I’mtethered to the house,I tell myself.If I get lost, I can always come back.
I close my eyes and focus, picturing a buoy in the middle of the ocean. In my head, it turns into a blue door, and instead of being surrounded by water,it’ssurrounded by trees. I reach out for the handle, and with that simple touch, I feel the roomtakeshape around me. This time, however, Ican’tfeel the floorboards beneath my feet. I remember falling asleep in Theodore’s bed, but I no longer feel the soft sheets sliding against my skin.
I peer through squinted lids, cautious of what I might find, butI’mrelieved to seeI’mstill in Theodore’s bedroom.I’mno longer corporeal, but thatdoesn’tbother me as much as it would have a day ago.I’mjust happyto have some semblance of control over things now.
I shift and glide through the bed, my waist and legs disintegrating like fog then reassembling into their autonomically correct place. Watching whatwasonceorgans and bonestakeon the appearance of smoke is severely disorienting. My head spins and the roomslidessideways, but I pull myself together.
It hits me as I hover over the antique area rug that I have no idea what to do now. Tethering myself was the immediate goal, but now thatI’veachieved it,I’mnot sure what my next steps should be. I imagine time unfurling before me like an infinite scroll, and I almost feel sick again. What does one do with unlimited time? Am I really meant to live here for the rest ofeternity?
The housegroansas the early morning sun breaks through the curtains.It’sno longersnowing, but a fresh layer of sparkly powder covers the groundfrom the night before. Without my body,I’msaved from feeling the chill of the drafty halls, but the vibe is the same. Nothing about this place feels welcoming, and a sense of dread washes over me at spending any more time here.
Today,I’llfurther test my boundaries and see just how far I can go on the property. Idebatewhether or not to tell Theodore, but he said I don’t need his permission.Floating to thebedroomwindow, I focus on willing my hands to materialize, but a thought occurs to me.
What if I can move through walls like I just moved through the bed?
I reach out, but instead of wishing to touch the glass, Iwillmyselfto pushthrough it.I squeeze my eyes shutas my fingers inch closer. When I open them, my hand is on the other side.I squeal with excitement and flexmy wrist. Then I push further untilI’mup to my elbow in thewindowpane. I step back, take a deep breath, and rush toward the wall. It feels like swimming underwater as I break past the barrier of the houseandemergeoutside.Turning around, I inspect the glass to make sure I haven’t actually broken it, but it’s still perfectly intact.
“Trippy,” I mutter to myself.
Then Irealizehow far I am from the ground. Fear floods my nervous system.I’mabout to freak out, but at the same time, my brain alerts me tosomethingcooler.
I can fly!
Without overthinking it, I burst forward, imagining a jet pack strapped to my back, andI’moff!
Barren branches heavy with snow rush by below me in a blur as I head east in the direction of the sun.I feel pure elation and a new sense of freedom as I soar over the forest. Within a small clearing below aretiny houses and trailers. A handful of people appear here and there, going about their morning, and from the line of trees, wolves wander toward the village. This must be the werewolf camp.
I make a loop around the clearing, whoopingout loudas Ihead back the way I came. This takes me toward town, and I realizeI'mway past the boundary of the property. Tethering myself to the housedoesn’tseem to have restricted me in any way.
Looking downonthe town of Shadow Hillsgivesthe feel of a Christmas village, like the one I remember being displayed on the sill of my best friend’s kitchen window during the holidays.It’searly enough that the streetlightshaven’tgone out yet, andthere’sa gray hue cast across the buildings. Colorful lights line the windows of each business illuminating signs like NOW SERVING SNOW CREAM LATTES and 40% OFF SCENTEDPINE-CONES.
Observing the town like this is comforting, given that Ihaven’tofficially introduced myself to anyone besides the witches and the sisters at the cafe.From up here, it looks welcoming, cozy, both things Ihaven’tfelt in a long time.Myspirit may have summoned me here to ride out the afterlife, butI hardly know it well enough to call it home.Yet, neither did the city when I was alive.
There’ssomething still a bit out of reach when it comes to my connection to Shadow Hills, just like with my family. My sister and I loved seeing Main Street decorated with wreaths and velvet bows hanging from everystreetlampwhen we were little.Looking downat it now,Ican’thelpwonderingwhere she is.
I’dbeen away from home for ten years before I died, and Ididn’tdoa very goodjob ofkeeping in touch. What if shedoesn’tfeel that same joy anymore at the sight of Christmas lights? That joy I remember from childhood may have vanished completely in my absence.I realize I know nothing about who she grewup to be. Could she have grown in a direction thatdoesn’tfeel the same warmth that we used to feel together?
Two figures making their way up the streetcatchmy attention. In the distance, I see a short, dark-haired woman buried in a bright red jacket with matching gloves and earmuffs. Beside her, a gentleman in a gray beanie and brown utility coat is digging through a leather bag. He retrieves a tiny tube of what looks like lip balm and hands it over.
Oncethey’reclose enough, I recognize Raegan as the one coating her lips.I vaguely remember seeing the man present at my seance.She thankshimanddrops the lip balm back into the bag.He holds onto it, carrying it for her all the way to their destination.They stop in front of the bookstore and Raegan pulls out a pair of keys.They jangle as she finds the correct one to fit the lockbefore pushingthe dooropenwith a grunt.I watch asthemanfollows her inside. A few minutes later, he exits the bookstore, bagless, and heads back down the sidewalk to another building, a sign readingDOUBLEDOUBLEswayingabove it. He pulls his own set of keys out of his pocket and then heads inside.
Neither of them noticed me hovering next to the nearest lamp post. Part of me is relieved, but another much smaller part wishes they had looked up. Ihaven’tspoken to anyone but Theodore in twenty-four hours, and I miss the stimulation I got from a full house of strangers. It may have felt invasive at first, having so many sets of eyes watching me appear from the ether, but that feeling was better than the silence.
I don’t want to pesterTheodoreall hours of the day, so I’ll just have to pester someone else instead.
The bookstore is warmly lit from within withgolden lamp light. Peering through the window, I see Raegan’s bag sitting by the register, butshe’snowhere to be seen.Assuming she’s in an office or stockroom, I take advantage and slip through the closed door.It looks warm and cozy here compared to outside, but it stilldoesn’taffect my spirit-body. I will myselfto walkthrough the aisles instead offloating, and with that simple thought, my legs appear, just as wispy and transparent as the rest of me.
Idon’tfeel the floor under my shoes, but the sensation of walking is still there.As long asI let my intuition be my guide, controlling how I appear might eventually become as easy as breathing, onlyIdon’tdo that anymore.
I let myself chuckle at my own joke.
The shelves of Bound and Buried are filled with every genre one could imagine. I skim through the mystery section, admiring all the tiny mass market paperback editions of cozy Christmas whodunnits. They allseem to featurea cat on the cover in someshape or form,andjust looking at them evokes a sense of comfort.
I spy horror novels with chilling depictions of reaching hands and titles written in gothic script, general fiction ranging fromquirky Chick Lit to emotionally heavy hitters, and on the back wall, a massive selection of romance.
I’venever beenmuch of areader. In school, the pressure to finish a book just so I could be tested on it later was too daunting.I learned later that I struggled with reading comprehension, so one of my teachers suggested I read that really popular wizard book that all the kids were into, and it actually helped.It was the first time I cared about a story—the first time I wanted to turn the page and find out whathappenednext. But even that feelingwasn’tenough to hold my interest as I got older. Peer pressure and the stress offitting inovershadowed any personal interests.
Instinctively, I reach for one of the romances with a cute cover, but my hand goes right through it. Focusing hard, I try to imagine just my hand becoming corporeal, and before my own eyes, my hand turns solid.
