Winter Wakes

The day of my second possession began like most others since I had stumbled upon Simon Dreyton; overshadowed by threats of violent acts.

Three days had passed since my mope-fest in my room on that snowy morning. In those three days, unlike the usual, Simon didn’t once leave the house. He was there, hovering over me, staring out the window, and tossing books or insults, whichever he fancied more at the moment. And I was there with my obnoxiously slow recovery from a sprained wrist, fighting the constant headache he seemed able to bring out in me, and trying not to do anything that could provoke him. Of course, I didn’t try quite as hard as I should have. Continuing to sing along to Kanye West’s Heartless after a few impolite demands to cut it out was ended upon Simon shoving a sock I’d worn the day before into my mouth. Let’s not talk about how disgusting and appalling that was. The taste of a sweaty sock is something I’ll never forget. The smell and the taste seemed to be perpetually stuck in my system.

I retched slightly as I was folding my laundry; a crumpled white sock was attached to one of my sweaters. I peeled it off, trying to make as little contact with it as possible.

“I used to like doing laundry, you know,” I muttered as I tossed the horrifying thing across the bed, where a pile of its mix-matched brethren were. I was kind of dreading sorting through those once I finished the stuff that lay before me.

Simon sat at the window seat, not bothering to lift his eyes from the copy of The Great Gatsby, “Well that makes you the perfect little housewife, now doesn’t it?”

“And you’re the exact replica of the husband who thinks household chores are below him. Considering that you’ve probably never so much as lifted a broom or even boiled water I’d say I’m pretty dead on, huh?”

I glanced up in time to duck the small paper back that had been chunked viciously at my head. I stuck my tongue out at him like the mature adult I was, “Missed.”

But the small, fat hardback that impacted my forehead was a different story.

“Odd. It looks to me like I made a direct hit,” He stated mockingly.

I breathed heavily into the comforter of my bed, massaging my forehead with the hand that was sandwiched in between it and the bed. When was I going to realize that my smart-ass mouth was going to do more damage than good in this situation? Actually, I knew that. But when was I going to start acting upon that knowledge? Beats me.

“If I have brain damage, it’s your entire fault.”

“Just like your phobia of socks,” He stated assuredly.

I longed for the days he wasn’t always here. Those vanishing acts, with no knowledge of where he was going would be a nice reprieve. But, that thought brought a few questions I hadn’t asked back into my mind. My wrist was still wrapped, but clearly getting better. It didn’t hurt as badly as it had originally when I pushed myself off my bed to get a good look at Simon. Still on the window seat, his arms were crossed over his chest, gaze looking out at the still-white yard and woods behind my house. The snow had stopped two days ago, only to be replaced by something a little more hazardous: freezing rain. Fallen tree limbs and broken power lines were just a part of the problem. The roads were all but useable, classes canceled until the danger was at least lessened. These were the charms of the Northeast.

“When I was alive I’d never be inside on days like this.”

I held back the questions that were bubbling up in my chest. Simon’s words for some reason stopped me from attempting to pry into the chaotic turmoil that was his existence after death. He appeared thoughtful and serene as he watched the scenery outside, one of his many facets that I wasn’t accustomed to; the one I didn’t want to break. Lightly put, I was awed. There was nothing harsh in his gaze, nothing maddening. Even his figure appeared sincerely relaxed as he reclined against the wall behind him, shoulders not rigid or remotely stiff. But his face was what really captivated me. Even when he was angry he possessed a terrifying beauty, I had always regarded those ice-colored eyes of his as stunning, if not horrifying. But this, this was different.

His pale, tranquil features appeared marble smooth; an air-brushed quality had taken hold of him. The peaceful look did more for him than any other yet had. The white-blonde hair haloed around his face brought the resemblance of an angel contrary to my prior comparisons. His appearance at that moment seemed so fitting, so captivating. The air of gentleness—odd as it may seem—that surrounded him didn’t seem so strange. It seemed right. As though buried under the layers of anger, madness, even below the pain I had initially thought was his real self, was something rarely released but somehow truer to who he really was than those biting outer shells. In that moment of watching him, I felt more like an aesthete than I imagined most people ever would. Simon had always been captivating, but this was beyond any spectrum I could have fathomed.

Then I felt a slight twinge of pain; there was a problem with this. No matter how sincere this part of Simon appeared it would sooner or later retreat behind the guises of violence and anger. What could have been dubbed his kryptonite was becoming more and more clear as the days passed; I couldn’t doubt what seemed to be a strong aversion to appearing vulnerable in the ghost boy.

“There’s a huge hill in my backyard, I’m not talking about these mole-hills most people consider huge, I mean a fucking hell of a drop. Even in the summer its slope is dangerous. Oliver and I learned that the hard way when we were ten and we decided we wanted to get to the creek that was at the bottom,” He shook his head with a soft smile. “Mom and dad were so pissed. I had to get ten stitches in the back of my head, Ollie broke his leg. It wasn’t until six years later we got up the balls to go anywhere near it again. And that was the first time we tried sliding down it, on a snowy December day. Going down that hill is still the fucking scariest thing I’ve ever done. Hell, we did it every year but that didn’t mean it didn’t scare the shit out of us every time. This would have been the first chance this winter for us to try it, if…”

The unspoken end of that last sentence hung just as heavily in the air as if the words had fallen from his lips; if he wasn’t dead, if his brother wasn’t in a coma. What an absolutely tragic pair. What pitiable fates.

“He’s only in a coma, right?”

Simon looked over at me, almost as if I was the semi-transparent one.

“There’s a chance he’ll wake up isn’t there? I mean, he’s still brea—“

The doorbell cut off my words like an unnoticed relative barging their way into a private conversation. I peered through the doorway of my bedroom towards the stairs. This was extremely unexpected. The second ring echoed through the house, piquing my curiosity.

“Shouldn’t you go answer that?” Simon drawled behind me.

I gave him a sharp scowl, “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“Well then I guess it’s a good thing I’m already dead.”

“You’re such a cheeky bastard,” I growled, stepping out of the confines of my room into the dark-wood paneled hallway. The soles of my feet didn’t appreciate the cool surface of the hardwood floors after coming off my plush carpet. A wave of goose-bumps rose on my legs beneath my flannel pajama pants due to the slight chill.

By the third doorbell ring I was halfway down the stairs. Whoever it was seemed determined to get someone to answer. I wondered how long before they tried to kick the door in.

As usual, that one stair every house has creaked as my body weight pressed on it momentarily. I jumped the bottom stair, landing on the floor with a slight thud before rebalancing myself to answer the door. The cold knob turned easily in my palm.

“Maggie don’t answer—“

As the cold rush of winter air hit me an uncontrollable gasp hitched in my throat. The jolt of shock that coursed through me left me standing dumbly at my open door. It wasn’t the cold that was the problem, although it nipped cruelly at my exposed arms and toes; it was the person standing before me.

An awkward Darren shift his weight from one leg to the other on my front steps, watching me, brown eyes heavy with apprehension. There was the source of my frozen movements.

“You’re at the wrong place,” I managed to swallow my shock, substituting it with a monotone voice. “Chassie’s house is that way.”

I stiffly pointed back down the frozen road, the way he had come from. Guilt seemed to drip from him as he remained where he was, looking as though I’d kicked his puppy or something. Every second I looked at him though, all I could see was him sucking my best friend’s face in Little Shogun that miserable night. As though he had any right to be giving me that look.

“I just think we need to talk,” He muttered, scratching the back of his head. “Can I come in?”

“No,” Simon and I’s voices simultaneously deadpanned.

At least there was one thing we agreed on.

Darren gave me an almost pitiable look, “Maggie, please. This is so important.”

“Look, I thought I made it pretty clear in the message I sent you. There’s nothing to talk about,” My disgust at his persistence was starting to rise. Hadn’t he heard of bowing out gracefully?

“Just, how did you find out?”

I didn’t feel the need to dignify that question with an answer. I sincerely didn’t want him standing on my front steps, looking at me as though he was the victim. I was honestly hurt by this whole incident, but right now the anger that came with betrayal was holding a bit more pull.

“I saw it. How the hell else did you expect me to find out, huh?” I snapped bitterly. My teeth began to chatter as I watched him angrily, it was too cold to be wearing just this and standing with the door open. I hadn’t removed my hand from the doorknob since I’d opened it to see just who was persistently ringing my doorbell. It took only a split second to decide it was time to close it again. “Bye.”

The door impacted something a little too early for it to be the actual doorframe, the gap between the two objects that left a cold rush of air streaming in ascertained that. What kept it open you ask? The dirty toe of Darren’s converse proved an effective wedge. Concluding that was the source of the problem, I could only stand dumbfounded wondering why.

Tanned fingers wrapped around the upper part of the door, pushing it open slightly. Next to appear was shaggy chestnut hair, dark eyes following soon after. The aloofness of this situation should have already been affirmed, why it didn’t really hit me until then must have been due to pure ignorance. That look in his eyes I had become acquainted with a few days ago thanks to the other being that was standing in the same proximity. But this was a little different. When I had seen it in Simon, I had worried, perhaps been a little shocked, but nothing more. In this moment, the feeling that hit me as I realized that there was a crazed glint dancing in Darren’s eyes could be described as nothing short of pure, undiluted terror.

“Maggie…”

“I don’t think we were quite done talking yet,” Darren stated in a quietly sinister tone. It felt as though my heart dropped in my chest, plummeting like a bowling ball off the side of a cliff. With Simon, I knew he wouldn’t do anything to seriously harm me. I may have slightly feared him, but he would never intentionally do any serious damage to me. In this moment a total stranger stood in my door way, barring me from denying him entry. This wasn’t the Darren I had known for the past two years. This person scared the living hell out of me.

“Maggie, there’s something wrong here,” Simon stated cautiously behind me. I could feel his cool presence; he was a lot closer than he had been minutes before.

“Darren, I think you need to leave,” My command came out in a squeak rather than the determined tone I had hoped to have.

He barked out a sharp laugh, shaking his head, “No, no, no, Maggie. I should be the one dishing out the orders right now. I get you’re hard-headed, but in this situation I thought even you would step back from that. You have guts though, but that won’t do you any good right now. So let’s talk. Can we do that, Maggie?”

“In this… situation?” My head seemed to spin, I didn’t understand this. “In this situation? I was the one who dumped you. What the hell is wrong with you? Just leave, okay?”

I gave the door a rough shove, but to no avail. Darren’s grin twisted maliciously as he stood on the other side.

“So we’re gonna pretend that’s what this is about? The breakup? Come on, baby, cut the bullshit,” He shoved against the door; I stumbled, managing to maintain a hand on the doorknob. I realized the door had barely budged when he pushed against it, it should have fully opened. I knew he could have easily thrown it all the way open when I was the only one on the other side. The cold hand on my trembling shoulder reminded me though; I really wasn’t the only one on this side. One quick glance was enough for me to see a pale hand pressed against the door above me.

“Babe, let’s not play these games,” I felt another push; it barely budged once again but I still couldn’t help but flinch slightly. “Who’re you gonna tell, huh?”

“Darren, stop, you need to leave. Please, just go away,” I pleaded. This entire situation was way above my head, just like much of everything else I’d been facing lately. But this was much closer to home, out of the blue, and scary as hell. The next time the door was rammed into it pulled a whimper from me. Why was he doing this? What was going on here?

“You know this isn’t something that’s just gonna go away, Maggie. You know, and if you’ve told anyone you’re going to regret it!”

The next time he crashed into the door it moved more, Simon grunted, his grip on my shoulder tightened.

“Stop it, Darren!” I could even deny how hysterical I sounded. “I don’t know what you’re fucking talking about!”

“If you’d stop fucking lying this wouldn’t be so bad,” He roared back.

Then came the final impact, the one that actually did send the door flying open, me stumbling backwards. The impact that caused me to trip, falling backwards as the cold air and Darren exploded through the door. The cold hand secured around my waist as I fell brought no sense of reprieve from the panic; I’d go through him and hit the floor without a doubt. But the seconds seemed to move in slow motion; Darren was coming at me, behind me Simon was uttering a string of curse words, and the fall felt never ending. That was until I did impact something, something that seemed to pull me in like an inescapable sinkhole, something that was definitely not the floor. That something swallowed me whole, pulling me into a sea of blackness. The last distinctive image I was able to process was Darren coming at me with more than just a crazed look in his eyes.

It was murderous.