The Marked Son (Keepers of Life) (5 page)

Seeing the Impossible

Once in my bedroom, I shut the door and unclench my fist. The blisters are almost gone. I know I didn’t imagine the burn. I can still see the lingering redness, feel the tightness along my skin.

I kick off my shoes and head toward the bathroom. The area is stark; a sink, a shower and a toilet. Nothing fancy adorns the tiny room other than white paneling along the lower half of the wall, yellow paint to the ceiling, and an old hand towel with pink roses along the bottom. The pipes groan as I soak my hand, and before my eyes, the skin loses the last bit of pink. Maybe the burn wasn’t as bad as I’d thought.

When the throbbing stops, I wash my face and brush my teeth. Even though it’s not close to dark outside, I’m exhausted. Mom has a way of doing that to me.

I go over every possible way I can change the path my life has settled into. It would be so easy to drop out of school and leave.

Too easy. Too appealing.

I’m stuck in a rut, but at least I’m going forward, even if it’s only an inch or two. If I bail and head into the world now, I’ll become another statistic, just like my mother.

My fingers grip the sink, and I stare into the mirror. The toothbrush handle pokes out of my mouth, but I ignore it to stare hard into my eyes.
You gotta make it. Hang in there.

But what happens after I graduate? That’s the question I’ve avoided asking myself. Is not having a tangible vision regarding the future a bad sign? Even Mom, a woman no sane person would want to emulate, has basic expectations. For me, there’s just a huge void I can’t seem to fill with a purpose.

Mom says I’m different. I
know
I am. I’ve had a sense of not belonging my whole life. Flickers of unexpected sight…motion slowing…speeding up. Of feeling disconnected. Out of place. Out of time. It’s gotten even worse the last few days. The look on my face is grim, and it’s suddenly really hard to swallow. I’m ready to crack. Calling on the last of my determination, I force the tension from my body and finish brushing my teeth. The well water tastes heavy, like there’s a ton of metal in it, and my stomach gives a little twist. I give one last swish and spit before flicking off the bathroom light.

The whip of a coming storm rattles the house and spreads clouds like fingers across the sky, turning the approaching clouds a muddy orange-red. The fading light shines through the open window. I check to make sure no suicidal fireflies have sneaked past the screen as I slowly shimmy the window closed. The air immediately grows stagnant. I stand with my hands on the curtains, ready to close them. Maybe I should keep the window open? It’s not like I’m afraid of a little rain.

As I debate the idea, the hairs on my arms rise, and my skin tingles along the back of my neck. The forest hovers beyond the back fence like a giant waiting for its supper. The wind quickens the leaves and rustles the undergrowth. Shadows of the coming night have already found their favorite haunts. It’s not a familiar sight, but nothing seems odd.

And then a flicker catches my eye.

I lean forward, my eyes focusing on the spot.

Another movement. The swish of light colored fabric, an unnaturally white arm, and a heart-shaped face. A girl among the high branches of the massive trees,
leaping
from branch to branch. I gasp, holding my breath as the figure sails through the air and floats slowly—too slowly—to the ground. She stops, her body a wisp of pale flesh amid the tower of trees. She turns, and her gaze slams into mine.

I stumble back, inadvertently yanking the curtains across the rod, and plunging my room into various tones of cheerless gray. My body warms like someone’s poured scalding coffee down my throat and I can’t swallow.

I didn’t see what I just saw. I couldn’t have.

My hands. They’re shaking.

What am I, bent? I place my finger along the nubby fabric near the curtain’s edge. I lick my dry lips. The vein in my neck throbs sharply. Slowly, I ease the curtain to the side and peek out.

The bare yard is lit by the brilliance of the setting sun as it slides beneath the dark clouds. Beyond the fenced-in yard, trees block the bulk of the sunlight from filtering through. Soon, the approaching storm will block out all the light. I scan the area, and just when I’m about to give up and breathe easier, far within the trees there’s another pale flicker of movement.

Someone—or some
thing
—is definitely in the woods.

In the Blink of an Eye

I back away from the window even as I tell myself to sit tight, but I can’t. I’m suddenly possessed with the need to know who—or what— it is, and this need is a pull I’ve got to obey.

I dive for my shoes, slip them on, and dash out the door and into the unknown. My heart thuds wildly. It’s a girl, and I’ve got a feeling she’s the one from my dreams. I don’t understand how this is possible, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve lost all ability to stop. I ricochet around the kitchen corner and catch Grandpa’s eye before I speed out the back door.

“Dylan?” he shouts. “A storm’s coming.”

I don’t answer, just race into the backyard, fall over the strawberry pot with its pathetic amount of fruit, run past the greenhouse, and punch through the back gate. I don’t slow down until I burst into the woods and trip over the uneven ground. I catch myself on a nearby tree and stop. A strange lightness seizes me. The whole forest seems to take a breath, its shadows hiding what I’m searching for, but I keep moving forward.

The air is electric, like I’ve stumbled into a force field. The feeling of being different, of sensing things that aren’t there, prickles my skin. I usually turn back when I get this feeling.

Not this time.

I push off the tree and step forward. The hairs on my arms rise again. I rub them down, but they won’t stay. With each step, I press farther into the forest and further into a feeling of unease.

When I was little, I had a reoccurring dream where jagged, bare limbs bent down and attacked me. I would fight them off, but eventually, they’d twist their spindly branches around me and lift me high into their boughs. I’d scream, thrash, break off twigs…then fall. Before I hit the ground, I’d wake and see Mom standing in the doorway of my room, staring, her arms wrapped around her torso. She wouldn’t say a word, even as I whimpered for her. She’d just stare, then leave.

Despite those memories crashing in on my thoughts, whatever this urge is that’s infusing me pushes me past my tree aversion and keeps my feet moving.

The leaves shiver in the wind, their sound like little whispers, condemning, plotting. Blood rushes through me, flooding my skin, until I’m so hot I feel light-headed. My hands grab for support, clutching one tree and then the next as I pull myself forward.

Behind me the trees crowd in, blocking my view of the house. I usually have a good sense of direction, but time feels suspended. The wind whips my hair into my eyes. I bump into another tree, feel that strange breath, like everything has shifted, and I hug the trunk tighter to keep from falling. I push my hair out of my eyes, and when I do, I see the girl weaving noiselessly between the trees, her gown a glaring white flag against the darkened forest. Goosebumps pebble my arms.

I follow. I can’t seem to stop myself. As I stumble into another tree, she stops. I hide, peeking between a gap in the twisted branches. Her gown flutters up, revealing a quick flash of pale leg. It’s only then that I realize she’s glowing. Her skin radiates a strange, murky light.

A ghostly light.

Wait, the girl in my dreams is a ghost?

“Wake up,” I rasp, and pinch the skin above my elbow. Pain ripples up my arm. Nothing changes. The girl in white continues her journey. Her thick cord of dark hair dances along her back as she moves.

I must be dreaming, and yet the cold, wet wind bites at my skin, and my cheek stings from pressing it against the rough tree bark. You don’t feel pain in dreams. I know from experience.

She reaches a small clearing. If she gets too far ahead, I’ll lose her. The impulse to follow, to connect with her, is overpowering.

I push away from my hiding place and draw in a breath to call out to her. As I do, sweat trickles down my neck. A strange ache stabs through my bones. I watch as the air in the clearing thickens in front of the girl. A sudden mist ripples forth, stretching out its glittering fingers as if to grab her. I put my hand on the tree to steady myself, unable to look away.

“Hey!” I finally manage to shout.

She spins around. Surprise registers on her face, and in the blink of an eye, she disappears.

I force my eyes closed and then open. Only a small wisp of the strange mist remains.

My hand finds my head of its own free will, a reflex, as if my mind will explode if I don’t hold it in. I’ve been dreaming about a ghost, and now it’s here. In my grandparents’ backyard.

And it saw me.

It actually
heard
me and looked straight at me.

A shiver snakes down my spine. Every horror flick I’ve ever seen flies in a chaotic jumble through my brain, and one irrefutable fact stands out. Something everyone agrees on.

Once one of “them” sees you, it’s never good.

The time between light and dark accelerates and night soon rules. The wind gains strength as if to warn me of my own stupidity. From this spot in the woods, I can’t see the lights to my grandparents’ house. I’m alone. In a strange place. A flash of lightning rips across the sky. A loud clap of thunder shakes the ground. The air around me crackles. The feeling of being watched returns, but I can’t see anything.

Panic settles in, and I plow back the way I came, not paying attention to my steps, which have grown wilder since I chased the girl.

She saw me.

No. I made her up when I was a little boy. She was never real, ghost or otherwise.

She saw me. She saw me. She saw me.

I stumble, catch myself, and forge forward. I’ve been dreaming about a ghost. My genetics being what they are, I could be crazy. Mom certainly is.

A drop of rain lands on my forehead. I brush it away. A useless gesture. Within minutes, the rain streaks between the trees as if searching just for me. I finally break through, glad to be out of the woods. With rain pelting down, I run along a dirt path that’s grown muddy and slick, and I nearly slide past the back gate in my rush to safety. When I dash through the back gate, I find Grandma standing on the porch, her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. “Where in the world did you tear off to?”

I vault up the stairs, out of the rain, and into the bright halo cast by the porch lights. My heart is beating in my throat, and my side aches from running. I may be taller, but when I look down at Grandma, something about her makes me feel very small. “I thought…well…the woods and…”

I try to catch my breath and focus my thoughts, but it’s like a fever has set in, making my tongue thick and dumb. No way am I telling her the truth: that I saw a ghost, a female ghost dressed in white, one whom I’ve been dreaming about my whole life. It’s so cliché, it can’t be true. To save myself from embarrassment, I search for a logical answer that won’t reveal itself. No doubt I look and sound like a complete idiot.

“Look at you,” she finally huffs. “You’re filthy. Those pants have a good four-inch layer of mud on them. And I suppose those are your only decent pair of sneakers?”

They are. I throw her a pained expression.

She sighs. “Wait here.”

The back screen door squeaks open and slaps shut as she goes inside. I’m shivering now. The wind is cool, and my clothes are wet, and I feel every inch of the weather. Thankfully, Grandma returns in no time with a towel. “Take off your clothes and wrap yourself up in this.”

I stare at her, embarrassed. “Y-you want me to st-strip out here?”

“Well you’re not getting into my house with those clothes on. Don’t worry. There’s no one around for miles. You could strip naked and do yard work, and no one would be the wiser.”

I can feel the forest and all its secrets looming close by. Apparently Grandma doesn’t know about the ghost.

She hangs the towel on the railing. “When you’re done, put your dirty clothes on the chair,” she says, pointing to an old rocker moving back and forth in the wind. At least I hope it’s the wind. My imagination is caught, and I can’t seem to look away.

“Dylan!” Grandma calls, snapping my attention from the rocker back to her. She looks me up and down and shakes her head. “What’s wrong with you?”

“N-nothing. I’m just c-cold.”

She rolls her eyes and holds out her hand. “I’ll take your sneakers and clean them now, but I suggest you hurry up and develop better common sense, because this is the one and only time I’ll help you this late.”

I nod, kick off my shoes, and hand them to her. She grimaces at the muck stuck on the soles and dripping from the laces, and goes inside.

I turn around and peer into the darkness beyond the glow of the back porch lights. It’s kind of weird a ghost would show up before it was completely dark out. Then again, I’m no expert on the subject. Maybe ghosts can appear whenever and wherever they want.

With that in mind, I quickly strip to my boxers, wrap the towel around my waist, and place my wet clothes over the rocker before going inside. I wish I could forget what I’ve seen, but I can’t. My insides are all jittery, and I still can’t think straight.

I catch Grandpa’s eye as I make my way to my bedroom, and his gruff voice follows me. “Bet you won’t do that again anytime soon.”

The crazy dog is sitting at his feet, and the light from the television washes Grandpa’s face in a strange, pale light. I’m reminded of the girl, and wonder how long she’s been haunting the woods. What if she was part of our family? Cursed to roam the land until someone frees her from this world? Maybe she’s been visiting my dreams because I’m the one who’s destined to free her.

Maybe I’m not the only one who’s seen her.

I step closer. “Hey, Grandpa?”

He grunts, and continues to watch TV. The dog’s ears flatten, and he growls at me like he wants to rip out my throat.

My nerves prickle, but I stand firm. It’s only a dog. Grandpa wouldn’t let it attack me. At least I hope not. He’s probably thinking I’m not the brightest kid after the stunt I just pulled, and if I get bit, I deserve it. “Do you have a computer?”

He finally looks at me. “Whadaya want one of them for?”

“I don’t know. I was just wondering.”

“Your aunt Susie gave me satellite TV and a computer for Christmas. Told me getting on the internet would do wonders for the ranch, but I got all the business I need. If someone wants me, I got a phone.”

I shake my head. Old people.

Seeing my disbelief, he snuffles and turns back to the TV. “Anyway, when they installed the satellite, they set me up for internet service, but I haven’t dug the computer out of the box yet. Why bother? Hackers’ll just mess it up.”

Everything is set up and the computer is still in the box? He had to be kidding. I clutch the towel tighter. “If I show you a few tricks and install a crap load of protection to keep hackers out of your hair, can I use it?”

He stares at me for more than a few seconds, like he’s digging through my brain for information. “This isn’t about any of those porn sites, is it? That stuff will rot you to the bone.”

My throat tightens, and a flash of heat burns my face. Talk about uncomfortable. “No, sir.”

I don’t usually use formal address, but I’m hunting for some good luck.

It doesn’t look like I’m going to find any, until he shrugs. “I guess so, but I’ll be watching you.”

I exhale and turn away. A little research will do me good.

After a quick shower and dry boxers, it’s late and everyone else is in bed. You’d think with all the times I’ve been forced to move, a new room and strange noises wouldn’t be a big deal. With everything that’s happened, I can’t settle down. I can’t stop thinking about the girl in white. It takes me a second to find my cheap-as-dirt MP3 player that I picked up at a pawn shop in Texas three years ago. I flop onto the bed, plug in my ear buds, and zone out to the sound of heavy drums, wailing guitars, and the lead singer’s gravelly voice.

Staring at the ceiling, I begin to memorize its subtle pattern. I’ve got dozens of ceiling dips and shadows in my head to compare this one to. That eerie “new room” sensation slowly dissolves and my body grows heavy. I finally unplug myself and slip into a restless sleep.

Flip and turn. Jerk and sweat. Against my will, the smoky shadows envelop me, and when I’m spit out onto the other side of my subconscious, the girl is there. I can see every slope and curve of her. She doesn’t look like a mental creation of the perfect girl, yet she’s perfect. In every way. We stand, toe to toe. She cups my cheek, the feel feather light, and my skin tingles. Her breath slips across my skin as she whispers in my ear, “Who are you?”