Happy Samhain-All-Hallow’s-Eve-Halloween! Costumes ready?
The family is taking it to Oz tonight: I’ll be Ozma, the rightful ruler of Oz, the hubs the Tin Woodman, daughter Glinda the Good, and son Cowardly Lion (though it sounds more like curfew lion the way he says it).
Last week YA Review Network announced their Top 5 finalists for their 2017 Halloween contest. Horror-writer Rin Chupeco, author of the Bone Witch series, (which is on my TBR list as it looks like the only book of hers that I can read without losing sleep for a week) judged. Adoring Halloween, I submitted my short story “The SĂŠance” and did a happy dance for a full five minutes with my four-year-old when I got the email saying I was a finalist and won a super insightful critique from Ms. Chupeco. YARN published the winning entry, “The Survey” here so be sure to check it out if you dare. Super creepy and I definitely won’t be accepting cookies from anyone anytime soon.
As I had a few people ask to read my entry, I thought I’d share it here. It’s a short story from my YA novel that’s being shopped around now, THE EXISTENCE OF BEA PEARL. Feedback urged for more mystery and less magical realism, so this chapter was cut out and reformed around the jaggedy edges to make it a stand-alone. Well, a bit more stand-alone-ish as the rough loose ends were mentioned in my critique-prize.
Hope you enjoy!
The SĂŠance
âBrought the stuff for tonight,â Honey says as she drags her bag closer to me
I perch on a stool, watching a yellow jacket discover a blot of dried sweet tea on the counter of the concession stand. Its tiny body hums with pleasure, even when I put a clear cup over it. It doesnât notice, as if the cup doesnât exist to it.
âBrown candles, for finding lost things and illumination. Weâll need to pick some flowers right beforeâfresh is best. And,â she pulls sheets of computer paper from the bag and waves them at me. âInstructions so we donât mess up and let loose demons upon the earth.â
I canât help but smile at her dramatics. I can always count on her to bring me out of whatever funk Iâm in, however deep, and since my brotherâs sudden disappearance and my parentsâ refusal to acknowledge it, sheâs definitely earned her best friend status. The trench in my head is sometimes as unscalable as the Mariana and just as full of deep sea freaks like goblin sharks and anglerfish. âOr evil ghosts.â
âOr the undead.â Honey shudders. âEww, what if we had a zombie following us around? Fall Break would suck.â
âNah, itâd suck if we invoked vampires.â
She laughs, almost rocking herself off the stool.
Itâs Honeyâs idea to have a sĂŠance on All Hallowâs Eve. Because itâs probably nothing but my overactive imagination reacting to closed off parents and fear for whatever happened to Jim. But what if the darkness in my head never leaves? With the end of the year fast approaching, my summer has disappeared, and with it, myself. I know Iâm not crazy, but maybe Iâm going there and I want at least one person to know where Iâm headed.
Of course, with Honey planning a sĂŠance, she might be headed to Crazy with me. Which is fine because I like her company. Maybe we can get discounts on travel arrangements if we bring a buddy. Or more likely, she simply sees it as something exciting to do on a quiet night in a small town in lower Alabama. Weâre too old to trick-or-treat, have too strict of parents to party like trolls under the bridge with the seniors.
Jimâs bedroom door stays closed though Iâve seen my mom rub the door handle like it might be a genie lamp and all three of her wishes would be: let me open that door and my son be asleep, or open sesame so my son comes out to eat one last meal with us (it would be fried pickles on top of bbq-smothered hotdogs, Jimâs fave), or even, why Jim? Why not take Bea Pearl? Yeah, Iâve heard her whisper that when she didnât know I was on the other side of the door, movements frozen in an irrational fear of being caught. Caught at what? Being a tiny bit closer to Jim in a room of still unmade sheets and a rubbery smell of basketballs, looking for anything that could tell me where he is now.
Weâre waiting for the dock to clear out, for night to fall heavy around us. A moth chases off the yellow jacket, as hungry for our light as the wasp was for our sugar. Bats chase the birds that ruled the day, slurping up their mosquito snacks midair. I turn off the lights, leaving only the faint glow from a streetlight. We walk down to the lake.
âWhy the dock?â I whisper. It feels right to whisper as our feet leave land and echo hollowly on the weathered boards.
âWater. Itâs an in-between place, from what I read on the ten million websites I found. Thatâs important to spirits, so I figured weâd have better luck.â
The moon is almost full. With it shining down, and its reflection on the water shining up, itâs easy enough to see.
Honey smoothes out a website print-out, reading it over again before lighting the candle. She hands me an orangey-pink rose and pulls petals off her own to throw into the water. âWater spirits are attracted to beauty. Toss these in the lake so they know weâre friendly.â
Silliness and nervousness run circles in my stomach, causing goose bumps to pop up on my arms. This is a game, but itâs not. Especially if it works. The seriousness of the occasion combined with sweet smelling, freshly torn rose petals makes me peer expectantly into the dark, still water.
Honey sits down on the dock and places the candle between us so we are facing each other. âWeâre supposed to put our legs in the water to communicate better.â
âFat chance,â I say. âThere might be water sprites in here but there are without a doubt alligators that are accustomed to being fed from this dock.â
She smiles, looking relieved. âThatâs what I was thinking too. Ready?â She holds my hands, one each side of the flame and closes her eyes. Iâm too tense to shut mine, so I watch the flame flicker. âWater Sprites, please accept our gift of rose petals. We ask for your help in return. Since water travels in rain and fog, from lakes to creeks to rivers to oceans, in all your travels, have you seen Bea Pearlâs brother?â
âHis name is Jim,â I whisper to whatever is listening.
âPlease give us a sign you hear us.â Honey opens one eye. âPlease give us a sign youâve seen Jim.â
We hold our breath. Cicadas saw away in the pines, canoes bob gently against the dock. I strain to hear anything out of place in the night. Then, a fish splashes.
âWas that a sign?â I ask.
âI donât know. Maybe? Look, there are rings around the petals.â
âThatâs what water does,â I remind her.
âA website says the rings are water spirits.â
I roll my eyes. âMore like surface tension.â
She sticks out her tongue. Then: âDid it just get darker?â she whispers.
I look up. âThereâs a cloud covering the moon.â
The candleâs flame sputters and goes out.
âWhyâd you blow it out?â she asks sharply.
âI didnât.â
The cicadaâs buzzing grows louder. Another fish splashes and it sounds closer, bigger. âIâm not so sure this was a good idea,â I whisper, goose bumps now on my legs. I want to itch them, but Iâm not letting go of Honeyâs hands.
âMe neither. What if some evil thing has Jim? And now itâs coming for us. Olive Mangled Ghouls, did we open a gateway to Hell?â
âYou had to say that out loud?â I tighten my grip, her ring cutting into my fingers. Way back when we were in elementary school, we swore weâd never be one of those O.M.G girls: the annoying ones with beads crocheted on the socks, white Kedâs that never got dirty, the gum-smackers, the ones who laughed the loudest when you came back from the bathroom with your skirt tucked into your panties or toilet paper stuck to your shoe. So instead we used the acronym to inspire the randomest words on the tip of our brains. Back then we thought we were progressive. Now the habitâs ingrained into our friendship, probably for forever.
Something moves in the water.
We lean toward it, unaware âtil after the fact that weâre mimicking each other, a mirror and a reflection, still clenching each otherâs hands.
Something huge and dark rises and we shriek loud enough to wake the dead. We donât wait around to see what happens next. Honey lets go and grabs her bag. I snatch up the hot candle and in that second of looking down, I hear a low snarling, snicking noise I canât place, Honeyâs cutoff scream, and a splash.
The dock is empty except for me and the dark candle in my hand. I blow my bangs out of my eyes but theyâre stuck to my forehead with cold sweat. Again! my brain screeches at me, youâre letting this happen again! âHoney?â My voice is hoarse as if I screamed, but the only sound that reaches my ears is a whisper. No, no, no. Sheâs the only friend I have left.
I canât let her disappear too.
Then moonlight reflects off churning water and a hand shoots out of the darkness, followed by Honeyâs head. I drop to my stomach onto the dock, the air whooshing out painfully, and reach out to her. âGrab my hand. Whatâs got you?â
âMy leg!â Honey finds my hand and I pull her toward me. She spits out water. âSomethingâs got my foot.â Her voice is pinched with panic. She belly crawls onto the dock but in the cloud-covered light, I canât make out what covers Honeyâs leg. âWhat is it? Get it off!â
I fumble for matches or a lighter in Honeyâs bag that she somehow never let go of. I find a flashlight instead and switch it on, my hands trembling. A hysteric sort of giggle bubbles up through my insides. I startle both of us as I let out a sharp laugh.
âWhatâs wrong with you?â Honey demands, and then gives her ankle a closer look. âOh snap. Is that a fish net?â
I nod, laughing too hard to answer.
âGet it off!â She shakes her leg at me. âItâs probably covered in fish poop.â
I kneel down and untangle her. âWe must not have noticed it when we came down here. You know, thinking weâd see water spirits, not get caught in fish nets.â
âWhatever, make fun. Is my flip flop in there?â
âNope.â I hold up a sun-dried bluegill. âJust this guy.â
She grimaces. âSo this is a bust.â
âDid you really think it would work?â My voice wobbles. I get to my feet and help her up. I donât know what I think, or what I expected. âYou didnât happen to see anything while you were down there?â Iâm kidding, I know we wouldnât see Jimâs ghost because heâs not dead. But a little spiritual help finding him wouldâve been nice.
She shivers. Iâm sure the October air is chillier to her wet skin than mine. My goose bumps borne of fear have pretty much disappeared. âI think he drowned.â
My head jerks at the sharpness of her words. They hang in the moonlit air like a watchful spirit. It is Halloween. The veil that I donât know for sure if it exists might be thin enough that demons dangle from hateful words. âBecause you tripped over a cast net and fell into a pond?â
At her widened eyes, that scathing demon might dangle from my mouth instead. I think sheâs going to respond, but instead she shakes her head the tiniest bit. âI need a shower.â
She walks off. I donât stop her. Thereâs no way Jim drowned. Thereâs no way she had that little epiphany in the seconds she was underwater. She knows something and wonât tell me.
***
I go back after my own shower, too worked up to sleep, and realize what we saw was probably a canoe bobbing. But we were both sure the thing in the water rose level with the dock and Lake George doesnât get swells. So even if it was just a canoe, someone or something would have had to lift it. A ghost? A demonic water sprite? An alligator? More believable, but just as scary. The goblin I think I see hunkered in a black corner of the little bait lean-to at the beginning of the dock is more likely a bag of catfish food. But I donât know for sure. Ghosts and water sprites and goblins havenât been proven to not exist.
I sit, my back against the dock step and watch fog raise up from the warm water to the cooler air. A light breeze pushes it along so ghostly bodies waltz along the slick, black surface, disappearing when the moonlight touches them.
Why is everyone so adamant that my brother never existed? What happened to him?
With anglerfish, the male is absorbed into the body of the much larger female. Sheâs the one with the light.
Heâs only a mouth, a toothy maw that bites, latches,
and then disappears.
So what do y’all think? Unsettling without being in-your-face-scary? Does it make you want to read more?
Enjoy your treating and tricking tonight!