Sign Here(45)

Does it count as staying if leaving is always on the mind? How much lying does a marriage need to survive?

She was tired of thinking about it.

Lily heard her daughter’s laughter down the old oak stairs, followed by the tinkle of silverware, and she found that it hurt. Sometimes, especially here in this house, she couldn’t help that some part of her wanted those Forgetting Years back. But there was one thing Lily was never able to forget during the Forgetting Years, even though she never said it out loud. One thing she never let herself think about even as she couldn’t forget it, leaving it trapped between thought and unthought inside of her, as gnarled and solid as a peach pit.

She took that walk that night because when she woke up, Silas wasn’t next to her.





MICKEY





“STOP CLUMPING THEM LIKE that,” Ruth said, knocking Sean’s hand back. She spaced out the mismatched jars one at a time until they formed a circle around the blanket. Then she lit the candles within the jars, handing Sean the ones with flattened wicks so he could fish them out with his pocketknife.

“Sit down.” She squinted at the distance between them. “Closer together.” She pushed Sean, and, to Mickey’s surprise, he went. If she pushed her brother like that, he would sit on her chest until she said he was king of the world and she his lifelong peasant.

“Okay, let’s create a safe space. Everyone, hold hands.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, her eyes closed. Mickey stole a glance at Sean, who was watching Ruth’s chest. But it didn’t look like he was watching her breasts, which moved in the darkness like ocean creatures surfacing. It looked like he was watching the bones of her chest, up near her neck. Like he was entranced simply by the way that she breathed.

“Sean, this won’t work if you don’t take it seriously,” Ruth said. Mickey heard her brother sigh, but he must’ve closed his eyes, too, because Ruth went on. With her eyes closed, the sounds of the woods made a solid wall around them, until Mickey felt zipped up in the night. She kicked one foot just an inch, just to know she could.

“Sarah, we are here to listen to you. We want to hear what happened to you all those years ago. Please, Sarah. Join us.”

Sean pulled Mickey’s hand toward his face so he could scratch his nose.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Mickey twisted on the blanket. There was a pit in her stomach like the time she took her bike over to the big park when she was seven, the one across the busiest street. Like she didn’t know which was scarier—to succeed or not.

Then, the air shifted. They all felt it at the same time. Mickey could tell by the tightened grip on both of her hands. It felt like someone was watching them.

“That’s right, Sarah,” Ruth went on. “Come to us; tell us what happened to you. Did you drown?”

“We already know that,” Sean said.

“Shh!”

The water slapped against the shore, and then again. Mickey felt cold all over.

“Did someone hurt you?” Ruth asked.

Mickey could see the candlelight flicker through her eyelids, even though there wasn’t any wind.

“Who drowned you, Sarah?”

Mickey tightened her grip on Sean’s fingers, and he squeezed back. She wanted to cry with gratitude for him just then, for their shared experience of faking bravery to impress this new outsider, and their shared blood that kept them together, separate from her.

There was a sudden crack in the woods and Mickey whirled around, but Ruth yanked her arm back to center.

“Don’t open your eyes,” she hissed.

Another crack. A rustle, a screech of birds taking flight.

“It’s okay, Sarah. You’re safe with us. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Ruth said, louder this time. It seemed the scarier the world, the stronger Ruth’s confidence. And for the first time, Mickey realized her friend had grown up on fear.

“Tell us, Sarah, so we can help you. Who killed you? Was it Philip? Give us a sign.”

The crash that followed was so loud, even Ruth dropped Mickey’s hand. Candles scattered, extinguishing as they rolled into the dirt.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Silas bellowed, his voice violent enough to scare away the rest of the birds, and anything else that might have dared come close to them in the dark.





PEYOTE





THE ELEVATOR STOPPED, BUT the doors didn’t open. I was about to put my hands over my head and concede when a screen dropped down, covering the door. It was all white except for scrawling black text.





Welcome to the Sixth Floor! click here to begin.


I looked at Cal and she shrugged. I tapped and the text disappeared, replaced by a spinning circle of colors from the cheapest crayon box.

Then the circle froze.

“A classic,” Cal said.

Answer the following questions to find your perfect spirit guide!





Which form are you more inclined toward?


         Human



     Animal



     Nonspatial/light being





Cal pressed “animal,” and I didn’t object.