Analea died gasping, staring at her ownreflection in the mirror as her lungs filled with smoke.
Afterwards, I rose in a swirl of vapor,and stood on my porch, which was a smoldering mass of charred beams, lookingout at the smoking, burnt forest before me. The ancient evergreen forest I hadgrown up in had been transformed into an eerie, desolate wasteland. As far as Icould see, there was nothing but ash and embers and the blackened bones of scorchedtrees. Only my chimney still stood, a bony finger wrapped in acrid smoke.
A pale glow shone in the distance. Ilooked, but I didn’t see Jacob among the line of souls trudging towards it. Iknew he wasn’t there. I could feel it. And so I fled in the other direction,sinking into the cool depths of the earth, into coal and ash and dirt. As theblackened ground closed in around me, I summoned a final, cindery tear, andthen shut my eyes and let death’s brighter dreams envelop me.
My death certificate bore the name theorphanage had given me, which neither I nor my adoptive parents had ever used.
Analea.
The town forgot me. The forest and thewaves forgot me. Only my fetch remembered. I slept, dreaming in eternalnothingness with the dead and the unborn, until Marie’s granddaughter foundthat old spirit board and called my name, awakening me.
Memory made me whole, if not free. Themists lifted, leaving the sky clear. The stars seemed almost close enough totouch, and I noticed strange hues of color in the night sky. I looked around atwhat had once been my yard. Wilderness had reclaimed the land. The ruins of thehouse and garden were draped in thorns and bramble and winterberry bushes. Onlya few charred timbers and a foundation gave any indication that a house hadever stood there at all.
I felt Analea beside me.
“I know who you are now,” I said. “Iknow what you are. I saw you the day of the fire. I was splashing water on myface, and I saw your reflection in the mirror, beside mine. And then later, aswe were driving away from the fire, I saw you in the rear-view mirror, sittingin the back seat. But I was so distraught over the news about Jacob’s ship, Ithought I was hallucinating. I had forgotten these things. But I remember now.”
The voice of the fetch was like thesound of dead branches shivering in the wind. “You’ve been dreaming longenough. It’s time to go.”
Looking up, I saw a paling in the sky.The air shimmered, and an opal, swirling mass took shape. The vortex sankthrough the sky, drawing closer, until it was right before me. On the otherside, I saw the familiar scene of Marie’s parlor, and looked at the girlsgathered around the spirit board.
Marie’s granddaughter called through thevortex. The sound of her voice cut through the darkness, seeming to come fromthe sky. Are you there? Give us a sign.
Reaching forward, I put my hand throughthe veil.
The fetch watched quietly, its black,pupil-less eyes filled with warning.
I withdrew my hand.
Something caught my eye. I looked up andnoticed the two children I had seen earlier standing at the edge of the yard,holding hands. Mr. Harrett walked past again, his eyes fixed on the groundbefore him.
In the distance, I saw the glow of fireagainst the sky.
The fetch did not react to any of this.“Come,” it said, in a voice of smoke and dried bones. “You’ve been waiting heresince 1947. It’s time to move on.”
The sound of the harbor bell rang outthrough the darkness. It wasn’t the familiar peal I’d heard all my life, butthe tone of another harbor, a darker, funereal note that sounded off-key,discordant. I looked down at the mirror-calm water, and saw an old schoonerpass into the mists, a spectral woman standing at her bow. The world shimmeredand blackened around the edges of my vision, a fading dream.
The fetch held out its hand.
I looked back one last time. A singlewhite rose grew amidst the winterberries, in the wild tangle of brush that hadovertaken the lot. In the ruins, something bright shone with a pale, etherealglow, reflecting the moonlight.
I frowned, seeing it. “The wardrobemirror . . .”
The fetch followed my gaze. “The worldis full of thin places,” it said.
Lela appeared on the trail, tailwagging. She barked once.
Still I hesitated.
“The flames cannot touch you where youare going,” the fetch told me. “Come. Jacob is waiting.”
I took her hand and let her guide medown to the sea.
Tripping the Ghost
Barry Lee Dejasu
Marklooked up from the spread of papers on the desk before him when he heard avehicle pull up outside. He glanced at the clock: six-thirty on the dot,exactly as Constance had promised.
“Chad,”he called into the next room, “she’s here.” He got up from the desk and movedto the front door, and found a grey minivan idling in their driveway, and waseven more surprised to see a bald man climb out of the driver’s seat. The lateSeptember sun had almost completely set, but the man was wearing sunglasses.
Whatis up with thesepeople? Mark thought. “Can I help you?” he called to the man.
Insteadof a response, the man went around to the back of the van.
Footstepsapproached Mark from behind. “Where’s Constance?” Chad said.
“Dunno,”Mark muttered.
“Whois that?” Chad asked, moving closer.
Markturned and shaped a word with his lips, but couldn’t bring himself to speak asa sick, cold feeling wriggled through his chest.
MaybeConstance hadn’t felt the need to be present for the drop-off. Althoughlogical, this thought brought only a fleeting sense of comfort—because what ifthis man wasn’t an associate of hers at all?
Chewingon his lower lip, Mark stepped back inside and reached up to a secret shelfthey’d installed above the nearby curtains, and removed a .38 revolver.
“Ah,fuck,” Chad said, turning and walking further into the room behind them. Markknew he was probably going for the shotgun hidden beneath the desk.
Holdingthe revolver down against the back of his thigh, Mark slowly
