A. L. Kaplan

Tag: spirit

  • WONDERFALL

    103

    “This is Wonderfall,” said Mark.

    The thirteen year old looked at the rushing water with a board expression. His lips twisted in an all too familiar grimace. “It’s a waterfall, Dad.”

    “But this one is special. Grandpa Jack took me here when I was ten. Best fishing in Maryland.”

    “You mean the same Grandpa Jack I never got to meet ‘cause you had a fight thirteen years ago? Dragging me to all these ‘special’ places isn’t going to bring him back.”

    Mark’s stomach clenched. This wasn’t the father son trip he’d envisioned. He and his dad had drifted apart, then had a big blow-up right before Jason was born. Now the same thing was happening with Jason.

    It seemed like yesterday Jason wanted to be a mini Mark. Then his mom died and everything changed. There had to be a way to keep history from repeating. Around them birds sang. Water cascaded over rocks, each splash of water a soothing balm. The two of them may as well have been worm eaten husks of oak, empty, disconnected.

    A pair of deer peered at them from across the stream, one full racked, the other single pronged.  Mark drew in a sharp breath. Even Jason stopped kicking stones. It felt like they were waiting for something.

    “You’re right, Jason,” said Mark. “I haven’t been listening. Let’s do something you like.

    ***

    “You think they got it?” said the smaller buck as Mark and Jason walked away.

    “I sure hope so, Jack.”

  • TO DIE AND NOT TO DIE

    “Ever since the day I walked into that specialty shop, a dark fury has twisted in my gut, weaving threads of poison through my body. I’ve been gnawed to a papery shell. Stomach, lungs, liver, kidneys, heart; all have fallen to this festering termite. Now I’m a puzzle with missing pieces.”

    I pause and glare as a nurse checks the machines I’m wired to. Her patronizing smile waves over me, but there’s no eye contact. They’re all like that, waiting for me to die already. It’s been months since I fell ill. My gaze returns to my ghostly guest as soon as she departs.

    “See what I’ve become? A rag doll with no substance. Death rings, but runs when I answer its call like an auto-dialer. I’m tired of waiting, tired of all the well-wishers who hover with painted grins. Their pity is more torment than the evil inside me.

    The ghostly figure tilts its head. “What are you saying, Barry?”

    “I want to live.”

    “You could give in to it.”

    “And become a shade? Never.”

    “There’s a price for what you ask.”

    “There always is. I’ll pay it.”

    Laughter rings out as a glowing hand touches my forehead. Heat rushes through my body. When my eyes clear I’m back in the shop. A young man reaches for a package. I move without hesitation and smack his hand away.

    “That’s concentrated Carolina Reaper juice, you idiot! It’s stronger than a habanera pepper. It’ll destroy you.”

  • FLOWERS

    Tears stained her face as she slipped from the car. A loud snore made her jump and cringe. Last night’s beating marred her face. He never let her stop here, the one place that made her happy. If he woke….She didn’t breathe until she was sure he still slept.

    Bright yellow flowers stretched as far as she could see. They called to her, singing, swaying in the sun; a peaceful contrast to her turbulent life. She pushed through thick stems to take a picture.

    Flower heads pressed against her. Their bright yellow faces bent and swiveled like no plant should. Sweet perfume filled her nostrils. Fear and pain vanished. Sunshine kissed her lips. When she opened her eyes thousands of yellow faces beamed at her as she hovered above the field. She smiled back. What a beautiful place to rest. No pain. No tension. Far from his reach.

    A patrol spotted her car later that day with her husband still passed out in his seat. Searchers followed a wide trail to the center of the field where they found her battered body under a blanket of flowers. Amongst the bruises a peaceful smile graced her face.

    Denials were useless. The officers were as moved by her husband’s tears as he had been to hers. Those same fists that had hit her so brutally shook when they cuffed him. They hauled him away, far from the beauty he denied her. Forever locked in shadows while she soared free.

  • The Ghosts of Northgate

    Sweat dripped down my back despite the freezing temperature outside. I glanced at the frost covered window. Only inside felt like Hell’s furnace. And maybe it was. I stared in terrified fascination as flames danced across the cafeteria of the Northgate Sanitarium. Each human-shaped bonfire acted out a well-rehearsed script in a macabre ballet. One figure beat another with a rubber pipe. Another arched in spasm as electricity coursed through its body. A parody of a doctor drilled into a patient’s scull, clearly without anesthesia. Figures grappled and screamed a chorus that had probably started long before the place was shut down in the early 1950s.

    The doctors here called it experimental treatment of the criminally insane. Most people called what it was: Power hungry sadists loose in a playground, all with the approval of the state prison system. God only knows how many people suffered in this place.

    But that was old news. There had been rumors about disappearances in the past few weeks. When I decided to spent the night in this crumbling old building, I expected to find kids playing tricks or a new street gang pumping its muscles. Either of them would have made great stories, maybe even gotten me an early promotion at the Northgate Observer. If I wrote about this, my career as a journalist would end before it began.

    Notebook forgotten, all I could do was watch the horror unfold and pray I survived the night – with my sanity.

  • MIDNIGHT WOLF

    “Leave him be, Billy.”

    “Dumb wolf cur always stares at us.”

    “It’s just his way.”

    Billy hurls another rock, but I knock it down with my book. Not a sound comes from the fenced in junkyard, but I know from the look on Billy’s face that Midnight is showing off his pearly whites.

    “Fine,” he yells, then disappears around the corner.

    Midnight’s golden eyes meet me when I turn. “Sorry, Midnight. See you tomorrow.”

    Silence greets me, as it has every day for the past five years. I smile anyway, then hurry to catch up with Billy.

    A hand slaps over my mouth and I’m dragged into a dark alley. I crash into a wall. My head spins. Three masked figures loom over me. Hands dig into my pockets, yank off my sneakers. A fist slams into my gut. My heart pounds as a knife flicks into view, arm ready to strike. Billy’s body lies nearby. I clamped my eyes shut, and wait for death.

    Screams fill my ears, but they aren’t mine. When I finally open my eyes, my attackers lie in a pool of dark liquid. A pair of glowing gold eyes stare at me from across the alley. Then they vanish.

    ***

    The police never found Midnight and the junk man claimed he never had a dog. I don’t walk that way anymore, but sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I see Midnight in the shadows, watching out for me.

  • GUIDING LIGHT

    Grogan yanked the huge oil drum up another step. He was almost to the top of the lighthouse now. Pain lanced his arm, but he ignored it. He had to light a beacon and save the ships headed for the rocks.

    Outside the hurricane hammered the old lighthouse. For thirty years he’d been her keeper before they were both declared obsolete. Who needed a lighthouse when everyone had electronic guidance? Now the fancy new phone his granddaughter gave him spewed nonsense. It looked like the ships were fouled up as well.

    Good thing they hadn’t forced Grogan to leave when they cut funding and stripped her clean. But now the only way to make the lighthouse shine was to burn her. Tears streamed down his face as he pulled at the drum.

    “Sorry, Love. You know it’s the only way.”

    Another wave of pain shot through his chest and his foot slipped on the smooth stone steps. He watched with dismay as the barrel clanged to the bottom. Grogan doubled over in pain.

    “How can I warn the ships? I need help, Love.”

    Suddenly the pain stopped and warm arms pulled him up. Grogan took the last few steps in one stride. He knew what to do now. Fire radiated deep inside him. It burst outward in a blinding light. Almost as one, the storm-tossed ships turned away from the rocks.

    “Thanks for your help, Love. You’ve always been there for me. We’ll be together forever now.”

  • Elak Dŏd

    Startled awake by the clanking club on the cell door, Johnson’s body trembled. He blinked, disorientated. Then the guard’s ugly face came into focus, staring through the bars. Today was execution day, FRY-day as the guards called it. Seething hate churned in Johnson at the audacity. Death wasn’t the end, not for him.

    Only moments ago he had been walking down a beach with his dream girl. He could still smell her perfume, feel her silky hair, hear the waves crash, and taste the sweetness of her lips. That damn guard yanked him away too soon. Well, he knew how to find Sarge. He knew how to slip into his dreams and twist them into a nightmare. No one would ever know what killed him.

    The man they called Johnson would die today, as had the other shells he’d inhabited, but he wouldn’t. Life and death had no meaning for Elak-Dŏd. He’d jump to his new vessel, the young man at the beach. Already Elak-Dŏd had manipulated others at the resort to pay for his needs.

    And the woman, she was a young spirit, just learning to dream-walk. Already she strode his dark path. The look in her eyes had shown him a future he had never thought possible. She was the one. For her, he would do anything.

    This time there would be no mistakes, not with centuries of experience. The Dream Guardians would never find them. If all went as planned, Elak-Dŏd would finally have children to battle that pompous clan.

  • The Posse

    Two days of hard riding with nothing to show but parched throats and dust. Now the red rock of the wall loomed ahead, the perfect spot for the Cheyenne Kid and his gang to pick off the posse. Marshall Briggs pulled up hard on his reins as a figure materialized out of nowhere. The slim woman didn’t flinch as the horse skid to a stop an inch away She looked tired and worn.

    “Thank goodness you caught up. They know you’re here and won’t give up their prize lightly.”

    A prize. That’s all Kate was to them. Marshall pulled his hat off and raked his wiry hair with enough force to pull some out. He pretended to scan the hills as Kate continued, restraining the urge to respond by grinding his teeth. Only he could see her astral projection. It wouldn’t do to be seen talking to himself. If anything happened to her. . .

    “There’s a spot to rest just over the next rise. We need to act now or they’ll kill everyone.”

    Seemed the Kid’s gang only understood one language. Marshall dismounted, signaling the rest of the posse to gather around. “I’ll scout ahead.  Wait here for my signal.”

    Sunshine faded as Kate led Marshall to the hiding place. A moment later Marshall’s spirit slipped from his body and followed her into the Kid’s camp. Kate’s body lay curled in a ragged ball, ropes bound tight. Dirt stained her torn dress. The Kid knelt next to her, running a filthy hand over her cheek. Anger tightened Marshall’s chest and his vision wavered.

    Energy swirled around Marshall and he grabbed the Kid by the throat with and icy grip, flinging him across the clearing. The Kid’s eyes widened. All he saw was a freak zephyr spinning across the camp. Five of the gang fell from the cliff. Three more froze to the rocks, no more than human icicles. Even the toughest outlaw has a weakness, and weird stuff didn’t suit the Cheyenne Kid. He screamed and dropped his gun as the ground under his feet rippled, swallowing him to the hips before solidifying.

    “Marshall.”

    Kate’s voice broke through Marshall’s rage. He saw the Kid struggle and scream in his half grave, even more so when fire leaped to a nearby bush like a living animal. He was hardly a threat in his present state.

    “The posse should be along soon, Marshall. I’ll be fine until you get here.”

    “I’m sorry I took so long,” said Marshall. He turned away, and then paused. “I love you, Kate. Always have.”

    Kate smiled. “I know. Now go back to your body before you dissipate.”

  • Last Call

    Mike stared at the image of Jackie, his friend’s granddaughter, standing down the hall of the burning building. Only the glass on his mask kept him from rubbing his eyes. The figure, unaffected by the thick smoke, waved him deeper into the inferno. Mike tapped the regulator on his tank. Was it defective, a bad mix? Thirty years with the department and he had never hallucinated. Mike ignored the commander’s order to evacuate. He couldn’t leave Jackie. Besides, his escape route was already blocked. Four great strides and a leap took him past the collapsed floor — into a cool untouched pocket. Mike’s jaw dropped. The wall of flames stopped three feet from the door. Jackie was gone.

    Fire roared at his back, snapping him into action. Mike kicked in the locked door. Experience sent him under the bed where he found a terrified eight-year-old boy wrapped in a wet towel. Now all they had to do was get out of the building. Mike’s heart pounded as flames crept closer. No windows, no way out. Jackie reappeared next to the bed pointing at a sliver of hope. He raced down the hidden stairs clutching the boy. The old servant’s access led them out as the building crumbled. Events churned through Mike’s head as he tried to catch his breath. There was no way he or the boy would have made it out of that building without Jackie’s help. It was time he gave his old friend a call.