Not Flesh Nor Feathers (Eden Moore 3)

“That’s all right. Start with what you’ve got. ”

“There are people coming out of the river—dead people. Some of them are wrapped in chains, and some of them are all blackened and wet, like they were burned and then soaked. They look like they dug their way out of hell and into the Tennessee River. So they’re wrapped up in these chains, and they’re using them as weapons, sometimes. They’re swinging them at people, using them like whips—” he made an Indiana Jones flip with his wrist. “And they’re pulling people under. They’re dragging people down. ”

“And you saw this? You saw them?”

He nodded vigorously, as if by sheer sincerity he could convince me. “I saw one of them, more up close and personal than I would have liked. He was standing in knee-deep water over near the aquarium. I saw him, and he was huge—he was just insanely tall and black. Not black like a black person,” he clarified quickly, but changed his mind. “Or, I don’t know, maybe he was a black guy. It was hard to tell. He was all burned up, with his skin all cracked around the edges and this gray tissuey- looking stuff underneath, showing through in the places where the skin peeled away. And his eyes. Jesus. They were dead. I thought maybe he was just a crazy homeless nutter until I saw his eyes, under the streetlamp. ”

“Okay,” I said, bobbing my head slowly, trying to think and finding the task difficult. “Okay. So the ghost of a burned-up dead guy. ”

“No!” he said it loud, and quick. It startled me. “No, not a ghost. Caroline in there—” Nick pointed out towards the hall. “Caroline’s a ghost. I may not have ever properly seen one, but I’ve got an idea of what they’re supposed to look like, and that thing—that guy down by the river—he was no ghost. ”

I thought about arguing with him, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t be worth my trouble.

“This was no ghost. This was something solid, something with real strength. It was a monster. It was swinging that big rusty chain and I could hear it creaking and wet, splashing around and crashing through windows. Ghosts don’t do shit like that. They can’t do shit like that, right? That’s what you always tell people. The dead can’t hurt you. The dead are just dead. They’re not anything to be afraid of. Well, I hate to tell you this, but those things out there, they’re dead. And they are going to kill everyone they can reach. ”

He seemed to have run out of steam, so I took a deep breath and waited another beat, another second, just to be sure. “They,” I said slowly. “You said ‘they’—but you only saw one?”

“No, I saw two. But the other one, I didn’t realize what she was, not until I was up close to her. Not until I was right on top of her. I tried to help her. I thought she was in trouble. ”

“So the other one’s a woman?”

“I don’t think you’re getting it. ” He swore under his breath. “I could hear them, and I could see the shapes squirming up out of the water, wriggling out of the riverbed like turtles or eels or rats. I saw the girl because I tried to help her, because I didn’t know any better. She didn’t need any help, and she didn’t want any. ”

“What did she want? What did this woman—”

“Not a woman,” he interjected. “A girl. A little girl, or not a very big one, anyway. She was maybe ten or twelve, tops. And half of her face was all burned away, and one of her arms, and maybe more of her. It was dark, though, and I didn’t see her in time to realize it. ” He rubbed his hands together, squeezing his fingers tight, trying to think. “And, and, she was wearing a little yellow dress. I think it was yellow. It might have just been old and got yellowed-looking, like old clothes do. It had a pattern on it, once. Flowers, or maybe butterflies. ”

“All right. Now we’re getting somewhere,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure. “You’re a news man. You’ve got a head for details. Give them to me. Tell me more, about what they were wearing and what they were doing. ”

“That’s all I can think of. ”

“No it’s not. Do your goddamn job, Nick. Report. Report to me. Call it like you saw it. Leave nothing out, because any little thing could help. What was the tall guy wearing? Did their clothes look like they fit any particular historical period? Did they say anything? Did they seem to be looking for something? Someone? What do they want?”

“I don’t know!” he nearly shouted, which was almost painful in the close space. “I don’t know,” he repeated, but I could see that the wheels in his head were turning, even as he denied it.

“Think,” I commanded, though the command was frail and needed a nap.

“I’m—I’m thinking the clothes looked old, but, Jesus, I couldn’t tell you how old. Maybe a hundred years? I didn’t see any women in hoop skirts or bustles, but then again, I didn’t see any women—just the girl and the man. Men’s clothes—it’s harder to tell. He was wearing pants, not jeans. And suspenders. I remember seeing a suspender hanging down, unhooked. The girl was just wearing a smock, you know. A little girl’s smock, one piece, with little buttons on the front. Yellow. And . . . ” he closed his eyes. “And she wasn’t very dark-skinned, but I’m pretty sure she was black. Her hair was braided up like little girls do, you know. Or maybe it was just the burned-off skin showing through. Fuck, I don’t know. ”

“Keep going, you’re doing good. What else?”

“What else? I got the impression they were looking for something. Well, my first impression was that they were crazed zombies bent on wreaking havoc, but now I think they were looking for something. ”

“Something? Or someone?”

“Maybe. It’s hard to say. They were swinging chains and groaning. ”

“Groaning? You didn’t mention any groaning. So they weren’t talking or anything?”

“No. Not talking, not exactly. Wheezing, maybe. Groaning, yeah. They didn’t make much noise. They were mostly breaking things and killing people. Everything else was making all the noise. ”

I wiped a stray curl or two off my face and leaned back against the elevator wall opposite Nick’s spot. I slid down until I was sitting, and he did the same, mirroring my knees-up pose. “If they’re dead, they shouldn’t have these bodies left to manipulate. They shouldn’t be walking anywhere, not in flesh. You’re right and wrong about Ca

roline, though. She’s a ghost, but she’s got something funny about her, too. She’s got something in common with these things. She’s got physicality on her side, and I don’t know how or why. ”

It was his turn to look confused. “Physicality? Like what?”

“Like she can move things. Interfere, and interact. Throw shit and break things,” I wound down. “I’ve never encountered that before. Before Caroline, all the dead folks I knew were just voices and shadows. They were leftovers, with no bodies left and no power to affect the physical world. But Caroline can. And those things you’re talking about, apparently they can. And assuming you’re right, and they’re dead, this is definitely a strange and bad thing. ”