Sitting in her kitchen, alone and talking, while everyone else was in town, I watched the snow fall outside her kitchen window. The very same window I would watch her from when I would return from my patrols around the property boundaries. The coffee she set in front of me, to warm me up, tasted different than the stuff the guys made by the gallon in our barracks. I would watch her press her brew in a small glass carafe, asking questions the entire time. When I wouldn’t answer honestly or mumbled, she would look at me from under her bangs with an eyebrow raised; her dark eyes would make my breath stop in my throat.
Quickly taking a drink of the hot coffee to cover my reaction, I burnt my tongue every time. Those eyes, I had never seen eyes like hers before, and I doubt I’ll ever see anything like them again: sea green around the outside and rich brown at the center. When I finally kissed her, the brown had turned deep red … almost the same color as her hair.
Back at Christopher’s table, staring at the mug of coffee in front of me, in the dark liquid I can see Lilly’s window and the snow. Long dark nights full of giant snowflakes … light reflected and broken on the surface of the steaming drink. “Snow … cold, bitter; frozen…we sat in comfortable silence just watching the snow.” I say dreamily.
When I look up, Christopher has his arms crossed over his chest, nodding. The defensive posture of his arms is openly betrayed by the understanding look in his eyes. Looking down at the table he speaks quietly, “Ellie devoured my soul too … the consumption of such intense passion can derange your mind, forever.”
We sit nodding at the unspoken vulnerability laid out on the table, but nothing more is said on the topic of our obsessions.
Eating in silence, then cleaning up after ourselves, and stoking the fire, we sit down in the living room adjacent to the whelping pen. “Tell me about what happened in Vegas. One doesn't have to be ‘talented’ to know you’re hiding from something, and I think that something is in Nevada.”
With an obvious bitter tone he blurts out, “I suppose the whole ‘What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas’ thing won’t work for you, will it?”
Shaking his head like he is trying to forget a bad taste he continues, “I found out that there are actually worse creatures than simple humans; I found out that monsters are real.”
Waiting for him to continue, I realize he is going to need prodding. “Monsters? Like what … Frankenstein or serial murderers?” As surreal as the question is, I admit I am curious to know the answer.
The goose bumps that form on Christopher’s arms arrive as his gaze shifts to the left, and his expression softens considerably. Like before, watching him talk to air, this reaction makes the hair on my neck stand on end again. Whispering “Yes, all right” to the phantom, he returns his eyes back to me … but he is looking through me, not at me.
“My world changed about thirteen months ago … I started having these nightmares, hearing voices; and I was angry all the time. It took every ounce of my strength to not take my pain out on everyone around me. I was sure I’d gone insane. Have you ever had so much anxiety, anger, and pressure, that your head and stomach actually hurt? The discomfort leads to not sleeping, which of course, leads to more pain. I muddled through school, work, and my so-called home life, but I was being pulled apart inside. Then my grandfather, my closest friend in the world, had to be moved to a hospice; he was dying of brain cancer. I lost him within a week of the move, but during that week something unseen held me together. A sweet voice in the back of my mind … soft touches on my skin, and just a small glimpse in my peripheral vision … were leaving me walking in a waking dream. I thought I was hallucinating, even before she revealed herself to me.” Still looking through me, he smiles at the memory.
“Let me guess … Ellie?” I am not sure what he means by ‘before she revealed herself to me’, but I do recognize the look in his eyes … it is love. Watching his expression change from affirmation to confusion, I start wondering what he is thinking.
“I tell you that she is unseen, and before she presented herself she might as well have been voices in my head, crazy hallucinations … and no questions? I finally tell you the truth … well, the surface of the truth; and the only thing that sticks out is that I’m talking about Ellie? Michael, I know the questions have passed through your mind … I’ve heard them … Who do I talk to? What am I hiding from? Where did I get these scars?" He almost looks exacerbated to the point of yelling at me.
“Christopher, you are a very private person … for that matter, so am I. I was giving you space to tell me what you want … when you want. I can’t read your mind, I can only read your body language, and you let everyone know that you don’t want to let anyone in. So if you know my questions, then answer them, without me asking. I think we’ll both be happier. I’ll tell you this one without you poking around in my head, I want to know the truth, tell me the truth.”
“The truth is, even when I look back at my memories of Ellie, I still don’t know if they are real. My life was unfolding like a bad dream, before I knew she existed; and I was desperate for release from the nightmare before it broke me. The nightmare’s name was James. Ironically, his presence helped to entice Ellie to my side, bringing about my means of escape; even though she didn’t know why I was special to her at the time. Ellie showed herself to me in a dream, and then let me know she was real by touching me and talking to me while I was awake. She explained her idea of what she was … a creature alive in the ethereal mist. She found purpose in helping others, like a muse of sorts. She was human once, but after her death, she moved to a place of lost potential … where special people lost before their time, still survive. She didn’t realize that ‘lost potential’ could include inhumanely powerful capability for good, or evil. Hell, she didn’t even realize there were others like her … out there in the mist.” His expression reflects bitterness again, but I can still hear the love in his words.
“So you’re telling me that Ellie died?” Well, that would explain the ghostly presence.
“Yes and no. She was lost from our world in 1940, during the London Blitz … but she saw that as a passing over to a different life, not ceasing to exist like we normally think of death. She broke after World War Two, slid into an emotionally paralyzing fugue state … a state of mind that she said she couldn't awake from, until she found me. She would say things like, ‘I love you. I give you everything that I am, and I don’t want to make the mistake of not telling you how I feel. Sharing feelings, even if they might be a mistake, should never be regretted. Life is too short, to not be honest with yourself.’ Her purity made me feel so small, and the fact that she chose me to give it to … well, her selflessness overwhelmed my senses. I fell fast and hard; there was no way I could avoid falling in love with her.”
“She sounds like a remarkable girl.” I am dumbfounded by his description; her self-sacrifice seems more fictional than her existence. “Tell me, have you seen the mist?”
“Not for myself, no … but there are other ways to know something exists without seeing. The influences of these creatures can be witnessed all the time … if you watch close enough. James could force emotions onto someone else and cause hallucinations, and Ellie could feel others’ emotions and even project herself into your mind. Then there was James's mentor, V. He was a real monster, one that fed off fear and sadness. He could strip any internal defenses you might have, and force you to relive torturous memories so that he could feed on the negative energy. They were all like me once, talented humans; and I will most likely end up like them.”
I asked for the truth, and I got the truth … or at least what, I can see, Christopher believes is the truth. If he is right, then I have a lot to think about. Knowing about his talents, and seeing his interaction with the animals, brings me to question the validity of some of the folklore I’ve read over the years. Now, confronted by the idea that ghost stories could be real? My mind is reeling from what the kid is saying, battling with my ideas about reality … all the possible exa
mples of interaction with these creatures throughout history.
My God, we could have been living with, secretly watched and manipulated by, these creatures forever … since the beginning of mankind.
“Hey, Christopher, do you have anything stronger to drink?”
Chapter 4
Choices
*Christopher*
Michael is taking the news better than I thought he would. He doesn’t like the fact that I don’t have any hard alcohol around, but he gratefully takes a Summer Honey Ale when I hand it to him. I listen to his mind as it runs a mile a minute, applying what I have told him to every possible myth he’s ever heard. I remember when I started putting the pieces of knowledge about the ethereal creatures together, and how the awareness was both awe-inspiring and insane.
When I hear Michael's thoughts speak about the Inuit tale of the Taqriaqsuit, or shadow people, it catches my attention right away.
“Tell me about the shadow people?”
He looks relieved to be lifted out of his own musings, “The Inuit believe that they are benign entities, who live just outside our realm of perception. If you hear laughing or talking, but no one is around to make a sound, they say, you’ve just been exposed to a Taqriaqsuit. The tribal Elders say that if you actually glimpse one of these shy creatures, they will appear to sink into the ground, so as to avoid contact. Stories say that some Inuit have chosen to cross over into the shadow people’s world, but they never returned to tell anyone what it was like.”
“You said they were benign … are there evil entities, too?” Cringing internally, I almost think better about asking, but it's more important to be armed for the future, than it is to be squeamish about history.
“Of course there are. If a culture understands good or benign, then they’ll also see evil. If nothing else, my interest in mythology has taught me that humans have the same ideas and fears, no matter where, or when, they live. I’m sorry if I sound brash, but you have to know how incredible it is to find that there are more ties between different civilizations than just the stories they have told. These creatures are everywhere, leaving behind footprints throughout time. The concept of, and the varying ideas about, these entities, must have crossed oceans long before humans ventured out into the sea. The thought that the thread of truth in so many folk stories may not only be morals, but that these creatures exist… there could be actual facts, proof, showing that they are real, and have been here for a very long time.” I can see his empirical, deductive mind fighting with his imagination. The only obvious truth inside of his confusion is his overwhelming excitement over uncovering answers to philosophical and historical mysteries.
“Give me an example of evil … please.” I am still shrinking away from knowing more about evil … I've seen enough evil. But I need to know for safety's sake.
“Well, the Inuit have another tale about creatures known as the Ijiraat. They are shape shifters, who change into any animal or human that they want in order to lure lone travelers to a trap. The only things that they can never change are their eyes: always red and full of danger, never trust those with red eyes.
"When an Ijiraat catches a traveler, they steal memories … maybe even feed on the echoes of emotions attached to those memories. Some of the ancient council members, I've read about, think that the Ijiraat are also benign, because they aren’t known for physically hurting anyone. Personally, I think someone stealing memories and emotions, is still causing physical harm.” He shrugs his shoulders and takes a long draw from the bottle.
“I agree.” Flashing into my mind, the expression on Ann’s face as I pulled out her most guarded secrets; I broke her heart to the symphony of V’s laughter.
“Why do you do that?” He says as he studies the nervous movement of my hand.
“Do what?”
“Rub those scars; like that … you act like they still cause you pain.”
“Hmmm? Yeah, I guess they do cause pain, of a sort.”
“Pain … of a sort? Maybe something sparked for you, brought on by my opinion that stealing memories are physically harmful?”
Even though Michael doesn’t have the paranormal talents that I have … he can read people as well as any psychic.
“Yes; something like that.” Looking over at Lune, I don’t want to relive all that happened … not yet at least, so I don't answer with anymore clarity.
When the shock to my central nervous system finally reaches my brain, I know exactly what Ellie is going to say from the intensity of her touch. “You promised him the truth, Christopher.”
Through gritted teeth I answer her as quietly as possible, “All right!”
Looking back at Michael, I can see he is confused, not only by my pitiful responses, but by my behavior. While I am organizing my thoughts, and noticing that Michael has drained his beer, I go to the kitchen to grab him another one. From the kitchen, I start my story.
Beginning where we left off, seems like the best place to start, “I mentioned James, right?” He nods as I hand him a fresh bottle of ale. “While James was infecting my mind with his manipulative emotions, Ellie soothed my thoughts by just being herself. Our relationship was pretty limited physically, because of the separation of the ethereal divide, but we still managed to fall in love … it was like being hit by a truck that no one else could see. Thanks to Ellie, I even learned how to block James, for the most part. When I realized that James wanted to destroy Ellie … he wanted to feed her to V, I pushed Ellie away thinking that would help. No, wait, that’s not quite true … I was ashamed that I couldn’t physically help her, so I pulled away, intentionally hurting her … because I felt inadequate. Not knowing what else to do, I went to Vegas to talk to Ann Morris, an acquaintance of James’s when he was still alive. I was prepared to be highjacked or at least conned into helping James in some way … but what I found was a good friend, who wanted to help Ellie and me, any way she could. Ann was being abused by James and V, and had been for a very long time … apparently those of us with these talents, attract entities from the mist. Unfortunately for Ann, she had only met dark ethereal creatures in her past.
"She wasn't entirely prepared for the existence of Ellie. Ann told me about her friend and confidant, William Blackbird … I think he helped her hold onto sanity, much the same way she did for me. He knew she needed to believe that there was good to counter all the evil that she had seen. He explained that these creatures were only as powerful as we make them, like a fire is only as strong as the oxygen it breathes. If she hadn't found that philosophy, and taken the leap of faith to believe in it … she would have died, and she couldn't have saved me from myself.”
“So, Ann is talented like you … in what way?”
“She can project her voice into your mind. James’s powerful mob-like family used her to manipulate marks and cheat at high-stakes tables … waste of talent if you ask me. She can also see and hear the ethereal creatures without them having to initiate contact.” Ann has broken away from James's family, and started a psychic-medium business, where she can use her talents to console people instead of manipulating them … but I don’t think Michael needs to know that.
“So you can’t see or hear the creatures?”
“At first, no; but I’ve become more sensitive to the change in the air. I know when one is around, and of course I can sense their minds … and in their minds I can hear their voices. Ellie made herself solid for me, or maybe better put, she crossed the veil for me. She was only able to do it for a short amount of time … and then she was gone. I have only knowingly met two other ethereal creatures, V and James, but they couldn't make themselves solid. They had to rely on influencing people with thoughts alone. Unfortunately, most people don’t know how to, or that they even need to, guard themselves from that kind of outside psychological influence.”
Michael nods his head in response, “Most people wouldn’t know how to protect their minds, even if they understood what those creatures were doing. So, you went to see this
Ann, and what did you find? ”
“I found someone beaten to a pulp, emotionally and physically. James had killed her parents when she was sixteen, and V had taken a cruel pleasure in absorbing and denying her happiness whenever possible. That’s why she named him V, short for the Void, because that’s what he leaves behind, when he’s done feeding.
“In my short time with her, Ann taught me that some creatures, the monsters, live to absorb the chaos they create … the more you fear them, the more they will gorge themselves on your panic. The more control you give to them, the more power they actually have. After a lifetime of being terrorized, Ann’s body only knew how to run on the muscle memory of constant dread. They used her like vampire bats use cattle … feeding whenever they wanted, and making new wounds every time. For good reason, she became paranoid to the point of mental breakdown."
“Living through all that, she should be flat-out insane … not just paranoid. Christopher, this is a mad world you’re describing … it’s almost impossible to believe that it’s actually around us, all the time.” I can see that Michael understands: Ann is a soldier in the middle of a war, not some nut case that can’t be trusted.
“Try being part of it. I think those of us that are exposed to their world have to be slightly cracked to start with, but by the time they are done with us … there’s nothing left that remotely resembles sanity. Over the years, after her parents' death, with no other family, William helped Ann in the only way he knew how … education. As a member of the Southern Paiute tribe, and believing in the old stories about spirit guides and evil souls, he researched everything she told him; he treated her like a victim instead of a freak, and gave her fear validation … by being a grounding influence, he kept her sane.” Silently I add … just like what you have done for me, and I thank you, Michael. My heart aches for my friend, who still lives in Nevada. At least Ann has William watching her back; I am grateful for that small blessing.