Ghosts of Eden (11 page)

Garty watched his uncle’s face. Was his uncle crazy? He took a seat, expecting his uncle to begin one of those speeches about the ‘rules of the house,’ but still, his uncle’s lips remained sealed. He took a cigarette from his pack and lit it. He felt he had to say something.

“So…what do you do, exactly? My stepfather said you work for the government Labs.”

Uncle Xander turned his head to look at Garty. “I used to, yes,” he said. “They let me go. I was too much for them.”

“Oh… So what do you do now?”

His uncle looked at him closely, searching his eyes for information. He smiled and his uncle gave a trace of a wary smile back. “What else do you know about me?”

Garty dropped his eyes. “Not much.”

Uncle Xander lifted his pipe to his lips and drew in deeply, the glow from the embers highlighting his cheeks, recessing his eyes to glimmering pricks of light. The smoke was sweet and pleasant.

“That pipe’s kinda cool,” Garty said. “It’s kind of like the one Gandalf had in—”

“Let me ask you a question,” Uncle Xander interrupted.

“Okay.”

“How do you feel about being here?”

“Uh, it’s alright. You have a really nice house.”

“No. I mean, do you feel special in any way?”

“Special?”

“Yes. Do you feel chosen?”

“Chosen by who?”

“By a power larger than yourself.”

Garty’s eyes narrowed. “Like fate? Like God? I don’t believe in God.”

“There are many gods. They do not need your belief to exist.”

Garty looked at his uncle, surprised by this sudden turn in the conversation. He’d debated similar topics in the philosophy classes he’d been in before dropping out of college. “I…I suppose not.” He lowered his voice, then sat up straight, suddenly inspired. “Or do they?” he countered. “For if gods are created in the minds of their followers, then their existence depends entirely upon the belief in them of at least one person.”

Uncle Xander smiled thinly. “A good point, but an anthropologically-centric one.” He stood, rested a cold hand on Garty’s shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my work.”

Garty stared at his uncle, watched him cross the porch between the chairs. “That’s all you wanted to talk about?”

“For the time being.”

At the front door his uncle stopped, turned his head to reveal his sharp profile.

“Let me ask you one more question, then. Do you feel you’re being watched?”

Garty’s mouth went dry. “Am I?”

“Just wondering,” Uncle Xander said, and pushed through the door and into the house.

Garty stood. He looked out over the forest, but, even with his eyes adjusted, it was still too dark to see much of anything. He flicked the last of his cigarette out into the void over the garden. He shivered, and went back inside the house.

* * *

In his new bedroom, with the door firmly shut, after showering, he swallowed a couple of pills and stood looking at a framed photograph on the wall. It depicted a man frowning over a table laden with tubes, and beakers, and jars—a complex chemistry setup that could have been examining or distilling any number of things—his hair wild like a mad scientist’s. Across the table, there was another man, short and hunched, nearly bald, that looked to Garty, vaguely familiar, grinning widely from the background.

He sat on the bed. “Alright. Fine,” he said. “Here I am.” He turned his head to scan the room, as if to assure himself he weren’t already dreaming. His uncle was a reclusive freak. It was going to be a long summer.

He tucked himself into bed and turned out the light and lay listening to the cicadas buzzing inanely through the night. He was just drifting off to sleep when there came a light tapping at his door. He opened his eyes and sat up. The door clicked open and a crack of bluish light seeped into his room; it opened slowly, as if from a subtle breath. Someone stood in the light, her face obscured by the dark. “Garty?” His heart froze: for some reason he was scared, his body trembling. For a moment, he was blinded and the girl standing in the doorway was a pure-white silhouette, like a visiting apparition, stepping toward him. Then, his eyes adjusted to the brightness and he saw Kayla coming forward to talk to him.

“Kayla? Is everything alright?”

Kayla stood just inside the room, wringing her hands. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Kayla pulled the door closed behind her, leapt across the room, and threw herself into Garty’s arms.

“Alright, alright. It’s okay,” Garty said, sounding as if he were talking to an overly rambunctious dog, but not meaning to. “You’ve been pretty lonely here, huh?”

Kayla nodded against his shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Well, I’m here now and it looks like we’re related somehow, so you don’t have to worry.”

“You mean like brother and sister?”

“Well—I don’t know about that. But if we have the same uncle, that’s something.”

Kayla lifted herself and shuffled awkwardly to the side so she was sitting next to Garty on the bed, facing the same direction. “Is it okay if I sleep here tonight?”

“I guess so. Did you have a bad dream or something?” He turned and Kayla’s eyes were red and watery, her lip beginning to curl.

“At first I thought they’d go away, now that I was here,” she said, “but they’ve only gotten worse. Every night. I don’t know what to do. My parents are dead. I don’t have anybody… I’m scared.”

Garty held her again and let her cry. He didn’t say anything for a while; he didn’t know what to say. Then, when her tears had subsided a little, “It’s okay. I have bad dreams too.”

She looked at him, her face red, her eyes bleary but serious. “You do?” she managed.

Garty looked away. “I guess I do. Yeah. These past couple of weeks have been insane.” Maybe he had more in common with this girl than he thought, Garty thought to himself, but didn’t say.

“It’s okay?” Kayla asked.

“What?”

“That I stay here tonight?”

“Yeah, sure. Of course. You take that side and I’ll take this one,” Garty said, indicating the bed. “We better get some sleep and in the morning you can tell me all about yourself and everything you know about this crazy uncle of ours. How does that sound?” He gave Kayla what he hoped was a genuine smile.

Kayla nodded. “Okay.”

They got into bed and Garty pulled the blankets up so only their heads were visible and reached to turn out the light.

“Wait,” Kayla said, then bit her lip. “Is it okay if we leave it on?”

“Alright,” Garty said, and turned on his side and closed his eyes. Almost immediately, he began to drift on the border of sleep—he was very tired.

“Garty?” Kayla whispered.

“Huh.”

“Have you looked in your closet yet?”

“Wha?”

“I looked in mine. It’s strange. It was empty except for a toy-box in the back. It was filled with masks.”

Garty stirred. Something was wrong, but he was too tired to move.

“Do you think that’s important?”

Garty slipped into sleep.

THREE

When light from the rising sun began to fill the room, Kayla slid out of bed and snuck out of the room and down the stairs, leaving Garty to sleep.

I thought you were a ghost
, Garty had said to her. She shivered.

She crossed to the kitchen. She wanted to get something normal to eat, something small—a bowl of cereal or a slice of toast—before Cassie went to all the trouble to make some big extravagant breakfast of bacon and waffles. In one cabinet she found a box of Cheerios. She opened the box and began to eat the cereal dry. She thought she’d take the box up with her to her room and read a little more of
The Magician’s Nephew
before Garty woke up.

She reached the top of the stairs before she realized she was spilling cereal across the house. She held up the box and discovered there was a hole torn from one corner. She examined the hole closely. A mouse? It didn’t look gnawed on, but, just the same, she wasn’t really hungry anymore. She held her hand over the hole to prevent further spillage, and followed the scattered line of Cheerios—like a path of breadcrumbs—back to the kitchen. She tossed the box of cereal in the garbage can beneath the sink and then fetched a bowl from one of the top cabinets so she’d have a place to pick up her mess on her way back to her room.

A loud chattering of birds outside startled her and she leaned up to the kitchen window. She was just in time to see a flock of black birds taking to the skies from a tree at the forest’s edge. Closer to the house, a man was working in the garden. A gardener? She’d been here for a couple of weeks now and she’d never seen a gardener. The man looked up and his eyes met hers. His face was pink in the morning light. He smiled widely and nodded at her, then he stood from where he’d been crouching and walked around the house and out of sight.

Kayla stepped back from the window. She began to retrace her steps, bowl in hand, but there were no Cheerios on the floor. She scowled and stepped more slowly. She made it all the way to the stairs without finding a single piece of cereal. She tried the stairs: nothing there either. It was as if the house, delighted to discover a rare treat sprinkled on its floor, had simply absorbed them, cleaning itself.

She rushed up the stairs and to her room, slamming the door shut behind her.

* * *

A few minutes later, Garty tapped on her door and then stepped inside her room. His eyes were tired slits and he swayed on his feet a little.

“Kayla?” He sounded groggy. “Are you okay?”

She looked at Garty and she knew, then, somehow, that he was her brother—her
real
brother. “I don’t know,” she said. “Something’s not right.”

Garty walked over and slid to the floor with his back against the bed. He turned his head so she could see him speak. “What were you saying last night? I can’t remember now…”

“The box of masks?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“It doesn’t matter, I guess. They’re just creepy.”

“You mean like Halloween masks, those stinky rubber ones?”

“No. They’re made from wood.”

Garty stared at his hands. “Huh,” he said.

Silence. Kayla fidgeted on the bed.

“Do you want to get out of this place for a little while?” Garty said. “I was going to walk into town today. See if there’s anything to do in this shithole. You can come with me if you’d like.”

Kayla smiled, she couldn’t help herself. “Yes! That sounds great!”

“Sweet. But first, let’s get some breakfast. I’m starving.”

* * *

By the time they reached the living room, they could already smell the food: waffles and bacon, just like Kayla had imagined, but there were also over-easy eggs, and spiced apple cider, and steaming hash browns. For Garty there was coffee, and there was also hot chocolate. There were two places set at opposite ends of the table and sitting on the empty plates at each there was a note: one said
Garty
, the other
Kayla
.

Suddenly very hungry, Kayla took her seat at the table and began to crunch bacon before she’d even considered her note. She looked up and realized Garty was still standing in the doorway.

“What the hell is this?” Garty said.

Kayla didn’t know what to say. Garty was strange. “It’s breakfast,” she nodded at the table.

“But where did it come from?”

“Cassie made it. Like she always does.”

Garty shook his head. Reluctantly, but she could tell he was hungry too, Garty took his seat. He blinked a couple of times and then picked up his note and read it. He put the note down, sighed loudly, and began to eat.

After Kayla had finished her waffles, smothered in maple syrup, she scooped more hash browns to her plate and picked up her note. She unfolded the little card and scanned what it had to say. Then she read it again more carefully:

Dear Miss Kayla Greenwood,

It is my great pleasure to inform you of your acceptance into the Masterson School of Science and Illusion. The distinguished Dr. William Eldritch Xander has been selected to conduct your apprenticeship. Congratulations!

All necessary supplies will be provided for. Classes begin tomorrow. Bring only yourself and an agile mind.

-T.

When she’d finished reading the note, she looked up. Garty seemed to have finished eating and now slumped back in his chair; he was watching her.

“What does yours say?” she asked him.

“Uncle Xander wants to see me after breakfast. Probably for another psychotic talk.”

“Oh.”

“Does he want to see you too?” Garty stood and pushed away from the table. “I bet he does. What is this, some kind of game? What…” His jaw clenched, his hands straining at his sides. He glanced warily around the room. “Fuck.”