Break the Bodies, Haunt the Bones Read online

  “He just wants to get rid of me,” Dennis said.

  The dancing girl pulled Dennis against her, resting his head against her shoulder. Few ghosts were so solid and present, especially in the middle of the day. Whatever the ghost wanted, she wanted badly.

  “That’s what he does. He makes things and abandons them.” The ghost’s voice cut through Henry, like she knew things about him that even he didn’t know. “There are dark rooms full of things he made and forgot about. But the people he hurt, they won’t forget.”

  “Wait,” Henry said. “Are you talking about me or my ghost? You knew him, didn’t you? Do you know where he is?”

  The ghost girl’s hair swung out behind her, floating on the air like spider silk.

  “I tried to get Henry to dance with me before,” the ghost girl said. “He wouldn’t even hold my hand.”

  Dennis narrowed his eyes. “He’s a coward. He wants to run, and he wants me to run too. But I won’t.”

  “Then you’re going to get hurt,” Henry said. “Even if I had my ghost, what was I supposed to do?”

  “I would have helped you,” Dennis said. “I would have found a way.”

  It was stupid. The pig boy didn’t know what he was talking about. He didn’t know how anything worked here. But his words cut Henry. It was true. He had been a coward. But what else could he be?

  Dennis started sobbing, sitting down on the stage. The ghost girl bent and put her arms around him. Henry came closer, started to apologize, but she waved him away. She looked past him when she spoke, reliving some memory. “You only made things worse. Just like always. Leave. You only care about your machines anyway.”

  * * *

  Henry walked out of the school and headed down the cracked and trash-blown streets of downtown. The deeper he pressed into those shattered buildings, the more things moved in the windows or raced thin and eel-like over the ground.

  He had just watched while the boys hurt Dennis. He had left the pig boy alone on stage with the ghost girl. He wasn’t brave enough to help when people needed him, and he wasn’t brilliant enough to reshape the world into what it needed to be. He was trapped by his own limitations. Losing his ghost had shown him what he really was: nothing. If he wanted to be more than himself, he would need to be haunted again.

  An old brick building faced him, its windows blown out and staring like the hollows of a skull. Henry tried the door, but it was nailed shut. He lifted himself up on the ledge, cutting his hands on broken glass, and climbed inside. He trembled, his breath fast and legs heavy, unwilling to walk deeper into the dark. But he had to. He would find a ghost, any ghost that would have him. He had to protect Dennis and the other pigs, had to somehow fix what he had done, and he couldn’t do that alone.

  Something big moved in the dark, crawling up a flight of stairs and knocking things over on the next floor. Henry followed the sound, barely able to see. The stairs were littered with old clothes smelling of sweat and cat piss.

  The second floor was ringed in windows, and here Henry could see dim shapes of ghosts hovering over the floor. They shoved and screamed silently at one another. As the light faded outside, they would grow thicker, put on flesh, come roaring back into the world. Henry sat down on the carpet and waited for night to come.

  His sister texted him after a while, asking if he needed a ride. A few hours later, she texted again, wondering where he was. He ran a finger over the phone’s cracked face and turned it off.

  As the light died, the room awakened. Ghosts pulled themselves up from the floor and went shouting down the stairs. They threw things from the windows. One grabbed Henry and pushed him hard against the wall, demanding to know where its wife was. The room was a riot of half-formed shapes begging and crying, tearing at the walls and casting rubble around them. They tugged at his clothes and screamed in his ears. Henry covered his head and let it roll over him like a storm.

  Night deepened and the shapes took on definition and weight. In the corner of the room, a woman stepped out from the wall. She stood over a broken machine. She passed her hands over it, and the metal lifted to meet her. Tiny hammers raised. Pulleys squealed. An arm moved back and forth, dragging a tattered skein of thread behind the point of a needle. She plunged her hands into its guts, ripping out gears and metal rods, shredding her flesh to destroy it.

  A low black shape came crawling up the stairs and sniffed him out, baring teeth and pinning Henry against the wall in the dark. It was a dog, its side ripped open by a car. It wasn’t dead yet, or not completely. Its eyes shone blue with ghost-light, and it spoke with a dog’s tongue through broken teeth.

  “You’re lost,” it said. “Let me help you.”

  “I came to find a ghost.”

  “You found one.” The dog’s flanks heaved with fast, feverish breath.

  Henry leaned back from the sour mouth. “I made the pig people. They’ll take over the plant eventually and lay everyone off. The whole town’s going to collapse. I need a ghost to help me fix things.”

  The ripple of a snarl passed over its muzzle. It bobbed toward him and away, like it was struggling to hold itself back. “I’m always looking for a new body to carry me around. I go through them so fast.”

  Henry could barely speak, desperate and scared, his chest heaving. This was a mistake. But what else could he do?

  “If you want me, you can have me,” he said. “Any ghost would be better than none.”

  The dog sat back on its flank and lolled its tongue, seeming to laugh. “I’ll need a way in. Show me that you can be who I need you to be.”

  “What do I have to do?” Henry asked.

  “You have to kill,” the ghost said. “You have to fight and hurt. Show me you can do that, and I’ll make you strong.”

  It lay down in front of him, turning the gash in its side toward Henry.

  “Kill,” the ghost said, “and eat.”

  Henry was disgusted, horrified that he was even talking to this thing. But the ghost was already washing over him. It swarmed, hot and angry, through his head. The world had taken everything from him. Shouldn’t he take something back? Shouldn’t he hurt something, be strong for once? He pressed his hands to the dog’s wound, digging his fingers into its side.

  The dog leapt at him, snapped its jaws around his arm. Blood washed over its snout.

  Henry screamed and hit it with his free hand, his glasses tumbling to the floor.

  “Good,” the ghost said. It was somewhere near his ear now, not in him but not in the dog, either. It was close. “Earn me.”

  The dog had been nearly dead, only the presence of the ghost keeping it on its feet. It bit into his arm with the last of its strength, and died. Henry tore out a piece of meat from its wound. It stank of rot and blood. He opened his mouth, ready to receive the ghost like communion, to be transformed—

  Someone slapped the meat out of his hand and lifted him up. He fought back, terrified but also angry, the ghost lingering on his shoulders furious at having been interrupted. The figure twisted his injured arm, bringing tears to his eyes. Henry was dragged downstairs and rolled out the window, jerked up from the pavement and pulled along dark streets.

  Outside in the moonlight, he saw that it was his scarred father who held him. Henry’s arm burned where the dog had bitten him, was probably getting infected. The last traces of the ghost’s influence faded like smoke leaving his lungs.

  “I almost ate that. I almost let that thing inside me. I was so stupid. Why did I come here?”

  His father looked straight ahead, not giving any indication that Henry was there. But he held his son’s arm, keeping him close.

  All the fear of the last two days passed over Henry—waking up without his ghost, seeing the boys grab Dennis in the cafeteria, the ghost girl saying that he had done horrible things, the violent ghost that he’d almost let inside his body, this unknowable person dragging him down the stairs in the dark. He pressed the fist of his good hand into his mouth and bit down on it, cl
osed his eyes, and let his father lead him. He walked mechanically, focusing on his hand so that he wouldn’t collapse.

  * * *

  I’m okay, he texted his sister. Dad found me. We’re almost home.

  They were only a few blocks away. This late at night, the streets boiled with ghosts, a river flowing up to the plant. Shapes half formed of flesh and fog went along the roads on their strange errands. His father held Henry against his side, and the ghosts passed without noticing them. A rusted police cruiser drifted shark-like down the road. Henry didn’t know if it was living or dead.

  At home, Jane stood framed in the light of the open doorway. She ran out and hugged Henry. Their father started to back away into the dark, but Jane grabbed his hand.

  “Come inside,” she said. “Please. Just for a minute.”

  Henry followed the two of them in, grateful that his sister would be too distracted with their father to ask him what he had been doing. She glanced back at him, her withering look letting Henry know that she had read his mind. Above their heads, the laser array sliced open the sky.

  In the living room, their mother sat on the couch. The robot lay at her feet, eyes boring into Henry’s father. The man stood just inside the room, his eyes flickering to take in the familiar space. He held himself tense, up on the balls of his feet, like he might run at any moment.

  “What’s he doing here?” their mother asked. Brutal heat came off of her, making the air shimmer.

  Jane squeezed her father’s hand. “Henry was an idiot and almost got himself killed. Dad saved him.”

  Henry looked at the floor. She’d already pulled the whole story out of his head. He was relieved at least that there was nothing left to talk about.

  “Your father won’t stay,” their mother said.

  “He might,” Jane said. “He remembers us. This proves it.” She wouldn’t let go of his hand, though.

  Outside, there was a roaring as if a plane flew overhead. Henry pulled aside the curtains and looked out the front window.

  Something fell through the sky. It burned hot and scintillating, flashing white and blue. It looked like it was falling toward them, into the cradle of red laser light. Whatever his ghost’s device had been signaling, it had finally arrived.

  “We need to get out of the house,” Henry said.

  Jane came to stand beside him. “What is it?”

  The light streaked toward the ground in an arc. It left a crackling tail behind it. Something about radiation and exotic matter teased at the corners of Henry’s mind. It was hard to estimate the object’s size. They should leave, but Henry knew that it was already too late.

  On the road outside, Bethany came jogging by the house. She stopped in front of their yard, looking up. The laser array painted her skin red.

  “Bethany!” Henry yelled. “Run away!”

  The roar of the falling light drowned him out. The frenetic array painted the world crimson, drenching the houses and lawns bloody. Above, the sun-bright sphere curved down like a scythe, its coming a wail that split the sky. They could only stare up and wait, the glow burning their eyes and making phantom copies multiply in reds and pinks and blues across their peripheral vision.

  The wind from its fall rippled Bethany’s hair and shirt. The alien spark was basketball-sized, the sound of it shattering, like lightning sliding across lightning. Bethany stared up as it fell. While Henry called to her from the window, waiting for the impact that would surely annihilate them in a tidal wave of heat and light, Bethany did what she had always done when a ball fell within reach of her hands. She raised her arms and caught it.

  Part II

  The falling alien glow lit up the yard like an electric sun. Jane’s ghost blew around the room, drinking up the family’s terror and wonder. Outside, Bethany stood on the rippling grass, circles of light and shadow ringing her like a target. They all shouted for her to run. Instead, she raised her arms to the sky.

  In the moment the alien glow slammed into her, Jane’s ghost was with Bethany. It was over in an instant. The street went dark again, and the air turned warm and still. Jane blinked, unable to see after the wash of intense light. The house hadn’t been harmed. They were alive. Everything was fine.

  Her ghost returned to Jane with everything that Bethany had felt in her moment of contact. The girl looking up to see light shining red through her raised hands, like she was made of glass. Her skin tightening with the sudden shock of heat. The alien sphere spinning as fast as the blade of a saw against her palms.

  But Bethany had not been afraid. It had not occurred to her that this was impossible. She leapt for the alien light like it was hers, snatching it out of the air, her muscles and skin straining against it. Between Bethany’s ribs, an amphitheater of spirits roared, their hands raised with hers, animated by their belief that there was nothing this girl couldn’t do.

  The light had crashed down through Bethany’s arms like a comet, cratering itself in her chest, breaking up and leaving fragments of heat and light all through her. Bethany looked down at her hands and found that she was whole.

  Jane ran outside with her family to make sure that Bethany wasn’t hurt. The light was gone, but Bethany’s hands still glowed white. Henry’s machine had brought this, whatever it was. Her ghost probed his mind, wanting to know what he’d been trying to do. As usual, he wasn’t sure himself.

  She isn’t haunted, Jane’s ghost said. Well, not any more than usual. The falling light wasn’t a ghost.

  Bethany stretched her arms, took a deep breath, bounced on her toes. “I feel fine. My hands are a little warm, but they don’t hurt.” She held out her palms, the alien light bleeding away until her hands were empty and clean.

  “Was it an alien?” Jane asked. “Or some kind of satellite?”

  Henry didn’t look at her. He was tired, ashamed. Worried he might have hurt his best friend.

  Their mother went inside with the robot. Their father was gone, vanishing just as the wash of light had descended. Jane walked to the edge of the yard, looking up and down the street, but there was no sign of him.

  “Can we give her a ride home?” Henry asked his sister.

  “I’m fine,” Bethany said. “I need to finish my run.”

  “You should go to the doctor,” Jane said.

  Bethany shook her head. “I don’t really get sick. Whatever that was, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you at school, Henry.” She turned and started jogging home.

  Jane could feel that Bethany was disappointed. When she had reached up for the ball of light, spinning so hot and fast, she had hoped that it would somehow transport her far from Swine Hill. Or, if it left her behind, that its hot light might burn away her weight of ghosts. The alien had come like destiny, and Bethany had expected it to change her. Instead, nothing. Jane was in awe of how reckless—how confident—the girl was.

  Henry stared after Bethany, listening to her feet pound the asphalt. Ghosts rose pale and thick along the sides of the streets, but Bethany didn’t fear them. At the end of the street, she was illuminated for a moment by the porch light from one of the pigs’ houses. As she turned the corner, Jane saw Bethany stumble for just a moment. She recovered and kept going, but Henry had noticed. Terror spread through his chest, rising high within him like a storm. What had he done?

  * * *

  Last night, Jane had pushed Henry’s junk aside to put down a stack of blankets beside his bed. The floor was hard under her, and she woke up with pain in her back and neck. A busted air-conditioning unit pressed against her arm, and a dead vacuum cleaner lay at her feet. Her ghost could feel the pulsing of spirits inside those machines, walking the endless roads of copper coil looped around the motors. The spirits didn’t know how small and lost they’d become. The ghost swelled in her, aching for them, fearing for itself.

  Henry had woken up before Jane. He sat at his desk, a screwdriver flashing in his hand. He bounced its tip on the wood, frustrated.

  Jane asked her ghost why it hadn’t woken
her up.

  He wasn’t thinking about hurting himself. You needed sleep. And sometimes I like to be alone.

  Her ghost wanting to be alone was so ridiculous that Jane laughed. Henry turned in his chair to frown at her. The spirit never wanted to be alone. It was always talking, always listening, a manic and fast-burning bird of fire swooping through her mind. It barely let her think.

  When you’re asleep, it’s easier to hear other ghosts. Especially the ones that have almost faded away. If I don’t listen to them, who will?

  “You don’t have to sleep in my room,” Henry said. “We’re both too old for that. It’s gross.”

  Jane sat up, her limbs sore. “You’re just afraid I’ll hear you thinking about perverted things. It’s not like I haven’t before.”

  Henry focused on the problem in front of him. He listed the parts in his mind, trying to solve the puzzle of them. Pin drum. Fan fly. Comb. Chain pulley.

  “When I’m sure you aren’t going to hurt yourself, I’ll sleep in my room again.”

  Henry put down his screwdriver and tensed. Jane’s ghost brought her a stream of images. The dark stairwell. The dog with broken teeth. Some invisible and heavy thing winding around his shoulders, speaking into his ear. His hands full of rotting meat.

  “I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. I didn’t want to die.”

  He’s lying. Whether he knows it or not.

  “Why else would you go downtown? Into the most haunted place you could find?”

  “I didn’t want to be me. I needed to be more than that. But I guess this is all I have.”

  His bloody hands, the smell of the dog’s breath, his stomach clenching when he realized what he’d almost done. He’s horrified. He can’t believe he was so stupid, but he also can’t believe he was such a coward. It’s tearing him apart.

  “You don’t have to enjoy it so much,” Jane said.