“Hannah and JJ could have chosen a different path. They should have. But they chose me, and I’m forever grateful for that.”
----------------------------------------
I take in a soft breath as our van passes the last house leaving Greenfield. Small homes lit by the flickering golden light of old streetlamps are replaced by tall dark trees which forbid all light to enter. Yet, somehow, I feel peace. I relish the idea of leaving Greenfield—leaving everything—and never coming back.
I sit in the back of the van as my eyes dart from tree to tree. JJ’s hand-me-down minivan smells of old coffee, aged fabric, and earthy dust, which JJ has attempted to conceal with an overwhelming pine scented car freshener. The upholstery looks freshly wiped, but the cupholders are sticky from years of spills and a mix of crumbs are stuffed into the crevices of the seats despite JJ’s futile attempts at cleaning.
“Hannah, please take your feet off the dashboard,” JJ begs, gripping the steering wheel at ten and two and driving five miles an hour under the speed limit.
Hannah only sings her music louder with her black army boots on the dash. For once, I’m not the only one in all black. We all are. JJ should consider wearing black more often. His dark hair is slicked back as usual and his plain black tee shirt is tucked into his blue jeans. If he had some confidence and maybe some acne cream, he could be a heartbreaker. Hannah lets her personality shine through in her own way. Her shredded black jeans are fastened with a shining studded belt, and a silver cross hangs around her neck. Her black bandana does little to hide her bubblegum pink hair, which lightly dances in the wind from her open window. She hangs her hand out the window, surfing it on the breeze, as she bellows out the music from her mix CD.
Hannah’s jaw drops as JJ turns the music down.
“Why do you insist on stressing me out?” He groans. “I only got this van a month ago.”
“Oh shut up, you know you love me,” Hannah replies with a smirk, but takes her boots off the dash. I glance at JJ to see his cheeks flush red. Hannah then turns toward me. “What are you so mopey about?” She asks. “Didn’t you just get your magic sword thingy to work again?”
“I—” I stammer.
“I read your blog.” Hannah unbuckles her seatbelt and climbs into the back with me. JJ complains the whole way. “So now you can eat spirits?” Her question catches me off guard.
“I’m not—” I catch myself. I’m not sure it’s worth the time to explain the difference between reaping and eating. “They weren’t spirits. Not whole ones anyways. They were fragments of souls echoing moments from the past.”
“Ah, yes.” Hannah narrows her eyes. “Because that’s so different from what I just said.”
“It is different,” I reply. “They weren’t living souls, just energy.”
“Stone tape theory,” JJ interrupts.
“Stoned apes?” Hannah asks bewildered.
“Stone tape,” JJ rolls his eyes. “It’s the theory that traumatic or emotional events can sometimes project energy into the earth, storing them like a record player, especially in areas with high mineral content. Under the right conditions, those memories can be replayed.” JJ looks at me in the rearview mirror. “If you were able to consume that energy from the earth, you likely consumed fragments of every soul who ever imprinted in that area.”
“You’re such a nerd,” Hannah mocks. “So, would you ever eat a living soul?” She looks back to me with a curious smirk.
“It’s called reaping, and no, never.” I cross my arms. “Those spirits are people, even if they are just ghosts.”
The sound of the road shifts to gravel as JJ turns down a dirt road. I watch the small lights of Greenfield shrink and disappear as the trees close around the town like a curtain. Pebbles kick up and clang against the bottom of the van as we plunge into the dark woods.
“How does it feel?” Hannah asks.
“What?” I reply.
“Reaping. Consuming another soul, living or not, must have some side effects.”
“I mean,” I pause. Stupidly, I’ve never really considered the potential consequences of it before. I search for the emotions of those prisoners squirming around in the recesses of my mind. It’s a dark part of my thoughts I’m always conscious of, but prefer to ignore. “It’s terrifying at first, like my thoughts aren’t my own. Their emotions and memories all rush in at once and mix with my own. It takes me a minute to sort out which emotions are mine and which aren’t.”
“What if they’re dark emotions?” She asks softly.
I look down at my hands, my nails still picked clean. “They usually are.”
The van pulls to the side of the dirt road and slows to a stop.
“We’ll have to walk from here,” JJ says.
As he turns off the headlights, a small white panel house reveals itself in the distance. The van sits down the hill to the right of the house, out of view and hidden by trees. I grab my backpack and climb out of the van. I was careful to pack extra batteries, my flashlight, Dad’s notebook, along with the nails, silver ring, and salt. Plus, I found some old glow sticks in my closet which I can only hope still work. My hilt is tucked away in one of the pockets of my coat. It’s the same coat Dad got me before he died, and I’m beginning to think it was made specifically for reapers judging by how perfectly my hilt fits in one of the pockets.
We emerge from the van and I look up at the tall trees. Thicket Grove stretches far outside of Greenfield and connects to a few other nearby towns, but the trees are just as intimidating out here. They’re tall and gray with long spindly branches that hide the night sky.
“That’s the Windy House?” I ask.
“No,” JJ replies. “That’s Mr. Hawtrey’s house. He owns the Windy House and lives in the guest house.”
“That’s the Windy House,” Hannah says, shining a flashlight deep into the woods. Her light reflects off a bone white house that stands out against the raven black night. The white building floats in the darkness like a bedsheet ghost who might scurry away before our eyes. Its slender structure juts out of the ground at a slight angle giving it the appearance that it wasn’t built but summoned from the earth. Its jagged edges give it a hostile appearance of dissatisfaction with its fate, neglected deep in the woods.
“I thought we were staying out of Thicket Grove,” I protest.
“Technically, this is private property and not part of the Grove.” Hannah winks at me. “Come on.”
Hannah leads the way toward the angry old home. My eyes shift uneasily around us, searching for any movement. We’re breaking into a private home after midnight with the owner nearby, in a haunted forest where police have specifically forbidden entry into. Mom would be so proud.
I’ve broken into a few abandoned houses in my life, but never with company, and I don’t know this particular house very well so my nerves are on fire. Plus, I only break into a home if I know there’s an open portal and a soul I can help. I don’t ordinarily go searching for spirits whose rift has closed. Their minds are marred with hatred and desperation, cursed to an eternity of solitude. I’ve encountered three in my life. I call them poltergeists, though I’m sure Dr. Ward has a different name for them. They were each vile creatures with little remaining of their humanity. The Davidson house flashes in my mind. I rub my neck as I think of those charred fingers wrapping around my throat.
Besides, there’s nothing I can do for them. I can guide lost souls to their door, but if there isn’t a door to open, I think I’d be better off putting them out of their misery, though I’ve never tried to do that. I suppose that isn’t entirely true. I think I killed the poltergeist at the Davidson house. How, I have no idea.
“Why did we pick this house?” I ask.
“You know the story don’t you?” Hannah replies.
“A little. There was a failed exorcism and a man died, but how is that supposed to help me train?”
As we approach the house, its true size surprises me. It’s three stories tall with square windows on every floor, except the third. The upper windows are short and squinty like two eyes narrowing at its approaching intruders. Wood paneling has faded and chipped away as the vines pry into every crevice, but for an eighty year old home in the middle of the woods it isn’t in horrid shape.
“Oh ye of little faith,” Hannah chides. She runs up the dirty wooden steps and twirls on the porch. “This is the home of Abigail and Hank Wickham, who built this home long ago in hopes of finding peace and wealth, but fate had another plan.” She uses the porch as her very own stage. “Their lives were plagued from day one with strange noises. Doors opening and slamming shut, scratches in the walls, and tapping along the wooden floors like phantom footsteps. The Wickhams chalked it up as rogue winds with the house up on the hill. But word eventually spread to the locals of Greenfield, who dubbed it the wicked windy house. This frustrated old Hank, who wanted to earn respect in the town.
“But their daughter, Daisy, was an adventurous and curious young girl. One day, she ventured deep into the woods, despite her mother’s warnings, and returned with an old wooden toy soldier.”
“Oh give me a break,” I groan. This story is starting to sound like a movie. I doubt much of it holds any truth.
“Eh-hem,” Hannah scolds me. “I’m not finished.”
“This will go a lot faster if you let her get it out. She takes this part very seriously,” JJ whispers, holding a camcorder with a blinking red light. This night is already becoming quite the production.
“Thank you.” Hannah tosses her hair. “Now, once young Daisy brings home the little wooden soldier, the harmless creaks and moving doors escalate to whispers in the night, shadowy apparitions, and crashing plates. Daisy, once full of life, became withdrawn and would take the toy soldier everywhere she went. She kept to her room talking to an imaginary friend she referred to as, Shy boy. The town began to spread rumors that the Wickhams were cursed. Hank, displeased with these rumors and his daughter’s behavior, began to drink heavily and would fly into fits of rage.”
THUNK
The door behind Hannah suddenly knocks loudly. Hannah squeals and twists to face the door. The air suddenly feels heavy and my gut sinks like I’m going to vomit. It’s so strong I place my hand over my mouth for a moment. Whatever is inside must know we’re here now. I look up at the windows, searching for any faces, but find none.
“Did you get that?” Hannah’s shock quickly turns to glee.
“Yeah, I got it,” JJ replies. “Keep going.”
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“Okay,” Hannah composes herself with a quick breath. “Well, the Wickhams decide to call the local priest. The priest says the house needs to be exorcised, so he blesses the house with holy water, salt, the works, then gives each of the Wickhams a blessing of their own. When he leaves, he comforts them that their problem is solved.
“But it isn’t. That night, the cupboards fly open, chairs are thrown, and giggling is heard throughout the house. And little Daisy says her friend is mad they tried to kick him out. As the days go by, the problem gets worse and worse. Daisy stays in her room, refusing to leave. No one in Greenfield dares to visit the home as rumors spread of the Wickhams and their cursed house. But one stormy night—”
THUNK
The door knocks again. I check the windows once more to search for faces, but I find nothing but dirty old windows.
“You don’t like my story do you, Shy boy?” She turns to mock the house with a smirk.
“Let me guess, Hank mysteriously died.” It comes out a bit more condescending than I intend, but this sounds like a cliche ghost movie. Real hauntings are always more complicated than that.
“When his wife, Abigail, visited his study the next morning, she found his cold lifeless body covered in cuts and scratches all over his body, and bruises around his neck, and in the dark corner of the room sat Daisy’s toy soldier.” Hannah emphasizes each of those last three words with a dramatic step toward JJ’s camera.
“And you think the shy boy spirit is still here,” I say, looking up at the house.
“When the Wickhams left, they supposedly left the toy soldier here. This could be a legit haunting for you to test out your powers.” She lifts her chin. “Besides, it’s a cool spot for a spooky video.”
I have to admit she’s right about the first part at least. After locking me in a prison, who knows what Dr. Ward will throw at me the next time we train. I need to be ready.
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Of course the house is locked. So we circle the house and find an entrance to the basement. The old wooden doors, rotted away from years of moisture, have collapsed under a fallen tree branch. Why is it always the basement?
The three of us slowly step down the concrete stairs into the dark basement.
WOOSH!
I shriek as a bat flies inches from my face.
“You see dead people everyday and you get spooked by a bat?” Hannah mocks.
“Shut up,” I say, feeling my blood rush through my cheeks. “It just surprised me.”
I shine my flashlight around the basement. The room is empty, apart from the pipes, support beams, and a dirty old sink. The air is warm and damp with a subtle sweet musk of earth and rot. The paint on the walls has deteriorated to blotches of white, gray and brown. The ceiling is low with dark wooden beams and old rusty pipes.
“Woah,” Hannah gasps as she looks around. “JJ, start recording.”
“Okay, three, two…” he says, pointing the camera at Hannah.
Hannah points her flashlight up at her face, creating sharp dramatic shadows across her features. “We have now crossed the threshold of the house. You can already feel the dark energy in the basement. I can only imagine what horrible rituals were conducted here.”
It takes a lot of effort not to tell her the “dark energy” she feels is probably just mold. Though she might not be wrong, I do feel the weight of something here. The muscles in my neck begin to tighten and a low burn creeps up to my temples.
I scan the room with my flashlight, while Hannah stays close to JJ and the camera. Her voice echoes off the walls. I walk to the stairs and point the flashlight up, expecting to see a shadow, or eyes, or some spirit looking back down at me. But there’s nothing there. Only a tall white door, slightly ajar, invites us to enter.
Anxiously, we accept its invitation and walk up the wooden steps. The first floor is barren of any remnant of life, nothing but empty space and stale air, yet its narrow hallways and skinny doorways make it feel utterly cramped. The wide living room space is empty, apart from a single couch in the center of the room, covered by a thin white cloth. The ornate patterns of the walls are riddled with cracks, covering the ground with crunchy flakes of plaster. There’s a broom in the corner with piles of dust and paint chips around it. Mr. Hawtrey must come to tidy up the place from time to time, but not as often as he should.
Slowly, I wander the pitch black room, my flashlight providing only a narrow cone of visibility. Every time I move it, the fear of passing it over a dark figure staring back at me crawls into my mind. Whatever haunt is here, it isn’t some lost spirit looking to cross over. No, we’re here looking for “Shy boy”, a poltergeist who allegedly killed a man. The sudden fear for Hannah and JJ crosses my mind. They’re merely expecting moving doors and spooky shadows, but I’ve never known spirits to be so tame around me. JJ had mentioned that I give off a high electromagnetic field. It’s made me wonder if spirits are just more powerful around me.
“And this is Autumn,” Hannah suddenly shines her flashlight in my face. “Our spiritual guide. She is a powerful medium who can feel the forces from beyond the veil.” It doesn’t go unnoticed that she doesn’t mention me being a reaper, but I know how this story goes. I hold my hand up in front of the camera.
“Come on,” I plead. “Everyone in Greenfield already thinks I’m a freak, I don’t need the world knowing it.”
“You are a freak,” Hannah says. “That’s what makes you awesome. You think we’d hang with a normy?” She wraps her arm over my shoulder. “Who cares what the world thinks when you’ve got friends like us?” She then bounces from me and grabs JJ by the arm, dragging him into the kitchen. They begin unloading equipment from his backpack. I recognize JJ’s EMF reader, an audio recorder, and a few other objects are laid out across the counter.
Suddenly, I hear the pitter patter of light footsteps above me. I leave Hannah and JJ and walk into the small rectangular foyer. Stairs climb up the wall on the left and wrap around until they disappear on the upper floor. The steps, carpeted with elegant designs, are faded and covered in a layer of gray dust. The railing has been removed, creating an uncertain climb. The heat in my temples suddenly grows into a throbbing pain. I step forward and shine my light into the upper floor and a web of goosebumps blankets across my skin.
I grab my hilt and pull it from my pocket. It weighs a little more than the flashlight in my other hand, but it feels more familiar now than it did when I first found it. My fingers fit perfectly between the grooves of the golden engravings. I grip the hilt tightly, waiting for something to leap from the shadows. If the poltergeist here is as violent as the one at the Davidson house, Hannah and JJ could be in real danger. My heart thumps in my throat as I step closer and closer.
“Let’s see it,” Hannah’s voice jolts me from my focus. I turn to catch her standing in the threshold of the foyer. “You figured out how to use it right? Let’s see it.”
I look back up at the top of the stairs, confirming that nothing is there, then back down at my hilt. A confident smile grows on my face.
“Okay, stand back,” I say.
I switch my flashlight off and slip it into my pocket. Hannah turns her light off too, filling the room in absolute darkness. Then, I grip the hilt with both hands and tap into that part of my mind where the dark things lie, where the emotions of those imprisoned echoes reside like memories I’ve locked away. I feel their grief, madness, and hatred fill my thoughts.
CRACK!
White light floods the foyer as static whips around the room. Iridescent glitter bursts from the hilt and groups into thousands of tiny threads. The threads knit together tightly until they form a long glowing blade. I can’t hide my pride. I’m actually able to activate the blade on command.
“Epic,” Hannah says softly. JJ stands beside her with his mouth open wide. The white light flickers in their eyes like tiny fireworks.
I twirl the blade around, creating a low crackle. Hannah and JJ step forward to get a closer look.
“Careful, it’s hot,” I say. “I’m not really sure what this will do to human skin.”
“Your blog said it passes through solid objects,” JJ says, holding his EMF detector close to the blade. It beeps with bright red lights.
“Yeah, but it was hot enough to melt metal,” I reply.
“I wonder if it’s powered by the souls you reaped,” JJ says. “Some believe the human soul is just energy. Is it possible you are channeling that energy into a central beam? Like a magnifying glass in the sun.”
I deactivate the blade and darkness returns. Hannah and JJ are quick to turn on their flashlights and return to the safety of light.
“I think so,” I reply. “But eventually, that energy runs out and I can’t use the blade anymore.”
“Does it always look like that?” JJ asks.
“No, the first time I used it, it had a butterfly on it, and Dr. Ward was able to create a bow with his,” I say.
“Well how do you turn it on? Is there a button or something?” Hannah joins in. I hold the hilt out for both of them to inspect.
“No, I just imagine a sword and one appears.”
“Have you tried imagining something else?” JJ asks.
“No, I haven’t,” I mutter, then pull the hilt back. The two of them step back once more and look at me expectantly. “Dr. Ward obviously knows more than me, and I don’t know how much more energy I have.”
“Just try it for a second!” Hannah begs.
“Fine,” I sigh.
I stare at the hilt then close my eyes. I imagine the bow Dr. Ward created, two long arcs forming from either side of his hilt. Then, I invite the darkness in.
Static pops around the room and, just as I imagined, glowing ribbons burst from both ends of the hilt, weaving together to form two solid arcs of light. An iridescent thread connects the two arcs from tip to tip. I lightly touch the thread and feel its warmth against my fingertips. Just as my fingers touch it, more threads suddenly twist together forming a long arrow with a sharp tip at the end.
“No fair,” Hannah groans. “I want to be cool like that. JJ, why weren’t you recording?” She jabs his shoulder.
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The three of us sit in the empty living room with our backs against the wall, asking questions to the air.
“Shy boy,” Hannah starts. “Are you here with us? Can you give us a sign?”
We sit in silence, waiting for a response, listening for the slightest tap or creak in the wood, but only the toads outside respond with a distant chorus of croaks. JJ’s camera sits on a tripod pointed at us. Hannah grabs the audio recorder beside her.
“Let me see if we got any response,” she says and hits play. Our distorted voices echo through the room as the last five minutes are replayed. Each question we ask is followed by a minute of disappointing silence. Hannah groans and drops her head back against the wall.
“Guys, I have a question,” JJ speaks up. “There is a big couch in the center of the room. Why are we sitting on the crusty ground?”
I smile. He makes a good point.
“Well I’m not sitting on that thing,” Hannah replies. “It’s probably got fifty years of dust and who knows what on it.”
“It has a blanket over it,” JJ argues.
“Okay then you go sit on it.”
“Fine.”
JJ stands up and walks to the center of the room and cautiously places his hand on the cloth. He covers his mouth with his shirt and slowly pulls the cloth away, revealing an ornate red couch with ruffles on every pillow. Surprisingly, it still has plenty of color for its age.
“That blanket must have been there since the Wickhams moved out,” Hannah says and stands up to inspect the couch.
“The material has likely aged. I doubt the legs can hold our weight,” JJ says.
“What are you saying?” Hannah narrows her eyes at JJ.
“No, I—” JJ squirms.
“Only one way to find out,” Hannah smirks. “Get over here Autumn.” She marches to me and pulls my arm until the three of us stand in front of the couch.
“On three, ready?” She says, as we stand shoulder to shoulder. “One, two, three!”
In unison, the three of us drop hard on the couch. We grab each others’ hands as the couch groans in pain, but it holds firm. We let out a giggle of relief. I let my shoulders relax and rest my back against the cushion.
SNAP!
The back of the couch breaks as our collective weight pushes on it. The seat falls forward as we all fall backwards. Our flashlights scatter across the floor and laughter fills the house. My cheeks flush with warmth as I giggle like a chipmunk. It’s an old laugh I haven’t heard in a long time.
“Well,” Hannah tries to overcome her laughter. “I think I’ll stay on the floor a little longer.”
The three of us lie there in the darkness until our lungs permit us to breathe.
“Isn’t there supposed to be a ghost here?” I ask sarcastically.
“Maybe they’re scared of you,” Hannah replies.
“What’s so scary about me?”
“Maybe it’s the stank face you always have,” Hannah giggles.
“I do not!” I jab her arm.
“You do have a scary face, Autumn,” JJ adds.
“Shut up JJ,” Hannah says.
“I don’t know,” I bite my cheek. “I guess people just always disappoint me.”
“What about us?” She asks.
“No,” I smile and sit up. “But this ghost is disappointing me though.”
“How do you not get scared?” She sits up beside me. “You see creepy ghosts all the time. How do you not just lock yourself in your room?”
“She has a ghost in her room too, remember?” JJ sits up.
“Oof, that’s right,” Hannah cringes.
“I do get scared, but it’s different,” I reply. “In horror stories, the ghosts always manifest as something that could be explained away. The characters try to rationalize their fears as a gust of wind or the house settling. I don’t have the luxury of disbelief. I can’t rationalize a creak in the floor as a bad foundation or a sudden cold shiver as a change in air pressure. I know when I turn my head there will be another face staring back at me.”
“So why go looking for them?” JJ asks.
“Because not all of them are monsters. Sometimes it’s someone forgotten, who has lost their way. They reach out to the world, but no one reaches back. Their pain makes sense to me. They just want to be heard.”
After a moment, Hannah replies, “I hear you, loser.”
Suddenly a muffled tone echoes from above us like muted notes of a piano.
“And I hear that too.” Hannah leaps up and helps JJ and I stand. “Looks like Shy boy wants to play.”