Ghost Town Mantra

The tire swing always swung eerily, squeaking as the wind forced its direction to change slowly, back and forth. The swing marked the Ghost Maker’s territory; it was a quaint little park with all the usual forms of entertainment provided for children. There was the tire swing, for one, but then also a slide and a tree, the very best for climbing. And then a wide open field of grass cut off abruptly by trees and shadows. Just beyond the line of trees there was a lake, majestic but forgotten.

Legend has it that there was a man, so very young, just barely a man, who appeared in town one day asking for work. The locals gave him odd jobs. Odd job after odd job he finished with astonishing ease and finesse. The people were impressed, but wary. Something in the way he tipped his hat or maybe it was his half-smile the one full of promise to create mischief, something felt off. Something sent warning signals down their spines in the subtle tingle of a cold shiver.

It was months before his companion arrived. By then the towns people had accepted him, if slightly grudgingly. But, they’d all become familiar with his easy smile and helping hands, despite his tendency to walk up without so much as a sound. His dark hazel eyes were captivating, his light blonde hair working against his pale, defined cheekbones creating an aura of light battling the dark. His features create a picture of beauty, a fallen angel at constant war with himself.

His companion was no less bewitching. Her hair, dark and long, reached to her knees. Her smile mirrored his own, serene with a touch of malice. Her eyes were burning amber, showing unfathomable depths. Together they settled in nicely, only setting the people on edge faintly. There were no fully formed suspicions, just fleeting feeling of unease. If only they had known, if only they had acted. It’s quite a terrible thing, when people disregard their first instincts in order to preserve their comfort.

Years went by, and things continued to change at the small town slow pace they always had. But as children grew up and became parents themselves, the newcomers stayed the same. The flawless skin, the haunting eyes, everyone realized how unnatural the two actually were, something they'd been pushing to the back of their minds until then. No human could escape the toll of death, no one could side step the tale-tell signs of aging. And yet, the bright eyed fallen angels had. But nothing the two had done was any cause for alarm.

No one knows why they waited as long as they did to strike. Did they wait for one specific child? Or did they just want a more promising population? Maybe so, though, the more probable cause was the completion of the park. That great tire swing, the tree finally grown to its perfect height, the lake at an unearthly calm, any one thing could have set them off. The night it happened there was a tune coming from the park, the sound of a flute combined with a steady tap of piano keys.

The children were the first to wake up in a trance and walk dazed towards the sickeningly sweet music. By the time the adults followed suit, no more aware of their surroundings than their offspring, the Ghost Maker and his companion had already begun their work. The heirs, the essence of innocence, were standing in a line, mere feet away from the lake, expressions blank and eyes unblinking. The music carried a tranquilizing message, though unsettling through the foggy spell.

Welcome to my promise land, where all dreams are made. Distance is no obstacle, and nirvana is obtained. The wise overcome their foolishness and the fools become the sane. Honesty’s not policy, you’re all in for the game. Standing on the edge of the lake, the silver reflection of the moon played against their hair, the two unearthly creatures stood waiting. For them, the fun had just started, the upcoming feast of human souls.

Slowly, marching in time with the intoxicating tune, the parents inhabiting the town fell into place behind their children. None of the people had their wits about them; their minds were enveloped in the false images of fantasy, pictures of wonder just a few feet away. The water seemed to be the source of the music, rather than the figures standing before it. It glistened, giving off sparks of silver light. In turn, the eyes of the entranced townspeople sparkled, the water already capturing their souls.

The song reached the height of its chorus, the wind whipped vigorously against the surrounding trees, slide and swing, not to mention the zombie humans standing together, yet so alone. They all felt the drowning terror as their souls were snatched from their bodies and taken hostage by the depths of the lake, but still they were trapped. No way to cry out, no way to stop the procession. The guardians, creatures of the water, watched hungrily, waiting to take their part of the bounty.

The bodies, the soulless inhabitance of the town were left standing, as the two graceful fallen angels saluted the people before disappearing into the great expanse of earth. One by one, the bodies moved themselves, the drive of instinct they’d ignored before now the only thing able to guide them. Back to their houses and beds, their lights left off, waiting for the morning to come, though it would be so unlike the rest they’d experienced. For they wouldn’t experience it at all, they were living without the most important piece of themselves, which is not living at all.

To this day the ghosts, the witnesses and the shells the water left behind, they all remember. They all chant a mantra to the same tune. I’ll never forget. I could never forget. I have seen him, I have seen the depths of the world, the water; I have lived while he is yet living. The Ghost Maker, I have felt him and he has taken my feelings, I shall never forget. They can never live in reality, never leave their town, never move on or share warning. They are trapped in the Ghost Maker’s grasp. Infinity knocks at their doorstep, as the fallen angel himself moves on to capture another world, companion just paces behind. And still the tire swing swings, the only warning to be heard.