B.C. Johnson - Deadgirl

Puck held up one hand and Abraham slid back three steps in the dirt. Like he’d been picked up and dragged by an unseen giant. My mouth fell open. The old man glanced over his shoulder at me, and his expression was unmistakable. I’d seen it in my dad’s face too many times to miss it. It said, simply, “Are you just gonna sit there and watch?”

“What?” I managed to choke out, past the lump of terror.

Puck, his whimsical face stolid, even angry, looked at Morgan on the ground. After a moment, Morgan stood up, her arms moving strangely. Mechanically. The look on her face was surprise—the words that came out of her mouth weren’t her own, I was sure.

“In the other world, we are the abominations. Here, he is the trespasser.”

I flashed Morgan a look of confusion. She returned it, but kept talking in that weird monotone.

“This is Puck, you silly girl. Help me!”

I turned back to Puck, who had switched his attention back to the beast he was keeping miraculously at bay.

“What?”

I knew there were others words I could have used in that moment. But nothing came to mind but that terrified, incredulous one-word question. Well, a few others, but most of them involved terrible strings of profanity that I didn’t think would help the situation.

“Help me! Now!”

Something in his…her tone defrosted the ice clinging to my limbs. I ran across the uneven, wet sand, trying not to break my ankle. On the shore, grey torrents of water crashed into grey sand. I jogged past Zack, who still clawed at the wet dirt with a look of torment that made my heart tighten. I ran to Puck’s side and held my arm out, mimicking his pose.

The light-monster cried that terrible shriek again. A spike of agony drove into my ear, and I cried and clapped my hands over my head. Just four feet from the thing, looking at the squirming patterns of light racing along his form, at the two flares of white that must have been his eyes, I felt my legs turning to Jell-O. My eyes began to water from the strain, and my blood went cold. What could I do against that thing?

Morgan’s flat, monotone voice spoke up from behind me. I didn’t turn to look. Not at her, anyway. When I looked at Puck, as Morgan spoke, I could see his forehead clench, his lips move in sync with hers. Freaky.

“You’ve already done it three times, to things you feared less. Push all of your fear and rage—”

Puck broke off as the Abraham-thing rushed him—rushed us—again. I took a step back out of instinct and emitted a shriek of horror. Abraham’s shape—taller, lankier, with long alien limbs—ran at Puck, seemingly free of its bonds. Puck dug his feet into the sand and pumped his open palm toward the thing again.

“Towards the ocean,” I shouted.

Puck didn’t need any clarification.

Abraham leaped at us. Puck and I— pushed . It didn’t bloom inside of me—I didn’t feel a wash of incredible power. Just a feeling of sudden exertion, like bursting into a run or doing a pull-up. Abraham didn’t lift this time—one second he was loping at us with those weird, long limbs—the next he was pulled sideways, dragged across the sand. A huge plume of grey shot up, but the surf doused the sound of his shrieks. We plunged his glowing body into the waves.

The ground shook, and a boom like thunder rolled across the beach.

Then there was nothing. I watched the churning tide, my eyes scanning the foaming peaks and valleys.

“H-how can we do…that?” I whispered.

Puck stood still beside me.

“Because we’re ghosts, right? That old…moving the table trick? Slamming the cupboards? Making Aunt Fanny’s tea jump out of her hand, right?”

Puck made the see-saw gesture again—ugh, I wanted to kill him. Again? God, I didn’t even know if he was dead. If I was—

It wasn’t until Morgan touched me on the shoulder that I turned away from the ocean.

“What...what—?”

Her face twisted in confusion, and her eyes rolled up white. She passed out and hit the sand with a wet whump.

Zack looked up from the mess he’d made in the sand, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and frowned. When he spoke, he sounded genuinely disappointed.

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

Zack didn’t say much while Puck and I tried to wake up Morgan. That was probably a good thing—I was kind of freaked out at the eerie look of calm on Zack’s face. One minute he’d been standing on the lawn of Benny’s house, watching us fight some crazy guy. A second later, he was on a beach, watching his crush— God, hopefully —being menaced by a nine-foot gangling light-monster. All in all, I think Morgan reacted with the most sanity by checking out.

I glanced at Zack, watching the smooth lines of his too-relaxed face as he scanned the sea of endless grey. Maybe he had checked out too.

“Lucy?” Zack said.

I nodded to Puck, who leaned over Morgan and did his best to wake her. I walked over to Zack and sat down. The sand was wet under my butt, and I was pretty sure my cute skirt was ruined, and worse, see-through. If it was, Zack didn’t seem to notice.

“Zack. I don’t know what to s—I didn’t mean this. To, to bring you guys here. Wherever here is. I—”

I stopped. My voice was breaking down, and so was I. I clamped a hand over my eyes, took a deep breath, and leaned forward across my knees, mimicking Zack’s pose. I could feel him breathing next to me, steadily. I could feel his warmth, just inches away.

“Lucy,” Zack said. “I’m sorry about the party.”

Whoa. Brake lights.

“W-what?”

I took a deep breath, trying to still the hysterical note in my voice.

“I just wish…I’m sorry about the fight. And about Wanda.”

I pulled my hands away from my eyes and looked up at him.

“Zack, I don’t think you’re okay.”

“Oh, I know I’m not okay,” Zack said, and presented the beach in front of him with a sweeping gesture. “I just hope Wanda is going to be okay.”

“Zack.”

“Lucy,” he said, and turned to me. “I’m glad I’m here with you. If it had to be anyone.”

I rubbed my face, trying to get feeling into my cold cheeks. He thought... well of course he did . God, what had I thought, the first time I’d woken up here? What did I think now? I looked at Puck, and he seemed to be listening to our conversation.

“Zack, I don’t think you’re dead.”

I looked at Puck while I said it, and he nodded. Oh thank God .

“But this—we were fighting that guy. Did he have a gun or something?”

I sighed, “Zack, you aren’t dead.”

At that moment, a huge wave crashed against the shore. It didn’t help make my point, I’ll be honest. I reached across the insurmountable gap, the one between two nervous teenagers, and grabbed his hand with mine. I almost yelped—his hand burned me, like it had just come out of an oven. Zack sucked in a breath.

“Jeez, Luce, you’re freezing.”

He threw an arm over my shoulder and pulled me in tight next to him. He rubbed my shoulder vigorously—I sighed and tucked in close to him. The heat baked me, and I shivered against the sudden influx of warmth.

“You are freakishly warm,” I said. I knew why, or at least I thought I did, but I didn’t want to think about it.

“Pretty good for a dead—”

“You aren’t dead.”

“How do you—?”

“Trust me,” I said.

“Luce. Where the hell are we?”

I laughed. Truth was, “Well—”

I flrrrppped my tongue in an epic raspberry and shrugged.

He smiled, said nothing, and leaned his head against mine.

We sat in blissful silence. Every part where we touched—shoulder, arm, hip, leg, calf, cheek—I tried to memorize. To note every detail, every curve, every twitch of muscle. To absorb his nearness, to keep it forever. I could have painted Zack’s body blindfolded.