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Halloween Countdown 2017, Day 2
Oct. 2nd, 2017 09:42 amToday for the Halloween Countdown I want to share the best ghost story I've read in ages. I had the honor of including "If a Bird Can Be a Ghost" by Allison Mills in the August 2017 issue of Apex Magazine (a "Celebration of Indigenous Fantasists"), which I guest edited. If you haven't read this story, you're in for a treat. If you have read it, then read it again! I can tell you from personal experience that it rewards multiple readings.
Here's a brief taste:
If Shelly’s mother had been home, she wouldn’t have let her go to the river. Grandma walks up and down the bank a few times, holding Shelly’s hand, the cops trailing after them, and Grandma lets her hair hang loose and long to pull up any ghosts.
She catches the ghost on the third pass. His clothes are plastered to his body and his shivering makes him shift in and out of focus. He doesn’t speak, but he keeps glancing over his shoulder, towards a little outcrop of rocks on the bank of the water.
“Ah,” Grandma says, nodding. She gestures the cops closer and points to the rocks. “He’s caught up in there. A nice young man with a red beard.”
The cops wait until Shelly and Grandma leave to pull the body from the water. The ghost comes home with them, wet and shivery, even after the bus ride back to the house.
“Do you want me to turn on the heater?” Shelly asks him.
The ghost jumps and looks down at her. “Where did you come from?”
“Leave him alone, Shelly. We’ll feed him and send him off,” Grandma says. “He doesn’t need us confusing him even more.”
“I don’t understand what happened,” the ghost says. “I was just on the bridge. I was just thinking.”
Grandma pours the ghost a mug of milk and warms it in the microwave as he drifts around their kitchen, flickering in and out of focus as Shelly watches, fascinated. A new ghost, a ghost who is still deciding if he wants to stick around or not, is new for her.
“What’s your name?” Shelly asks because the cops hadn’t said.
The ghost gives her a distressed look. “I don’t know,” he says. “Do you know who I am? Do you know my name?”
Grandma set the mug of warm milk down on the kitchen table. “Here you go,” she says. “This will warm you up and then we’ll make sure you get where you’re going. That sounds nice, doesn’t it? Shelly, would you get the scissors from my sewing kit?”
Shelly goes and gets the pair of small, silver scissors. The ghost drains the milk on the table. His wet hair drips real water on the floor. He looks like he’ll never be fully dry, like if you tried to wring him out he’d twist and twist and the water would just keep coming. This, Shelly thinks, is probably why Grandma doesn’t want to keep him. Having a damp ghost haunting their house would be troublesome.
Grandma wraps a strand of hair around her ring finger and clips it off. By the time the milk is finished, the ghost is nearly gone, just a faint smudge in the air where once there was a man.
“Where do they go?” Shelly asks. “Where do we send them?”
Grandma picks up the mug and refills it with milk. She sticks it in the microwave to heat it up for herself. “We’ll find out, won’t we? One day, a long time from now.”
Read "If a Bird Can Be a Ghost" by Allison Mills here.
Listen to my reading of "If a Bird Can Be a Ghost" here.
Here's a brief taste:
If Shelly’s mother had been home, she wouldn’t have let her go to the river. Grandma walks up and down the bank a few times, holding Shelly’s hand, the cops trailing after them, and Grandma lets her hair hang loose and long to pull up any ghosts.
She catches the ghost on the third pass. His clothes are plastered to his body and his shivering makes him shift in and out of focus. He doesn’t speak, but he keeps glancing over his shoulder, towards a little outcrop of rocks on the bank of the water.
“Ah,” Grandma says, nodding. She gestures the cops closer and points to the rocks. “He’s caught up in there. A nice young man with a red beard.”
The cops wait until Shelly and Grandma leave to pull the body from the water. The ghost comes home with them, wet and shivery, even after the bus ride back to the house.
“Do you want me to turn on the heater?” Shelly asks him.
The ghost jumps and looks down at her. “Where did you come from?”
“Leave him alone, Shelly. We’ll feed him and send him off,” Grandma says. “He doesn’t need us confusing him even more.”
“I don’t understand what happened,” the ghost says. “I was just on the bridge. I was just thinking.”
Grandma pours the ghost a mug of milk and warms it in the microwave as he drifts around their kitchen, flickering in and out of focus as Shelly watches, fascinated. A new ghost, a ghost who is still deciding if he wants to stick around or not, is new for her.
“What’s your name?” Shelly asks because the cops hadn’t said.
The ghost gives her a distressed look. “I don’t know,” he says. “Do you know who I am? Do you know my name?”
Grandma set the mug of warm milk down on the kitchen table. “Here you go,” she says. “This will warm you up and then we’ll make sure you get where you’re going. That sounds nice, doesn’t it? Shelly, would you get the scissors from my sewing kit?”
Shelly goes and gets the pair of small, silver scissors. The ghost drains the milk on the table. His wet hair drips real water on the floor. He looks like he’ll never be fully dry, like if you tried to wring him out he’d twist and twist and the water would just keep coming. This, Shelly thinks, is probably why Grandma doesn’t want to keep him. Having a damp ghost haunting their house would be troublesome.
Grandma wraps a strand of hair around her ring finger and clips it off. By the time the milk is finished, the ghost is nearly gone, just a faint smudge in the air where once there was a man.
“Where do they go?” Shelly asks. “Where do we send them?”
Grandma picks up the mug and refills it with milk. She sticks it in the microwave to heat it up for herself. “We’ll find out, won’t we? One day, a long time from now.”
Read "If a Bird Can Be a Ghost" by Allison Mills here.
Listen to my reading of "If a Bird Can Be a Ghost" here.