Page 4 of The Spirit Key
Anyway, I was in my room, playing with my action figures—Superman was kicking the butts of the alien Legos—and wishing Tim was here with me. He always built the best Lego monsters and never got upset when I destroyed them.
“Can I play?”
The voice startled me. I jerked my head up and found a boy sitting across from me. He looked… weird. He had on blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and these thick glasses. His blond hair stood up in tufts and seemed to sway in a breeze that wasn’t there. What made him stand out, though, was he had a veritable ocean of freckles. I had never seen anyone with that many, and it was way cool.
I cocked my head and stared at him. I knew most of the kids in school, and I knew I’d never seen him before. I’d definitely remember someone who looked like him. “Who are you?”
He gave me a broad grin, and I couldn’t help but notice one of his front teeth was missing. “I’m Jeff.” He glanced down at the toys. “Can I play?”
I shrugged. I really wanted Tim here, but I could play with Jeff. “Sure.”
Jeff was funny. He didn’t talk much, but he still made me laugh with the way he said things. When Mom peeked her head into the room to see what I was doing, Jeff whispered that I shouldn’t tell her he was there.
“I’m playing with my new friend.”
She stared at me. “Who?”
I pointed to Jeff, and Mom sort of grinned, but not really. It was more of a pained expression.
“Oh. Okay.”
“She can’t see me.” Jeff sounded so sure, but that was stupid. Of course she could see him. I mean, he was sitting right next to me.
“Listen, why don’t you come into the kitchen? We’ll bake some cookies.”
Cookies? Hell, yeah. I loved them. Of all the things that could satisfy my sweet tooth, cookies were number one on the list.
“Can Jeff come?” I looked at him. “Do you like cookies? My mom makes the best.”
Mom bit her lip. “Why don’t you tell Jeff to go on home. Maybe later I’ll make him some cookies too.” She turned and walked away.
“Okay!” I faced Jeff, a big grin on my face. While I felt bad that he had to go, I was going to get cookies. “See you later.”
He gave me a sad smile and a halfhearted wave. “Nuh-uh. I just wanted someone to play with me once more. Thank you.”
And as I watched, Jeff faded away, leaving me alone in my room with goose bumps covering my arms.
After that, I started seeing people who disappeared more frequently. It took me a while to work out what they had been, but once I had, I knew that Jeff and the people I saw were ghosts. At first I’d notice them here and there, but when I hit puberty, they not only showed up more often—they tried to talk to me. It wasn’t like Jeff, who spoke softly. No, they demanded I help them. The problem was, I had no idea how. Most of the time I could ignore them, but there were some who were so persistent that I screamed at them to leave me the fuck alone. It never kept them away for long.
I began lashing out, cursing at my brother, running to my room and slamming the door, telling anyone and everyone to leave me the hell alone. Mom and Dad were worried that it was some kind of delayed reaction from dying. My doctor said that it was my brain still working on processing the whole situation. Me, I knew better. With apologies to Haley Joel Osment and Bruce Willis, I saw dead people.
THINGS WENTfrom bad to worse when I turned thirteen. And by worse, I mean earth-shattering, horrible, no goddamn good at all. Shit, that day…. If I could relive it, I would make sure it never happened.
Imagine it: You’re sitting in class, listening to Mrs. Kavener talking about how a molecule of oxygen bonds with two molecules of hydrogen, thus forming water. You see something out of the corner of your eye but refuse to look. Or at least you try. Your gaze flicks in that direction, and you find a man standing there. He’s sort of gray-green and all washed out. His clothes are like those on the teacher at Old World Wisconsin—black pants, a long-sleeved white shirt, and gray vest.
Like an idiot, I didn’t look away, and, of course, he saw me and realized that I couldseehim.
“Please. Help me.”
I did my best to ignore the pleading and try to focus on what the teacher was saying.
He came closer, until he passed through my desk and stood in the center of it, glaring down at me. “Help me!”
This time it wasn’t pleading. It was a demand. I put my head down, scribbling in my notebook, and he continued to stand there. I could smell him, you know? It was like rotted meat, and I had to bite down on the urge to gag.
“Help me!”
Around me, I saw everyone watching the teacher. I couldn’t believe no one else heard him shrieking. Louder and louder it got, until it was nothing but white noise, covering everything else. I tried putting my hands over my ears in an attempt to blot it out, but the sound continued to rise, like a thousand lost souls crying out for help.
