The haunting of Eric Green began slowly.
It was like a faint whisper at first. A flicker on a shadowed wall. A few phantom notes of song on a breeze.
It is hard to say when it began, because it is unlikely he noticed at first. His life had been in a turmoil for so long, seeming to be a series of hazy battle scenes, heart pounding escapes, terrible news and difficult decisions flashing by. When he tried later to place its origin, he couldn't recall ever being aware of a presence, even in flickers and flashes, during the days of the ASA occupation. During his nights of planning to kill Phil Constantino, his mornings of arranging secret meetings and his afternoons in hiding as the town was pummeled by the army from the West, he had many things on his mind. His family, his friends, his neighbours, and all the people he wanted to protect haunted his waking thoughts and his dreams. There was little room for anything else.
It was when things began to quiet down a little bit - that summer after the ASA left town, the people took back their streets and their homes, and the business of survival in a new world began again - that he began to notice. He couldn't even pinpoint a moment when it had started; it was more like he developed a gradual awareness of something, or someone, flitting around on the edge of things. It was subtle, so much so that he was able to excuse it most of the time as fatigue, imagination, or the results of his volunteering as a taste tester the times Mary experimented with the still and Kenchy was unavailable, working a shift at the med centre. Still, he began to feel uneasy as he started catching glimpses and impressions of something, or someone. A flash of white just disappearing around a corner. An echo of a laugh through a wall. An eerie feeling that someone was watching him.
He told no one of his growing unease. Disturbing though it was, it was really nothing compared to the other problems facing himself and all of his friends and family members. They were all wrestling with bigger ghosts than whatever weird tricks his mind was playing on him, and it would be ridiculous to bring something like this up in conversation. Besides, he'd learned getting by in this world meant dealing with ghosts and moving on, embracing all the good that came up, and not worrying over strange feelings and tired dreaming mixed with homemade booze.
All other thoughts flew out of his head the first time he saw her. He'd been coming home from a shift with the border patrol. Since the ASA had left them on their own, the patrol had begun their vigilant watch over the town again, and Eric had been showing a new recruit the ropes that evening. During the shift, he'd been worried as ever about his town's safety in the coming war, but as he walked home, he let his mind wander as he enjoyed the feel of the summer air on his face. He had smiled as he crossed Main Street, heading towards Bailey's tavern, but as he came closer to the building, he had a shock. Standing around the corner, glancing in the window, was a figure in white. She was gone in a moment, before he'd gotten a good glimpse of her face, but he'd know her shade of red hair anywhere. He froze for a moment, but when she disappeared around the side of the building, he ran after her. He turned the corner, but didn't see her in the narrow space between the buildings. He inched along the alley way, trying to keep his footsteps quiet as he sped up. Rounding the corner and picking up into a run, he slammed into a solid form who let out a shout and pushed him backwards. He shouted in surprise himself.
"Eric!" exclaimed Mary when she realized it was him and not a stranger toppling into her in the dark. She reached for the empty bucket she'd dropped. "What are you doing?"
"Did - did you see her?" he stammered.
"See who?" she asked, opening the back door and stepping into the light. "Let's go inside, okay?" He stood for a moment, barely breathing before following her inside, through the back hallway and into the main bar room, still reeling as he thought of the flash of red hair.
"You okay?" she asked, depositing the bucket under the counter and looking up at him. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
At her words, his eyes widened. She had been smiling, nearly joking, but at his expression, she raised her eyebrows.
He let out a breathless laugh but his eyes were far from amused. "I came home, and I saw, just outside...I thought it was her." She looked at him questioningly. He nodded.
She grimaced sympathetically, rubbing his arm. "You want a drink?" she asked.
"Yeah," he smirked. "Probably should."
Giving his arm a squeeze, she reached for a glass. He sighed, holding his hand steady against the smooth surface of the bar. As he sipped his drink, she talked about her day, and in the glow of the lights and the cheerful hum of conversation throughout the room, he tried to forget what he'd seen.
Forgetting was easy at first. There were so many things to distract him, during the day and at night, that it was easy to put the ghostly figure out of his mind. Because he wasn't often thinking about it, the next two times he saw the figure were just as shocking. Even more shocking was the fact that no one else seemed to ever witness her but him.
The first time, he was leaving work at dusk, walking down the front steps of town hall. Jimmy was walking along behind him, going on about the Fourth of July picnic that had been postponed due to rain the week before. Eric had been anticipating going to the picnic and enjoying a day off himself but as he looked up and saw the figure outside of Bailey's, he forgot everything else. He grabbed Jimmy's arm. "Look!" he shouted.
Jimmy had been chuckling as he described how Sally and Woody had been practicing the wheelbarrow race in the backyard, and he glanced up slowly. He turned to look at Eric, confusion on his features. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"
Eric glanced back at the walkway in front of the bar, where she'd been seconds earlier. He shook his head.
The next time, it was very early in the morning, before the sun had risen. He sat outside Bailey's, on a folding chair, having volunteered to meet Dale's truck when he got back from one of his supply runs. He'd dragged himself out of bed an hour earlier, and the entire time he sat, listening to the chorus of early morning bird songs, he wished he could be back upstairs, sleeping, instead of blearily watching the empty street. He held his head in his hands, propping his elbows on his knees, and not thinking of much of anything, except that if they still had phones, Dale could call with a more accurate arrival time and no one would have to get up needlessly early. This train of thought was broken when he heard a strange tapping noise. He glanced up, to see her standing by the window again, her fist against the glass. He sat in his chair, staring back at her, and she stood still this time, instead of darting away. He blinked. She was far enough away and it was early enough that he couldn't see sharply the lines of her nose, eyes, and mouth, but it was her face. Her dress was white, and he had a feeling it was the one she'd worn six years ago, on the day of their wedding...
The sound of wheels crunching along the loose gravel interrupted this train of thought, and he turned his head slowly, still lost in the dreamlike quality of this morning encounter. Dale was climbing out of the truck on one side, Skylar getting out behind him. Both looked rather worn out, but Dale nodded his head in greeting and Skylar gave him a tired smile.
"Stuff's here. Wanna check it before we get Harvey to unload it?" asked Dale. "I think Mary'll like the -"
Dale trailed off as Eric turned dazedly back to the window, showing no signs of getting out of his chair.
"Is she coming down to check out the stuff herself?" asked Skylar. Eric looked back at them.
"You didn't...you didn't see?" he asked.
The teenage smugglers turned suppliers surveyed the perplexed man in front of them.
"See what?" asked Dale.
"You okay, Eric?" asked Skylar.
"I'm...never mind," he sighed, stretching as he got out of the chair, embarrassed enough already to ask his teenage resistance colleagues if they'd seen a ghostly bride from his past. "Let's see what you got."
These sightings were easy enough to shrug off. Occurring at these strange hours of sleeping and waking, they were much like the remnants of dreams that we throw off as we yawn and stretch, and like dreams, once their spell had worn off, they were easy enough to forget.
When he did find himself thinking about these strange occurrences, he resolved to tell no one, for fear of the obvious usual consequences of disclosing that one is seeing people who are not there. Unnerving as these flashes were, they weren't a reason to burden his loved ones, already struggling to cope with survival and the various pains that accompanied it as they were. The first time he told, it was because someone asked.
It was also the most disquieting disturbance yet. And the most dreamlike, and yet, the most seemingly real of all. He awoke in the middle of the night to a strange scratching noise. For a moment, he sat up in bed, wondering if it had been part of the tail end of a dream. He glanced at Mary's sleeping form. The only sound he could hear in the dark room was her steady breathing and his own heart pounding in his head, as if to warn him of something. He nearly laid his head on the pillow again, but then he heard it - a slow, sickly scratching, like brittle fingernails on glass. His breath caught in his throat, even as he reasoned that it was nothing. A tree branch. Glancing at Mary once more, confirming she was still peacefully slumbering, he slid out from under the sheets and stepped onto the floor.
He chuckled to himself as he walked down the hallway, thinking of all the times he and Jake had tried to scare each other when they were kids with stories about tapping sounds on windows. How much they'd always make fun of the poor foolish main character who didn't realize that the tree branch sound was really a twisted claw, or that the sound that had seemed like a twisted claw was just a tree branch. Those protagonists always seemed to assume the exact opposite cause of the sound. He wondered if he should be hoping for the twisted claw.
He reached the living room, following the direction of the sound. Stepping around the coffee table and the couch, he looked over at the windows. Thinking again about the twisted claw, he walked right up to the glass and peered out.
He couldn't see much in the dark, and these windows faced out the back way too, so even in the days when they'd had streetlights, it would've been a lost cause. However, one of the windows was open, and as he listened, he could hear the winds. It was another blustery night, the kind they seemed to be having a lot of that summer, and he could hear branches rustling outside. There were a few trees nearby, he knew, and it was possible a branch had been pulled right off one of them, scratching the window on its way down, on a night like this. That was it, he decided, with a nod. Tomorrow he would go downstairs and out the back door and find a tree branch on the ground, the same one that had awoken him. And he would laugh about it.
Stepping back down the hall, thinking about how glad he would be to get back to the dream he'd been having, he was almost through the bedroom door when he heard another sound. This one was unmistakable, coming through the window at the end of the hall, and it sent a shiver up his spine.
Through the winds racing outside the open window, he could hear an eerie, quiet but clear voice. It seemed to be singing a song, but one without words. It was a sad song, like a lament, and it made him feel a strange cold feeling, but he was drawn to the window, as though his feet were operating independently of his mind, which was of course screaming at him to retreat. He pressed his hands up against the glass and looked down onto Spruce Lane.
Though there were no street lights, her flowing white dress and luminous skin were glowing in the moonlight. Her red hair whipped in the wind as she spun around, humming her wordless song. It was entrancing even as it was terrifying, and he stared, wanting to run and not wanting to look away at the same time.
She held her arms out as she spun around again, a white V shape against the black night, her skirt billowing around as she came to a stop. She looked up then, looked up at him. At first, she just stared, like she had before, her eyes locking with his. Then she smiled. A grin he didn't remember ever seeing on her face when he'd known her. He wouldn't know how to explain it later, but he could just feel the malice in that grin. He shuddered, and her smile seemed to grow wider.
"Eric?"
He jumped at the sound of his name, spinning around to see Mary standing in the bedroom doorway. He spun quickly around again, and looking down, saw the figure in white, still smiling that horrible smile, give him a nod. He turned back to Mary, sputtering but unable to get any words out.
"What is it?" she asked. "I woke up and you were gone, so I came to see if -"
"Come - come here!" he choked out, gesturing wildly at her, and then at the window.
With a look of concern, she crossed the rest of the hallway. As soon as she was in reach, he grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him and nodding down at the street. "Look!"
Glancing at him first, she looked out the window. "What am I looking at?"
Groaning, he wrapped an arm across her shoulders, whether to guide her closer to the window or steady himself, he didn't know. "Just look down there."
"Okay," she said, confusion evident in her voice. "I can't see anything in the dark."
"But..." He leaned around her, staring dumbfounded at the empty, dark street below. "I saw her."
"Who'd you see?" she asked gently.
He was suddenly quiet. She hadn't seen her. It was another dream again. Or was it? He'd never dreamt something like this before, not even during his stay on the floor of the cell in New Bern. But Mary hadn't seen. He was babbling about something that wasn't there again. But she had just been there.
"Eric?" she asked. He continued to stand there in silence.
"Come on," she whispered, reaching for his hand and leading him back into the bedroom. He sank quickly onto the edge of the bed, but she walked by him and switched on the bedside lamp. In the soft light now flooding the room, he could see concern in her eyes as she sat down beside him, her freckled arm leaning against his, the strap of her tank top absently dangling off her shoulder, all of her solid and real and not glowing like that figure. And yet that figure had seemed so real too. "Who did you see?" she asked.
He cleared his throat. It was impossible, yet it was happening to him, over and over. He felt another shiver go up his spine and he could still almost hear that song in his head. He wanted to break her spell suddenly. He cleared his throat again. "I saw April."
He glanced sideways. Mary raised her eyebrows, but gave a nod of understanding.
He smirked, suddenly feeling ridiculous. "You believe me?"
She remained serious, raising her eyebrows at him once more. "Yeah."
He chuckled, unsure exactly what was funny. Mary didn't laugh. "I believe you saw her." He swiveled sideways on the bed, pulling his legs up to sit crosslegged, and looked at her. "I saw her too, once," she said.
He was unsure how to take this at first. She turned now to sit facing him too, pulling her legs up under her. "Yeah?" he asked.
"Yeah," she nodded.
"Did you tell anyone?" he asked.
"Yeah." She nodded again.
"And?" he asked.
"Well, it was weird, but I was okay with it," she said.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
She glanced at him for a moment. "Well, I mean, you know that isn't her, right?"
"Not her?" he asked. "I thought you said you believed me, that I saw her."
She reached for his hands, and her voice was soothing. "I did, and I do. You did see her. But it wasn't her. Wasn't actually April. Just like it wasn't her when I saw her."
"Then who was it then?" he asked.
"Me," she said simply. "Trying to deal with things."
"Deal with things?" he asked, his tone becoming wary.
"Sure. And I'm sure that's probably what you're doing now, Eric."
"I'm not sure that's quite what it was..." he began.
"I know it's hard," she said. "But it might help to talk about it. About her. And maybe I'm not the right person for you to be talking about this with, maybe it'd be better to talk to someone else, but if you need me, I'm here, okay?"
"But..." he trailed off, hearing the dismay in his own voice. "I know it sounds crazy. But it was really her. You didn't see."
"It's okay, hon. You saw," she said, brushing a hand to the side of his cheek. "You wanna talk about it more in the morning? We've got that town hall meeting tomorrow."
She didn't understand. He could still hear the ghostly song, even though it was being overpowered now by her voice. But he could see he wouldn't convince her otherwise tonight, and maybe it was just as well, because it meant one of them would have peaceful dreams tonight. He still felt shivery, and a small part of him wished he could ask her to leave the light on, but as he crawled across to his side of the bed, pulled back the sheets, and wrapped his arms around her, he was glad at least to have her to hold onto, proof that there was something else in the world beyond that mournful wordless song running through his mind. He leaned his head against the pillow, listening to her breathing, and staring up at the dark window.
In the morning he still wasn't able to convince her otherwise. In fact, his argument that a ghost of his dead ex-wife had danced and sang in the moonlight outside their apartment sounded much sillier in the daytime, even when he heard himself repeating it. Her argument was much more reasonable, that what happened to April, without being their fault, was something they would both carry and something difficult to fathom, and that it would take their minds some work to sort it out. Now that they had more freedom from the chaos that had seemed to pervade their lives for the past two months, they had time to start processing everything that happened, and humans do that in strange ways sometimes.
Eric nodded along and agreed half heartedly, because it all made so much sense, but he was certain, this morning, that it hadn't been a dream. He didn't blame Mary for not being able to see that. She hadn't, after all, seen the way the moonlight reflected off those pale features. She hadn't heard that piercing song. She hadn't seen that horrible grin. He hoped she never would.
Mary wouldn't see that grin, or the face upon which it was wont to appear, in the next few weeks, and neither would anyone else. Except Eric of course. After her moonlit serenade, she seemed to retreat more into the shadows again, flashing by now and then but still leaving him with the feeling of someone watching him. Then, her appearances began to increase again. He'd catch her figure outside on his way home at night, glimpse a face through a window while sitting with his friends in a booth. Of course, none of them would report having seen a ghostly pale face outside, and Mimi or Jake or Emily would cast a strange glance in his direction. Some nights, if he woke and had to go to the bathroom, or just couldn't sleep, he'd see her outside, crossing the street. He began avoiding the windows entirely on these nightly sojourns, keeping his eyes on the floor until he was safely back in bed.
He managed to distract himself well enough when he wasn't alone, and there was plenty to do with others as the days of summer stretched on. Still, in the quiet moments he had to himself, the strange things he'd seen that no one else seemed to witness would pop into his mind, and he would contemplate them with a vague, icy shiver running through his body. Why was this happening? Was Mary right, was this just some strange, psychological manifestation? Or was it something else? He didn't want to bother her with it again. He could already see the looks of worry she would cast in his direction, whenever he came into a room with shock on his face. She would try to talk about it, she'd be so understanding, and he had no idea how to impress upon her what these ghostly sighting really felt like. They didn't feel like a representation of his own inner feelings. They felt like something else, something outside of him. He wasn't sure if they were real, but he didn't feel he had any control over them. They were, however, fast becoming one of the most troubling parts of his day to day life.
One carefree summer's day, after an afternoon at Bass Lake with his family and friends, Eric found himself pondering his problem. As they'd jumped off the dock and swam in the lake earlier, as he'd tried to keep up with Mary, swinging on the rope and falling into the water, as they'd laughed over Mimi's repeated instructions for Stanley not to splash her, and as they helped to unpack all the summer delicacies everyone had brought, including the pie his mother had made, he had been caught up in each passing moment. As the sun got lower in the sky, however, and everyone dispersed to tidy up the picnic, lay out wet towels on the dock, and gather firewood, he found himself sitting alone by the fire pit, thinking about the woman from his past who seemed to be prowling around his present. His head snapped to attention at the sound of a branch snapping near him, but it was just Stanley approaching with an armful of kindling. Eric thanked him, reaching for some of the branches to add to the structure he was building in the fire pit. Stanley knelt on the other side, adding some branches himself.
"Nice to see them like this, huh?" asked Stanley, glancing over at the picnic table, where Gail was telling some sort of story, Mimi, Mary, and Emily were laughing, and Jake was sitting with a smirk on his face. Eric nodded, understanding what Stanley meant. Heather strode into the scene, holding a wriggling something out with an affectionate smile. Eric couldn't see what it was from his vantage point, but Mimi stepped back and protested dramatically, to laughs and snickers that were hidden with a variety of levels of skill by the rest of the group.
"Or at least freaking out over normal stuff like snakes," snorted Stanley, giving Mimi a wave when she looked over at him. Eric chuckled himself, as Heather seemed to be giving some sort of impassioned speech about the wild creature she'd found, holding it up to demonstrate, much to Mimi's apparent dismay. He turned back to his work, building the beginnings of the fire, before glancing over at his friend. "Do you believe in ghosts, Stanley?"
"Ghosts?" asked Stanley. "The kind that slime people and leave a trail of ectoplasm?"
Eric shrugged. "The kind that...keep showing up. Reminding you of things you want to forget."
The smile died on Stanley's face. He looked down, snapping another stick across his knee. "Those."
Eric glanced over at the others again. They'd dispersed, and Mimi and Mary were both occupied in searching through the bags on the table, looking for something. "I just...I wondered, if you ever have a hard time, with that kind of thing. If you ever see..."
"Yeah," said Stanley. "I see her. I see them both, actually."
Eric folded his hands. That terrible night Bonnie had been murdered, he'd had a horrible, stilting conversation with Stanley as they'd both stumbled over the unthinkable events taking place around them. Since then, they'd had several more conversations, Eric trying his best to help his friend cope with something he himself could barely understand. Now, he felt bad bringing it up, but also felt a strange sort of comfort to talk about it with someone who might understand.
"So, how do you feel, when you...see them?" he asked hesitantly.
Stanley's face had gotten that hardened, determined look it usually got when he was broaching the subjects that caused him the most pain. "When I see her...bad, but better too. I see her in my dreams, I see her in beautiful mornings, in old Christmas presents I find, in..." he glanced in the direction of the women, "in moments I know she'd be laughing and making jokes at our expense."
Eric smiled. Stanley gave a small smile too. "I feel like she's there, then, in a small way. And not there. Know what I mean?"
Eric nodded. Stanley gruffly cleared his throat, and continued arranging branches, looking down at the fire pit. "And when I see him, in my dreams usually, it's bad. But I know it's always going to be there, in my life. So I try to keep going, keep holding onto the stuff that matters to me. Why I did what I did, and the things I have no regrets about."
Eric nodded again, letting out a sigh. He was glad his friend was able to say these things out loud, and come to these conclusions in his mind. But he somehow felt more alone now then when the conversation started.
"So, you believe in ghosts?" asked Stanley.
Eric considered his answer for a moment. He shrugged.
"You know who you should talk to," said Stanley, getting up and brushing the dirt from his knees. "Jake was always saying we'd find ourselves a ghost, when we were kids. One summer, we spent half our nights trying to sneak out and sneak into the old Gillen house. The one time we got in there, and up the top of the stairs, this crazy stray cat came jumping out at us. I swear Jake nearly peed his pants, though if you ask him, he fought it off bravely."
"Now that's a story that could really ruin his rugged hero rep, huh?" asked Mimi, appearing suddenly at Stanley's side, pulling up one of the log seats and spreading a sweater across it before daintily sitting down.
"I don't know, the scout camp story might've already taken care of that," suggested Mary, holding out the lighter finally located at the bottom of one of the bags.
"Hey, Eric was the one who flipped out that time. I was cool," protested Jake, sending his brother a grin as he took a seat himself.
Mary gave him a teasing smile, bumping her shoulder against his as she sat down beside him, and Stanley added something about asking their mother to tell the one about the Founder's day play instead. Soon, everyone was taking seats around the fire, bringing up events long past and sending playful accusations at each other across the smoke. Eric stared into the flames, not really hearing the stories he knew by heart now.
He unexpectedly found himself asking Heather the same question a week later. "Do you believe in ghosts?"
They were walking towards the library, where she was leading a newly developed summer camp program in the afternoon and he was supposed to be searching for a resource book on small machine repair.
Heather frowned and bit her lip thoughtfully. "I believe my parents are watching over me, every day."
Eric nodded. During their short but intense bonding in captivity, he'd gotten to know a lot about Heather and her strong, optimistic beliefs in the goodness of the world, despite the times in which they found themselves living. He didn't, however, want a wholesome affirmation right now. "But what about ghosts?" he asked, trying to be more direct.
"Well...I believe there are more things in this universe than you or I will ever know about or understand," she said, looking at the road ahead of her.
He groaned inwardly. Why was it so hard to get anyone to take a position on the existence of otherworldly beings, when they'd all be so passionate about things like jukeboxes, snakes, and corn? He said nothing for a moment, walking along, not minding the silence that came up between them. He was surprised when Heather spoke again.
"There was this one time, when I was a kid, visiting my uncle's house," she began, in a voice that reminded him of someone telling a somewhat embarrassing humorous anecdote. "We were riding our bikes along this dirt path in the back, behind the houses, and I thought I saw an old man standing in the grass. But I blinked and he was gone."
Eric was silent for a few moments. "Old man?" he asked. "Did you know him?"
"Nope," Heather answered, shaking her head. "Didn't know who he was, or what I saw. Didn't want to tell my cousins and their friends. But I remembered it, couldn't get it out of my mind."
"So did you tell anyone?" he asked.
"I told my brother," she said, a soft smile forming on her face. "I knew he had to believe me, because he was my big brother."
Eric smiled himself, thinking of his own big brother. He had certainly never held such a trust in the prospect of telling Jake anything of a sensitive matter. Then again, their relationship now, he had to admit to himself, was quite the opposite. Jake had seen him at his worst, and he'd trust Jake with almost anything. "So did he believe you?" Eric asked.
Heather chuckled. "Well, he said he did. Just like I knew he would. Always gave me the benefit of the doubt, that guy, even when I sounded like a crazy kid."
Eric chuckled softly, thinking to himself as they walked.
"So why'd you ask?" she countered. "You believe in ghosts?"
"I'm not sure," he shrugged, resolving not to sound like a crazy kid in front of one of the most well respected and highly esteemed grade school teachers in town. He decided, not long after that, to have a direct discussion with someone who'd already seen him at his craziest.
He waited for the right moment to bring up his problem with Jake, finding excuses, telling himself he'd forgotten about the ghost again during the day, during his waking hours, during times he wasn't alone with her. Sometimes, he'd tell himself that tonight was the night, and step into the sheriff's office to see Jake pouring over a map, growling about some new security problem that just sprung up. Some days, he'd think of catching his brother over a morning coffee break, but he'd see the new picture Jimmy's daughter had drawn hanging on the bulletin board, or linger over a goodbye kiss with Mary, or stop and chat with his mother planting flowers in front of town hall, and think to himself that his problems weren't really so bad in the grand scheme of things. Then, he would have another experience, another encounter with the ghost who so looked like April, and she would be tingling through his thoughts again. She was getting bolder too, it seemed, as the days began to grow shorter. One evening, as he finished looking over some old records in his office in town hall, he felt her watching before he looked up to see her face outside his window. One morning she pressed her hand against the window as he came down the stairs and out the side entrance of the bar. She vanished but the hand print remained.
He was also convinced she was doing some things out of his sight. He came home one day to find various clothing items scattered around the back lot: one of his shirts dangling from the roof, one of Mary's tops twisted in the tree branches, towels and pillowcases unceremoniously dumped in a mud puddle. Mary sighed and concluded that the strong winds were responsible, and their tiny makeshift clothesline might have to be moved back into the stairwell. Eric grumbled that the winds had to be pretty strong to have gotten the items in the trees so muddy before sending them up there. Mary rolled her eyes and they dropped the subject.
He finally brought the subject up to Jake on the evening of his own birthday. His mother had thrown a birthday dinner for him, setting out the fancy silver for five places in her dining room. After a pleasant meal, including another one of Gail Green's famous pies, and a modest but meaningful exchange of gifts, he'd gone out on the back porch with Jake, sitting in silence for a few minutes as they sipped at glasses of their father's whiskey, now brought out on special occasions only. With his mother, Mary, and Emily safely out of earshot, laughing over an old family photo album inside, Eric poured out his entire troubling tale, watching Jake carefully for signs of amusement. Jake surprised him just a little by listening quietly, a serious look on his face.
"So?" asked Eric finally. "Let's hear it."
"What?" asked Jake, giving a hint of a smile for the first time, though it didn't seem to be the teasing smile Eric had known since they were kids.
"Hit me with whatever witty jibes you've come up with in the last few minutes. You've probably got some saved up." He was gently teasing Jake now, the opposite of how he'd imagined such a scene would go. Jake was smiling in realization, but wasn't taking the bait.
"I know how it is, Eric," he said, still with a sardonic smile. "Seeing things that aren't there."
"So you believe me?" asked Eric, a slight smirk on his face because this was even less credible than his story.
"I believe you're seeing April, yeah," said Jake.
Eric let out a sigh. He wasn't sure where this conversation would go from there but it felt like a load off his shoulders just to have said everything he needed to say to begin with.
"Question you have to ask yourself is, why are you seeing her?" Jake continued.
"What?" asked Eric, all traces of a smile gone from his lips.
"Well, there's probably some reason you're seeing her when you do. Just think about what she represents, how you feel when you see her."
"You mean like freaked out? Because my ex-wife's ghost is staring through windows at me and throwing my underwear up on the fire escape?" asked Eric.
Jake chuckled. "I don't wanna know about the underwear, but think about what it means to you, April looking at you. When you figure that out, you'll start sorting it all out."
"So you think I'm seeing her because I'm trying to deal with things?" asked Eric in a dull voice.
Jake nodded. "Eric, you don't really think April would want to spend her time spying on you, would she?"
He shook his head doubtfully. "I don't know what she wants. But -"
"Come on, you knew April," said Jake. "No matter what you did, do you really think she'd want to spend her afterlife stalking you?"
Eric thought to himself. That was one of the most puzzling parts of all of this. How different this April's energy seemed to be, compared to the April he'd known when she was alive, the April whose hand he'd held in that hospital room, who had whispered those final requests. "No," he answered slowly. "It's not like her. But there were parts of me she never knew. What if there was a side to her I never knew?"
"And it's coming out now, making your life miserable? Instead of coming out back when you made her life miserable? Eric, do you really think she wouldn't move on, and let you move on?"
"Maybe she has unfinished...business with me," Eric shrugged.
Jake gave him a knowing look, one that was rather annoying. "I think you have unfinished business with her," he said.
Eric shook his head, smiling at the irony that his brother was giving the sensible answer, and he was the one sounding crazy, after so many years he'd had the opposite impression. "So what am I supposed to do then?" he asked.
Jake shrugged, taking a sip of whiskey. "Sounds like something more Mom's department." After a second's pause, he clapped a hand to Eric's back. "But if you want to talk about it, I'm here for you."
Eric nodded at the second well meaning offer from one of his loved ones. He didn't say anything else, but he knew that he wouldn't be bringing it up with his mother any time soon. She'd had such a hard time coping with April's death, and they'd had such a hard time coming to terms with each other, he wouldn't want to rock all of that by bringing up the apparently unfinished business between himself and the ghost no one else could seem to believe was real.
After his birthday, it seemed the incidents only got more frequent, the proof she was real even more apparent. One day, he came home to find Mary sweeping a pile of broken glass from the ground near the side doorway. She explained that she'd left a box of empty bottles out for Dale, who was supposed to be picking them up in an hour, only to hear them smashing fifteen minutes later. Mary shrugged it off as an animal rooting for garbage or a teenage prankster, despite Eric's casual insistence it was something else.
One day, before the bar was even open, he was walking by at lunch time and he saw a handful of roses, strewn across the ground right in front of the main entrance of the bar. The roses, red ones he recognized from the town hall garden, were arranged to make an 'X' shape where a welcome mat might have been. There was an uproar within a few minutes that someone had destroyed one of the town hall rose bushes, Mrs. Dawson having arrived for her volunteer hour tending to the plants, and the crowd that gathered was quickly calling for a meeting on town management of juvenile delinquents. One little girl, Eric recognized as Shep Cale's daughter, said she'd seen a woman outside the bar just before the discovery of the roses. "It was Dr. Green!" she insisted. Her mother had been apologetic, saying little Bethany was still having trouble distinguishing reality and fantasy since her own father had died. Eric had tried to question her. "Dr. Green? You're sure? What did she look like?" The other adults gave him dirty looks, mumbled about being a bad influence, encouraging her, and her mother led her away. Eric helped Mrs. Dawson gather the roses and dispose of them in the town hall compost bin, all the while feeling that someone was watching him. He pricked his thumb with one of the thorns, and glared around at the empty street as he sucked at the blood.
He saw her more and more frequently, and it seemed as though she was teasing him, taking longer pauses before making her exit, grinning that terrifying grin, that knowing smile. He was certain she wasn't a projection of his mind because he'd never, in a million years, have imagined that smile on April's face when she was alive. This otherworldly version of her was not something he would have dreamt up. She was something else altogether.
Eric found it harder to hide his reactions, even as he could see the looks he was getting from Mary, Jake, and an increasing number of their friends, who were offering a variety of unhelpful comments and ideas. Mimi cornered him once at the bar, giving him a philosophy not dissimilar from the ones already expressed to him by Mary, Jake and Stanley. Bill wanted, he found out one slow day at the office, to set up a supernatural stakeout and try to catch the ghost on film. Eric had a feeling this ghost was crafty enough to avoid such obvious ploys. April certainly would have been. And he didn't like the gleam in Bill's eyes as he'd described his plan. Even Gray offered clumsy words of support one day, suggesting his father would be proud of how far he'd come, that he was sure everyone who had gone before would be glad to see Eric happy now, and wishing him all the best for his upcoming wedding. Eric smiled and gave his boss a nod of thanks for the obviously veiled words of confidence, and let his thoughts drift away from his haunting problem and towards the much more pleasant prospect of his wedding.
They had decided to get married, weeks earlier, on one of the warm summer evenings they sat out on the fire escape, looking up at the stars. The time had seemed right, to make a commitment for the years ahead and celebrate their love with their family and friends, and as they both knew, such things were best not left for the future when they could be embraced in the present. They were planning to keep it simple, a quick ceremony outside if weather permitted and a party at Bailey's afterwards. It was nice, really, not to have to go through the fuss of a pre-apocalyptic wedding, and it was one of the things Eric looked forward to those first few weeks of fall. Asking their friends to stand up with them, finding out if Dale could get anything special for the guests, laughing with Mary over the various decisions she'd made that had her big city maid of honour trying to hide her dismay, he was able to forget about his other problems for the time.
As the date drew closer, however, and the ghostly sightings became more frequent, he found himself worrying about how one might affect the other. True, Mary didn't seem bothered by the strange occurrences, and neither did anyone else, but he worried for all of them, hoping his ghostly stalker wouldn't strike at an opportune moment and ruin things. This wedding of course made him think more of her than usual too, even as he tried not to compare it to that first wedding he'd helped plan, all those years ago. How had things turned out this way? He'd thought that they would heal, eventually, move on, find happiness of their own, but somehow, as he was trying to heal and find happiness, a ghost with a side he'd never seen in life didn't seem interested in moving on at all.
He continued to look forward to the day, trying not to let on to his family and friends the fears plaguing him, especially Mary, and especially his mother. He was surprised when one night, a few nights before the wedding, his mother cornered him in the kitchen. They'd had a quick rehearsal earlier, and a dinner with their closest friends, and he had elected to help clear the plates as everyone else moved out to sit on the back porch. He nearly dropped the stack of plates he was hoisting as his mother said, "So, I hear you've been spending time avoiding a ghost lately."
"Which one of them told you?" he asked, his teeth gritted in annoyance.
She chuckled. "Well, I knew before I dragged it out of either of them. You know how it is in this town, honey."
He sighed, lifting a plate out of the sink and watching the water drip off of it.
"Sweetheart, I just want you to know it's okay," she said, leaning against the counter, looking at him.
"What is?" he asked.
She motioned around. "All of this. You know how glad I am that you're happy, right?"
He nodded, not exactly sure where this was going but having a vague sense.
"I love you, and I've always wanted that for you," she continued. "And I can see you two are happy."
Eric nodded again. He would have appreciated this life affirming moment if he weren't distracted by the thought of the ghost everyone seemed to know about and no one seemed to understand was not a part of his subconscious.
"You know how much I loved April," his mother continued with a sigh. He nodded. "Much as I hated to let her go, I had to eventually. Just like we all have to do, in our lives. And you know, April had learned that, in her own life."
Eric wasn't sure about this, but he nodded again.
"I loved her, and she's still in my heart, but she's gone. She's in a better place now. She's beyond all of this, sweetie. She isn't hurt by it anymore." She laid a comforting hand against his arm, just above his elbow. "You can let go, and move on, because it's not hurting her now. You can let go and be happy. I think she'd want that. I know she would - that's the kind of person she was, wasn't she?"
Eric wanted to nod, but he was confused. His mother was right in her assessment of the living April, he thought. She was someone with integrity, a real lady if there ever was one, and strong. He had hoped, when she was alive, that she would be able to move on and that they would one day reach some sort of reconciliation, for the sake of their child as well as themselves. Much as he'd felt bad, he'd told himself that she was strong. But this April...he wondered if death had brought out another side in her, or it had been waiting in there all along. It was so hard to imagine, remembering that kind woman he'd once known. Even when they'd been at their worst, she'd been able to rise above it, take care of those in need and do what needed to be done. Maybe this other side was all the negativity she'd buried, manifesting itself. He shuddered. His mother was saying something, he realized suddenly.
"...know it hasn't been easy but I'm glad to see the two of you happy, and I think she's good for you. So just know, I'm here for you. Both." She smiled. She pulled him into a hug. He leaned his head against his mother's, glad for her support, but still uneasy as he pondered the personality change that seemed to have affected his ghostly ex.
The wedding itself passed in a cheerful blur, and Eric did manage to forget his other worries, giving in to the present moment for the day. He remembered more the seemingly unimportant little details: teasing jokes from Jake and Stanley as he checked his collar in the mirror once more; laughing softly with Mary as they stood outside, moments before entering the room where everyone else was ready to celebrate, pausing for just a moment alone before the toasting and banging on glasses began; a speech Jake seemed to have written himself and some strange comments from Mimi about 'girls like us' and 'Dudley Do Right', that only she and the bride seemed to get as they snickered embarrassedly. As he exchanged one last hug with his mom and escaped from Stanley, Bill, and Jake, who were taking turns clapping him on the back and making more jokes, he was grinning, his mind only on his bride, quickly making her own getaway from Mimi and Heather in the hallway and grinning back at him as they made their way over to the car. Eric took a startled step back when he saw the letters scrawled across the rear window of the car. He sighed. It was the usual 'Just married' that someone had thoughtfully inked out in chalk. These days it seemed, any sign of vandalism made him jump. Mary had already gotten into the car, and he tried to shake it off as he climbed in beside her.
They were headed to the Green family hunting cabin for a quick two-day honeymoon before coming back to help with the harvest that was about to begin. It was nothing like the luxury cruises and month-long sojourns in the Galapagos that Eric used to imagine going on, but the prospect of getting away from everything and everyone for some time alone was more than enough. As they drove through the dark, through the woods Eric had known like the back of his hand since he was a child, he found himself hoping they would really be getting away from everyone. Surely, out here in the middle of nowhere, they would be free from her.
He tried to ignore the way the shadowy trees seemed gloomier, more foreboding tonight than they ever had before. He was alone, with Mary, and no responsibilities or worries, for a glorious two days of freedom, and he should be making the most of it.
When he parked outside the familiar cabin, he sat still for a moment. He wanted to switch modes, get all thoughts of the outside world out of his mind. He felt her hand on his. "We're here," she whispered, a grin on her face. She turned and climbed out of the car on her side, and smiling, he opened his door. He stepped around the car, pulled her into a kiss, and tried to literally sweep her off her feet. She laughed and protested that he didn't need to do the 'dorky carry the bride over the threshold thing', seeing as it was not their first time at the Green cabin and she had changed into jeans before they left the reception. She laughed as he insisted however, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted her again. They made it up the two steps, her still giggling and him doing his best impression of a romantic hero in a film from the thirties, when he heard a loud cracking sound echoing. He spun quickly, shifting and adjusting his hold on Mary's legs. "What was that?" he breathed.
Mary sighed, tightening her grip on his shoulders. "Probably an animal in the woods." She raised her eyebrows flirtatiously. "Only a few more steps there, big guy."
His face was serious though as he spun again, scanning the woods around them. He could only see trees. He felt her slipping out of his grasp. As she stood, her feet firmly planted, he took a step forward, turning his head quickly as if he would catch something darting away.
"Eric, there's nothing out here," she said. "It's just us."
He stood a moment longer, his whole body tensed, before turning back to her. "Yeah, you're right," he said, softening his tone as he breathed "Now where were we?"
He had almost gotten them both to the door this time when she exclaimed "Oh, the champagne!"
He groaned quietly. She smiled apologetically. "It's in the car."
"We didn't bring any of the bags in. I'll get them in a minute," he said.
"I don't think we'll really need much of the other stuff, but the champagne would be nice," she smiled.
"Okay, I'll get it, after I've made the first trip in," he said with a swagger. She rolled her eyes, but pulled herself slightly higher in his arms. They made it across the threshold, after some awkward attempts to open the door, and after depositing her safely on the ground and exchanging another kiss, he turned and stepped out on the porch. The door swung shut behind him and suddenly he was in the dark of the night, alone. He made his way quickly back to the car, grabbing the bag she'd packed, the back pack he'd hastily thrown things into, and the champagne bottle. As he closed the door, he heard another loud crack. His head whipped around, but all he could see was black, and blacker shadows. He considered whispering a cautious "Who's there?" but he knew better than that by now. He felt a familiar shudder run through him.
He began walking resolutely back towards the cabin. It was so dark he could barely see but he knew it was only a few steps to the door. He could almost hear footsteps behind him and he sped up.
His foot caught and he tumbled to the ground, the bags thudding beside him and the champagne rolling, though surviving intact. He pulled the bags toward his chest, thankful at least that he hadn't had the same mishap while carrying Mary, and as he prepared to stand, he heard a sound that chilled him. It was a loud sigh. It had come from the darkness ahead of him, in the direction of the woods, and it seemed only a few feet away. He sat completely still, frozen in horror.
Suddenly a hazy light flooded the dirt driveway. Eric heard Mary's voice behind him, saying she'd found the lantern in the closet and thought he probably needed it. His answer came out in a squeak. For as she'd opened the door and shone the lantern out towards him, he'd seen a figure in white darting behind the car.
Mary, who had only seen her new husband sprawled on the ground, called to him again, and, shaking his head with a violent shudder, he grabbed his armful of their belongings and scrambled off the ground and up the steps. He shut the door quickly behind them, dropping their bags on the floor.
"Sorry, champagne bottle rolled away and I couldn't find it," he fibbed, thinking he would get it for her tomorrow. If he could fathom going outside by then.
"That's okay," she was saying. "We don't need it." She was fixing him with a look that normally made him go weak at the knees but he was glancing around the room, a wild look in his eyes.
"We need to make sure all the windows are locked. And all the curtains are shut," he said, reaching out to lock the door distractedly.
Rolling her eyes, she stood still as he dashed towards the tiny kitchen corner of the room, drawing aside a curtain to assess the security of the window. She put a hand casually to one hip. "Is this going to be like that other time we were here and you thought there were deer looking in the window?"
He didn't answer, as he was dashing around the room, checking all the windows. "It's just you and me, Eric," she called in a bored tone, watching him cross the room to check the door once more.
"I know. I love you," he said breathlessly, leaning down to catch her in a deep kiss. She leaned into him, pressing her hands against his chest and whispering "Should we move somewhere more comfortable then?"
He smiled, twirling a lock of her hair in his fingers, but then looked up. "The bedroom! Yeah, I'll just go...check on it, and I'll come out and get you when I know it's...ready, okay?"
She raised her eyebrows as he reached for the fireplace poker and stepped slowly towards the bedroom. "Okay, I'll just slip into something a little more...yeah," she said as he shut the door.
Mary would remember her honeymoon fondly enough in the years to come, and at Mimi's questioning, she claimed she'd had a good time, which was true enough. For the most part. She would try to forget a few moments, such as the long time she'd leaned sprawled on the bed, propping her chin up in her arms, as Eric checked repeatedly out the window, claiming alternatively that he'd heard branches scratching, twigs snapping, and a strange animal yelping; the small disagreement they'd had over breakfast when he'd suggested they should 'keep it down' and she'd insisted she could be 'as loud as the hell' she wanted on her honeymoon in the middle of nowhere; and the fact that she found the champagne herself, in the car, the morning they went home, after Eric had claimed he had lost it on the way in to the cabin.
Eric came home from his honeymoon happy but exhausted. It had been a roller coaster of two days, a constant back and forth exchange of excitement at being alone with Mary and terror every time he realized they weren't alone. He barely spent time thinking the entire two days. It seemed as though he was reacting most of the time, to Mary's voice one moment, howling winds the next, Mary's eyes, her skin, her scent, and then a shadow flickering across the curtained window. A constant game of hot and cold that he was sure would kill him if he played it long enough. He refused to go outside and accompany on her a walk along the trails, which she claimed was fine with her, but he could see her getting slightly annoyed by his third check of the windows and doors their second night there. Though he was disappointed to go back home to reality and the work that was next door and downstairs for each of them, he was relieved to get back to a place where he could at least go upstairs and shut the door and sleep without the 'deer' waking him up. Mary seemed content enough to get back behind the counter at the bar, putting her energy into pushing around boxes and loudly chopping vegetables over the sounds of the jukebox.
Eric's relief didn't last long. He found he couldn't sleep off the memories of the chilling feeling of having the ghost follow him out into the woods. And it was soon evident she had followed them back quickly. She looked as smugly satisfied as ever now whenever he caught a glimpse of her, smiling that grin of hers and turning to saunter off to wherever she always went. Eric found himself increasingly on edge and irritated. Irritated with April, in a way he had never felt towards her in life. He'd felt the guilt of what he had done to her, for a long time before she died, and though he'd felt he'd deserved it, he hadn't expected a life sentence of it. He had experienced deep sorrow at her death, not to mention the loss of Tracy, and since then, he'd been through the wringer several other times. When would it be enough? His irritation began to spill over onto other people around him. Especially as it became more apparent they all knew what he was worrying about, and as they had all along, they didn't believe him.
He glowered at Mimi's "Shouldn't we call those guys from SNL to come down and set a trap for you?" and snorted derisively at Bill's "We could try and find out if that paranormal research show is still kicking around. You know, if the crew and equipment survived the EMP. You could put Jericho on the map!"
One night he sank into a bar stool beside Kenchy and asked Mary for whatever the doctor was having. She wordlessly slid a glass towards him and turned to talk to another customer. He leaned his head in his hands with a world weary sigh, before glancing up at Kenchy, who was pondering his fifth glass of the evening, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"Why can't any of them see her?" asked Eric mournfully. "I'm not crazy. Well, she's making me crazy. But I'm not. Wasn't, before she started popping up everywhere." He let out a desperate chuckle. "I'm spending my days trying to be alone with Mary and trying to hide from April. It's like I went back in time, a year. Only things are even crappier. Now we're at war and we haven't seen fabric softener in months."
Kenchy had been watching him with a strange expression, but now he shrugged, sipping from his glass.
"Do you know what it's like?" Eric continued, leaning his whole arm across the bar. "When you see stuff you know is there, and people just won't see it, but you know it's there?"
Kenchy exhaled loudly. "I can see where I'd be your best bet," he said. "But no, I don't know how it is, I'm afraid." He looked down at his drink again.
Though most of his friends and a good number of his fellow townspeople were aware that Eric Green saw dead people, or rather, one dead individual, most made a point of ignoring it during their daily life and interactions with him. After all, it wasn't that strange really, in this new world of theirs, to have a strange way of dealing with the numerous losses and traumas most of them had endured. Dale Turner threatened people with a hand gun, Mimi Clark had been known to plant herself on the sidewalk and protest the insanity of her world, and Kenchy Dhuwalia could be found slipping off his barstool every other night of the week. Even stalwart Gail Green was known to have been … erratic on occasion, so much so that Bill had told Jimmy one evening around the time that Jake had been held for questioning that if he didn't know better, he'd have said she'd gotten into the Elmer's. In this new world, these were quirks. Best to be taken into stride until they became a problem interfering with the day-to-day cooperative struggle of survival they'd all entered into. Even his own family members, though they worried about his obsession, as Gail called it when she sighed over a cup of tea with Mrs. McVeigh, paranoia, as Mary apprehensively whispered to Mimi, or post traumatic stress, as Jake suggested nervously to Kenchy, they seemed resolved to carry on supporting him the best they could, hoping to show him, by example, that he could let go and live free when he realized there was no one out to get him.
It was unfortunate that due to their understanding and patience for what they perceived as Eric's trauma, none of them recognized the dark force that was really at work in the shadows. Had they known, they might have had some kind of warning.
No one would believe in the ghost Eric knew was out there until it was too late.