Christopher Golden - A Winter of Ghosts

Kara bristled. No way would sheput up with anyone saying anything about her dad and Yuuka.

"They are ," shesaid.

To her surprise, both girlssmiled. They looked at each other and then back at Kara.

"They're really cutetogether," Wakana said.

"We're glad for them,"Mai added, and then her smile vanished. "I'll see you in home room."

"Yeah," Kara said."I'll see you."

The two girls turned andmeandered off through the racks, whispering to each other in a way that sheknew she should have assumed meant they were gossiping about her. But she didn'tthink they were. They had lives, just like she did. Families. They had probablyenjoyed the holidays with the people they loved, and now it was a new year.

No, they would never be friends.

But maybe it really was a newbeginning for all of them.

Hachiro had seen a lot ofimpossible things since Kara had come into his life, but never a ghost. The oneon the train back to Miyazu City to begin the winter term was his first.

Late that Monday night, just acouple of days after New Year's, he sat aboard the busy train, head lollingagainst the window, lights strobing across the dark glass as the express shotthrough some commuter station without slowing down. His parents had struggledtrying to decide when to drive him back to school and who would take him, soHachiro had suggested they let him take the train back to Miyazu. At first theyhad balked, but he had appealed to reason. He knew they loved him, but theyboth worked and he could take care of himself. Logic triumphed, and now hefound himself returning to Monju-no-Chie school a day earlier than he'dplanned.

The early return would be apleasant surprise for Kara, so he had not told her. And Hachiro had quicklydiscovered that he did not mind traveling alone. A couple of hours on a trainhad offered myriad options. He could have played a video game or read baseballmagazines or manga. Instead, he listened to music and read from To Kill aMockingbird in English. Professor Harper had assigned it over break andexplained that the subject matter would be addressed in his American Studiesclasses and that it would be a challenge for his English language students. Hachirohad read it twice. Kara's Japanese was excellent, and he wanted to surprise herby improving his command of her language.

Now, though, as nine o'clockcame and went and the long winter night was well under way, he could not helpclosing his eyes. He drifted in and out of wakefulness, barely aware of themurmured conversations around him, of the old couple attempting to retain theircomposure while their granddaughter exhibited a wild imagination and bursts oflaughing energy, of the rock-star cool university guy with two gigglinggirlfriends fawning over him. They were all just vague background as he dozed.

The train slowed a bit as itrattled onto older tracks, and so he knew they were not far from Miyazu City. Theride would not be as smooth from here on in, but still he rested his headagainst the window, skull juddering against the glass. Sleepy as he was, Hachirocould not fall into a full slumber because he knew that once he arrived inMiyazu he would have to change to the local train that would take him out alongthe bay to the station just down the street from Monju-no-Chie school.

The little girl let out a mischievoussqueal, forcing her grandmother to snap at her. Drifting, Hachiro listened, andfelt badly for both the girl, who only wanted to play, and the old woman, whocould not help being embarrassed by what she would see as improper behavior.

Eyes closed, head jouncingagainst the window, he listened. The too-cool university guy whispered thingsto his female companions that were doubtless far more improper than anythingthe little girl's grandmother could even imagine. There were giggles and morewhispers, and Hachiro began to drift off again.

A cold draft caressed his faceand slipped like a scarf of silk and snow around his neck. He opened his eyes,wondering where the breeze had come from. Had someone opened a door that letthe winter in?

He glanced around at thewindows, then at the doors at either end of the car, but saw nothing that couldhave been the source of the draft. Only when he lowered his gaze, shifting inhis seat, did his mind process what he had just seen. A familiar face, spikyblack hair, bright eyes. A face he knew very well.

Hachiro's heart raced and atentative smile touched his lips. Impossible. He was sleepy, half in a dream. Therewere plenty of teenaged boys with spiky hair, and the kid was half-turned awayfrom him anyway. He could be anyone.

Curiosity driving him, thatchill caress running up the back of his neck, he turned again and looked towardthe back of the car. The kid had his chin down, almost as if he were dozing offas well, but his eyes were open and he stared at the floor. The lights in thetrain car flickered and in each lightless moment it almost seemed that thedarkness outside the windows was trying to get in.

Jiro .

But it couldn't be Jiro, ofcourse. Jiro had been murdered on the shore of Miyazu Bay, his body founddrained of blood, his shoes missing. Hachiro had been there when they hauledhis corpse out of the water. He could still feel the hollow place inside wherehis friendship with Jiro had once been.

The resemblance was uncanny. Hachirowanted to look away but he couldn't stop staring. The train rumbled over arough section of track and outside the windows he saw the lights of shops andoffices — they would be arriving at Miyazu station in moments.

The wan, yellow luminescenceinside the train car flickered again, off and on, off and on, off for severallong seconds, and then on again. The kid had not moved.

Hachiro leaned forward to get afuller view of the kid, slid almost off his seat so that he could see pastbriefcases and small suitcases and outstretched legs. Then he froze, ice racingthrough his veins. His breath came in tiny, hitching gasps and he slowly shookhis head.

The kid had no shoes on. Hisfeet were so pale.

He turned to look at Hachiro,not in some random fashion but in a slow, sad glance that said he had beenaware all along of being watched. And when he smiled wistfully and gave a tinynod of acknowledgement, Hachiro could not lie to himself anymore.

Jiro .

The train began to slow. Hachirocould not breathe. He locked eyes with the ghost — for what else could itbe? — and felt all of the sadness of his friend's death return. He wantedto speak, to ask questions, to say that Jiro had been missed. He wanted to run,to hide, to nurture the fear that rose in him. The lights flickered again andnow, for the first time, he realized that Jiro had faded, his presence thin asdelicate parchment, the shapes and shadows of the floor and the seat and eventhe window visible through him.

The conductor's voice filled theair. The train lurched three times in quick succession, but the third was theworst, rocking Hachiro forward, breaking his eye contact with Jiro. He had toput a hand out to keep from being thrown from his seat as they came to anabrupt halt.

As he turned, the doors shushedopen and people began to rise, grabbing their bags, chatter erupting as theybegan to herd out.

"No," Hachiro said,grabbing his bag and standing.

He thrust himself into the flowof disembarking passengers, searching the crowd for that spiky hair, thatfamiliar face. He caught a glimpse of a silhouette he thought might be that ofthe ghost.

"Jiro!" he called.

Several people gave himdisapproving looks, but most simply pretended not to hear him. Hachiro calledout again, fear and confusion warring within him, and he pushed through thecrowd and stepped off the train.

On the station platform hestopped and looked around. Hachiro was tall and broad-shouldered, so he stoodhis ground and peered over the heads of the other passengers. He called Jiro'sname again, but already his hopes were fading. Someone bumped him from behindand he staggered two steps forward.