Lair of Dreams

“What a terrible way to die. All alone,” Sam said.

They fell silent as the horror and sadness of Wai-Mei’s death hit them.

“Did you get anything about how we get rid of this dame or her Ziegfeld Ghost Follies?” Theta asked at last.

Evie kept a hand at her neck to calm her racing pulse. “I can’t say for certain, but there was a feeling when I was under. This terrible place… I-I think it’s keeping her here. She can’t rest. We need to carry her bones out of here. She needs to be cared for.”

“A proper burial,” Memphis said.

“Fine. We’ll have a funeral. Where?” Sam asked.

“Trinity Church isn’t far from here. There’s a graveyard. It’s hallowed ground,” Memphis said.

“You think that’ll work?” Theta asked. “Jericho said each culture has its own beliefs.”

“Beats me. I’m a rookie at this ghost game,” Sam said with a shrug.

“We can’t leave her in this terrible place,” Evie said. “That much is clear.”

“Well, I for one am all for getting out of here. Memphis, help a fella out?” Sam said.

Carefully, they lifted Wai-Mae’s skeleton. Some of the bones fell into dust, but others remained intact.

“We can’t put these in our pockets,” Sam said.

Memphis took off his coat. “Here.”

Sam laid the bones inside, and Memphis carefully wrapped them into a bundle.

“Here,” Sam said, handing Evie the skull. “You can carry that. Merry Christmas.”

Evie’s mouth twisted in revulsion. “You’ve ruined the joy of the season for me forever.”

“For Pete’s sake, let’s breeze,” Theta said, gathering the bloodstained dress into a ball and marching back into the decrepit, abandoned station. “Shame,” she said, looking up at the former grandeur gone to rot. But she was thinking, too, of Wai-Mei’s tragic life.

As they cleared the tunnel, a sound came from behind them: soft but steady, like heavy rain dropping down from the ceiling—one, two, three, fourfivesix, more and more. Theta chanced a glance behind her and saw the thing that was so like a man squatting in the dark, his mouth open to emit a syrupy howl. Lights winked in the long darkness. In the glow, she saw only flashes: A sharklike tooth. Pale, cracked skin. Unseeing eyes.

“Memphis,” Theta whispered.

The flashlight shook in his hand. He started to raise it, but Theta pushed his hand back down, shaking her head.

“Keep walking,” Sam said. “Up and out.”

“I hate g-ghosts,” Evie whispered. “I really, really do.”

The aged wood of the steps leading up to the passenger waiting platform creaked loudly under the weight of all four of them. Thick whispers filled the station. Above them, the mottled ceiling crawled.

Theta’s voice was whisper-thin. “What do we do now?”

Memphis grabbed her hand. “I think we run.”





Henry opened his eyes to sun. He was lying in the bottom of the rowboat, bobbing on the current. He didn’t know how long he’d been floating there; he only knew that Louis wasn’t beside him.

“Louis?” he called, sitting up. “Louis!”

He spotted Louis sitting under a weeping willow in the wide field of morning glories up on the hill.

“There you are,” Henry said, coming to sit beside him. “Been looking all over for you.”

“Looks like you found me,” Louis said, and his voice sounded hollow.

“What should we do—go out in the boat? Take Gaspard for a walk? Fish?”

“I want to tell you about the morning glories, Henri. I remembered about them. Why I don’t like them,” Louis said quietly, and Henry felt a warning deep in his gut that the dream was turning.

“It doesn’t matter,” Henry said. He didn’t want to have this conversation. All he wanted to do was float down the river, just the two of them under a portion of sun that was all theirs. “Come on. Fish are biting.”

He offered his hand, but Louis didn’t take it. “I have to tell you now, while I’m brave enough to do it.”

Henry saw that Louis wouldn’t be moved, so he sat and waited.

Louis’s words were slow, as if each one cost him. “’Member when I told you I stopped by Bonne Chance that one night, askin’ after you? Your daddy sent some men to see me. They told me to let you go. But I couldn’t do that. So they roughed me up some. It’s not like I hadn’t taken plenty o’ blows before, for bein’ different.” Louis scooped up handfuls of dirt, rubbing the grit of it between the pads of his fingertips. “But one of ’em, he hit my head mighty hard. Always thought I had a hard head, but…” Louis offered a ghost of a smile for his joke. It flickered on his lips for a second and then vanished. He looked up to the cruel blue of the sky. “I remember now, I remember…” he said, and it was with equal parts wonder and sorrow.

Inside Henry, some truth was descending like an avenging angel.