The Ghosting of Gods Read online

  A current has picked up the raft, and the townspeople are fighting it, trying not to be carried downriver.

  “They’re aiming for that big rock,” Poe says. He cradles his head and gets to his feet. “I don’t think they’re going to make it. The river has them. How can we help them?”

  He looks around like there’s something we can do. Like we should.

  “Help me,” he says finally. “What do you think, Jesse? You think Leesel just disappeared, or do you think those people came over on a raft, just like they’re doing now, and got her? We’ve got to talk to them!”

  The raft disappears behind the big rock. Immediately there’s a huge splash. The raft must have overturned.

  No. The raft reappears, closer now, clearly visible in the moonlight. Only one of the passengers is paddling now. Furiously. The other one appears to be wringing out his clothing. After several twists, this second one sits. He pulls a small object from his robe, shakes it vigorously, and bends over it.

  “He has a Bible,” Poe says, relief in his voice.

  The solo paddler is losing control. Currents drag the raft toward a clump of massive boulders. No sooner has the raft gone from view than there’s a splash. And another. Sounds like they’re cannonballing into the river. When the raft reappears, both of them are wringing out their clothes, the paddles unattended.

  The raft goes into a spin. It’s found a whirlpool.

  Raised voices. Arguing. It’s a man who’s been paddling to save them—the other is a woman, it turns out. He wins the argument and both of them return to paddling. Amazingly, they break free of the spin and begin making real progress toward the shore.

  “They’re going to make it,” Poe shouts.

  The raft pulls closer. There’s a rock in my hand. Poe sees it and shakes his head.

  I conceal it behind my back.

  They arrive and silently heave the raft ashore. With their backs to us, they get busy wringing the edges of their long robes. Their garments remind me of Digging Man. I step back, discreetly. Maybe they like to dig.

  Poe coughs. One of them retrieves the lantern dangling from the hook. Bowing their heads together, they whisper. At last they turn to us.

  “Hello,” Poe croaks.

  The man slides back his robe cowl. He has small dark eyes that are too close together, and a goatee.

  “Beware,” he says, and grins.

  The woman pulls back her cowl too. Pale blonde hair spirals down to her waist. She’s stunning, even though she’s drenched. “Beware,” she says, just as politely as the man who’s with her. Crossing her wrists, she wraps both hands around her neck, as if to strangle herself. Her fingers squeeze.

  The man also strangles himself.

  9

  retention of flesh

  Red imprints remain on their necks when they drop their hands.

  It’s Poe who pulls himself together first. “Beware,” he says, repeating the greeting, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Briefly, he clutches his neck. “My name is Poe Bloomfield, and this is my friend, Jesse Morrison. That river crossing was a miracle. What happened out there? Did something evil pull you in? Did you read scripture to ward it off?”

  The woman shudders. “Let us not speak of it.” She returns to wringing every last drop of water from her robe. A book falls to the ground. She retrieves it. The Story of Me is written on the cover, the beautiful script cutting deep into the warped leather that binds the pages. She kisses it. “My personal history book!” she exclaims.

  “A diary?” Poe asks. “I keep one too. I don’t have it with me.”

  She shines lantern light on the book. “Only a trifle wet! What great fortune. I read it every night. All of it. You wouldn’t believe what’s written inside.” She gives Poe a coy look.

  “Pardon me,” the man interrupts. “I am George, master clockmaker, and this is my fiancé, the lovely Bethany.” He holds her hands as she curtsies.

  “You may introduce me as your fiancé once you have set a date of matrimony, darling,” Bethany coos. She pinches her cheeks till they’re blotched red. “Welcome. We are pleased to see you without your skeletons.”

  “Very pleased indeed,” George agrees. “And honored. May I assure you how worthy we are to receive messengers of the Holy—”

  “George, darling. What’s wrong with that one? He’s so peculiar.”

  “I noticed. No moan or curdle to his voice.” He regards Poe with curiosity. “Unsettling.”

  “I meant the color of his companion,” she says, swinging the lantern at my face. “His blush is as rosy as my own.” She glares at me. “What dreadful manners you have. Turn to your companion and mimic his pallor at once!”

  Poe, looking as confused as I am, nevertheless gestures at me to comply.

  “Bethany! Oh, my.” George appears mortified. “I do apologize for her. She is unaccustomed to receiving heavenly host.” He reaches out to me.

  Heavenly host? Have we passed into a spiritual dimension after all? But with bodies? Taking a step back, I lose my balance on a loose rock. I fall hard. Taste blood. I wipe it from my lip.

  “He’s alive,” Bethany squeaks.

  George whips out a handkerchief and dabs at his forehead. “Dear me. This is most unexpected. How can this be? Haunted chapels spew forth ghosts, not living flesh. Is another Beginning at hand? Dear me.”

  Bethany maneuvers in front of George to peer down at me, the lantern at her cheek. She examines Poe, too. “Both of you retain your flesh. And yet we saw with our own eyes the appearance of the haunted chapel, twirling in the sky.”

  “We must alert Saint Thomas! The Presence—”

  “Hush, George. I wish to question them. While they remain alive.”

  Poe raises his hand. “Excuse me. Where are we?”

  Bethany scrunches up her face. “Did you steal that chapel? May I see it? I hope it’s not ruined. From whence did you come? How is it possible you know not where you are?”

  “I don’t know.” Poe appears panicked. “Maybe we’re here by accident.”

  “How unfortunate,” George clucks. “We keep a treacherous world here. Death awaits you.” He shakes his head sadly. “Shall you take a word of wisdom? Refrain from questioning the methods of undertakers. Offing the head is best.”

  They’re insane.

  Apprehension ripens in my gut as the vision of Leesel’s rain boot flashes in my mind.

  Do these people know what happened to Leesel? To Ava? “We’ve lost two others who were with us in the chapel,” I say evenly. It takes effort. “They were blown out the window before we landed. Ava, she’s petite, with…a disfigured face. And her daughter, Leesel. Seven years old, long kinky hair, wearing a pink raincoat and boots. Have you seen them?” Or done something with them?

  They look amazed. “Two more of you?” George asks.

  “Extraordinary,” Bethany says. “Should we expect them to be fleshed?”

  After a moment, I nod.

  They talk between themselves in a whisper. Bethany asks George if he expects any of us to live more than two days. He snorts. “Certainly not, be sensible. Their spectacular deaths will be spoken of for years to come.”

  “Spectres?”

  He smoothes his goatee. “It’s hard to say, the threats are legion, both living and dead.”

  Poe’s knee jitters, and I interrupt. “Ava and Leesel. Where are they?”

  “We’ve heard nothing,” Bethany says. “But you must know witches love little girls.”

  This shuts me up.

  “Bethany,” George snaps, “you know calling them witches is socially insensitive. They prefer the term coven scientists.”

  Bethany rolls her eyes. “I call it as I see it, Beloved.”

  “Nevertheless, you are frightening these boys. They obviously know nothing. We must help them. Is it not fortuitous these boys now have the opportunity to benefit from my wisdom? Lucky, lucky boys indeed. My knowledge is vast…”

  “Excuse me,�
�� Poe interrupts. “Where are we? I’ve got to know. I’ve got to know what my judgment is.”

  George leans forward. He breath smells like soured milk. “Why, you stand in Memento Mori, of course.”

  “Memento Mori?” Poe repeats uncertainly. “That’s Latin, for Death Reminder.”

  Bethany giggles. “Yes. A world of death. Naturally.”

  “This is serious,” I growl. “We need Ava and Leesel back. Let’s get moving, Poe. We’re wasting our time. We have to find them.”

  George wags a finger at me. “My Bethany is right. The coven takes no fear in roving about Memento Mori. They enjoy the scenic view of the cliffs. If your Leesel was left unguarded along these shores, they most certainly abducted her. There is no doubt. They have her.”

  “Poe. Let’s go.”

  He doesn’t budge. “Leesel might be here, Jesse. Ava would want us to save her. They can help us. We need guides. God sends messengers, to help us…they may be angels.” Running shaky fingers through his white spikes of porcupine hair, he stands his ground. This surprises me. Poe usually follows my lead. I’m not sure how to handle it.

  “I’m going,” I warn.

  “The woods are perilous,” Bethany says. She makes a show of looking up the cliff and recoiling in fear. Clapping at her own performance, she takes a bow. George shouts for an encore.

  “I’ll take my chances,” I say.

  “Jesse, don’t leave me!”

  Behind me, Mr. Halloween and his fiancé, messengers from God, try to calm Poe. “Your friend will come to his senses once danger presents,” Bethany states. She sneezes. “George, I’m dreadfully cold. Did you notice?”

  I pretend to be looking for a place to climb up the cliff. That way I can watch the three of them out of the corner of my eye. I feel around the rock wall where I stand, as if I’m looking for handholds so that I can climb. Peeking out from behind my arm, I see that Poe watches me, but he’s settling down beside the fire that George already has going. God’s angel must carry lighter fluid in his robe.

  Poe waves at me to come back.

  “Of course, the raft will not carry more than two,” George practically shouts. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. The fire shall keep us warm until help arrives.”

  Closing my eyes, I’m back in Poe’s haunted chapel, at the baptismal with the strange fire. I know what a burning bush signifies.

  Messengers from God. Could Poe be right?

  10

  no help is coming

  Above me there’s another howl-scream, ending in a ragged cry.

  “They are flagellants, reveling in their raucous prayers, begging the weregod to come out of hiding,” Bethany explains loudly, I assume for my benefit. “Every night, it’s the same. I do wish the council would act. Nasty werewolves.” She holds up a hand. “No, George, do not lecture me on ethnic slurs. I call things as I see them.”

  So they’re not coyotes. But flagellants? People who scourge themselves for God?

  Several minutes more of Bethany and George and their inane talk convince me I’ll receive no heavenly communication from these two.

  I look up. For a sign to guide me.

  Shadows shift where cliff meets sky. Are the flagellants there, or across the river in the town? I can’t tell. Screams echo around the canyon, bouncing off the smooth stone of the cliff walls. Watching the occasional patch of brush on outcroppings, I see movement. Lots of it. I hope it’s only the breeze.

  If Ava’s out there, she must be scared to death for Leesel. Are they in the town? Held captive? We’ll have to cross the river to get to them. Watching a tree limb soar along in the current, I see it get pulled under. It pops up again several yards downriver in a spurt of gray froth before submerging for good.

  Poe is tearfully describing to George and Bethany what happened to Ava. He mostly believes she is dead, but in heaven, where of course his Annabel Lee would be.

  I stare at the town and think she is not.

  George speaks in a lowered voice so that I have to move closer to the fire. The rush of the river is hard to hear over. The flagellants too.

  “Do they need a priest?” Poe asks.

  George instructs him not to ask such questions, so Poe asks about the transformation from human to wolf. “Does it happen only at night, or can the wolf characteristics, such as fur or claws, be seen at any time of day?” he queries.

  Bethany hoots with laughter.

  No one comments when I sit down with them, though Bethany offers me a brilliant smile. She’s young. Close to my age. George looks to be about thirty years old. I don’t like it when he smiles.

  The fire, at least, warms me.

  Poe offers the gospel to George and Bethany. They look confused. I try to think as Poe sincerely quotes lengthy scriptures. I try to be logical. It’s true we need help, and these people are the only ones to give it. Maybe Poe—Mr. Macabre—knows better than me what we should do under the circumstances. Maybe God sent Poe to be here with me for a reason. To help me find what I’m looking for.

  “Is this where the dead go?” I ask.

  Poe answers. “I know what you’re thinking, Jesse. No. Emmy isn’t here. George and Bethany here explained it to me already. This is another world entirely.”

  Bethany cracks her knuckles. “My goodness, we’ve enough dead, we certainly don’t need yours.”

  Poe sees my face. Apologizes for bringing up Emmy.

  George is saying something again about coven scientists.

  “Who are these scientists, and where do they have Leesel?” I ask as seriously as I can.

  “The forest, of course, the dark Eden,” George answers. He points back across the river, past their town. “Intellectual types. They steep themselves in matters of the spirit. It is tragic, of course, that you are certain never to arrive at their village alive.”

  “Why not?” Poe asks.

  George glares at him. “I told you. There are witches.”

  “Coven scientists,” Bethany corrects him, sweetly.

  “Why would they kidnap Leesel?” ask. The idea of some cult holding Leesel prisoner freezes my heart. “What are they doing with her? Will they hurt her?”

  Bethany responds this time, twirling her hair through her fingers. “Do not fret. As I said, witches love little girls. Everyone knows this. I hate to be rude, but why did you abandon this Leesel? It was unwise, not to mention irresponsible.”

  Poe places a steadying hand on my shoulder. He does the talking. “We didn’t abandon her. We didn’t mean to come here.”

  Silence.

  “So,” George says at last, his demeanor despondent. “You truly have nothing to do with the Holy Ghost at all?”

  Bethany pats George’s knee. “Do you see, Beloved? It is as the headlines report. You were silly to expect the Holy Ghost to possess that chapel.” Her face is flushed, without any pinching.

  George stirs the fire. “Only saints take their bodies from world to world without dying. These two boys are therefore saints, bilocated. That is my final logic on the matter. At least they shan’t be missed on their world. Grief is a burden.”

  Saints? I’m no saint. And bilocation? I’ve had enough. “We need to find Ava and Leesel. We need your help. Would this coven have Ava as well as Leesel?”

  George and Bethany talk it over. “I think not,” George whispers to her.

  “Depends on her intelligence, darling.”

  “Should we pray?”

  “Yes, yes, we must assume the worst at best. Either way, a wake with lilies makes a statement, does it not?”

  They bow their heads together for more whispering. Bethany sniffles and turns to me with a pout on her face. “Such a tragic loss. But could their hair have been lovelier than mine?”

  George’s delighted laugh turns to coughing when he sees Poe’s watery eyes. “The coven could possibly have taken this Ava as well,” he says kindly. “However, she is likely dead by now. A practical approach to such matters is best. I
can recommend the most delightful undertaker. As we are without the body…perhaps a substitute corpse for the service?”

  There’s a prolonged silence. I wrap my arm around Poe. Give him a look.

  “Obviously no one is coming to our assistance!” George shouts, now glaring across the river to the town. “Cowards! Let us see. We shall make two trips on our little raft. Perfectly safe.”

  We turn to find the raft has floated away.

  “Tsk, tsk,” George says. He taps his forehead. “I have it. I will lead everyone through the mud tunnels beneath the river and to the other side. A brilliant plan!” Bethany gapes at him with clear disbelief. He ignores her and leans toward me and Poe with a concerned expression on his face. “You boys aren’t given to claustrophobia, are you?”

  Bethany closes her eyes, makes fists.

  George takes her aside. They have a heated conversation about tunnels. Bethany comes apart, insisting she can’t do it. George shakes her a bit. Biting her lip, at last Bethany nods, but she weeps.

  “Stay close to me,” I tell Poe under my breath. “Be careful, it will be all right.” I want to reassure him, but he only looks at me with a befuddled expression on his face.

  “Come along,” George shouts. “I shall lead the way!” Once his back is turned, Bethany’s tears shut off.

  She winks at me.

  11

  the screams fade quickly

  Mumbling about a location of ascension, George sets off along the shoreline. I want to talk to Poe privately, but Bethany brings up the rear, slowing when I do, so that she stays behind me and Poe. This gives me a bad feeling—like maybe she and George don’t want us to get away. Instinct tells me to grab Poe and escape, but I think these people are liars.

  I think they have Ava and Leesel over in their town.

  The mustard moon obliterates a good portion of the sky. Its light is frigid. George is in a hurry, and it’s hard keeping up with him because of all the rocks along the shore. Poe’s ankles keep twisting, but the occasional flagellant howl spurts him forward at regular intervals. We hike a kilometer before coming to a diagonal staircase of stones cut into a taller, but less steep, hill flanking the river.