Veiled Spirits

With a wave, Billy trots off down the yellow brick road. Aggie and I keep watching, even after he’s out of sight, until we see the flash of purple lightning. That’s how we know he’s successfully crossed over.

Turning to Aggie, I take in her wild red curls, vibrant blue eyes, and deep green velvet dress. Unlike when I’m in the land of the living, I can see Aggie in full color here. “You ever think about crossing over?”

Aggie’s been dead for nearly one hundred and fifty years. That’s a long time to be stuck in limbo. “Sometimes. Maybe once I know you’re settled, I’ll cross,” Aggie tells me as she stares at the brick pathway. I nod, even knowing that won’t ever happen.

We stand in silence for several beats, just listening to the wind blow, the birds squawk, and the insects chirp. For being a gateway between the living and the dead, the spirit realm is surprisingly full of life.

“Was Billy the last one?” I ask Aggie.

She nods, fiery curls bouncing at the motion. “Yep. Your power keeps growing, kid. That was the eighth ghost tonight.” I used to struggle with healing and crossing one ghost every week. Now, I can do up to ten a night without being completely drained.

It doesn’t seem to make a difference, though. No matter how many I cross, there are still so many who need my help. When people are killed in especially brutal ways, like being tortured or ritualistically murdered after watching their whole family be killed, it damages their soul. When souls are too messed up, they can’t cross over. They’re perpetually stuck in limbo, never finding peace.

With my magic, I can heal these soul wounds. I’m the only one who can, as far as we know. One twenty-one-year-old is responsible for healing all of the fucked-up ghosts on the planet. Whoever decided that was a good idea should be sacked. There’s no way I can keep up with the demand, but I keep trying.

“Yeah. I just wish I could do more.”

“You do great, kid. Now, stop stalling. You need to go to class today,” Aggie reminds me.

I scoff. “Easy for you to say, when you’re not the one that has to do it.” But I know she’s right. I don’t really have time to waste.

With a deep breath, I throw myself backward. This flings me out of the spirit realm and back into my body. For a single moment, everything’s peaceful. Blissful, even.

Then my abdomen rips open, and I scream. My back arches off the forest floor as I experience the injury that killed Billy. Blood gushes from the wound, soaking into my running shorts. I’m pretty sure my intestines are spilling out of my belly, but I don’t really want to know. All I can focus on is the pounding, throbbing pain in my stomach.

The price I pay for healing ghosts is experiencing every agonizing physical injury that killed them. Through my magic, I experience the same injury without any lasting damage. I can be gutted and healed within an hour, as long as I have enough magic left. If I run out of magic, then I die from the mortal wound. That possibility is why I keep what I do every night secret from Bishop and my family.

In Billy’s case, he was gutted and bled out. When Aggie brought him to me tonight, his eyes were hollow and his face blank. His spirit was completely shut down from the trauma of his death. Poor Billy wasn’t just murdered. He also watched a psycho kill his parents and baby sisters before the same guy tortured and killed him.

While his family was killed just as horrifically as he was, none of them had trouble crossing over. It doesn’t always make sense which ghosts have too much soul damage to move on.

I scream until my voice is too hoarse to scream anymore. Then I scream silently and writhe on the forest floor. The stabbing pain pours over me in waves. It spreads to the top of my head, all the way down to the tips of my toes. Every single inch of me feels like it’s getting battered by a spiked bat. Repeatedly.

Unfortunately, I can’t retreat into my mind to get away from the pain. If I do, it stops the process, waiting for me to fully experience it before continuing. Why I have to feel the full extent of the pain, I don’t know. But I do it every single night to help people who no one else can.

My penchant for screaming is why I always put up a silencing dome before healing ghosts. It would be awkward if anyone heard me screaming and stumbled upon me in the middle of the forest, bleeding profusely.

After who knows how long, the pain stops. My insides knit themselves back together with an audible snap. I’m left a bloody, but healed, mess. I pant quietly as I lie there. “What time is it?” I croak to Aggie, who’s hovering at my feet. Her eyes are pinched with worry after watching me heal a fatal injury for the eighth time tonight.

She floats over to my left wrist before peering down at the watch I wear for this exact purpose. “It’s five in the morning.”

“Fuck my life,” I groan. I’ve spent yet another full night healing ghosts, so I don’t have time to get much sleep before class today. “Wake me up in an hour, please.”

I drift off, exhausted from healing so many injuries in such a short time.

It feels like I just close my eyes when Aggie shouts, “Kid! Get up!”

“Five more minutes,” I mumble, too tired and sore to get out of bed right now. What the hell did I do last night that made me hurt so much?

“No can do, kid. Get up, now! You can’t afford to miss school!” Aggie yells at full volume. It startles me enough that I blink open my eyes. I see trees and a blue sky above me, instead of my purple room. That’s when I remember that I never made it to my bed last night.

I groan. Today’s going to suck. Thursday night was the last night I managed more than an hour or two of sleep. I’m running on empty on this not-so-delightful Monday morning.

Rolling over onto all fours, I’m able to struggle to my feet. Once I’m standing, I sway side to side, staggering like a drunk.

The first order of business is cleaning up the blood. My mom would flip if she found bloody laundry in my hamper. “Purgare,” I whisper while thinking about cleaning off the blood and forest gunk caked on my abdomen. A gentle breeze blows over my stomach. When I look down, everything’s cleaned up, including my shorts and sports bra.

Since that’s taken care of, I need to go home. Luckily, I don’t have to walk back. I’m able to focus long enough to open a portal to my room. I gratefully stumble through the opening, falling back to my knees once I reach the plush carpet.