ONE
The diagnosis came on February 29th. Harvey had been out for a run, collapsed, and was rushed to the hospital. Stage four pancreatic cancer with metastases in his liver and lungs. He saw no point in treatment; he would be dead by July.
Despite the bad news, Harvey remained as kind and chipper as always. He sent flowers to his young mother every year on her birthday and Mother’s Day. She hadn’t spoken to him since he married Grace, but she came to visit him in the hospital.
“It’s her fault, you know,” his mother said, “whatever spell she put you under, something she cooked up in that trailer-trash house—”
“Ma!”
“She’s not a natural blond,” she continued. “She’s a Mexican. A real witch under cover, if you ask me. And she’s fat.”
“She was born in the U.S., ma,” Harvey told her. “She’s not a witch, and that’s my wife you’re talking about. She’s married to me, not you.”
“Yeah? Well, we’ll see how long that lasts.”
“It’s already not going to last.” Harvey’s chest turned to stone at his own words.
“Well, then you’re better off dead.” Her eyes widened as if she was the one who should be shocked.
“Is that really what you think?” he said.
His mother said nothing, but slapped him, spat in Grace’s face, and walked out of their lives.
Harvey couldn’t let it go. A few days later, he brought it up to Grace again. She was relatively forgiving and patient, but nothing like Harvey.
“You know I think what she did was absolutely unacceptable,” he said.
“Right,” said Grace.
“But she’s my mom, and I know my mom. She’s just been having a really hard time ever since my dad passed, and maybe she’ll come around. It’s better to show her love and let her know that we want her to be part of our lives. Sometimes hard things in life bring out the worst in people. It’s not who she is. I have to try.”
Grace chuckled, ran her fingers through his hair, and looked into him, eyes sparkling. “I know, and I’ll support you from a distance,” she said.
“You don’t have to.”
“Nor do I want to, Harv. What she did…I can’t deal with that once you’re…”
“I’ll deal with my mom. All we have to do is focus on the time we have together. I’ll be with you forever, Gracie girl.”
“I love you.”
“I love you,” he said, then looked down at her hand and held it tight.
“Why do you stay here with me?” she asked.
Harvey’s smile drooped. “What?”
“Maybe your mom’s right. Maybe if we lived in a better area, some place with more career opportunities, more money, more family, better health care—”
“Stop,” he said. “You know that’s not true. And if not, then I gotta do a better job.”
They both forced a laugh.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too.”
Cancer chews away the body like rot, separating the soul from the devil within that eats you alive. The slope of Harvey’s decline was glacial—cold, relentless, slippery, and inescapable. Grace watched as death nipped at his ankles, lapping the flesh from his skeleton. He would sleep for hours and hours, worrying Grace to the bone, and when he woke he was delirious. He spoke like he was reading alphabet soup, and he nearly tore his eyes out over a pill he dropped on the kitchen floor. When he was finally lucid again, it conveniently landed on their very first wedding anniversary. It almost seemed like a miracle—or perhaps a final goodbye.
Since it was their first marriage milestone, Harvey booked a stay at a themed hotel. “We’ve never had enough money to go to Paris,” he said, “and I’m not leaving you with a mountain of debt to clean up.”
“I told you I don’t need any of that,” she replied.
“But I do. Let me do this for you…please.”
They went out to a fancy dinner and had wine and chocolates. The room was designed with a jacuzzi in the center, surrounded by planters of fake roses where a makeshift Eiffel Tower loomed overhead. They snuggled up in a warm bubble bath with a glass of champagne and turned on the cooking channel.
“How much do you love me?” he asked.
“Oh, Harvey. I really can’t do this,” she said.
“Why? Is it because you lied when you said you love me more than anything? Don’t tell me you love that schmuck from Grey’s Anatomy more than me.”
Grace laughed. “No. That’s not it.”
“Well, come on, babe. I’m dyin’ here!” he cackled.
But Grace’s smile went cold and flat. “No, Harvey. That’s exactly why. I’m terrified to find out how much I love you once you’re gone.”
It happened while he was lying on the couch in their hotel. Harvey had gone to sleep after an eventful day—perhaps he’d done too much. His eyes had nearly glazed, as if his eyelashes were already shooing flies. Time stood unaware of how long Grace sat there and cried.
“My sweet Gracie girl,” he said, “don’t be scared. I’ll always be with you.” He wiped her tears, then he pulled her close, kissed her softly, and he was gone.
The young widow’s support groups were useless, completely foreign. Most of the women surpassed her in age by fifteen years. Harvey was thirty when he died. She was now going to turn thirty-one. She stopped attending the sessions after the initial newly-bereaved meetings had ended. Imagine that: newlyweds to newly-bereaved within a single year.
No one had received an invitation to her birthday party, because she hadn’t sent any. She had no true friends of her own—since everyone she knew was friends with Harvey—but some of Harvey’s old friends, Lisa and Harrison Caldwell, tried to reach out and be of comfort. Several days after her actual birthday, they invited her over for dinner and a game night. She could hear the laughter as she walked up the front steps of their house. A few of their neighbors had joined, she was sure, to make things less awkward. The conversation stopped as soon as she entered the room. It was like everyone had seen a ghost, an alien, something so far off from their own understanding that they’d lost the ability to at least try and act normal. Yet they still tried in vain to uplift.
A blond-haired woman who lived up the street—Tiffany was her name—was the first to break the ice. “My husband and I divorced just a little over a year ago, almost around the same time as…Well, I think I know what you’re going through, sweetie. Life’s not easy being alone after that. Tell you what. Hang in there. If you need anything, call me.” Tiffany slipped a folded sticky note into Grace’s palm and patted her fingers. Grace didn’t care what it was. She thanked the Caldwells for inviting her, apologized for not staying, and went out the door.
When she made it back to the car, she cried hot tears of rage. Maybe she shouldn’t have blamed Tiffany; she didn’t know better. But that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.
The car chuckled and popped and coughed its way to life—just another item on the list of things she could no longer afford. At home, she threw down the keys on the kitchen table next to the spider-web of overdue bills. A plunk, plunk, plunk into a small empty garbage can was another reminder that it had rained while she was out. The roof was leaking again. She tossed Tiffany’s crumpled sticky note into the half-filled bucket and watched as the water slowly drowned the note and dragged it to the bottom.
It was almost shocking how quickly other people stopped calling. The few invitations she did receive were horrible. The office parties and work socials were unbearable. No one dared mention Harvey. Everyone was set off by the uneasiness of their own mortality, to which Grace served as a constant reminder.
Eventually the invitations stopped altogether. All except one.
A year later, Grace got a wedding invitation in the mail. Her baby sister, Alegria, had met the love of her life.
Of course she went. Even now, she would always be there for her family. But Alegria would never get an apology for Grace’s absence. She spent most of the reception in the bathroom concealing dejected tears.
Time went by, and nothing changed. She went to work, came home, sat at the table, and stared into nothing until she finally went to bed.
Christmas was the worst.
An older woman from the neighborhood came by and told Grace she still had so much to live for. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you; you’re so young,” she said. “You’ll find someone else.”
There, just like that. Problem solved. So easily dismissed. What life? Grace thought. What a life. Harvey WAS my life. My life is dead and buried.
But that was until she met someone…and Harvey came back.
TWO
One night she stepped outside—she always let the dogs out back before bed—when she heard whistling. Since they lived in a trailer park, she thought nothing of it. At first she thought it might have been a prank, some bored neighborhood kid, until she recognized the tune. It was the song they chose for their first dance. Their wedding song. The whistling came closer, drifting out of the densely packed trees of the backyard. It got louder and louder until it stopped.
The next night she came out with the dogs just the same. She waited in the quiet, listening, expecting. Nothing came. So, she thought she might help it along, like an echo, a call and response. She whistled the tune as best she could through chapped lips. And sure enough, like the breeze in the trees, the whistling came drifting back, like the strangest echo she’d ever heard.
In the morning, she was leaving for work when her next-door neighbor stopped her and told her about some whistling he’d heard in the night. “Sounded like it was coming from over your way,” he said. His name was Chance, an older fella in his seventies who did nothing but sit on his porch during the day and blast the news on his television at night.
“Yeah,” said Grace. “I was just whistling a little tune to cheer myself up a bit. Sorry if I disturbed you.”
“Oh, it ain’t about that at all,” said Chance. His brow scrunched, and he looked at her funny, like someone might look at a hairless cat. “You sure it was you whistlin’?” he asked.
“I’m…pretty sure,” Grace chuckled nervously.
Chance was still looking at her, something strange. “You know about these woods?” he asked. “Anybody ever told ya about ‘em?”
“Uh, don’t think so. What about them?”
“There are some rules that folks follow around here, especially going out in the woods at night, or being near ‘em.” He held out his hand to count on his fingers, first with his pointer, then middle, and so on. “No whistlin’. No singin’. No runnin’. And if—”
“Hey, Grace!” It was her neighbor from down the road. Dean. He was a single guy with an odd disposition and no restraint. He passed by her driveway every day on his morning run—probably timed it perfectly. “What ya guys talking about?” he asked.
Chance interjected before Grace could answer. “Ain’t you the Miller’s boy?” he asked.
“Uh…yes, sir!”
“Well, why don’t you run along and say hello to your mother for me. We’re having a bit of a private conversation here.”
“Oh, yeah…okay. I was just going to ask Grace if she was free tonight—”
“Actually, she’s having dinner with me,” Chance cracked. “Now run along before you make the poor young lady late for work.”
“Right, of course. Have a great day! See ya later, Grace!” Dean ran off, but his eyes lingered for far too long.
Chance smirked at Grace and gave a sly wink.
“Thanks for that,” she said. “I owe you one.”
“Forget me,” barked Chance. “You best stay inside tonight. No funny business.”
“Awww, no dinner?”
“Stay. Inside.” His face was a bit paler than before.
“You got it.”
She sat at the table for longer than usual. She could feel two sets of eyes patiently watching her. When a paw touched her leg, she snapped out of her trance. The first pup, a black lab named Jupiter, stamped his feet with his tongue out and tail whipping. Pluto, a female golden retriever, watched longingly from the comfort of the couch. Grace wondered where she would be without the two of them.
Unfortunately, for two pairs of big brown eyes, staying inside was not an option, so reluctantly she watched from the sliding door as they finished their business and came back inside. Before she could slide the door closed, she heard it. But now the whistling had lifted to a breathy hum.
Grace had heard things from the other women at the support group—about how they had reconnected with their husbands’ spirits after they had passed. Everything had been so tasteless and gray for months. Whatever this was, she didn’t care what some old croak had to say about rules.
She left the door open a few inches. The hum drew closer. The latch rattled as if touched by the wind, then the door threw itself open, slamming into the end of the rails. Grace jumped back onto the head of the couch. She was surprised the glass hadn’t cracked.
The night air was frigid, stinging, so cold she snapped to her feet. The humming had moved back to the fence line, drawing her eyes to the dark dancing trees. A wind like this shouldn’t exist, she thought. It bit into her skin bone-deep, yet it called her to action. One foot after the other, no shoes or socks, she stepped outside. The hums lingered near the fence and stopped, perhaps sensing her approach. The wind whipped the gold-tipped remnants of her black hair into her eyes, and with the dark, made the night into a tornado of twinkling shadow. A harsh breath rasped in her ear, then nearly knocked her off her feet when the humming popped up again, right beside her. It floated along for a moment, hovered near the sliding door, then drifted inside and down the hall.
She followed the eerie tune into their bedroom where she half-expected to meet a calmness, a warmth, something familiar—maybe even Harvey himself. But she found nothing.
Tears soaked her eyes as she ripped the sheets from the mattress, gutted the space below the bed, tore sweaters from closet hangers. The shower curtain didn’t survive, being rend from its rings, and the bottles of cleaner bowled from their place underneath the sink. Next were the couch cushions, flung about the living room, the ottoman disemboweled of its blankets and pillows, but still no Harvey. The humming was gone.
After the passing of Hurricane Grace, she climbed past the tattered curtain and into the tub, turned on the cold shower, and sat fully clothed. She shut her eyes and wished and wished. She wished that if this storm wouldn’t pass, it would take her. She wished she could go back, do things differently. Maybe she could’ve caught Harvey’s illness sooner. She reasoned that this world was too cruel, too filthy without someone like Harvey Trist to keep the balance. But then she realized she sounded selfish. Perhaps it was her fault that he wasn’t here. Maybe she was undeserving of his presence, his thoughtfulness, his love. Maybe Harvey’s mother was right. Maybe she was just a fat girl swept away in a fairytale never meant to last.
The water chilled her bones, and she cried, and cried.
Something happened again the next night—something wrong. She stepped out, let the dogs out as normal, and stood in the cool, darkened breeze. It felt good, filled her with breath, fed her soul. She closed her eyes for a moment and let it pass through her, carrying away the sickness and the emptiness to a far-off place.
But when she opened them, she saw it.
It looked like a person, cloaked in a long robe or gown, floating above the treetops, arms outstretched in invitation. Grace blinked rapidly in denial, and the figure vanished. The breeze turned to a harsh wind, stirring the trees to life once more. The dogs barked at the chain-link fence, hackles raised in alarm. Grace tried to quiet them for what felt like an hour until the wind abruptly died. The dogs turned their attention to her, then walked past her and into the house. The woods were utterly silent, not a wisp, twig-crack, or cricket-chirp. She gave one last look at the petrified trees beyond the fence line and turned to go back inside.
She took one step onto the old deck stairs with a creak when it shot up from behind her. Harvey’s whistling had come back. This time it was down-tuned, slow and off-beat. It wafted along the air like a frigid draft so thick she could touch it. She stood there scanning the trees for a while before she called “Harvey!” into the night. “Harv, is that you?” she shouted. She watched for a moment longer until she realized how wide she had stretched her eyes searching and—
Had she really just called out her dead husband’s name into the woods at night?
Slowly, lazily, the whistling faded into the dark. But as Grace turned her back to the trees, gooseflesh crawled up her spine and nested in the back of her head.
The next night the rain came. It had nearly become a self-loathing ritual by now, stepping out into the night, hopeful that somehow Harvey’s spirit would return to give her one last night of warmth in her bed.
Tonight, she sat wrapped up on the edge of the deck, drawing circles with her shoes in the mud. A loud snap and scrape came from beyond the fence. Something sounded like footfalls in the undergrowth. She stood and shielded her eyes from the rain. A beam of light swept around the neighboring wood fence.
“What the hell are you doin’ out here?” roared Chance, blinding her with his flashlight. “Open up this gate. Come on, let’s go.”
Grace hurried to the man-door in the fence, unlocked and unlatched it. Chance came stomping into her backyard. “It’s been three nights I heard you out here callin’ and ugly cryin’, Lord have mercy.” His jowls jiggled when he got real upset. “Now look atchya, trying to get soaked to the bone, and for what? So you can feel something?”
Chance stared for a moment. Then the old man’s face drooped. His eyes went soft, and his jaw stammered. “I-I’m sorry, angel. Forgive me. You know how an old man can be. I just want you to understand what you’re dealin’ with. I know you’re probably sick of hearin’ what other people have to say, but you don’t know these things like I do. I was here when they took them kids; I remember. I thought I’d heard the news wrong, wished I had, when they started talking about kids.”
“What happened to them?” she asked.
“They disappeared. Vanished. Nothing, not a single hair, no clothes, no teeth. It was like they never existed. Both were only children of two single mothers. Jesus, the way those women were killed keeps me up at night. Maybe I shouldn’t find out what happened to the kids. It’s better they just blipped, gone. But it was something that came out of the woods, or lured them in, I’m sure. Either way, it’s been the last nail in too many coffins for my sake to let you go wandering around out here.” He wagged his finger at Grace like she was his grandchild.
“Thank you, Chance. Do you wanna come inside?” she asked. “I’m frozen.”
Chance took a wary look out into the trees. “Yeah. Maybe I’d better.”
Grace made them chamomile tea and set Chance up on the couch while she sat on the coffee table.
“I’m sorry we never got better acquainted,” she said.
“Oh, hush,” Chance croaked. He sipped his tea and licked his lips, staring at the rim of the mug with his eyebrows raised in delight. “You know, my wife passed away a couple of years ago. I know it’s not the same, e’en though it might shock ya to know I’ve got an ounce of brains in me.”
Grace tried not to chuckle. “I did know,” she said. “I’m sorry. And it doesn’t matter if it’s the same. A loss is a loss.”
He smiled. “You’re a good kid, Gracie. I know it may seem like it’s all over…When Annie passed, shit, I was a ball o’ sap. An old ball o’ sap. Imagine that—an old croak like me, lyin’ in bed at night, staring at the cold pillow on the empty side of the bed, soakin’ my own with tears, not carin’ if I had a mouth full of salt.”
“You’re a sweet man,” said Grace with glittery eyes.
“You’ve got family, dontchya?” he asked. She nodded and wiped her tears.
“Who?” he asked.
“My mom and younger sister,” she said.
“No dad?”
She shook her head.
“Well, shit. Sorry about that.” He sat forward on the cushion and set his mug on a coaster next to Grace. “Well, I’ve got my grand-babies, little ones. It gives me something to look forward to, something to do. Though it breaks my heart for them not to have their Gammy, I suppose it could be worse. You don’t have any kids, do ya?”
“No. Sometimes I think about how it would’ve been if we had. But then I almost feel grateful we didn’t. It might have ruined them.”
“It don’t make sense, ya know. When someone wants to die, they’re spared. When someone’s got their best life to live, it’s taken. Harvey was one of those. All good and not a splinter of bad in him. I never told you this, but when y’all were first married, I’d just had the funeral. Harvey didn’t know much, but he came over after I got home, gave me flowers, a case of beer…and he’d framed a picture of me and my Annie. Lord only knows how he got it.”
Grace looked up at the ceiling with soggy lashes and wet cheeks, trying to air them out.
“Tell ya what, kid,” he said. “The tears don’t stop. The pain don’t go away, not all of it. You’re gonna miss him. Ya are. Hell, I do too.” He choked on his words. “You don’t have to be strong….It’s okay. It’s okay to wanna give up. Just so long as you keep trying. There’s things worth livin’ for, trust me. You'll find them.”
He wiped his tears with shaky hands. Grace snatched one of them and held on dearly, fighting tears of her own.
“I don’t want to do this any more,” she sobbed.
“You’re telling me, kid. C’mere.” He pulled her in for a hug. “I think I’ve made enough mess for one night," he whispered. “I’ll call ya in the morning.”
THREE
She woke up to water dripping on her forehead, and the mattress was moving, undulating like it was…breathing? She startled and sat up. The pillow was dry, nothing on the ceiling. She thought maybe there’d been a new leak. She touched her face—dry. Strange, but never mind that. She couldn’t shake this filthy feeling, like she’d gone camping for a week with no shower. No, worse. She felt like she’d been touched. Like she could feel the remnants of poking, prodding fingers on her ribs and hips.
She showered before eating, this time with warm water, no clothes, and a new curtain. And no matter how much she scrubbed, she still felt the sensation of fingers in her sides.
She had just finished washing her hair when she thought she heard the door squeak open. The shower head was noisy, the water was hot and soothing—she remained unbothered. At times like these, she couldn’t help but reminisce. The thoughts drifted naturally into daydreams. As she washed soap off her skin, she imagined her hands were Harvey’s hands. When she wrapped herself in her towel, she imagined being wrapped in his arms. She thought of him touching her, kissing her neck, caressing her face, holding her. It was only in her wildest hopes, she knew, that one day she would look down and see Harvey’s hands and arms around her.
But today, her imagination was particularly lively. As she was drying herself, she looked down and saw a hand touch hers. Not a particularly warm hand, but a hand nonetheless. But it only stayed, lingered, for a brief moment.
The air left her as she stepped out of the shower. A thousand thoughts flooded her mind: if this was normal, if she’d lost it, or if she’d accidentally dropped something in her tea last night. Then she thought it could’ve been from a particularly emotional evening with a new friend, which she hadn’t had in a very long time. But she had seen a hand touch hers. That could hardly be chalked up to feeling emotional.
She felt the blood rising in her neck and took a deep breath, got dressed, and went to the kitchen. Today was Saturday. The office was closed, which meant no on-call stress. She set the table for two and planned to make eggs and pancakes for breakfast.
Often while doing some monotonous things around the house, she found herself talking aloud to Harvey just like any other day when he was alive. “I don’t know if you would know this already,” she said, “but our neighbor Chance, do you remember him? Older guy in his seventies now; didn’t talk to him much before, but he’s such a sweet old man. Anyway, he came over last night because I kept hearing this whistling in the backyard at night, and he warned me about it. I think he was just concerned for me and how I was dealing with my loss. We had a nice talk and shared some tears. You probably remember his wife passed away a couple of years ago. That reminds me, he said he’d call this morning. Hope he’s okay.”
A voice came from the hallway. “Gracie giiiiiiirl,” it croaked.
Grace nearly dropped her plate on her way to the table. She turned off the fan on the vent hood and listened.
“Hello?” she called. But there was no answer.
She loaded another plate and set it on the table. She was reaching for the phone to call Chance when something crashed in the hallway. A framed picture of her and Harvey at the top of the Arc de Triomphe—a picture they had never taken together. The glass broke, and the frame was cracked. She gathered it up, swept the glass shards into the trash along with the frame, and set the photo on the coffee table.
Outside, the clouds had marred the sun, and the wind was whipping through the trees. At first she thought it was the wind screeching on the screen of the sliding back door, something like a—
A whistle. The tune had returned. The same gooseflesh raised like pins along her spine, also on cue.
Grace took a step towards the back door and froze. She thought about Chance’s choice words, the gravity in his voice and eyes. Why did she feel so torn? She wanted so badly to discover the impossibility of Harvey being alive. But at the same time it didn’t feel like Harvey. It felt—
“Don’t be sad,” said the voice again. It came from the bedroom. It whispered something else incoherently, and Grace’s blood shot through her chest.
“Hello?” she called again through the empty hall. The bedroom door was only slightly ajar. For a moment she thought she could hear small sniffles and sobs coming from within. “Is s-someone here?” she stammered. “Chance is that you?”
No answer.
She wondered if the old man was up to playing cruel tricks, but couldn’t think of a reason for him to use those three words. No one else should know those words as she did. No one else was there to hear those words when Harvey spoke them—don’t be sad.
Slowly she stepped towards the bedroom door, careful to avoid the creaky spot in the floor. She nudged the door open before daring to look in. When she finally did, she found everything just as she’d left it. Not even a dog hair stirred in the draft.
“Grace?”
She jumped. It was Harvey’s voice. She’d never forget that voice.
“Harv?” she said.
She came out of the bedroom, moving with patience, no frantic running or searching. Calmly, she checked the kitchen, the bathroom, even the closet, and a bit of concern perched on her shoulder.
She jumped again when the phone rang. She picked up the landline. “Hello?” she said. “Oh, hi, Chance. I was wondering when you were going to call. Hang on, I’m going to put you on speaker.” She pressed a button on the console and set the handset down on the countertop.
“Am I good?” Chance asked through the speaker.
“Loud and clear,” Grace confirmed.
“Good. Anyway, sorry I didn’t call ya earlier. Been a helluva morning with this shit. Gettin’ old ain’t for the weak, that’s for sure.”
“I believe it. And no apology necessary. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And to thank you…for last night.”
“Of course, kid. We’re in this together, you and me.”
“Speaking of which, I cooked us a little breakfast. I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten, but I thought maybe we could eat breakfast together. If not, it’s fi—”
“Whadya make?”
“Pancakes, eggs, and some frozen orange juice.”
“I’ll be right over,” he laughed.
“Great!” she said. “There is one thing before you come over.”
“What is it?”
“We can talk about it more over breakfast, but I thought you should know just in case. I am also just trying to make sure I’m not going crazy—”
“What is it, kid? Come on, I’m sweatin’ over here.”
“I heard Harvey’s voice. Twice now, I think, just this morning.”
“….”
“Hello?” she said.
“Grace?”
“Yeah?”
“Did he say your name?”
“Uh…I think so, yeah.”
“Kid, get out of that house. NOW. Meet me outside.”
Click. He hung up.
Grace put the handset down on the kitchen table, and immediately the room spun. She felt her head hit the floor, and everything went dark.
She woke up on the couch, her hands folded carefully across her abdomen, hair perfectly draped over her shoulder, and—
Was she wearing a dress before? The entire house seemed dark. The curtains were left open, but the kitchen seemed clean. When she stood up, the pain stabbed at her brain behind her eyes. She checked in the bathroom mirror but found nothing, not even a bit of swelling. Had she put makeup on this morning before breakfast? She took a step back.
“Oh my God, I have to pee,” she said aloud, pulling up her dress and realizing she had no panties on. She went, wiped, then froze. I should call Chance, she thought, but before she could stand up, the door unlatched and creaked open, bumping the doorstop.
Harvey stood just outside the dark doorway; his back was turned, shoulders slumped forward, head hanging. Was his hair wet? Mud on his boots. But no tracks.
Grace’s heart nearly stopped. She’d never seen Harvey like this, at least not until after he got sick. “Harvey? Is that you?” she asked.
No answer. Only the pat, pat of his curly dark hair dripping on the wood floor.
The mud. “Were you outside, Harv? It must have been raining today,” she said. It hadn’t.
He answered with a gargled breath, then said, “Please, have some respect.” His voice sounded wet and cold.
“Okay,” said Grace.
“I’ll always be with you, Gracie,” he said.
The bathroom light flicked off. Everything plunged into blackness. Grace shot up from the toilet seat and ran her hand over the wall until she found the switch, and the lights came back on. Harvey was gone. She backed into the shower and sat on the edge of the tub, trying to breathe. The yellowed wallpaper was giving her a headache.
The bathroom light flickered and sizzled. Instinct flung Grace from the tub to the cabinet under the sink. She rummaged through small plastic totes, bags, and boxes. Finally, she pulled out a small box of matches. Her hands shaking, she plucked one out and struck it once, twice, and the lights went out with a pop.
The match scratched a third time and hissed to life with dim light. “Don’t be sad,” Harvey’s voice whispered from the dark. “Come here, honey….come—” His voice trailed off down the hall, slinking away from the bathroom door.
Grace moved carefully so as not to disturb the delicate flame. She could only see a small distance in front of her.
“Grace,” Harvey hissed near the sliding glass door.
“Harvey, can we talk?” she whimpered. Hot tears fell from her chin. Something fumbled and crashed over the coffee table, banged on the wall, then came thumping along the ceiling straight toward her. She stumbled back into the wall, screamed, and dropped the match. It fizzled out before it hit the floor. Her shaking hands struggled to light another, and when it burst to life, she felt something pull at her hair. She spun.
Harvey’s body fell from above, thrashing in impossible ways. Grace fell backward onto an old rug; the match burned her fingers and fell. The fabric caught fire, and she retreated into a corner.
Harvey still twisted and convulsed; the sounds of his limbs slapping and thumping the wall and floor made her stomach squeeze, her heart thumping in her throat. The flames grew, and the air stung her nose. Trapped in the corner of the hall between the bathroom and the coat closet, she had a thought. She flung the closet door open, tore down the heaviest coat, and tossed it on the flames. One of Harvey’s limbs swatted it slightly. It fell short of the growing fire, and fed rather than suffocated the flames. Grace retreated again and bumped the wall behind her. It left a wet, slimy residue on her skin and dress. Something smelled like dysentery. The floor beneath her feet rose and fell unevenly like a weak heartbeat. Warm, sticky fluid dribbled on her shoulder as a hot, thick humidity coated her lungs.
Suddenly the thrashing stopped. Harvey’s contorted form managed to lean his head around the fire, staring at her with blank eyes. Mangled limbs stretched up the fleshy, beating walls clinging there like an insect, while the head and eyes stayed fixed on her. Slowly the limbs crept over the wall, the body avoiding the flames. She tried to move, tried to flee; perhaps she could vault over the flames, but nothing responded. The thing that resembled Harvey’s face became more distorted. The eyes turned white, its jaw hung loose, something dark and slick pouring from its mouth. One of its hands walked over her chest and gripped her neck. It pulled its mouth in to meet hers and let the fluid slip down her throat. Her hands and feet felt frozen. She choked, and her eyes closed.
She snapped awake, shot up from a poky bed of pine needles to her feet. It seemed her body had finally caught up with the urge to move. An orange light through the trees throbbed in her eyes. She could hear the crackling of fire and the occasional roar of a hungry flame. She pushed through the branches and found a fire pit she’d never seen before. Three stone benches surrounded a campfire, one of them occupied by a rather large figure.
“Come…sit,” a voice commanded. Her limbs seemed to move on their own, moving her to a bench where she then sat. The man sitting near had a rather peculiar neck, dangling his head like an angler’s bob.
“Have a muffin,” he said. “It won’t kill you.”
She hadn’t even noticed the basket of muffins sitting on the bench beside her. They were moist and heavy, a perfect pumpkin brown. Strange, though, how they were topped with silver sprinkles. She took a glance at the old man. Gray skin hung loosely over his spindly skeleton. Grace wondered whether he had a face. Some features were in the right places; she knew that much. His eyes whirled like dark purple stars.
“Go on then,” he said, the bass in his voice crackling in her ears. She looked back down at the muffin. They smelled heavenly, like a dream. She took a bite, and the cold left her. The pain was gone, and she felt butterflies in her stomach. The butterflies fluttered up her spine and erupted out of her in raucous laughter.
“That’s better,” the man said. “Some of us need a bit of extra convincing, I see.”
“What?” she asked through her chuckles.
The man lowered his head and stared into the fire.
“What are you?” she asked.
“I’m not what you’re thinking I am,” he said. “But you’ll have to figure that out for yourself.”
“Can you tell me something?”
“Hmm?”
“About what happened just now…before I woke up here. That thing, in my house. Was that Harvey? Did he—?”
“No, dear. Harvey is waiting for you. Out there.” He looked east to the dense forest and mountain peaks, just barely visible in the twilight.
“Waiting for me? Is this a dream?” she asked.
The man looked at her with a furrowed brow. “You made a wish, didn’t you?”
“Oh my God,” she sighed, and began flicking her face. “Come on,” she grumbled and lifted a hand to slap herself.
Before it made contact, both her arms froze stiff, then clamped down at her sides. “This is not a dream,” the man said.
Grace noticed a forking vein pulsing down his neck beneath the collar of his robes. “Then why can’t I feel my face when I flick it? And my head feels all fuzzy and heavy—”
“Then eat another muffin, damn you,” the man barked. “But only peel the top off. It’s not like you need the rest.” He eyed her up and down.
Grace scoffed, snatched up another muffin, and stared at him while she ate, savoring every last crumb. The vein on the man’s neck flared again.
“Wait,” she said with her mouth still half-full. “So, if that wasn’t Harvey, then what the hell was that thing in my house?”
“A Paroxysm,” he stated. “They are quite rare; I apologize. It will torment you no longer, though you did burn your house to the ground in the commotion.”
“I— My hou—? I burned my house down?! Am I high—”
“SSSSSIIIIT!!!” the man hissed, his wide eyes flashing blue. Grace’s legs buckled, and she plopped back on the bench.
The man shoved the basket of muffins towards her, though his hand remained concealed within his robes. “Eat,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Clearly it’s not enough.”
Grace fought to move her limbs. Her legs were unresponsive; her arms led balloons. She wanted to throw the basket of muffins into the fire and ram her foot into his confusing, formless head. But there she sat, helpless as the muffins crammed into her mouth one after the other. Her body autonomously chewed and swallowed the last, and she tasted the salt of her tears mixing with the spice. Only then could she regain the use of her upper half.
“I envy you,” the man said, “how quickly the anger melts into tears. So inconsequential. Such…Grace.” He sighed. “You grew up without a mother, did you not?” He waited a brief moment before responding to his own question. “No, it was your father. My mistake. Both my mother and my father died on the same night I was born. Yet, I still remember their faces…as if they were carved into my skin. Ironic, isn’t it, how hard we try not to become our parents? Don’t cry, dear. The hour is nigh, can’t you feel it?”
He lifted his eyes from the fire to the sky as if studying the stars. “Atlas, I see you. My little twinkling star.” The empty muffin basket seemed to toss itself off the bench and disappear into the flames.
“Well. Shall we be off?” the man asked.
He lifted his enormous frame from the bench and unsheathed a hand. His fingers looked like willow branches, impossibly long and thin, splaying out to douse the fire by stirring the dirt.
Grace was amazed at how he moved through the trees. With his alien hands, he touched each one as he passed, as if walking through a crowd of worshipers. She thought that some had even bent to touch him on his way by.
When they approached two great fir trees, they did indeed bend, but not to touch the man. They twirled around one another to form an arch, where clusters of slithering pale roots burst out of the ground from their base, and climbed up their trunks. It reminded Grace of their wedding arch, except the roses here were black instead of red.
“What is this?” she asked. The space within the arch started moving, churning together into what she thought was a soupy illusion.
“It’s a gateway,” the man said.
“I meant all of it. What is this? Some sort of hallucination? Am I going to wake up in a dumpster somewhere a thousand miles away? My legs feel like jelly, but I can’t willfully move them. I have a slamming headache, and my eyelids won’t stop twitching. I feel tired and tense and stiff. Am I sleepwalking? Was it the muffins?…”
As she babbled on, the center of the arch brightened with warm, yellow light. The space within rippled and something emerged.
“Am I dead? Is that it? Is this what the afterlife is, cause I don’t want any of this bullshit,” she murmured on while the thing that came out of the gateway approached her. “You say you’re not what I think you are, then prove it. Are you not, like, some kind of guide that’s going to carry me off to the other side?” The thing touched her hand as she gesticulated, and she stopped talking. There in front of her was her Harvey, bathed in golden light, eyes shining like the summer morning. Her Harvey, the one with perfectly normal hair, a sweet, innocent smile filled with pure kindness. He hugged her. He smelled like fresh air and spring flowers.
Behind him, she caught the man staring. His eyelids sagged like they were straining to keep his eyeballs in place. He almost looked mournful, if that was possible. And he reminded her of someone. Nausea flooded her gut at the thought of Harvey's mother. Then Grace blinked, and his features stirred again. He walked off towards the gateway, and Harvey brought Grace with him in tow.
But…when Harvey turned around, someone else’s face held her gaze, peeking through the skin on the back of his head. Pale, rolling globes for eyes, and maggots crawling between their teeth.
END…?
Sirens wailed up the narrow street well beyond the earliest hours of the morning. Chance, as he often found himself awake at the cusp of dawn, rolled out of bed to find an inferno just across the fence.
Grace’s house was reduced to a blackened heap once the flames died.
He told the police about what Grace had been through that morning, although he said nothing of the night before. No, it wasn’t an arsonist, he told them, or at least that didn’t seem likely. The probable cause was more likely Grace’s mental state. A single match, paired with emotional dysregulation, and the house was destroyed; Grace was gone.
Investigators confirmed they found what was left of her ashes piled in the back corner of the house. She was the one who started the fire willingly, and possibly with the aim of self-destruction. Luckily, the dogs made it out through the back fence gate.
The odd thing was that Grace’s clothes had been left behind in the backyard. The fire department found them clumped in the weeds, jewelry and everything.
That night, Chance tried to sleep with the lights on.