The Black Read online

  The tingle left as abruptly as it had come. I tentatively cracked open one eye, looked down at the blue towel, and saw them. Right there, in front of me, the five patterns I had imagined, created by dandelion spores.

  Hercules. Draco. Cassiopeia. Ursa Major. Ursa Minor. Five constellations in the summer sky.

  "I rock," I said, and glanced at Marsh.

  He saw the patterns, and looked pale. He was too smart to think that he had just witnessed a random accident. He had already seen enough impossible visions to begin questioning what was going on. My hope was that this would get his mind working the problem over, the way I knew it could.

  Between the two of us, only one of us wasn't freaked. Marsh grabbed his Batman book and ran for the house, terrified. I felt bad about it, but I knew Marsh. The wheels were now turning. The triple swirl led him to Sydney . . . Now he was on a path that would lead to me. I was sure of it.

  I sat down and laughed. I'd done it.

  I had made contact.

  11

  I had finally taken some control.

  It was a small victory, but it gave me hope. Ever since my death I'd felt like a cork floating down a wild river, bouncing off every rock along the way. When I created the constellation patterns on the towel, it made me realize that I could start calling my own shots . . . or at least dodge some of the rocks.

  The question then became, what would I do with the ability to communicate with Marsh? Gramps wanted me to stick my head in the sand and let Damon do whatever he wanted, but what kind of friend would let that happen? I didn't think being a jerk who let his friend hang out to dry was working toward becoming the best person I could be. I always had Marsh's back in Trouble Town and I wasn't going to let a little thing like dying change that. If it meant spending extra time in the Black as punishment, fine by me.

  It wouldn't be such a horrible place if not for the fact that I was being harassed by a centuries-old creep with an attitude. That part sucked. I wanted to get even with Damon for what he had done to me but there was an eternity for that. I could wait.

  Helping Marsh wouldn't be easy, though. He was a sci-fi geek who had dissected Starfleet schematics since he was six, but he didn't believe in ghosts. Before he could learn and accept the truth, he first had to know that I was dead. So did my family. It wasn't a happy thought. My death was going to be rough on everybody. Even Sydney would shed a tear. I hoped. They had to know sooner or later. Sooner would be better and not just because of Damon. I didn't like the idea of my body lying in mud under the lake. It wasn't like I needed it anymore, but still. Other than the time I had a vicious appendicitis attack, that body did okay by me. It deserved better than that. I figured that since I was missing, the best place to see how the search was going was to visit the sheriff's office in Thistledown, so I went there.

  Sheriff Vrtiak was a total Barney whose crime-fighting skills pretty much began and ended with giving speeding tickets to tourists. The guy caught me once partying on the mini golf course after closing but I convinced him that it would be a mistake to arrest me because if word got out that the golf course was a great place to hang out after hours then he'd have to set up a permanent patrol and tell the owners to put up a security fence and alarms and spotlights, which wouldn't make him a popular guy and would hurt his chances for re-election, and I promised that if he let me slide I'd never go back there again. Even to play golf. He didn't buy a word of it but he didn't want to have to deal with me so he let me go with a warning. I wasn't sure if he was a good guy or just lazy. From then on I partied at the drive-in movie next door.

  The Thistledown Police Department consisted of him and a secretary named Connie who was older than cracked paint. I was hoping that when I got to the office I'd see a flurry of activity with maps on the walls and calls coming in from volunteers who were poised to search the countryside, and news crews swarming to find out what had happened to the most popular guy at Davis Gregory.

  Instead, I saw Connie, alone, talking on the phone with her feet up on the desk. Connie was a grandma who always wore brightly colored stretch pants and flowered blouses. She had blond hair thanks to modern technology and a single ponytail that came out of the side of her head. She was a cartoon of somebody from the eighties you'd see on TV Land.

  "Yeah. That kid's trouble," she said to whoever she was talking to. "I knew that since he was old enough to light firecrackers. Good thing he's only here in summer."

  If I didn't know better, I'd have sworn she was talking about me.

  She listened, then said, "He's been gone a couple of days. Everybody thinks he took off to run away from the mess he got himself into down in Stony Brook."

  Whoa. She was talking about me!

  "Who's on the phone?" I asked, but of course she couldn't hear me.

  "His parents aren't so worried. They know he'll turn up. What? Nah, there's no search going on. What's the point?"

  I wanted to yank her sideways ponytail. That would give her the point.

  Sheriff Vrtiak ambled in from his office and tossed something down on Connie's desk. She didn't even sit up and pretend like she was working, that's how lame the place was.

  "Make some copies of that for me, would ya?" Vrtiak asked. "If he doesn't turn up, we'll start sending 'em out tomorrow."

  Connie didn't acknowledge his request and Vrtiak shuffled back into his office. What a couple of tools. I looked at the paper and was surprised to see it was a picture of me. It was my school shot from the previous year. I hated that picture. I'd worn a tie, thinking nobody did that anymore and I'd be all cutting edge, but it turned out all the geeks wore ties and I just ended up looking like some doofus who was trying too hard. And this was the picture everybody was going to use to try and track me down? No way they'd find me! Then again, my body was underwater and I probably didn't look much like any picture that was ever taken of me. Yeesh.

  Connie carried on with her phone call as if Vrtiak hadn't been there. "Tell you the truth, I hope he stays lost. I never liked that cocky kid."

  I'd heard enough. She was going to pay for that. I searched around the office for something I could move around to spook her. The only thing that looked light enough for me to move was my own picture. Perfect. I leaned over the desk and focused on my image. All I wanted to do was push it closer to her, though I wouldn't have minded if it burst into flames or something. That would have been cool. I closed my eyes and concentrated, willing the picture to move. To rise up. To flip over. To do anything. I peeked out through squinted eyes, expecting to see the ripple of color in the air.

  It wasn't there. I doubled down and held my breath, but the picture didn't budge. After a minute of wasted effort, I gave up. Maggie was right. The only reason I was able to do something with the dandelion seeds was because of my connection with Marsh. I had no connection with Connie . . . other than the string of firecrackers I'd dropped into her mailbox.

  Yeah, it was me.

  I had to relax and tell myself that it didn't matter. Marsh was the only person I wanted to contact anyway. If I was going to steer the living into finding out what happened with me, it was going to have to be through Marsh.

  I was spinning my wheels at the sheriff's office so I went back to the Black. To Maggie's house. I told myself that I wanted to learn more about how things worked with the spirits, but that was only partly true. I really wanted to get to know her better. I'd only known her a short time but nothing I saw made me believe that she could have killed her parents. Not that I'm an expert on homicidal behavior, but it didn't add up. She didn't seem like she could hurt anybody. And then there was the question of why she wasn't sent to the Blood. You'd think that killing your parents earned you an express ticket.

  The Blood. What exactly was that? I never really believed in the concept of hell. The idea that guys with pitchforks and pointy tails ran around poking people into caves filled with fire didn't fly with me. I once burned my finger on a sparkler and it hurt for a week. How could anybody live in fire for et
ernity? Especially since we still have feeling after death. It just didn't make sense.

  The concept that there was a place where the hard cases were sent to keep them away from the rest of us normal folks didn't seem so far-fetched. But what was it like? I wanted to know, if only because I might have been setting myself up for a trip there by interfering with Marsh's life. Or maybe it would be better if I didn't know.

  When I got to Maggie's farmhouse and knocked on the door, there was no answer. For a second I feared that the ax had finally fallen and the Watchers had carted her off to the Blood. But that didn't make sense. Would a spirit's vision still be around even if they had moved on? Or down. Or wherever the Blood was.

  I started walking off the porch, when I caught sight of a young kid running from behind Maggie's house toward the off-limits barn. I only caught a glimpse, but it looked as though it was a little girl. Was it the same kid I saw run to Gramps' house?

  "Hey!" I shouted. "Hang on!"

  I took off after her, closing the distance from the house to the barn quickly. I rounded the barn but when I reached the back side, she was gone. Again. My first thought was that I had seen a ghost. That made me laugh. Of course I had seen a ghost. It would have been a lot scarier if it wasn't a ghost.

  I didn't want Maggie to catch me snooping around the barn again so I jogged toward Gramps' house, or whoever's house it was. I had never heard about the people who owned the house before Gramps did. I wondered if the mysterious little girl lived there.

  That raised another question. I'd seen Maggie and her house from Gramps' vision, but Gramps wasn't in Maggie's vision. How did that work? Did Maggie prevent Gramps from entering her vision? If so, did that mean the house next door was Gramps' house, or the house of whoever lived there when Maggie was alive? The Black was a complicated place.

  I walked out to the road, which was a dirt lane back in those days, to look at the name on the mailbox. The name BRADY was painted there in precise letters. It was definitely not Gramps' house. He was a Foley. I decided it was a mystery that could wait for another time because I had more important things to deal with.

  I turned my thoughts to our cottage on Thistledown Lake and stepped back into the Light. It was nighttime. I was on the porch, looking out toward the lake, where two people stood on the deck. One was Marsh. The other was . . . me.

  What?

  Marsh was talking to me. It had to be me. It looked just like me. I stood with my back to the house wearing my red Davis Gregory football jacket. How was that possible? My body was at the bottom of the lake and that old river rat had my football jacket.

  Marsh walked up to the guy and grabbed his shoulder saying, "Stop with the riddles. What journey are you talking about?"

  When he pulled the guy around, it all became clear.

  It was Gravedigger. It looked like my body in every way except it had Gravedigger's skeletal face. Marsh's creation was back to harass him, which meant only one thing.

  "Damon!" I screamed, looking around for the ancient spirit. He had to be there, pulling strings, bending the light to make Marsh see this horrifying sight. But why? What was he trying to do to Marsh? Scare him? Or something worse?

  Marsh spun around to head back for the house but Gravedigger disappeared and reappeared in front of him, blocking his way . . . only he was back to his normal look with the long black clothes, black hat, and silver pick. Marsh panicked, spun, and ran for the water.

  "Ralph!" I screamed, running off the porch.

  Marsh kept going, hitting the lake and swimming furiously toward the wooden float that was out beyond our dock. There was no way I could do anything to stop him, but I hoped there was something I could do about Gravedigger. I charged at the ghoul and dove for him, intending to tackle him and drive his bony white face into the ground. I leaped, laying myself flat out, and wrapped my arms around him, only to come up with air. The ghoul had disappeared, just as he had in the school gym. Forgot about that.

  Marsh reached the float, pulled himself up, and looked toward shore to see what Gravedigger was doing. He didn't see the ghoul.

  I did. Gravedigger materialized on the float behind him. "Turn around!" I couldn't help shouting.

  I can't say that Marsh heard me, but he did turn around, just in time. Gravedigger took the pick off his shoulder and started swinging it at Marsh. Was the pick real? Or an illusion? Damon dealt in both. He could do a lot more physically in the Light than blowing around dandelion seeds. That much was proved in the school gym when the ropes pulled over the windows. Either way, Marsh needed help and I couldn't give it to him.

  Unless, I thought, I could get somebody else to help. It killed me to leave but I left the shore and sprinted into the house. I started for my parents room on the first floor, ready to do whatever I could to wake them up.

  I never made it to their room because a better idea came to me. Marsh had been in love with Sydney since he was in kindergarten. I can't say much for his taste, but if he had a thing for Sydney, I hoped there might be some kind of cosmic connection between all of us that would give me a better chance of getting her attention. It was as good a plan as any.

  Sydney was in her room, asleep on her back. For a change I didn't bother shouting out "Wake up!" Instead I tried the same thing that Maggie had done to wake up Marsh. I fell down onto my knees right next to her head and concentrated my thoughts to try and create some kind of energy. A second later the swirling color appeared. I leaned in close to Sydney and blew on her forehead.

  Her hair rustled!

  Sydney opened her eyes and brushed the hair back. I'd done it! I jumped to my feet and ran to the window. "Look!" I shouted. "Marsh is in trouble!"

  Right. Wasted effort. Idiot. Sydney sat up, looking confused. I had to do something that would get her attention to the window. It was the kind of window that opened out on hinges so I closed my eyes and visualized it opening.

  And it did. With a soft creek sound, the window pushed out.

  "Yes!" After what happened, or didn't happen at the sheriff's office, the only explanation for my success had to be because of my connection with Marsh and Sydney.

  I spun to see she was sitting up straight, staring at the window, her eyes wide and awake.

  "So get your butt out of bed and get over here, you lazy—!" I screamed.

  She didn't budge. I couldn't tell if she was scared, or confused, or thinking she was dreaming. Whatever the reason, she was hesitating and I had to get her past it. I heard a splash outside and looked to see that Marsh had jumped off the float into the water. I had to do something more to get Sydney to look out the window. I saw a bunch of papers on her dresser that looked like study notes. Sydney was always studying. I wished she would try studying the window a little closer.

  I ran to the dresser and focused on the smallest, lightest sheet. It looked like something that was ripped out of a spiral binder, complete with frayed edges where it was torn from the rings. I wasn't sure if I should clear my head of the horror of what was happening outside, or use it to help me create the energy to move the paper. Truth was, there was no way I could clear my head. I was way too charged up and it proved to be a good thing because unlike the failed attempt at the sheriff's office, the paper twitched. I'd moved it! That amped me up even more so I knelt down and did the same thing I did to wake up Sydney. I blew on the page . . . and it lifted into the air.

  I didn't even look to see if Sydney was watching. I didn't want to break the spell, or the magic, or whatever it was that was allowing me to float this piece of paper. I waved my arms, trying to stir up energy to direct the floating page into Sydney's line of sight. The page skipped and danced like a feather on the wind, headed for the open window. Perfect. Then the page darted up, floated back, and sailed out of the window into the night. I immediately spun around to see if Sydney saw it.

  She was sitting bolt upright, her back flat against the wall, her eyes wide. She definitely saw it. But instead of going to investigate, the sight had frozen her i
n fear.

  "Ahhh!" I screamed in frustration.

  Looking outside, I saw that Marsh was flailing in the water. His head went under as if something were pulling him down. It had to be Gravedigger. Or Damon. I was so emotionally charged up that my next move was the simplest yet. I focused on the window, and a second later, it slammed shut.

  I spun to see Sydney's reaction. Her eyes were even wider than before, but she didn't budge. Instead of tempting her to look, I was paralyzing her with fear. Marsh didn't have much time left so I made one last desperate attempt to get her attention. I lifted my hand and pushed the air, hoping it would open the window. Slowly, the window swung open.

  That did it. The last movement of the window was the invitation Sydney needed. She crawled out of bed and cautiously made her way to investigate.

  "C'mon, c'mon!" I cajoled. "Pick up the pace, Agnes!"

  Sydney had her eyes on the window but when she reached it she saw something else. Something beyond. Her eyes focused and her back went straight. She had seen Marsh struggling in the water.

  "Go help him!" I shouted.

  I don't think she heard me, but she got the point. The strange movement of the window was temporarily forgotten as she took off running for the door.

  "Finally!" I said to myself.

  I didn't even follow her. What was the point? There wasn't anything I could do to help. It was up to Sydney now. I watched through the window as she sprinted out of the house and covered the distance to the lake with three long strides. It was an alien feeling, but in that moment I loved my sister. She ran to the end of the dock and made a perfect lifeguard jump, feet first, keeping her head above water and her eyes on the flailing victim. Sydney had taken the same junior lifeguard course that I had. She would bring Marsh in.

  A horrible thought hit me: Gravedigger could just as easily drag her under as Marsh. Had I just sent my sister to her death?