Sequel: Summer Shadows

Winter Wakes

Three.

“…What happened?”

“She just collapsed into one of the flower displays.”

“Is she alright?”

“Wake up, stupid.”

I stifled a slight groan and attempted to lift my eyelids. It was a surprising struggle; they both felt like dead weights. It took three good attempts before I could get them fully open, and then I just wanted to close them again. The light above me was bright, all the figures around me were far worse than blurry. In a sleepy motion I lifted my arm to shield my eyes.

“Maggie? Maggie, are you alright?”

I didn’t know what was going on, or why there were so many people, but I recognized that voice. I knew that panicked sound anywhere, even when my mind was foggy and muddled.

“Dad?” I asked, moving my arm away from my eyes. I’d have to adjust to it eventually.

“Oh thank God. What happened, are you feeling okay?”

Opening my eyes for the second time was quite unlike doing so the first time; just seconds before. I suddenly found myself hyperaware of my surroundings. It wasn’t just what I was seeing; it was all my senses. I felt cold, my limbs heavy. Despite that a dull throbbing had started on the right side of my skull, and was steadily increasing. I could smell the perfume and cologne in the air as though all of the scents had been sprayed directly in my face, all at once. I knew immediately a fierce headache would shortly accompany the strange throbbing already growing in my head.

But it was the sight around me that was the strongest. Everything was now clear; perfectly so. The concern etched on my father’s slightly wrinkled face, the large crowd that consisted of a familiar couple standing at his side; the blonde woman looking frightened, concerned, and pained all at once. Then the dark haired man at her side with the chilling eyes, looking more irritated than anything. I could make out the familiar pattern of lights on the ceiling of the funeral home. And then, standing behind the couch, was the face that sent it all rushing back. He was framed by the lights behind him; radiant. Piercing ice colored eyes, skin shaded to almost match the white of his shirt, curly white-blonde hair, and a face colored with a look of pure displeasure. That was all it took to make me recall what had happened.

I couldn’t help but stare wide eyed up at him. It was all because of him.

“Mags? Mags, don’t zone out on me. What’s wrong?”

I quickly snapped out of my state of shock and horror, only to be greeted by a sudden surge of pain as I jerked my head over to see my dad. I winced, on a knee-jerk reaction reaching up to hold my throbbing head. It was too much; the unexplainable pain, the lights, the smells, and the shock.

I tried to ignore the inaudible whispers around me, but each sound felt like a jackhammer against my skull. My dad’s loud, frantic voice made it all the worse.

“Migraine,” I whimpered. I sat up somewhat unsteadily, I knew where I needed to go, but I wasn’t quite sure if I’d be able to make it on my own. It was nearly impossible to think due to the immense pain. My dad attempted to stop or steady me as I stood up shakily; I wasn’t sure which. “Dad, I need dark, and quiet. You know where I’ll be. I’m sorry for making a scene.”

I didn’t wait for a response before I stumbled across the room and through a door we kept shut throughout all the wakes. I accidentally slammed the door shut in my haste. The pain increased greatly at the following thud. I slid slowly to the floor, a pathetic sound escaping my throat. Each heartbeat seemed to cause a throb of pain. I lay curled in a ball on the floor of the pitch black preparation room, trying not to think at all. It hurt.

“Drama queen, aren’t we?”

Each word cut through my skull like a newly sharpened knife. I realized it wasn’t just my body that was shaking; even my breathing was ragged.

“What… do you want?” I tried to choke back a sob. I knew for once I didn’t have any medication on me. I’d checked my pockets before I ironed the pants and hadn’t bothered to replenish my stock. Stupidity always paid off.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

I gritted my teeth. I wanted him to shut up. Was it really not more blatantly clear I was in pain, and wanted privacy and quiet?

“Please go away,” I muttered into my arms.

I heard his footsteps clack on the hardwood floor; each step was a shockwave to my head. I didn’t know ghosts had footsteps for one, let alone ones that were so undeniably loud. I was more than relieved when they stopped.

The relief quickly vanished as my head was jerked up by my hair. I inhaled sharply at the shock of pain it caused. My scalp was tender from whatever I had fallen into a little while before. There were tears stinging in the corners of my eyes as I was forced to look up into his face.

The scary thing was, even in the pitch black of the room he seemed to give off a slight glow. I could see every part of him just as clearly I could out in the parlor area.

“I. Am. Dead.” He snarled. “And for some reason you’re the only person who can see me. So no, don’t expect me to leave you alone anytime soon.”

As soon as he released his grasp on my hair I collapsed right back onto the floor, gasping. Physical anguish and mental confusion don’t mesh well; both at the hands of a dead boy.

“Can we discuss this when my head doesn’t feel like it’s about to explode?” I pleaded weakly.

He scoffed, “Discuss what? As far as I’m concerned you don’t have any say in the matter. I’ll be around from now on. Get used to it.”

“Whatever, just go away, please,” I couldn’t take hearing his voice. I couldn’t take noise. His violent jerking of my head had made it all just about a thousand times worse. I needed quiet. I needed every pulse of blood to not be magnified to the point of pain.

What could have been seconds, minutes, or possibly hours passed. I heard no sounds. It was silent. I couldn’t tell you if I dozed off or not; nor how much time slipped by as I lay on the cold floor of the preparation room. I didn’t open my eyes. At some point the pain had started to dull, and subsided.

I let the minutes slip by just to make sure it was really gone and not going to make a sudden, unwanted comeback. Almost certain, my impatience made it impossible to wait any longer to move. I managed to push myself into a sitting position as I kept my eyes squeezed shut. I was happy to note moving didn’t bring the pain back. My eyes were the next thing to work. The gratuitous feeling that came with being able to move vanished as soon as I opened them.

He was there. Bent down, all of his weight appeared to be on the balls of his feet as his arms rested on the knees of his kaki pants. He watched me steadily as I felt anything that might have resembled glee slip from my face. He was still there.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to decide to move your lazy ass.”

Bastard.

“I told you to go away,” I shot back angrily.

He sneered, “And I told you to get used to it.”

“Why are you still here?” Oh how witty I was. What do you say to a dead guy, really?

“Why is an annoying brat like you the only one who can see me?” His voice was even as he fired back at me. Touché.

It was shocking to realize this thing was actually making me angry. Things usually irritated, or annoyed me. But hardly ever nowadays did something genuinely piss me off. I debated briefly throwing something at him, but I decided against it. It’d probably go right through him.

I let out a frustrated sigh, pushing myself off the ground into a standing position. My eyes landed on his strange glowing presence which remained in the same squatted position, “Go to hell.”

“I wish,” He smirked up at me briefly before standing and taking a step towards me. I firmly stood my ground, ignoring the burning desire to step back. Actually, I was forced to stand my ground since I was basically up against the door.

“Look, brat. You’re the only person who can see me. So I’m sticking with you. It’s going to happen. So just fucking get used to the idea.”

“Fuck this,” I glared up at him. “Have you seen The Exorcist? I’m calling a damn priest if your ass sticks around.”

He was kind of menacing as he took another step forward that time, and stood dauntingly over me, kind of. It wasn’t until he lowered his head to the same level as mine, and squeezed my cheeks in his hand that I was willing to admit; he was somewhat frightening, and painful. If he was solid enough to touch me maybe throwing something at him would work.

“Try it,” He said quietly. “And I’ll make your neck twist 360 degrees.”

I felt my legs trembling then, and he obviously noticed. With a satisfied smirk he released my face, and went back to towering over me.

I swallowed, managing to narrow my eyes at him, “So, since you’re going to be hanging around what should I call you, Lucifer?”

The hate in his gaze was undeniable.

“Cute,” His voice was scarily calm. “And it’s Simon, brat.”

“MY name isn’t brat, its Maggie, you asshole,” I snapped.

“Funny, I don’t recall asking or caring.”

If he wasn’t already dead, I probably would have killed him. And if it wasn’t true, I probably would have laughed at the irony of that statement. Welcome to my new life; existing with the dead and violent Simon Dreyton. I’m still trying to recall what exactly I’ve done to piss God off that much.
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"We're more than carbon and chemicals
We are the image of the invisible
"
-Thrice