I was sent to a psychiatric hospital experiencing a “haunting”.
It was one of those old school places that looks like a mansion out of a horror movie, a place that people spend a great deal of money to get access to.
As usual, I was handed a folder and USB drive full of research the investigative team had already completed.
This building had a series of unused sub-levels from the bad old days and an honest to god death tunnel.
The dead don't bother me so I snuck in through the external hatch, where they used to occasionally remove the bodies.
I'll skip the gory details if you don't mind and get right to setting up camp in the unused administrative office in the abandoned sub-level.
Ears aching, neck hairs standing up, gooseflesh, like a cold spark pulsing through the whole place.
I disguised myself as maintenance before grabbing my toolkit and heading up the stairs.
The drywall dust only served to make my appearance more convincing.
I did odd jobs around the place, listening, gathering intel.
Patients escaping their rooms was too common to narrow down, but talk of a frozen swimming pool pointed me in the right direction.
I had to be close.
Walking down a wide, empty hallway, I heard something plink and stopped.
“You dropped a button,” a husky voice said.
I looked down and saw, sure enough, a button on the linoleum behind me.
As I bent to pick it up, I got a look at the feet of the being who'd spoken to me.
It was about an inch off the ground, barefooted, skin dry as stone and cragged, spotted with brown and gray.
My heart rate was steady, my breathing normal, I chuckled to myself.
“Thank you,” I said as I stood up and saw the whole thing.
It was morbidly obese, pale and dry as a porcelain doll, and stark naked. Fat hid any discernible sex.
Long white hair floated around its head like a bleached anemone. Eyes were yellow surrounded by black and the mouth was little more than a horizontal slash.
No smell other than ozone.
“I haven't seen you around,” I said.
“Oh?” it said. “I'm new here.”
I held up the button.
“Thanks again, uh…Miss…ter?” I said, gazing expectantly.
“It's Doctor, actually,” it said, without moving its mouth, “Doctor Sharpe.”
“Thank you, Doctor Sharpe, then.”
I turned and started to walk away.
When you encounter an entity during a haunting, they typically want to be seen.
The theory is that they literally feed on your strong emotions, your reactions.
“Wait a moment,” it said in a softer tone.
“Yeah?” I didn't turn around.
“Would you—like to play a game with me?”
I grinned and I'm sure it felt my elation.
“I thought you'd never ask,” I said and turned back to face it.
There was a table in between us that hadn't been there.
“Nice,” I said, running my hand over its obsidian smooth surface.
The entity was standing on the other side, no longer a floating ball.
White hair hung down its oval face, wearing the same yellow eyes but with a delicate nose and pink lips around the mouth.
Broad shoulders were draped with a white gown more appropriate for a gothic sleepover.
She was smiling, shaking her cupped hands as something jingled inside.
“What's your name?” she asked, showing her yellow teeth this time.
“Anderson,” I said, giving her an alias.
“I don't think so,” she said, tilting her head, her hair fluttering briefly to life.
My ears tingled, and my hair ruffled just a little under my hat.
A breeze ran down my sides to my feet, up my calves and thighs, met in my crotch, ran up my torso, by my chest, then split and went down both arms.
She knew me now.
Whether she'd be intrigued, confused, or angry remained to be seen.
“Ooh,” she said and that was all.
Coins clanged on the table as she opened her hands.
They were colored, shaped, and sized like American quarters but without the ridges.
“Take some,” she said.
“And keep your button out.”
I counted out four and slid them over in front of me.
Picking one up, I glanced over, “May I?”
Her yellow teeth smiled back as she nodded.
Dense, heavy in my fingers, like real metal.
Looked like cuneiform writing and instead of George Washington and an eagle, it was something like a lamprey's mouth on one side and a burning bush on the other.
“You can see?” she asked, squinting.
“Yeah,” I said. “A real beauty.”
And it's true. I've seen lots of manifestations and this one was extremely detailed and surprisingly solid.
In other words, this place was very, very tangled with the other.
I stacked the coins in front of me and put the button beside.
“So, Doctor Sharpe,” I asked. “What are the rules?”
Her hair twitched.
“Please call me Amelia,” she replied.
“Okay, Amelia,” I said. “Then you can call me Alex.”
She leaned in, asking, “Is that short for something.” While her hair started to writhe.
“Maybe,” I told her, visibly grinning.
I can play games, too. Sometimes, they like that.
She leaned back and I felt nothing but anticipation from her.
“You've already stacked the coins, I see.
“Put your button on top of them.”
I did as I was instructed.
When I looked over at hers, the table had a mock temple made of old cardboard tubes from toilet paper and paper towels.
I blinked a few times and it was still there.
Another thing about hauntings.
Even though we are tangled with another reality, there are still some things we aren't able to see.
Our brains can't interpret it.
As a safety mechanism, it'll hide things from us until they can happen when we aren't looking.
When you look away, when you turn your back, when you blink your eyes, then your brain lets you see the change.
You couldn’t see it happen. That's not possible.
So I blinked to make sure she was done modifying the table.
“You can go first, Alex,” she said.
“You have to use your finger to flick the button at the temple.
“The goal is to be the first person to knock it down.”
The button on her stack of coins glinted when I tilted my head.
“That hardly seems fair,” I said.
“What would you prefer?” she asked.
I looked down and saw my coins and button were replaced with food.
I looked up and the temple and everything was now desserts.
“First one to finish eating the temple?”
I picked up one of the pastries and took a bite.
Flaky, honey sweet, hint of pecan, powdered sugar on top.
“Extremely good job on these,” I said.
“They taste freshly baked.”
“I'm glad you like them,” she replied, the table now covered in sweets of all kinds.
Instead of eating more, I put it down.
When they give you food, you have no idea what you are actually eating.
You really don't want to know some of the things I've put in my mouth.
She frowned, bunching up her bottom lip.
Frustration.
“I thought you wanted to play?” she said.
“Actually, I'm down here because I heard about a frozen swimming pool.
“Was that you?”
Her hair danced.
“They really seem to like it,” she said.
“I'd like to see it, too, if that's okay.”
She pointed beside us.
“It's right there.”
And it was.
An Olympic sized swimming pool, frozen solid.
I could see people at the far end.
There was a faint impression of ice skaters, of Christmas trees, of carolers singing.
“Christmas,” I said.
I felt myself slipping into it, could smell hot cocoa and cookies, could feel a fireplace nearby.
“It is lovely,” I said before shaking myself out of the reverie.
“I cannot image how much effort that must have been to create for them.”
Her face was stoic, stern, but her yellow eyes were moist, red tears welled.
“They deserve it,” is all she said before she and her entire table slid into the floor and vanished.
I hadn't felt malice or mischief, only remorse and pity.
I headed toward the crowd, the illusion playing at the edges of my senses, eager to pull me back in coming in waves with a dull thump each time.
As I got closer, I saw them pointing out on the ice, laughing and hugging, pretending to drink mugs of coffee or cocoa that were real to them.
And the thumps got louder and louder.
In fact, the thumps were so loud they had to be real.
I looked over the ice, underneath the illusion of kids ice skating and throwing snowballs, underneath the sleds and snowmen.
I saw something under the ice.
A black mass moving and pushing up and failing to find a way out.
It was desperate, I could feel that now that I knew it was there.
I went out on the ice to the shouts of the others telling me to get off because I wasn't dressed for it, to stay out of the way, to be careful, to be nice to the kids.
I knelt down and felt the ice.
It wasn't cold.
I still had my toolkit. No axe, but a hammer and a flat-head screwdriver might do.
I started tapping, chiseling, then banging.
The others were angry now, yelling that I was putting their kids in danger, that if I wanted to fish I'd have to wait until after the kids were done playing.
The “ice” chipped like old concrete until I had a hole big enough to stick a hand through, an arm.
It was only an inch thick.
I had no idea how it was even holding my weight.
The water was a syrupy but I waved my hand as much as I could until the black mass saw me and swam toward me.
The “ice” bulged up under its pressure but wouldn't break.
I pulled my arm out of the hole and pressed my ear to it instead.
“Free me, please,” whispered.
“Free me, please,” again and again.
Hope and fear in equal measure came from whatever it was.
At this point, I had an idea of what was down there and I hoped my hormones would keep me safe.
I hammered and hammered, hearing her voice from the water the whole time, hearing the people screaming, begging me to stop, but unwilling to come out on the ice.
Until it was a hole big enough for a person to climb out of, or be pulled into.
I put both arms in the slushy water and told her to come to me.
The black mass was already underneath and I felt its weight.
I felt its urgency and its hesitancy.
I felt it taste me, a tingle running through both arms all the way to my core.
It pulled slightly before reversing and allowing me to pull it up.
It resembled a horse, a bundle of wet grass, a pile of stones, a hag, a maiden, until it was simply a woman with green skin and seaweed for hair.
I'd been so fascinated that I was able to see the transformations, the shifting, the refocusing of reality with my own eyes that I didn't hear the crowd's crying until it was over.
The water sprit pierced my soul with a glance, looking me up and down.
“Hmmph!” the green woman said, shaking her head.
“Oh,” I said, putting my right hand over my heart and raising my left hand in a symbol involving the first and second fingers as well as the pinky and thumb.
“By the secret name inscribed on my soul, I release you from any and all obligations borne of this transaction.”
That got her attention.
“Thank you,” she said reaching a trembling hand toward my face.
I did not pull away as she touched my cheek.
She had tropical lagoons for eyes, like a warm bath, like a mother's embrace.
It was another glamour, of course, but I allowed it, almost against my will.
Almost.
I was on a beach. The ocean's roar behind me like an out of tune radio.
She was in front of me, wearing a Tahitian pāreu, fragrant flowers in her thick, black hair, brown skin instead of green.
“I'm so tired of the snow and ice, so tired of Christmas,” she said, looking up at the sky and squinting.
I heard music, singing, like a choir but it was just her laughing as she spun in place.
“I'm free!” she sang.
“You freed me.”
She stopped spinning and faced me again.
She was getting closer but not walking.
“Why did you reject your prize?”
She was circling me but also still standing in front of me.
I felt her eyes all over me, I felt her probing me.
The sky turned to storm clouds.
I looked down, closed my eyes, to avoid her million eyes.
I answered, “You tell me.
“By now, you know me at least as well as I know myself.”
The sun returned.
“You aren't like the men and women I normally meet,” she sang.
I felt the urge to lift my head, a gentle breeze stroking my chin.
“Please look at me,” she pleaded.
I took a deep breath, faced her, opened my eyes, and saw her.
She was beautiful, of course, like a live action Nani Pelekai?
My heart fluttered as if she was my first true love and heat flooded out to my hands and feet.
I wobbled, nauseated, like I might stumble or fall to my knees.
“You do have a heart, after all,” she sang, “and I see how it beats.”
I felt the warm breeze circling around my ankles, looked down, saw myself clearly for the first time.
I, too, was dressed in a bright pāreu, barefoot, dark skin.
Not my body.
I tested my muscles to see how real I was: toes, feet, calves, knees, thighs, pelvis, stomach.
Wait.
Something was different.
I went numb.
Something was different.
Impossible, but as real as my own flesh.
My hands trembled, stomach racked with nausea, my legs buckled, I was on the ground, sand in my mouth and eyes.
Tears, great torrents and I couldn’t stop crying.
I couldn’t stop.
I heard her fluttering toward me.
“You refused my gift before I even offered.”
She paused.
“And it was because you thought you were doing me a favor.”
She put a steadying hand on my naked shoulder.
“That thing trapped me,” she said.
“It told me to give them their children back.
“I didn't even take their children.”
I heard her kneel down beside me.
I felt pity from her, pity but also longing.
I shivered at her breath in my ear.
“But you rescued me.”
I couldn't see her through my sobs.
I could barely hear her as I forced myself to remember this, to remember it.
The ocean was coming in. Not sure how I could tell, but it was coming in fast.
“Thank you,” she whispered, voice like an ice pick.
It was a phrase that carried power, when a fae speaks it is wise to consider that any words can be full of power and magic and gratitude, genuine gratitude, is powerful indeed.
Then I was lying on the false ice, lying in my own snot and tears, surrounded by grieving parents.
The sorrow, the emptiness, drove away whatever had been haunting the place. I could feel that almost immediately.
I carved some carefully designed sigils around at precise locations to help anchor against future resonance.
I went back out the same way I came in, hiked to my concealed vehicle, climbed inside, and cried for an hour.
I drove home in mute resignation of what I'd been allowed to experience.
I left the personal details out of my full report, but they've never left me.
And.
Sometimes.
When I dream.
Instead, I'm back on that beach.
I look out at the ocean, at the eternal cycle of waves in and out; at the horizon in the unreachable distance.
I hear singing.
But.
This time.
It's just the birds.
I feel the sand between my toes, I smell the brine, the seaweed, fruit trees in the distance.
I feel the warmth of the sun that never sets, the breeze that meanders along the water line.
I sit in the surf, rubbing my belly, savoring every sensation, marveling at what I should not have.
Waiting for her to come back.
So I can tell her, “thank you.”
But she never will.
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