Ghosts Made of Messes
Chandra’s mother peeked over the top of the log, looking out from her hiding place into the clearing. All the disguised bushes had been badly beaten. Branches had punctured through the shirts tearing long ragged gashes and gaping holes. Broken pieces of bark and wood trickled out of the ends of the sleeves like dried out bones snapping and falling from a skeleton. Boots had been kicked out from under the bushes and tossed up so high that a few dangled by their laces from the treetops above. Pants had been torn from the waists of some bushes and were balled up and crammed in between the rocks and mosses of the forest floor. One bush had been shoved so hard it had fallen over, its roots tearing free of the forest soil. Only the fire remained untouched. It burned steadily on at the center of the mess of clothes and foliage.
Whispers of thunder grumbled back and forth between the clouds above. Fitful breezes rushed down across the tree tops and whipped through the clearing to disturb the fire, setting the little tongue of flame dancing in place. Chandra’s mother glanced upwards to study the underside of the forest canopy. Through holes between the leaves she saw the whole sky had turned stony gray. The scent of soaked earth seeped its way into the air as the rain came near, but not a drop had fallen into the clearing yet or onto the broken bodies of the defeated bushes.
Chandra’s mother climbed over the fallen log and crossed the clearing. As she went she stooped down to pick up a button or a scrap of cloth, folding it all together and holding it to her chest. She pulled a shoe out of a knothole in a tree and pushed her bundle of scraps into the toe of it. The other shoe hung from a branch and she unhooked it to lay it beside its mate. Folding one shirt up after another she made a straight stack of them. Flapping out each pair of pants Chandra’s mother pressed all the creases and edges flat with the palms of her hands and she pinched off every pebble and seed and speck of dirt. She gathered up all the other boots and shoes, throwing stones until they were all knocked down out of the tree branches and paired up again. Working her way around and around the clearing she picked it clean of every trace of that ruined wardrobe, gathering up even stray threads that had become twisted around the thinner branches or caught on the edge of rocks. All of it was brought back together again and laid out in neat little bundles.
A stronger wind pushed its way around the forest trees and filled up the clearing. The shirt sleeves and pant legs were caught up in the flow of it, wriggling this way and that way and puffing up full of wind as if the wind was trying to put on all the clothing all at once. Chandra’s mother watched as the winds pulled apart her stacks again and began spreading them along the ground. Shirts took off and spun around and around. Pants somersaulted up and tumbled back down again. The wind even yanked at her long black hair, whipping it out at her side before she could lift a hand to hold it back. Her head turned to follow the strands as they uncurled into the wind and through all her undulating hair she saw a white form moving on the edge of the clearing. It was a human form that moved with ghostly grace. Chandra’s mother jumped back in fright just as the winds moved on from the clearing. Her hair settled around her shoulders. The clothing all fell flat and lifeless to the ground again. Only that white form remained, though it had become thin and still. A crystal white shirt had tangled itself up in a bush and the wind had filled up the sleeves and puffed out the chest. The shirt had wavered back and forth like a phantom but when the wind left the ghostly shirt had lost its spirit and now hung down from a branch and half sprawled out along the face of the bush.
With a short laugh that sounded almost like a sob Chandra’s mother lifted the edge of the shirt with one hand so that it fell free of the bush and settled softly along her arm. Running a finger along the edge of the shirt a smile slowly warmed her face, spreading along her lips and pushing her cheeks round. Shaking it out with a snap of her wrists Chandra’s mother spun the shirt around and pushed one of her arms down the sleeve of it. She put her other arm in and drew the shirt close around her. It was as long as a cloak on her, the sleeves hanging past her waist and the bottom edge surrounding her knees. She buttoned up the shirt and rolled up the sleeves so it looked like a white flowing dress hanging lightly from her shoulders.
Thrusting her hands into the bush Chandra’s mother gripped the bottom of a branch and began to twist the branch between her fingers. Finally the branch pulled free leaving behind a frayed bit of woody flesh still green with the juices of the plant. Chandra’s mother pulled another branch off of the bush, and then another, and another until she had gathered for herself a bundle of young branches still flexible and firm. Next she plucked up a shirt off the ground, a shirt with many holes and tears in it so that it hardly looked like a shirt at all anymore. Hooking her fingers into one of the larger holes she tore the shirt in half right down the middle. Ripping strips of cloth from the ruined shirt Chandra’s mother began to curl the branches into a circle, tying them together with the cloth as she worked her way around. She knotted the cloth around the branches and wrapped it all tightly together until she had made for herself a white crown to match her cloak. Placing it on her head the crown fit her perfectly, settling just a little into her raven hair in stark contrast.
Straightening her back and stretching herself to stand as tall as she could Chandra’s mother looked down haughtily on the rest of the clearing, sneering with contempt at the broken bushes, sniffing her nose at the mess of clothing and shoes all around her. She tried to cackle but the sound was too squeaky and harsh for her sweeter voice and the attempt started her coughing until she was bent over. Recovering herself she tried to laugh again but this time made it rich and full and frigid. That sounded much better and for a moment she saw herself as a real Sorceress Queen chuckling over the misfortunes of her hapless henchmen. A real laugh slipped through her lips at the pleasure of her game but she quickly made her face straight and cold again.
Storm thunder called again from above the forest as another tendril of wind pushed into the forest. The wind nuzzled into Chandra’s mother and pushed around her, teasing out her hair again but unable to loosen the crown she had made. Holding out her arms she followed the feeling of the moving air until it lead her to a tree with a thick body and many limbs circling around it as it rose up over. A boulder half-buried in dirt and rotten leaves leaned against the side of the tree and Chandra’s mother touched the stone so that grit rolled off under her fingers. She hoped up onto the stone as the wind came up behind her to give her a gentle nudge along before completely dying away. She scratched her ankles against the sides of the rock until she managed to peel both her shoes off her feet. With bare toes she gripped the rock and began to climb up. Soon she reached the tree itself and put one foot on one limb while grabbing another. She climbed up through the leaves and branches, through the stillness and those moments of shaking wind, until there was more gray sky above her than leaves.
Emerging from the forest canopy as if from an emerald ocean Chandra’s mother came face-to-face with the stormy sky. It was quiet in that moment and the same charcoal color spread from the horizon all the way around. There was no blue. There were no clouds, only the single storm cloud that seemed to cover over the whole world. Wrapping her legs tight around a thicker branch Chandra’s mother let go of the tree with her hands. She tested her balance, shaking out her hands so the little bits of bark that stuck to her fingers fell free and dropped down out of sight below. Confident now in her perch and in her abilities she reached out to the sky with her fingers splayed wide. She laughed her practiced sorceress laugh and shouted and hooted until she had quite worked herself up. The sky answered with thunder and then a slash of lightning that cut through the sky. Another bolt of lightning cut down deep into the forest and Chandra’s mother could feel the thunder trembling through the ground up into the tree. Rain began to fall with drops as fat and heavy as marbles. They slapped into Chandra’s mother’s face and soaked through her crown and into her hair. Her queenly cloak stuck to her body so closely that hints of the shape and color of her s
impler clothing could be seen through the white cloth. Still she laughed and looked up as well as she could into the sky. The sky had summoned her up and she had answered. She had agitated it into a full-blown storm and now she would use the sound and the light of that storm to cover over her evil deeds. That is what sorceress queens did after all.
Chandra’s mother lowered herself into the forest again. The way down had become slippery but her fingers and toes were strong. Sliding and leaping and stumbling along she found her way to the forest floor again where the moss had turned mushy under her feet. Returning to the clearing again she gathered up all the shirts that were left, soggy as they were, and struck out along the path her daughter had taken when the girl had made her escape. Light burst in through the openings above as another lightning bolt dropped down into the forest. For a moment that light filled a shadowy nook at the base of the tree and Chandra’s mother spotted her own daughter there trying to hide herself from the rain. Chandra hugged Beruka close but even the rag doll was soaked through to the deepest corners of her cottony filling.
In the rain and wild winds of the storm Chandra’s mother began her decorating. She hung up shirts from tree branches all around where her daughter hid. Each shirt bounced in place as the branches dipped and rose and dipped again with the weight of the saturated cloth. The wind circled the hung-up shirts and swirled out the sleeves before slapping them together. Then taking the very last shirt Chandra’s mother balled it up in her hands and threw it across the opening of the tree where her daughter hid. As it flew through the air the shirt uncurled and tumbled over and over itself, the sleeves opening and groping through the air.
Even through the overwhelming noise of the storm Chandra’s mother could hear the child scream.