Hello Dearest Penguin People.
This is Chapter Two. If you missed the first chapter, please mosey on down here…
This is contemporary young adult horror. Or, as it was pointed out to me, this may be something else. I guess, it’s all in how you look at things.
We left off with Max in the school library and her “friend” Sebastian has just entered the room.
CHAPTER TWO
Max rubbed the frost from her cheek. Sebastian had yet to appear, preferring to lurk over her shoulder as an icy cloud.
“Come on. I’ve been waiting forever,” she said.
A grumble from the cloud. Then yellow eyes. A hand reached toward her notebook through the mist.
“Where have you been?”
“Around.” The cloud leaned in closer to read her choppy lettering then stood up. It sighed. “So, death is greedy now?”
“Of course, it is.”
Her friend came into view, fading in and out of shadows of his own making. He glanced down at his suit jacket and scowled, straightening his tie with ashen fingers only to have it go immediately askew.
Max drummed her fingers on the table and then abruptly crumpled her homework, letting it drop into a wastebasket.
“Poor Millicent,” Sebastian mumbled.
“Yeah, poor rat.” Max frowned at her notebook. Her creations rarely survived, not that she cared. She defied anyone to say she did.
Their conversation had not gone unnoticed. A cluster of faces stared at her from across the room. The silence in libraries was always loud, more so today. Her classmates gave her a collective blink. She stuck out her tongue and growled at them. Now a collective blush as they looked down, to the right, to the left, anywhere except at her.
“I hate audiences,” she said.
Sebastian reached out to pat her hand, a futile gesture as it only passed through. “Don’t pay attention to them.”
“Easy for you to say.” She folded her arms. “I’m not doing this stupid assignment. Mrs. Hall doesn’t care.”
“That’s not true.”
“Of course, it is. Last week, I turned in a paper about the migration patterns of flying Alaskan hippos, and she made this horrible face, like I had turned in a pile of dog doo.”
“Oh.” He tried to think of something clever, but nothing came. Lately, his mind seemed disconnected, melting slowly away with the rest of him.
A whiff of stale smoke tickled Max’s nose, a reminder of last week’s cafeteria fire. It had been disappointingly small, although it did mean they had to eat lunch in their classrooms. Her classmates were staring at her again. She felt it without even looking up. Whatever.
More ice crystals sprouted on the table and travelled down the legs of her chair. “Geez, Sebastian.”
“What are you complaining about now?”
“Like you don’t know.” She zipped up her hoodie and blew on her hands.
“I think it’s quite nice in here, balmy even.”
“Oh, shut up.” Her friend wore winter on his coattails. It swirled and moaned around him in constant flux, the ultimate wet blanket. It was his fault she wore a hoodie year-round to prevent frostbite.
A loud ratcheting snore shook the room. Mrs. Hall had nodded off behind the librarian’s desk. The other students giggled.
Sebastian shook his head. “Poor woman needs a vacation.”
“Don’t feel sorry for her. She’s just a nicotine addict with more bills than imagination.”
Sebastian hid a smile. You had to either love or hate this kid. “How could you possibly know that?”
“She smells like an ashtray and her car is held together with bungee cords and duct tape.”
“That only makes me sympathize more.”
She ignored him. “And don’t mess with her coffee.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Sebastian flicked a speck of lint off his jacket only to have it reappear.
“Yesterday, she lost her coffee and…”
“She lost it, or you took it?”
Max shook her head. “Does it matter? The point is when she couldn’t find it, her face turned purple, and then these awesome horns grew out of her head.”
“I’m sorry I missed that.”
“She was literally breathing fire. She wiped out the entire front row of my class.”
“Then maybe you should leave her stuff alone.”
“Or maybe she should go to therapy or something.”
Sebastian closed his eyes and looked for pleasant thoughts that weren’t there.
From across the room, Mrs. Hall opened her eyes. Max was talking to an empty chair. She supposed she could turn up her hearing aides to listen in, but really, what was the point? This annoying child was one hole short of a rabbit, mainly because the rabbit was out tormenting the squirrels, leaving only an empty space to fall into. Her eyelids drooped. She’d deal with Max later.
Max and Sebastian lapsed into a tricky silence. As the seconds ticked by, the fuzziness in her brain grew. Meanwhile, Sebastian was adjusting his tie for the umpteenth time.
“Sebastian?”
“Yes?”
“Your friends came by earlier.”
Darkness leaked from his eyes. “What happened?”
“They told me they had itchy thumbs. Your friends are real doofuses.”
He leaned in and whispered, even though no one else could hear him. “They’re not my friends. They really spoke to you?”
“Well, kind of. They messed with my homework and flipped my letters around.”
“So, they played bugaboo with your eyes, but you couldn’t actually hear them?”
“Yeah, lots of bugs and boo.”
“Did they say anything else?”
“Nope.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yep.” Her fingers were crossed behind her back. Seriously, he always treated her like a little kid. “Would it be so bad if I could hear them?”
“It could be. You let me know if you do.”
Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t promising anything.
Sebastian settled into a chair next to her. “Why would they say they have itchy thumbs?”
“Itchy, prickly, I don’t know. It’s not like they’re rocket scientists.”
He pursed his lips.
“What?” she asked.
“Have you read Shakespeare yet?”
“Seriously dude, I’m nine.”
“Never mind.”
“Someday they’ll say something interesting to me.”
“Yeah, like what?”
“Like, um…” she paused for a moment, thinking. “I know. The ghosts will finally start the zombie apocalypse. There’ll be blood and brains everywhere and I’ll be their queen.”
(EAT YOU UP)
Sebastian let out a small snort and settled more comfortably in his chair, idly twiddling his tie between his thumbs. Then he frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just a second.” He knelt on the carpet. The muted form of a middle-aged man, the color of faded pencil lead, had crawled under the table. Gray streams of mist dripped from a gaping hole between his shoulders and fell to the floor in silent splashes. His hands, blobs of expired meat, reached blindly in front of him across the library carpet. Other than a pair of mismatched ankle socks he was completely naked. Pink and yellow, they followed him like a pair of sad neon marshmallows.
“It’s Eugene,” Sebastian said. “I wonder where he got the socks?”
“He’s wearing socks?”
“Yeah, it’s weird.”
Eugene continued to crawl forward; hands spread out in front him, probing every inch of surface around him.
Sebastian kept his eyes on the front, fearful he would see more than he wanted. “Eugene, you’ve got to believe me. Your head’s not here.”
“You never told me why you call him Eugene.”
“It’s less depressing than calling him creepy naked guy.”
Max shrugged. She peered under the table. “I wish I could see him.” She found it odd that other than when her brain went bonker-snot; Sebastian was the only ghost she could see.
“No, you don’t. Trust me on this one.”
“Why is he always here? Couldn’t he look somewhere else?”
“Not like he can find the door.”
“You could help him.”
“He can’t hear me.”
“Then why do you talk to him?”
“For the same reason you swat a mosquito. You hope that eventually it’ll go away.”
Eugene disappeared behind a bookcase.
Sebastian settled back in his chair. He didn’t need one, but the motions gave him the comfort of familiarity, made him feel a little less dead. Other than the ghost thing, he could have passed for any frumpy middle-aged uncle over for a weekend visit who never managed to find his way home. He wore a baggy suit with a wide striped tie that was always slightly crooked as if he had run up a flight of stairs. Lately, his image had begun to fade in and out like an old newsreel. Apparently, even spirits showed their age if left out too long, though he preferred to think he was mellowing like a fine wine, albeit one who’s sediment had drifted to the bottom.
Beside him, Max’s hand went self-consciously to her head to gauge the tufty spring of new growth. All the wishing in the world wouldn’t make it grow back faster. She caught Patrick stealing a glance as her fingers mourned her missing locks.
She peered at him over the top of her wire-frame glasses. “What are you looking at?” she snapped. “Hoping the freak show comes early today?”
Her classmate, a singularly unimaginative boy with a near certain future in data management or if the gods were cruel, proctology, peered down at his homework. Without looking up, he asked, “Will you get all weird and creepy if I ask who you were talking to?”
The color drained from Max’s lips. “I am not creepy. And I am not stupid enough to deliberately antagonize someone who outweighs me by at least twenty pounds. Though, from your goofy ‘Fido rollover’ expression you don’t seem the type that would want to be seen clobbering a cripple.”
Patrick’s face turned an impossible shade of red. “Forget it.” He went back to cross-referencing data on the North American Opossum.
“Geesh Max.” Sebastian almost felt sorry for the boy.
Max stared miserably at the table, empty like everything else. Patrick was the only student willing to sit within ten feet of her. The rest of the class sat cloistered in the far corner of the library near the exit. Patrick desperately looked like he wanted to join them.
Max stood slowly and approached him, trying to hide her limp. Her left leg was nearly an inch shorter than her right, a fact that didn’t normally bother her. But today didn’t seem like a normal day.
Patrick remained frozen in his seat. He wondered if it would be totally rude if he just bolted right there. No one would blame him if he did.
Max lowered her diminutive frame carefully into the chair beside him and looked up at his stony face. She was small for her nine years and he was a little big for his. “Would you really like to know who I was talking to?”
Patrick risked a glance at her upturned face and actually looked at her, something he rarely did. His first impression was of a porcelain doll ready to shatter. But her eyes were deep and stormy, like the ocean in winter. If he stared too long into those pools he might drown. He gave his head a quick nod and looked away.
Max set her glasses on the table and twirled them between her fingers. It couldn’t hurt to tell him. Everyone thought she was crazy anyway.
Whispering so that other curious ears wouldn’t hear, she began. “His name is Sebastian. He’s always been here, but the grown-ups didn’t notice until I was about three. They said he was an imaginary friend. Then, as I grew older and too mature for such nonsense it was assumed that I was trying to get attention. So, I was told that I was a very bad little girl for making up lies and to stop feeling sorry for myself.”
She folded her hands neatly on the table, collecting her thoughts. “About a month ago I fainted. It was kind of embarrassing.” She smiled briefly, a terse movement that didn’t reach her eyes. “They thought I was faking to get more attention. But they were obligated to get me checked out.”
Here, she paused long enough that Patrick risked another look at her face. Her lips trembled and her eyelashes fluttered just a little too fast. He set his pencil down.
“Anyway,” Max said, “they took pictures of my brain and found a tiny tumor in my head. It’s so small as to be laughable, really, like a pea.”
Her eyes took on an eerie stillness. Mesmerized, Patrick stared into their depths.
Max didn’t notice, her thoughts elsewhere. “So, they found a doctor who looked like Santa Claus to tell me that I was dying, as if being told by a friendly oversize elf would make it easier.”
Patrick remained glued to his chair and listened as she meandered on.
“But at least they’re leaving me alone now. They think Sebastian is a by-product of my diseased brain and is therefore acceptable.”
Patrick managed a faint, “I’m sorry.” In the far corner of the room their classmates tried in vain to eavesdrop.
“Don’t be sorry. Grown-ups don’t know everything.”
“You mean you’re not really dying?”
Max was touched by the look of genuine concern on his face. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m toast. I meant that Sebastian is real. No one else gives my life meaning.”
Sebastian forgot about his tie, not noticing as it fell neatly in place. He faded into his chair, not wanting Max to see his tears.
If you have the inclination…
This is very different from what I usually read, but it is fascinating to see life...or death...from this perspective.
The silence in the library is always very loud!
I love the way the story is progressing.
And, of course, death is very greedy. BTW, so is the Creator!