Not Flesh Nor Feathers (Eden Moore 3)

“No one’s coming. That’s just Nick. He won’t come in, I asked him to stay out. ”

She was flustered, though. Restless—like she’d been reminded of something unpleasant, and now she couldn’t forget it. I knew, though I didn’t know why, that she wasn’t talking about Nick. She didn’t care about him; she probably didn’t know about him.

Caroline looked directly at me, and she saw me this time instead of looking through me. Something about the nasty gleam in her eyes told me I’d have been better off otherwise.

You brought them here.

“Me? No. I didn’t bring anyone here. ”

They’re coming. You brought them.

“Who? Caroline, who? Work with me here. ” She came towards me, not slow, but not as fast as she could have. I backed away out of instinct or reflex. “Caroline, I didn’t bring anyone. Just Nick, and, and, I didn’t bring him. He brought me. ”

The TV armoire stopped me. I leaned against it.

She came up close, and she was angry. It wasn’t me, it was you!

It was an accusation, now. Not a suspicious guess.

Out, she breathed. She pushed the word against me, wanting to push herself, too. But ghosts so rarely have anything more than breath, if that. I wondered what she thought she’d do to back up the order.

“I only want to help. ”

Out!

She darted, flashed, and was gone. And the television beside me shattered.

My heart jumped; I moved too late. Gray glass sprayed across the room, grazing my cheek and scattering across the floor and the bed. The vanity mirror broke too—violently and with messy abandon, but into larger pieces than the TV screen. In the bathroom the shower curtain came toppling into the tub’s interior, and the toilet lid beat itself up and down.

I couldn’t see her, but she was everywhere. She tore the room with a whirlwind that shocked me; I’d never felt anything like it from the dead. At most, some of them would lift small things and leave small messages.

“Caroline!” I yelled, because the wind in the room was loud in my ears and it was only getting louder.

On the other side of the door I heard Nick again. He was knocking, beating. Wanting to know what was going on. Demanding that I let him in. Swearing. And if I heard right, there was someone else with him. I tugged at the door’s latch-like knob but it wouldn’t budge.

“Caroline, stop it!”

They are coming for me. They are coming for all of us.

“They who? Who’s coming for you?”

Into the wind she sucked up the big shards of mirrored glass, and the missing television remote scooted along the carpet. Pillows peeled themselves forward and twisted in the sheets on the bed. The chandelier lamp rocked back and forth, back and forth, and dropped. It bounced when it hit the bed, but rolled and fell and tinkled into pieces when it hit the floor.

I didn’t like the look of those shiny, long pieces of glass. I didn’t like the way they started to swirl, picking up momentum as if they were being wound up like a pitch, to be thrown.

It was a mistake! I heard her shriek, though I still couldn’t see her. It took away too much of her energy to manifest, and she had other uses for it. She would rather use it to terrorize me, and it was working.

When the first finger-wide slivers of mirror were flung, I ducked and they blasted themselves to dust on the wall behind me, and into the thick wood of the armoire.

“Caroline, this isn’t funny. Let me out. I’m not here to—”

Another round of missiles went sweeping my way. One stuck in my hair, and another cut a slice in my sweater. “All right, you want me out. I’m leaving. I’m leaving right now, but you’ve got to let me go—”

Next she chose the remote. It hit me in the head.

I dug the card key out of my back pocket. “Okay lady, you’re pissing me off. Knock it off, and I’ll get out of your hair!”

But Caroline didn’t care if I stayed or left, so long as she could hurt me.