Winter Wakes

“I’m cold,” I whispered between gritted teeth.

“Deal.”

I shut up after that, glancing around at everyone else gathered round the open grave. There were a lot of people; again mostly young and recognizable from the wake the previous evening. A few shot me strange looks before focusing back on the service-like situation at hand. A large flower arrangement lay on top of the casket, petals waving slightly in the breeze that continually nipped at the bare skin between my boots and the hem of the black skirt I wore. Simon had chosen my attire just as he said he would. I resented him for putting me in a skirt on a day like this one. My almost knee length black coat did nothing to protect my legs.

I stood away from the crowd, to the side. I didn’t join because not only was I not part of those who had known the dead in life, but I wanted the ability to at least be able to speak to that very dead person, who was now following me incessantly. Standing in that crowd, someone would assume I was talking to myself and therefore crazy. Most here had witnessed my passing out the previous night; I didn’t want to give them something further to talk about.

Something was bothering me; surprisingly it wasn’t the fact someone dead was following me, or the abusive nature which this lost soul had. But yes, it did pertain to him. The previous night Simon had completely flipped his shit when I simply stated he was dead, engaging in assault, and threatening murder. But now we stood outside on this very cold morning witnessing his burial. I was finding it difficult to understand how I could have upset him with that simple statement, but watching his own funeral didn’t faze him at all. In fact, he was the one who had forced me to attend this. Was it just me or was that just a little hypocritical?

“Masochist,” I hissed under my breath.

“Why don’t you repeat that,” A cold voice demanded from behind me.

“You can watch them put you six feet under but you can’t take me calling you dead. There is no logic in that,” I whispered flatly. “Is this your sick way of getting closure or something? I mean you ARE dead, and I’m absolutely positive once you’re buried that deep there’s no return.”

I glanced over to be met with the cold glare I was becoming accustomed to; that being said I’m not going to lead you to believe it didn’t scare me, because it did.

“If you are insinuating that my sole motive for being here is to witness my own burial you are sorely mistaken and a complete moron. After last night’s reaction to that comment you are extremely dense if you think I want to be here.”

“So why are you here?” I huffed. “Why am I here?”

“Because I need to talk to my mother.”

I didn’t have to hear it twice to understand what he meant, “You mean you’re going to make me talk to your mother for you.”

Something icy snaked around the back of my neck, and I felt the pressure of two cold fingers press into either side of my throat. I winced slightly as the pain increased.

“From now on, we’re going to play Simon Says,” He squeezed a little harder. “And if you don’t do what Simon Says, the consequences aren’t as simple as losing the game, got it?”

As a child I had been the Simon Says master. Usually because winning involved getting candy or losing involved something gross like eating a worm. That being said I also know it was a tool used by adults to train kids to be obedient and do as they’re told. I was, and still am, by all standards a good child. But this, now this was pushing my limits. I was never really defiant, not at least outwardly. Simon here and his insane game of Simon Says might give me some problems. I do distinctively dislike pain, but my god there are some things I refuse to do. I may be willing to risk those consequences.

“Have I mentioned I passionately hate you?” My only retort.

Bluntly, “Have I mentioned I really don’t care?”

I didn’t get out a come back as I noticed the attendees of the service begin to shift about, mingling and preparing to give their final condolences to Simon’s parents. His fingers suddenly vanished from my neck before I felt myself being shoved forward. I stumbled slightly in my boots before regaining my balance; some people stared at me like a moronic klutz.

I attempted to cement myself to that spot, “What exactly am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, your dead son is following me around, and he wanted me to talk to you.’ You’re trying to get me admitted to a psych. Ward, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t it just be easiest for you to walk over there without picking a fight with a ghost and causing a scene?” He growled. I didn’t say anything as I quickly stepped over to a tree a few feet away before crossing my arms and leaning back against it. It was even cooler in the shade, but I’ll be damned if I was going to give into this bastard.

“Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?”

I was far enough away to be out of earshot. To anyone who was looking at me it would appear I was smiling to myself instead of the unseen boy before me, “its part of my charm.”

“I doubt you’d know what charm was if it bit you in the ass,” His menacing tone matching the dangerous look in his eyes.

I narrowed my eyes slightly, “Right, because every girl but me would find it simply ‘charming’ to be slammed into a headboard and then nearly smothered to death.”

During the tension filled silence that followed I allowed my left arm to drop to my side, but held my right one across my chest, fingers gripping the fabric of my sleeve.

“You don’t understand what I’m going through, now dammit, get over there and tell her what I say.”

Idly I began drawing figures in small patch of dried dirt below me with the heel of my boot.
Sparse little places like that dotted around the tree, most of the cemetery was covered in dead brown grass though. I had no reason to do anything for him, aside from protect myself from potential harm. The purplish bruises wrapped around my wrists were testament enough to the damage he could do, the thought of them instead of weakening, actually strengthened my resolve not to do this. Long sleeves hid them well enough from the rest of the world, but I could feel them.

“I have no reason to,” I replied in a soft voice, careful to maintain my focus on my dirt drawing and not to look up at his face.

Something chilling grabbed onto my dangling wrist, I managed not to wince or jerk out of surprise and pain. Strangely the grip wasn’t aggressive or tight, it seemed as though it wasn’t meant to inflict any harm.

“I need you to do this, Maggie, please.”

That time I did jerk my arm. It wasn’t out of resentment, hatred, or fear. It hadn’t been his touch that had made me do so. It was out of shock; it had been his tone, and his words.

There was an underlying sadness in his desperate tone, something I hadn’t thought him capable of. And he had said my name, which he had yet to speak, as well as uttered the word “please.” This was not anger, this was not hatred from him, this was a plea.

In less than a second those thoughts had run through my head, and simultaneously I had realized I hadn’t just pulled my arm to me; Simon came attached, appearing to have lost his balance. I shortly tried to prepare for impact knowing that since he would collide with me, I
would go down. As his surprised face came at my own, there was no impact. Everything simply vanished.

****

It was the irritating pain in my neck that brought me back to reality, or back to consciousness. Even in a sleepy stupor I could see the cause of the pain as I straightened my neck up. I had been sleeping with my head on the burgundy couch, my body sitting on the hardwood floor of my living room. The angle my neck had been at was a clear cause of the irritating sensation. I rubbed it gingerly as I pushed myself off the ground, realizing as I stood and almost toppled back over that I was still in the boots I had worn to the funeral; not only that but even my coat was still on.

Hazy thoughts from my recently awakened state suddenly began to swirl in chaotic madness. How had I gotten from the funeral to my house? I glanced swiftly around the room, looking for any clue to what was going on, and my eyes settled on a familiar figure sitting cross legged in a chair watching me silently.

“You,” I pointed at him accusingly. “How the hell did—“

The front door opening out in the hall quickly silenced me, as it was followed by a swift slamming sound. Footsteps accompanied my father’s voice out in the hall, “Maggie?”

I dropped my arm to my side as he turned the corner. I tried to greet him with a smile, but the notion quickly left me once I got a good look at his face. It was the look every parent gives their child, leaving the kid wondering what the hell they’ve done now. I most certainly was baffled, and less than willing to hear what I was being charged with. I didn’t remember anything after I’d blacked out in the graveyard, so whatever happened was at least in my mind, not my fault.

“Um, Dad? Is something wrong?” I hoped the confusion came through as I spoke.

“Maggie, just what exactly did talk about with Mrs. Dreyton?” His voice was painfully strained as he spoke. I was thoroughly befuddled by his words as I stood in front of my couch, trying to recall having done that which I was accused of. Nope. Not getting anything.

“Tell him not to worry about it, he’ll understand shortly,” Simon stated in a calmly from where he sat. As of now I had nothing else to go on, just what he said. Clearly he knew what had happened and I found myself itching to get it out of him. But I couldn’t here, not right now.

Right now I had no choice but to play Simon Says. I had no choice; because this was one conversation I could not bullshit my way through. I repeated what he told me, yet it remained cryptic as to what had happened through the conversation. With Simon’s help I managed to get my dad to drop it, and trudged up to my room with my ghostly stalker in my wake. I shut the door behind me, making sure I heard the click of the lock before I turned to face the boy standing near my window. So many questions were running through my head all at once, mostly pertaining to what had happened, but a good part of me was wondering about the now calm air that surrounded him. I didn’t understand it as opposed to the dangerous foreboding one that I was used to.

“Simon, I think you should tell me what’s going on,” I said cautiously.

His aquamarine eyes lit up with amusement as a smile curved his lips upward. He bowed slightly waving his hands in the direction of my bed in mock politeness, “Sit down, brat. I’ll give you some of the answers you want.”