my hands moving on their own. Once I could, but next I couldn’t, jerking at the joints, then the whole hands and upper arms. Twisting and contorting in unnatural shapes. I tried to take control but there was nothing I could do. There was no pain, only numb discomfort.
Then both arms shot straight to my sides. Both of my hands went from acting spindly and grabby, to spread out with palms facing the ground. Both were locked in place. Uncomfortable memories from the time I was chained to the truck heading to Area 51. I screamed for help but no one was coming to me. Keeji started barking at me.
“Quit it, buddy,” he said. “BARK. You’re creeping me out!”
“For God's sake help me!” I yelled me.
Bum……Dumm.
Bum……Dumm.
Bum……Dumm.
I screamed once more. My mana heart beat fast, and all at once, a vice-like grip squeezed it in the whitest of pain I ever felt.
Every drop of charged mana erupted from my hands. Feeling my mana heart empty itself was the weirdest feeling to date. I screamed as it happened as the burning feeling overcame my hands.
I watched as the energy radiated throughout the grounds as far out as the second lake and the graveyard’s edge. The embedded wave crystals nearby gained some of it. Once I felt empty, my arms relaxed so that my control came back, and my whole body collapsed to the grass, breathing heavily. The tattoos disappeared, but I still felt my muscles burning from whatever the hell that was. And that headache matched the same pulse as my actual heart.
“What. The hell. Was that?” Keeji asked.
“Fuck if I know,” I said. I rolled onto all fours. “Some help you are.”
I got back on my feet and checked my arms. There were no burn marks, remnants of the tattoos, or any pain. I checked the ground and found no singed grass between my family’s plots. Charged mana, from what Katie said, sometimes left burn marks depending on the spell. Except I cast no spell. Mana was forced out of my hands.
Then I heard a humming sound. The hairs behind my neck and arms stood up. That humming was unmistakable. I haven’t heard that since The Wave happened.
I turned to the nearest wave crystal, the one by the visitor center, and it had a slight, pulsing glow within it in the morning light. It didn’t get brighter, just a consistent, slow pulse. Unnerving sense came from it. I thought back while the drain happened and I couldn’t remember anything. Imagination fuels the spell, making it what the caster wants it. So what did “nothing” translate into?
Then ripples of sparkling white light radiated from the crystal and outward over the ground. At least six more ripples passed under us, making everything sparkle.
“Woah. Did you learn a new spell without telling me?” Keeji asked. I didn’t answer. I was too scared wondering what would happen.
“Come on, at least-“ Keeji then barked without warning.
“Seriously? There are no squirrels around here.”
As I looked back, all of Keeji’s teeth showed and his back sur stood on end. He kept on barking and I told him to stop to not draw any more attention. Then I looked where he was intimidating and I almost pissed myself.
A shimmering white mass rose from a grave across from my family’s. The blob was milky translucent with an amoeba-like movement if you saw one under a microscope. A limb, I believed, separated from the “body” and that stuff inside that limb turned opaque in seconds, then solid white. Like a Star Trek teleporter in slow motion, it formed finger bones, the palm, wrist bones, and forearm, then muscle over bone, then skin over muscle, then a sleeve of a blue suit jacket. A face formed at the top of the mass from the nose outward, revealing a man I did not know with glowing white eyes. From the nose up looked normal, but the bottom half of the jaw was disjointed and hung from patches of muscle just barely staying together. He reached toward me. He tried speaking as he floated toward me.
A lot more masses, rising from every gravesite I could see, had varied similarities to the first. One was just a pair of legs and hips wearing black slacks. Another was a torso with a neck and arms, crawling toward me and kept sucking in air through exposed vocal cords and deformed lungs riddled with bullet holes.
A few of them were fighting each other, stealing each other's shimmering mass and materialized body parts. One had his leg removed and the thief attached it to his exposed hip socket. And a large amount of mass three rows down was transferred from a small amoeba to become a woman’s fully formed brain. No skull.
Keeji growled and said, “Get away from my buddy!” and lunged at the closest mass. It had fully formed legs in jeans but the rest was a walking skeleton with a beating heart. Keeji phased right through it. The abomination was unaffected, oblivious of my totem, and it kept limping toward me in a pleading gesture. Keeji flopped on the grass and whimpered in fear.
“Fuck this,” I said and grabbed my backpack. “Keeji, forget it. Get to the car!”
We ran over the gravesites, jumping over partially formed. I avoided colliding with two that merged together, a guy wedged through another guy’s chest by the head. Too many cronenbergs to count, too scared to even care. I had to get out of there. My heart pounded against my chest. Then some started speaking to me once I got to the oak tree.
I got to the car, opened my door, and Keeji sprinted inside, smacking his right side into the passenger side door. “Get in, get in!” He screamed without an inkling of being injured.
I got in, threw the backpack in the passenger seat, and slammed my door shut. My hands couldn’t stop shaking and fumbling the car key from how scared I was, curing in between.
Several of those things walked toward the car. Hands out toward me
Keeji whined while saying “Hurry up! Start the car or they’ll start begging for brains!”
“I’m trying!”
I jammed the car key in, turned it, and the car started right up. “Ha ha! Success!” I said.
A loud thud on the car’s hood made us scream and look.
One of those things plopped itself in front of the windshield. It was almost formed, just missing a left leg, and half of his skull was missing. His entire brain was exposed and his tongue lapped out of its open mouth. He turned his head to look at me in the eyes.
God. That face. I haven’t seen that face, or that tacky red Hawaiian shirt since sixth grade.
He sucked in air and gargled, “Fffight! Fight, nephew!” He coughed out teeth onto the car’s hood. “Fight for your life! Fight for her!”
I put the car in gear and backed out. The spectral body rolled off the hood and splattered in a shimmering ooze over the driveway.
I drove out of the cemetery, narrowly avoiding more cronenbergs, walking, limping, crawling, and one time sprinting toward me. Keeji was too shocked and hid in the passenger’s legroom to cry. My heart kept on pounding and felt sweat build up on my skin and my grip on the wheel got clammy. Keeping my focus on driving was paramount. I had to keep myself from freaking out, or worse, having a panic attack while driving.
After passing the cemetery gates, most of those chronenbergs were dissolving away.
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Walsh Estate Winery
Temecula, California
10:00 AM
“Full immunization in 5…4…3…2…,” Amber counted down from—not joking—an antique-ish pocket watch from her vest. Her grin widened before saying, “Drink away.”
All three aliens sipped last year’s Cliffhanger Port from their sample glasses. It was apparent during the whole tour they were looking forward to having some.
Shaotzi took the lightest sip. Eyes closed. A smooth and delicate move from rim to mouth. She savored the dark red wine. She pulled the glass back, swallowed, letting air mix with the aftertaste, and said, “Delightful. Complex and earthy. The fruit tone is quite nice.” Her saying that was like looking at Jaruka’s nicer doppelgänger.
Domoja sat on a barstool as he sipped. He took a big sniff the second time, a second sip as well. His big ears fluttered and earrings clinked as he let out a low hum. “My, my, my. What a creation,” he said. “Agreed, Shaotzi, but the fruit is more apparent to me. The tartness and the smooth mouthfeel… I can go for a fish plate right about now.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Amber took one big sniff, a small sip, then guzzled the rest of the three-ounce sample. She let out a loud, satisfying gasp and said, “Oh, man. Never tell the hanger crew about this winery, that’s for sure.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
Amber set her glass down. “I guess you met Wringheart?”
“A little. Maybe a minute.”
“Take note about her culture’s practices because if this winery gets part of a jacker funeral, or when Nova has parties to let out steam this winery would be cleaned out by sunrise.” She licked her lips, maybe some remnants of wine left. “Can I have another?”
“So… a compliment?” I poured her another sample.
“Exactly.”
A little chill traveled down my tail. Just thinking about how my parents or the town would take it was beyond me.
The moment the tour ended and we all gathered at the tasting bar, the conversations went off without hesitation to the point I was enjoying their company. Robert and Domoja hit it off instantly talking going deep into the magic and soon corroborating over terran research, Robert sharing his little black notebook of his own notes to the professor. There were times I wanted to pick Domoja’s brain, but what Amber and Shaotzi shared filled my curiosity about Jaruka’s past the most.
Also, Mom came over. I was stuck.
Unfortunately, Shaotzi was still reserved about discussing her family, her culture, or her own planet. Robert did tell us what she said to him last night, and what she did. I was gobsmacked over the magic but lost about the sekido part that Shaotzi didn’t divulge. Mom, well, she went on sharing embarrassing stories of her children when we were little. I stopped her before she talked about one water park vacation when I was little.
Amber was more open.
She was born on her home planet of Tannis. Her species were technologically advanced but had this steampunk and solarpunk mix esthetic in everything, from architecture to clothing and politics. Vyrokens were one of many species inventing and trading technology across the Republic, but they’re unique with their connection with technology, physically wiring their brains up to traverse cyberspace, bare-bones electrical circuits, or crystal matrices. They call it “jacking,” and jackers are highly valuable. So much so that there are bidding wars on freelancers.
Amber is not a jacker for reasons I couldn’t get her to talk about.
“After Mom and Dad disowned me after joining the Royal Navy,” Amber said, continuing on with her family, “it felt like I was truly independent. Also broke down mentally like a chipped cog but got over it,” Amber said. “Started out in the engineering division fixing fusion core blocks for space fighter ships, stayed on for four years, went solo, then Nova Company hired me. Think it took oh… three weeks for the Navy to recognize my resignation but I was tail-deep repairing power conduits at Nova’s HQ to realize I was missing.” A laugh left her.
“So you always wanted to be a spaceship mechanic?” Brenda asked.
“It’s built in my bloodline. Except, well, the jacking part. Mom owned a repair shop. Great with building and repairing things, but that… that personal connection, never got it. But, as long as there’s work, I’m happy.” Amber sipped from her wine glass, now onto the chardonnay.
“But how the hell did you hook up with Jaruka?” I asked her.
Amber laughed a little. “Oh, that basket case. Ran into him at HQ’s crew bar. It was my first time there. I walked in and there was a barfight happening between him and Commander Kantra for some bad howler cycle bet Kantra lost. Jay rubbed it in his face. I got caught in it. Amongst the scuffle, and I lost all memory of it, I wound up in a detention cell with him for a night.”
“Don’t tell me you got in the fight?” Mom asked.
“Nope. Kantra threw him at me by accident. Last I remember was I broke the commander’s nose.”
“How long did you and Jaruka stay together?” I asked next.
“For a few years,” she said. “Great years. He couldn’t detach from me. Believe me, he’s a sweet guy when he’s not angry.”
“Must’ve been a horrible breakup.”
Amber sighed. “You can say that. It was all his fault anyway.” She took another sip with a slight lip smack afterward. “He threw a potential recruit out a window.”
I choked a little. “Holy shit.”
Amber brushed off the comment. “No, no, no, he lived thank goodness. The hotel’s pool broke the guy’s fall. Jaruka thought he was hitting on me and he still hasn’t apologized about it.”
“Then why come back? And here really.”
“To punch the apology out of him,” Amber said. “And to finally have a vacation.”
“Don’t expect her to stay sober every time,” Shaotzi said.
Amber scuffed and said, “You know I can’t.”
“Every vyroken does. You drank three glasses already.”
“Jackers do it. I’m not a jacker. I have my limits. And it’s not like I’m in the same culture as Wringheart. I don’t drink for the dead.”
“If she has a drinking problem, honey, we can’t be liable,” Mom said, more toward me.
Amber set her glass down. “Trust me and my heart. With health and morals, getting drunk is not for me. You have my word, Mrs. Walsh.” She brought her hands together in a plea.
“Okay,” I said.
“Be glad you’re not my step-sister,” Shaotzi commented into her glass, then sipped the rest of her wine sample.
Robert oooed.
Amber gave a sarcastic gasp, placing a hand over her chest. “After all these years, you still think-”
“No.”
Amber tipped her head back and groaned. “Oh well. I tried.” She popped a piece of bleu cheese in her mouth and quickly moaned at the taste. “Oh, man, this is good.”
Then a loud screech came from outside that Domoja coughed mid-sip. We all turned to look out the windows behind the cash counter. I was closer to them to see that my dad’s car was back. The tire screech was enough to scare Jaruka out of his nap and topple out of the beach chair.
“Hold that thought, Amber,” I said and walked out. “Need to check on Scott.”
I left the shop through the main doors. Jaruka was still getting up from the driveway. The car was a few feet from the motorcycle. I caught Scott bolting out of the car and into the house. Keeji followed out, barking and whimpering profusely.
“Oh, Katie,” Keeji yelled noticing me. “It’s bad! Scott needs help! Oh man, it’s bad.”
I turned back to the shop as Mom was at the door. “Take over for me!” I said and ran toward the house.
I ran up the stairs and stopped at Scott’s room’s open door. Jacob, still not wanting to speak with the aliens, peaked his head out as I ran past him.
Scott leaned over the bed with his hands on top of it, breathing hard and fast in that all too familiar way. “Scott’s what’s happ—”
Scott collapsed to the floor. He started convulsing from head to toe and his eyes rolled back.
“Shit!” I turned to Jacob. “ Quick! Get the iced rag in the freezer!” Then I joined Scott on the floor, turned him onto his side, set a pillow under his head, and stayed there until his convulsions stopped.
A mild panic attack, thank god. Nothing to sweep away and hope it’ll get better. Scott’s problems aren’t just the visible scars on his body, it goes deeper, internally and mentally. This happens every time someone mentions his parents in an unkind or not mindful manner. One sentence could set it off. We’ve got so far to not need medication to stop them. A chilled rag over his forehead works for him. His skin gets really hot during an episode. Then a long time for him to ease his breathing and to be aware of me comforting him.
But this didn’t involve his parents as I seen learned.
I stayed with him for a couple hours I believe. We moved to his bed, facing each other. Eventually, with the shades closed and the bedroom dark, he shared what happened at the cemetery.
“I thi…I think I accidentally raised the dead.” Scott shared all he could remember with me and I laid there in shock of it. He had the third iced rag on his forehead, now lukewarm and moist. His whole body was still covered in sweat.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said.
“It’s true. I’m serious.”
He explained, again, what happened. I cooed him when I saw signs of him seizing again. Yet, I listened. His words were genuine and he’s not the kind to hold secrets back from me.
It’s just that none of it made sense to me.
“Scott,” I said. “I believe you. But I told you. I’ve memorized my spellbook cover to cover. It doesn’t mention anything about necromancy.”
“Or hidden?” Scott asked me.
Especially the hidden keystone spells in plain sight.
“I know what I saw,” he said firmly. “Uncle Terry was on the car’s hood telling me to fight. Fight what?”
I brought him closer to me in a hug. “I don’t know, Scott.” For the first time that I remember, I didn’t know what to do.
Someone knocked on the bedroom door and I said to come in. Robert opened it slowly.
“Is Scott good now?” He asked.
“He’s getting there. I’m skipping dinner if Mom asks.”
“Yeah, uh. I’ll let her know.” He paused. “ We have another problem.”
“What’s happened?”
Robert sighed with his hands on his hips. “It’s Martiz. Dad found him in the merlot fields screaming. A tattoo showed up several minutes ago.”
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Walsh Estate Winery
7:06 PM
Once the news got to the aliens, Domoja became ecstatic and went to work. This was his opportunity to gather real-time data of the transformation and it landed right on his lap. I had to be part of it. Martiz is like family to us.
We chose the large lawn patch between the event patio and the house’s backyard for Domoja’s observation. It was large enough (I guessed) for the circle to appear and clear of any potential property damage. Grass can grow back.
Domoja examined Martiz head to toe in private, with me making sure nothing weird happened. It was a normal physical exam, but Domoja had advanced scanners that went deep within Martiz’s body. He asked him all sorts of medical questions. No language barrier was involved with his translator collar in the room so Martiz was gracious that someone understood him. Hair, blood, saliva, and skin flake samples were collected. Even tear samples for some reason. He was taking constant notes on his tablet computer and a personal voice recorder clipped to his collar throughout the examination.
The tattoo on his right shoulder was examined with delicate care. Anything magical to him was seen as cautionary, for magic is unpredictable without careful observation. Check for traps, sort of speak. He was careful not to injure the tattoo. He must’ve read about it moving at different parts of the body if it happened. Flashbacks of times I read about this guy stabbing his tattoo where it appeared next. Multiple stabbings. His body was a bloody Swiss cheese after it settled on his forehead. He ended his own life after his transformation. The worst part was conservative media mopping that up suggesting some demon possession was at work, while other outlets clearly stated his severe mental health prior. There have been many copycats doing the same thing for personal gain.
Domoja spent a whole hour with Martiz. Then he and Amber got to work for the last few hours of Martiz’s human self.
Amber finished calibrating one of twenty posts surrounding Martiz in a twenty-foot wide circle each linked with black cables. “Pylon scanner array” Amber called it. Each one was a black pole topped with three candlelight-shaped glass cones, changing between blue, purple, green, yellow, and back to blue and slowly rotating clockwise. The twentieth—the closest one to me—had a thicker cable running to a large black server box on a banquet table I pulled out from storage.
Martiz sat on the grass within the circle. He wore an old tank top and sweatpants his wife brought him, old clothes he didn’t mind losing. He hadn’t spoken much since Domoja finished, still contemplating his life. His wife and son stood outside the circle with Mom and Dad in support.
Shaotzi stood by. She did give a blessing to the family a while ago. She stayed silent as she watched us all.
Back on the table, one shoebox-sized hard case, smaller than the server, housed Mariz’s samples in cold storage. It had alien letters on a metal plate in Domoja’s handwriting. Two more were yet to be filled.
“Matrix is set… and it’s live,” Amber said after receiving a confirmation sound from her tablet. “The array is recording, Domoja.”
“Thank you,” Domoja said. He was setting up a high-tech camera on a tripod aimed at Martiz several feet outside the ring. “You certain it takes six hours?” he asked me.
“Every single time,” I answered.
“Not over or under? Exactly six hours after the rune’s emergence?”
“Why suspicious about it? It’s always been like that.”
Domoja shrugged and said, “It’s just unheard of. Spells with a chronometer-like behavior that consistently isn't something that natural magic can repeat. There are always variations.”
“And what Jaruka gathered doesn’t work for you?” I’ve seen that college once visiting the camp. Once.
“His research is sound. Just… I’m just cautious,” Domoja said.
“Happen to read up about the Livingstons?” I asked him. They were transformed a while ago. Their daughter was first, but the parents were forced to change to save their lives from being zombies to a demon and not being an orphan for the rest of her life.
Domoja flipped a switch on the camera. “Indeed. Still a bit… dubious about these keystone spells Jaruka found.”
“Dubious? It’s like discovering a long-lost mob boss' body. You say GMTs are engineered magically, then there have to be some hidden Easter eggs in it.”
He looked up at me. “Easter eggs?”
“I’ll tell you later,” I said, waving my hand. “Oh, yeah. If you need more notes, I have my notebook you can read through. Or copy.” I pulled out the small black notebook from my back pocket. “Nothing personal in it. Just anything I came across since this whole thing started.”
Any of my ghost-hunting notes were not in there. Not even Tabitha’s. I have those locked away in a safe place.
“Oh, that’s nice of you,” he said. “You can hand it to me later.”
“Sure.” I pocketed my notebook away.
“Hand me that tool on the table for me, please. The one with the red stripe.”
I checked the table. The curved tool with the red stripe along the handle sat outside the metal case the camera was housed in. I grabbed it and handed it to him. Three fingers wrapped around the flat tool. He used it to tighten the tripod’s base and the three spikes in the ground. The transformation can make things windy sometimes.
“But is it possible?” I asked.
“About what?”
“The keystone spells. The spellbooks. Their totems. Is it all some sort of forced subliminal messaging?”
“Um… maybe. I can’t determine that without a mental evaluation. I need a second expert for that.”
Domoja finished setting up the camera by checking his tablet. “That’ll do it. These legs will handle any potential wind gusts.”
He walked back to the table and set the tool down.
“It’s too bad I have to wait for the couple’s examination, but that’s okay,” he said.
“Scott will pull through.”
“Is this normal?”
“Yeah. Well, no. Not his whole life. Sometimes these episodes get bad.”
“I meant the ghosts. Scott and Katie never practiced necromancy?” He said necromancy with a standoffish tone.
I assumed Domoja meant real raising-the-dead magic. For one, that told me that shit exists.
I explained to Domoja and others earlier what Scott experienced after it took him a while to talk to me. Everything that Scott said was far different than Tabitha’s. Was Scott’s energy too weak, or too little of it in his heart, or why it didn’t weaken or overwhelm him? And how come the ghosts struggled to exist?
I kept those questions to myself.
“No,” I said. “Never.”
Domoja regarded my words. “You seem troubled. Like you saw this before.”
I nodded.
“Want to share?”
“Not right now.”
Domoja checked a small device from his pants pocket, an actual pocket watch with alien symbols for telling time. “We have time until he transforms if the countdown is exact. You can whisper to me.”
My first thought was can I trust him? He’s been friendly to me since the moment he met our family. And a former academy professor to Jaruka. A high trust level. My second thought was could he find the answers I need? Like the terrans. The magic. Is the mental stuff possibly hiding underneath the changes?
But more so, is there anything to glean from the ghost’s reasons to exist?
So, I told him. Quietly.
I had to be out of the other’s view to whisper as Domoja leaned close to me. Shared the times when I heard the first stories and the ghost hunt in Louisiana. Every piece of detail. Even after taking Tabitha home. I wasn't feeling relief after telling Domoja. Just sheer shame. But Domoja was quiet the whole way.
I also shared my research, most from my mind. After Scott told me his story, I furiously searched the internet for an hour while Amber measured the array. Forums. Social media posts. Recent articles. Police scanner callouts.
As expected, there was nearly nothing about it, except for one. I was lucky to find one video online of a visitor at the cemetery. He had one of those white blobs pacing along the POW/MIA memorial wall before it dissolved away. It lasted for a minute before the post was scrubbed from the internet and the original poster was banned for life.
“So,” I said after finishing what I said. “What do you think?”
He sat down in a chair beside mine.
“From what I understand,” Domoja started, “death is taboo in your culture?”
“It’s complicated,” I said. Then I thought of the worst. What if someone is silencing Tabitha? Her family? Or the community she’s part of? “I feel roadblocked what to do.”
Domoja rubbed the longer tuff of fur on his chin, contemplating what I shared. He tapped the top of his cane with his claws.
“Seems to me it’s taboo to talk about the dead publicly,” he said. “It’s understandable to a degree. Then again, silencing this knowledge is suspicious.”
“No shit. I gotta ask. Are ghosts something to be scared of?”
“That depends on their nature.”
“How so?”
Domoja leaned on his cane. His feet dangled an inch from the ground because of how short he was in the chair. “For one, and if what you said matches, they’re not remnants,” he said.
I sat up a little higher. “Remnants?”
“Remnants is a common term for spectral memories and emotions. These can be imprinted on objects and locations, like a home, an antique, or land with significant religious or spiritual significance. The list is endless. Certain crystals and minerals are capable of retaining remnants, and it can be by accident or on purpose.”
*Like The Stanley Hotel and the limestone below it*, I thought.
“The second, and this is more important and what I believe what you and Scott experienced, is that wandering souls are forcing themselves to have corporeal existence.”
“Wandering souls?” I said with interest. “Is that another name for ghosts?”
“Ghost is one name.” He shifted in his chair to face me. “See, in simpler explanation, these are spirits shifting between realities. Never crossed over. Never settled. You can count the multiple ways they appear in this world—natural, spiritual, or artificial means—and none of them are similar. A curse, unfinished business, an accidental death. I can’t remember the last time not two cases were similar across different magic practices.”
“But if not ghosts, are ones manipulating objects in the real world poltergeists? Like the one from my hunt,” I asked.
“Maybe,” Domoja answered. “There are wraiths. Specters. Benign spirits. Don’t quote me how many.”
“So not a poltergeist.”
Domoja shook his head. “No ill intent from what I understand.
I sat back in the chair. “So for wandering souls to exist, they need energy, right?” I asked.
Domoja nodded again. “Correct. Energy can be from bioelectric impulses, artificial sources, or the surrounding power grid.” Domoja tapped his cane on the grass. It came out more as a thunk. “Or what you said, from a terran’s mana heart. That amount of power is enough to make them manifest, it seems. What Scott and… what was the other’s name again?”
“Tabitha,” I said, holding back myself from resisting.
“Right, Tabitha. She had no intent to summon them? And for Scott as well?”
I flexed my hands after noticing how stiff they were. “No. And I heard nothing from Tabitha. Am I in trouble?”
What I expected from him was scorn. Maybe a non-magic user taking advantage of one. But alas, he didn’t go that route. “From my standpoint, with us around, authorities have other things to deal with than tangle with you, your family, and us off-worlders,” Domoja assured me.
The doubt was still with me.
“But here’s something I don’t get,” I said. “Why are all of them saying ‘fight for your life’?”
Domoja said after thinking, “They might know more than we know. They have access to a spectrum us living folk need serious concentration to access. Perhaps they…”
An ear-splitting scream scared Domoja from his seat. I jolted as well, looking toward the source. Domoja’s pocket watch dinged next. My smartphone’s alarm went off as well.
Martiz was screaming as he held onto his glowing right shoulder, bellowing Spanish words too fast for me to understand.
“Perfect timing!” Domoja said.
“You see what I mean?” I said amongst Martiz’s screams.
“Sure sure. Everyone, back away from the array! Amber, keep monitoring the scanning program for failures! I need it as clean as you can.” Domoja hopped to his camera setup, still recording since he last touched it.
Each post’s crystal brightened to a halogen bulb, eye-squinting level with a single command from Amber’s tablet. She brought her goggles over her eyes. Smart. The goggle’s blacked-out glass reflected the crystal’s glow.
Matiz’s wife was screaming as he was, and fighting my parents to get closer to him. They held her and her son back quite well. Not everybody understands that when someone touches the energy dome, they dissolve into sand instantly.
Let’s face it. At this point since the asteroid crash, it’s more inevitable to see or be part of a terran transformation. There is nothing else to do but give them space to go through it. Nothing could be done as the blue stuff erupted from Martiz’s shoulder before everywhere else, watched it dissolve his clothes away, stick to his body like glue, and encase it in a tight suit. Martiz was well into screaming in blood-curdling pain and his body thrashed around before the blue stuff covered his head and muffled his screams a little. The ring in the ground and transparent dome appeared just before his eyes were sealed away. And for real, no one would be dumb enough to stop it without killing the one being transformed or the interloper.
So me, my parents, Martiz’s family, the aliens, and the nearby guards still hanging around, were forced to watch a near-naked human turn into a terran.
Amber stood still as the lights from the posts and the dome lit her goggles up. She said an inaudible “wow” to herself.
Jaruka and Shaotzi watched side by side. He whispered to his sister some remarks I couldn’t make out from their lips.
Domoja, well, he was frozen where he stood. Gaping at the process. I didn’t see what his eyes looked like.
“See what I mean?” I yelled amongst Martiz’s screams. “Pretty violent.”
I was sure Domoja cursed in his language. He cursed again when we all saw Martiz’s back snap backward, then snapped back to normal while the rest of his body started showing his terran features like his tail pushing out from above his ass.
Scott, Katie and their totems came out from the house a minute later. They regarded Martiz with intense worry.
As Martiz’s ribbed armor plating showed through the suit on his arms, legs, and long spine and tail, the rest of his body gained strength. A lot of strength. His potbelly shrank and reformed into a modest six-pack. Once the reforming finished, a gurgling sound came up. The suit opened a little over his mouth and he puked black sludge where he knelt all over the grass. Toxins. Any alcohol he drank. Medications. Bad food. The smell was instantly invading my nose and I had to cover my mouth.
When Martiz stopped screaming, he collapsed to the ground, amongst the black sludge. I could see the dome and lights from the rune circle waning.
I checked my watch. A little under ten minutes. Always.
I caught Shaotzi looking away for a moment.
Once the dome and ring light dissipated, the blue bodysuit encasing Martiz’s body began ripping and lifting itself from him and collecting in a smaller rune circle next to him. His skin was marked with scars from farming and bar fights over the years, but afterward, it was flawless, every part of that life-changing history stripped away. His whole body replaced what I can describe as a marathon runner’s physique. I’d imagine lifting a full grape juice vat would be easier for him. He kept his brown curly hair short every time, but once the suit lifted from his head, a large mass of curly hair puffed out. His doberman dog totem finished forming next to him, a brown-furred tattoo displayed prominently on its black-furred back.
My parents let Martiz’s family go and they rushed to him, almost tipping over one of the pylons. His wife covered him in a large blanket and aggressively coaxed him away. Martiz was weak, too weak to stand. Katie went to him with a large protein shake and two protein bars to feed Martiz. Martiz ate and drank with gratification.
I walked up next to Domoja to check on his frozen state. He was still frozen. That kind of uncomfortable expression put me on edge. “A-Amber,” he said, voice shaking. “Is the scan clean?”
Amber raised her goggles to her forehead, stunned as Domoja. She recollected herself and checked her tablet. “Scan is clear,” she said. “It’ll take a couple of hours to render.”
“Render it later!” Domoja yelled. My body trembled. “Shut the scanner down! Pack up everything! Make sure the data is intact!”
Amber was jolted too but she didn’t protest as she started turning off the pylons.
Domoja walked up to the ring, knelt, and touched the outer rune ring with his hand with delicacy.
“Domoja,” I asked. “Are you okay?”
He glanced back at me and I picked off the fear from those black eyes.
“You got everything you need? You’re kind of scaring me.”
Domoja rubbed the back of his neck. His earrings jangled with one another. “It’s… too perfect,” he whispered.
“Come again?”
Then he stood up fast and said to Jaruka, “Pupil. Help Amber pack up everything. I need you and Amber to help render and examine the data. Expect to pull a few all-nighters. And don’t give me any excuses to back out of this.”
“You got it, professor,” Jaruka said and went to work.
Domoja turned back to the others. “Ms. Walsh, Mr. Dunne. I need you both. No matter the reason or issue, I have to do your physicals and collect samples. It's super important. Can you promise me that?”
Katie nodded.
“Yeah yeah. Whatever we can. Just tell us when,” Scott said.
Domoja thanked them and started breaking down the setup.
And I stood there. Not doing anything. Just thinking to myself with this uneasy feeling that whatever is scaring Domoja out of his pants could be bad news. Or good.