Diary of a Part Time Ghost (Ghosts & Shadows Book 1) Page 14

  A smooth, blue sky greeted me as I peered up through the branches. The sun was out, and the tree was covered in snow, its branches drooping under the weight. There was no one around, and the corner looked like a scene from a Christmas greeting card, without so much as a single footprint to mark the unblemished white ground. Can you tell I was feeling in a poetic mood?

  I was also feeling really confident too. I turned my thoughts toward Sara and then stopped. I was suddenly filled with pride, as in gloating pride, at my ability to manipulate the powers the Book of History was giving me. What is that expression? Something like “pride goes before the fall,” I believe. It’s kind of like when you’re walking through the school cafeteria in your new clothes, feeling real cool and pretty proud because everyone’s watching you and then you trip over your own feet and fall down and for a little added humiliation you plant your face into your lunch at the feet of the girl you’re really trying to impress. Not like I would actually know what that is like …

  Pride before the fall: I can tell you from firsthand experience that this little gem of wisdom is so true.

  As I was floating around the tree, just full of myself and admiring my greatness and having a little ‘hero fantasy’, I boasted, “I’m getting pretty good at this. I wonder what else I can do here?” I hovered for a moment, deeply relishing the sense of my own growing abilities and hungering for more. I mean, I was almost salivating at the thought of more. And I was pretty thrilled knowing that the book and its power were all mine.

  The world went dark.

  The sky turned the ugly color of a fresh, painful bruise. The sun’s cheerful yellow flared into an angry orange and a hot, dusty wind blew through me and I could feel it. The snow (and this was really creepy) slowly turned a rusty red, as if some liquid was oozing across the surface. There was a long shriek as the tree’s trunk twisted about painfully, and the branches wove themselves into knots. The buildings nearby rapidly aged before my eyes as the paint peeled away and the bricks crumbled off. The Christmas postcard scene had been transformed into a nightmare photo from hell.

  I spun about, pride all gone, replaced by complete panic. I wondered how it had happened. Yeah, I know, I should have figured that out, but I definitely was not in an insightful and thoughtful mood at that moment. Actually I was in an oh-my-God-get-me-out-of-here mood. I think I might have mumbled, “I have to get out of here.” I turned all my focus to the veil, willed it to appear and transport me out. But everywhere I looked was the same twisted vision. No veil. I tried moving, but I remained fixed in midair beneath the claw-like branches of the Liberty Tree.

  I was dumbfounded at the bizarre transformation of the intersection of Essex and Orange Streets. I was terrified beyond terror. All I could think was, What’s happening? How do I get out? That’s when I could actually think at all. Mostly, I just wallowed in complete desperation and fear. The sun got even darker and the wind hotter and dustier. And to really make my day, a shapeless shadow began to creep up the wall of the nearest building, as if something really big and horribly mutated was approaching me from below.

  “I see you, Ashish!”

  “No!” I cried out weakly, trying to throw myself forward. I didn’t move, but the shadow did. Attracted by my struggles, the form shifted up the wall until it loomed high above the tree, like a tidal wave waiting to pounce.

  Don’t let any of them touch you. It could unbalance you.

  As Bibi’s words echoed in my memory, I tried to remember everything she had told me. Surely she had told me something useful, some bit of wisdom that would explain what had just happened and, way more important at that moment, how to get out of it. I glanced upward through the twisted branches. Dark tentacles were peeling themselves off the building and slowly swooping downward toward the tree in a graceful arch.

  Don’t let any of them touch you.

  I squeezed my eyes closed. Think, think! I ordered my stunned mind. Why had this happened? One minute I was enjoying the thrill of power, and the next …

  Lust for power …

  My eyes flew open in time to see something move across the sun; the day turned into twilight. Breathing deeply, I forced myself to close my eyes to whatever was approaching me and focus. Bibi had said something about power. She had been talking about Kali. What had she said?

  Lust for power turned him into a force of destruction.

  Just before the Liberty Tree scene turned wacko, I had been thinking about the power the book gave me, and I had wanted more, lots more. Then I remembered what Bibi had said at the hospital: Some of our greatest dangers don’t come from outside, but from within. Desire for power came from within. Was this the result? And if so, what could reverse it?

  Be positive; focus on the constructive forces. Can you do that? What you focus on, you become.

  “Thanks, Bibi,” I whispered. She must have known this could happen. “What is the opposite of lust for power?” I breathed deeply, trying to meditate on the question, even as I felt the shadow descend above me, toward me. Time for meditation was running out. “Humility is pretty much opposite. Focus on being humble,” I muttered, peering up as dark tentacles began to slide over and between the tree branches. That was not helpful for focusing. Focus on being humble and positive. What the heck was positive about this nightmare? That actually made me smile. Did I imagine it or did the sky brighten slightly?

  “Focus,” I whispered. I breathed deeply, picturing myself back at home, sitting around the kitchen table with my family, enjoying the food and the warmth. I could hear Gita and Anjali joking and giggling, Mom quietly sharing some story with Dad, Dad nodding and murmuring in agreement, Shanti making quirky comments about the rest of us, the smell of toast and tea rising around the table. As my heartbeat calmed down and the blood-red stain on the snow began to slowly fade, I saw out of the corner of my eye a shadowy finger wiggling out of the oppressive mass; it was within arm’s reach.

  Don’t let any of them touch you.

  It really was time to go now. I willed myself to move away from the tree. Sluggishly, I floated toward a nearby building; bricks were slowly reforming themselves, and paint began to appear again. The world was returning to the greeting card picture it had been before, but the shadow seemed to grow agitated by this. It shifted through the tree branches toward me.

  “Be positive,” I reminded myself. Memories bubbled up of a series of family celebrations, challenges overcome, laughter shared, friends’ birthday parties, Sara’s face when I had returned with food for her. The air brightened, and the sky turned blue. Before I could relish the cheery change, a thin whip of shadow snapped out of the black form, straight at me.

  Instinctively, I turned my attention to Sara and willed myself to her. Something shrieked in rage, and then there was silence as the streets and houses rushed by in blurred streaks of brown and white. When the world stopped moving, I found myself in a very dark place.

  Remaining invisible, I gazed about, waiting for my eyes to adjust and for my heartbeat to return to normal. Small chinks in the wall let in a weak gray light, just enough for me to see that I was definitely not in Maggie’s kitchen. Water sloshed against the wall, and it dawned on me that I was in a small room in the hull of a ship. What had gone wrong? Was I still suffering from the effects of my momentary ego-fuelled power-lust? Was I still trapped in a nightmarish reflection of the world? My head began to hurt from the tension of left-over fear.

  “Sara?” I whispered hopefully. Someone gasped nearby, and there was a shuffling noise. I revolved about in the air, looked down, and then shot up into the ceiling and through the wood. I should have felt sick, but I was too shocked to feel anything. The shock soon passed, and I began to feel sick. Taking a deep breath to control the rising nausea, I maneuvered myself downward (ignoring the blobs of wood particles bouncing around me), until I was floating just below the ceiling. Somehow the light dimmed as disgust gripped me. That was not helpful. I took another deep, calming breath and focused on the little ligh
t there was. The room brightened slightly, and I gazed down.

  The small room wasn’t empty. Huddled or curled up on the floor were a dozen or so shivering men and, from what I could see (and I wished I couldn’t), a couple of corpses whose faces were twisted in the agony of dying. The living didn’t seem to notice that two of their companions were dead. That’s probably because most of them weren’t far from the same fate themselves. Boils covered their skin, oozing blood and pus. Judging from the condition of their filthy clothes and tangled, matted hair, I guessed that they’d been in there for a while. I was oh so grateful I couldn’t smell anything in my current state. The stench of the dead, dying, and unwashed would have been overwhelming.

  “I transported myself to hell,” I whispered in dismay.

  “Who’s there?” a voice croaked out.

  I shook my head sharply to clear my mind of a growing anxiety. I checked my limbs. Nope, I wasn’t visible. Yet one of the men who seemed slightly less sick and dirty than the others was looking about.

  “Shut it,” another ordered weakly. “No one’s there. You’re delusional. It happens before you die.”

  “I heard a voice,” the first said, staring about with wide and fearful eyes. “It must be a ghost.”

  Shaking, I floated through the wall (again, I just ignored the vast space and the wood cells bouncing around my head) and into a narrow corridor that was dimly lit by a couple of lanterns. I could see several other doors, and from the sounds of it, all of them held people in various stages of disease and dying.

  Why was I here?

  “Sara!” I gasped. I had been trying to go to her. Could she be locked up in this horrid ship? I gulped a deep breath, sincerely praying that she was not onboard. Just then, I heard a door open from the top of a set of stairs at one end of the corridor. Shockingly bright and cleansing light spilled downward, and I heard a voice shout out harshly, “Prisoners, bring out your dead!”

  Prisoners? A prison ship, but where? And, more important, why?

  A man descended part of the way down the stairs. He was wearing the uniform of a British soldier. “Come on, you lot!” he shouted again. “I know you have them. Bring them out or there’ll be no breakfast!”

  The doors along the corridor began to open. I retreated upward, not wanting to be anywhere close to the men who shuffled out, dragging corpses behind them. Even if they couldn’t touch me, I still felt repulsed by their nearness, as if their diseases could somehow infect me too. It was pretty overwhelming. Another wave of nausea gripped me as I saw the sores in the light of day. A few of the doors remained firmly closed, and I could only imagine that either they were more recent arrivals, and therefore still fairly healthy, or they were all dead.

  Fortunately, there were only a few deaths to report that morning, and it seemed the soldier was somewhat surprised. “What? Is that all? Very well, back to your quarters. Bring down the next lot! If you know what’s good for you,” he stated as he turned to the new arrivals, “you’ll choose a room toward the end.”

  I watched in morbid fascination as several men were pushed down the stairs, and the door swung shut with an ominous creak. My eyes opened wide when I recognized one of the prisoners. Even in the near complete darkness, it was pretty easy to notice the Mohawk hairstyle and deerskin clothes. East Wind was there.

  Not daring to breathe loudly, I watched as East Wind shuffled along behind the others toward the rooms at the back. Without a word, they entered one of the last rooms. I then willed myself upward and through the wooden deck. Although I couldn’t feel the sun or the fresh breeze, I enjoyed the bright light and the clean surroundings. Anything was better than down below. As I gazed about, I noticed that the ship was anchored on the Charles River, close to Boston. Several soldiers loitered about on deck, their rifles slung casually over their shoulders. And Kali was there. The guy was like mold; he just popped up everywhere. The tall, pale man was standing with Captain Coalman, who was supervising the transfer of the prisoners and the disposal of the pile of corpses that had been dumped on the deck.

  “He won’t break that easily,” Captain Coalman was commenting.

  Kali smiled, and it looked more like a snarl. “A few days with my help will assist his memory, I’m sure.”

  The captain nodded. “Absolutely. And don’t worry, the men have the description of the other two you’re looking for. They’ll turn up eventually. They have to.” As he spoke, I became restless. Whose memory were they trying to assist? I began to shift away, and the captain’s shadow suddenly shifted as if to face me. Kali seemed to notice this, for he glanced around; his eyes narrowed into two lethal blades of yellow.

  I froze, suspended above the deck, invisible to all, or so I hoped. Could the shadow see me when I was a ghost? Maybe I wasn’t safe in any form in this world. I watched as the captain’s shadow returned to normal and the two men resumed their conversation while walking away from me. I waited for them to go around the corner of a cabin before I even thought of moving. I breathed out with relief and then began to worry again. Why had I come here? I turned my thoughts to Sara, waiting for the rush of scenes, but it didn’t happen. Instead, I floated aimlessly over the deck, across the river, and then toward the shore. Frustration seized me, and the sunlight dimmed. It returned when I made myself focus on the beauty of the water beneath me. A movement in the bushes by the side of the river caught my attention. I floated over and saw a familiar tuft of wavy hair hidden amongst the leaves.

  “Sara!” I called impulsively. I kind of forgot that I was suspended above the bush and completely invisible. Oops.

  “Ash?” Sara called out while stepping backward and out of the bush. Someone else followed her. It was Maggie.

  Really oops. Mental note for all ghosts: if you want to keep your friends, don’t start talking until you are at least visible, if not solid, and preferably feet touching the ground. I zoomed toward the forest, the edge of which was just above the narrow and rocky beach. Taking more deep breaths to calm and center myself, I slowly grew heavier. When I could feel the ground beneath me, I walked around the tree toward the others. My feet sank into the fresh layer of snow, and by the time I reached the river’s edge, my shoes were soaking wet. My feet began to freeze. Soon I wouldn’t have to pretend to be sick. I actually would be. I’d probably catch pneumonia at this rate.

  “That’s strange,” Maggie said. “I could’ve sworn I heard your voice coming from above us.”

  “Ah, yeah, that’s weird,” I stuttered, and then quickly changed the subject. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Maggie heard where they’re taking rebels,” Sara answered, overriding the girl’s attempt at questioning me. “They’ve converted an old ship into a floating prison. Maybe Samuel and East Wind are on one of them.”

  I shuddered at the thought of Samuel on the ship. “East Wind is definitely on it,” I replied, and then wished I hadn’t. Mental note (for ghosts and non-ghosts alike): think about your audience before you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. Who knows, I thought, one day I might actually listen to all my mental notes.

  “How would you know that?” Maggie asked brightly.

  “You remind me of my sisters,” I noted dryly and then decided not to elaborate any further. “We need to get East Wind out of there, because right now there’s only one way prisoners are leaving that ship: in a coffin. If they get one.”

  Sara paled, making her faint freckles seem dark in comparison. “Is Samuel there?” she asked weakly.

  “How would he know?” Maggie demanded. Her pout clearly stated how she felt about being excluded from the conversation.

  “No,” I responded firmly, ignoring my mental note, my eyes fixed on Sara’s. “At least, not that I could see or hear. The prisoners all seem to be grown men.”

  Sighing heavily, Sara nodded in understanding.

  “But the Captain’s friend is there,” I added. “The scary guy who came to the village.”

  “Bah,” Sara almost spat ou
t, her face puckered as if she had sucked on a lemon. “When is he not around?” She hesitated, thinking fast. “We need East Wind’s help to find my father, who hopefully will know how to find Samuel.” She took a deep breath, as if preparing herself to jump off a diving board, a really tall diving board. “So, how do we get East Wind out?”

  I had to admire her guts.

  “Are you crazy?” demanded Maggie. “Do you know what they would do to you—”

  “Thanks for all your help, Maggie,” I interrupted, trying to speak kindly but firmly. “We really couldn’t have done it without you. But we don’t want to keep you from your work.”

  “Oh, that,” she responded, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t you worry about my work. I get mornings free.”

  Sara and I exchanged glances. “Well,” I said, thinking fast, “the truth is my plan can only happen in the evening. Otherwise we’ll be spotted.”

  Looking somewhat disappointed, Maggie graciously accepted defeat. “That’s a pity, but at the very least, we can go back to the house and wait together where it’s warm and dry.”

  “You two go ahead,” I said. “I need to …” I was about to say that I needed to go back home and do my school work. I did a quick check on my mental notes and decided I didn’t want to get into that conversation with curious Maggie. Instead I blurted out, “Prepare … some things.” It sounded weak, but Maggie didn’t question me. Sara peered at me quizzically, but I shook my head. “I’ll come to the house to get you just before sundown,” I explained.

  I watched them leave, and then returned through the veil. I really did need to do some homework. I hadn’t opened any of my books all weekend, and now I was missing school. The work would really pile up. And that wasn’t even including Shanti’s history essay.

  The house was still quiet, and I decided to start with biology, a subject I normally enjoy. I tried to start my biology homework, I should say, but I had other stuff on my mind: living shadows, yellow eyes chasing me, friends in danger, you know, stuff like that. East Wind was trapped in that horrible ship and all for trying to help us. And what about Samuel?