Necromancer - 7. Witnessing

That week I was hanging out with Simon at any opportunity. I was still doing theatre club and he was still playing chess – as far as I knew – but when both of us were free we hung out in the library together. The library wasn't my choice, I usually didn't spend a lot of time there. If you raised your voice any higher than a whisper you got a stern look from Mrs Webber, the skeletal frizzy-haired librarian. The look was enough to quiet kids down, she wasn't the type to give warnings. If she heard you again you'd be asked to leave.

So it wasn't like Simon and I could really talk. But he chose the library, which he'd admitted he didn't like before. It was for his new project: his obsession with the current mystery of Scone. Simon looked up websites on the outdated block computers the school still hadn't replaced. He looked up monster lore, as well as movies and historical accounts. He borrowed books about the supernatural, and learnt the history of Scone since its foundation. He learnt what he could about Tommy Phelps and Angela Preaker as well. He was relentless.

"...If Tommy Phelps was murdered, then the killer had something against him." Simon murmured through a pencil. He had a habit of writing down useful websites for later.

"They murdered him just to bring him back?" I replied from where I slouched on the nearby sofa-chair. We made sure to keep our voices low.

"Bringing him back was the main goal..." Simon's eyes were glued to the screen as he scrolled. "They were either opportunists. Or they were aware that they could kill someone with magic. So they made a choice and it was him. A newly departed soul and body, which is what they needed. So whoever killed him probably had a reason."

"Lots of people would've had a reason to kill Tommy. He was a jock. That doesn't exactly narrow it down. Didn't they prove he was mentally unwell?"

"So maybe they chose him because he'd be that more vulnerable."

"Or maybe he killed himself because he was mentally ill."

Simon gave me a look before resuming his studying. He actually enjoyed compiling notes. He liked the challenge of the mystery. If he applied himself like this to university, he'd be very successful. But maybe real-world things weren't so interesting for him. As close as we'd become, it still felt too intrusive to ask things like that.

Ms Worrall wanted everyone in the production to spend both lunches in rehearsals now, which I wasn't going to do. Melanie and Erin were miffed by my absence. I still sat with them in the classes we shared, and once Erin had asked about Simon in Ancient History. Jane still regularly went to the councillor. I guess what she'd seen had really shaken her up. Simon's encounter had been what led to all his lunchtime research. It must be something to come face-to-face with this stuff yourself.

Even though Simon and I couldn't talk much at school, I still drove him to and from his house. He still let me come inside and hang out. Listen to music and eat snack food. Play board-games and just chill. He relaxed with me, but didn't give me the impression he wanted to be more than friends. It was weird, seeing how open I'd been about my feelings. But I'd let things move slowly that week, and it wasn't until Friday that I kissed him again.

I'd been thinking about his smooth, dark skin. His dark, shrewd gaze. The nape of his neck and line of his jaw. At night in my room by myself I'd been thinking of him, sexually. My feelings for him were so intense. My attraction was deep-seated. I'd rubbed one out, jolting and gasping in bed, toes curling as I thought of my crush's slim body. Immense satisfaction... followed by the unhappy longing for what could be unrequited feelings.

"If you're spending your lunches in the library now... are you not seeing the councillor anymore?" I was sitting on the floor, chin in my palm, elbow against his sofa. Simon hesitated as he cleared away the wooden chess pieces into his board.

"I see her on my study breaks..." It was the closest we'd come to discussing his personal issues.

"Are things that bad?" I asked softly. He finished cleaning up after our game (he'd won, as usual). His dark eyes were lowered from beneath his long lashes.

"They're not good." He eventually answered.

"Am I helping?"

"You are." He murmured, still not looking at me.

"You know you're beautiful, right?" I spoke up, watched him finally look at me. "You're the best-looking gay guy at our school, I think, that is if you're actually gay?"

"Is that why you like me?"

"No," I answered honestly, my eyes narrowed slightly as I regarded him. "It doesn't hurt though."

He lowered his gaze. Looking effeminate and cute. Wordless as he let my words sink in. I straightened up and shuffled over to where he was sitting. My heart thumping in my chest as Simon watched me wide-eyed, both of us breathing out our mouths. Then I leaned over, kneeling on the wooden floor by his feet, both of us in socks. I kissed Simon's soft lips, and when I started to move mine against his, he started to respond as well.

This was the confirmation I'd wanted. And hopefully not Simon just getting caught up in the moment. Although I was getting caught up in this moment, leaning closer, pushing him back against the leather sofa. Hand on the corduroy jacket over his shoulder, moving down, my other hand through his matted hair and going down his neck. I was pulsing with desire.

Pushing him back more. Not an ounce of hesitation in me now that I was getting my way. Our lips were so tightly pressed I could almost feel his teeth against mine, the sweeping of my tongue before he moved away. I slinked back, lowering again. Despite the passion, I didn't want to scare him. I wanted to seem harmless now so he wouldn't kick me out. I was willing to promise not to touch him again for that, but if he actually wanted to go further...

Simon was facing away from me, mouth set. His eyes moved downward and I realised I'd gone hard without noticing. My cheeks blushed with embarrassment.

"Sorry Peter..."

"You don't have to be sorry."

Simon dipped his head and then stood. Picking up a few plates and carrying them into the kitchen. I sat back on the floor.

"Do you have any plans for the weekend?" I asked.

"I have a meeting with my therapist tomorrow." He answered mechanically while washing crumbs off under the tap. "I don't really need to go anymore. It was Andrew's idea."

I supposed that explained why he was so secretive. Someone who was used to exposing their darkest inner workings to a professional for help wouldn't want to do it more than that. Or he was ashamed.

I really did want Simon. I knew my feelings. I didn't care how bad things were, but I still needed to know him. I needed to know if he could open himself up to the idea of being with me, and be with me properly. Even though I didn't know if he could, my heart was already beating in his direction without my permission. I didn't want to pry him, even though I wanted to know everything. I turned and leaned back against the sofa.

"We could go for a drive after your session, if you want? Somewhere."

"Okay."

*

That night, even though it was stupid, I found myself out searching the town. Alone. Over the week sightings of Tommy Phelps had gone down. There were still stories but they were vague enough to be from hype. On Thursday evening security were called at a warehouse business, by the post office a boy in a dirty suit could be seen shuffling past the tree-line in a moribund way. It was the only potentially valid sighting after the elderly couple saw Tommy in their vegetable garden. There were still no reported sightings of Angela.

If Tommy was a zombie he wasn't eating anyone's brains. Nobody in Scone was disappearing. There were stories of murders and vanishings in the nearest city, but that was just life in populated areas. They had gangs and drugs and crime. Little Scone wasn't being attacked by anyone.

So I felt like it'd be a good idea to go out. Despite the instinct of danger, the urge to know was still eating at me. If the voice I'd heard was Tommy's, he'd only yelled at us to leave him alone. He'd sounded threatening, but he hadn't attacked. Maybe he wasn't that bad. An unholy abomination sure, the cause of tangible fear and maybe the reason why the gardens at the town hall were wilting, the reason why the maple tree at the corner of the cemetery seemed to be dead. But not a killer.

It was a clear, cold night. I was fairly certain I wouldn't find anything, despite the fact I'd been successful before. Maybe I needed the drive to distract myself. I aimed shrewd eyes at the passing landscape through my headlights. Simon and Jane got to have a vivid sighting of Tommy, why not me? Somehow, despite all the evidence and my own gut instinct, I knew I'd never completely believe it until I saw it.

I drove down to the creek. The trees converged on both sides of this little road. I had the radio turned off as I rolled the car in the darkness. Not far along this path was a meadow, a small rise and dip of grass that led to a stream. I stopped the car and when I was sure I was alone, I switched it off. This was stupid.

I got out of the car. It was petrifyingly cold, even without snow. I huddled into my thermal jacket, my breath misting as I climbed out. It was after midnight. The sound of my car door closing was loud in the eerie stillness. If I listened carefully enough, I could hear the sound of the water running along the hundreds of smooth stones.

I started trekking, breathing on my hands and rubbing them together. Burying my fingers deep in the pockets of my jacket. Moonlight bathed the surrounding grassland with a bluish tinge. I stepped through the knee-high grass, over and then down to the running black water. The trees on the other side were thin, climbing up to a shadowy hill. I stopped at the edge of the water and paused, breathed.

Could summoning a spectre be as easy as going out and waiting to meet one? Something felt loud in the silence. I let my breath fog out before me, toward the stream. This wasn't going to work. I had to look for something first, a sighting. No witches or ghosts were going to appear just because I waited around outside for one... But wouldn't this be a perfect spot for a pagan ritual?

I took a moment to wait in the darkness, thinking. When I began to consider hopping back in my car and escaping the cold, that was when I heard a distant snap. My breathing stopped. It was like a twig snapping underfoot. An animal, right? My hairs were standing on end. Should I run back to my car? No... if I don't see something clear I'll dismiss this all later as my imagination. But I didn't want to see something clear. It was frightening to be out in the dark alone. I felt like I'd been seen. Someone was watching. The trees swayed conspiratorially.

"Tommy?" My voice cracked. I swallowed. This was insane, but I felt driven on impulse. His grave was dug out, he had to be out there. Louder "Tommy? Emily?"

I saw something unexpected. Directly in front of me, across the stream, beyond the dead trees and up the hill. It was mist. For a second I was surprised. The night had been clear, no mist by the roads. I must have not seen it there before. Did mist usually form uphill and then travel down? From above I could see the swirling mist was creeping downward. How strange.

Things got stranger. It was definitely mist, and what had once been a slow creeping, passable as nothing more than nature even now, changed. The mist started rolling down the hill. Racing down the hill. The cloud of fog swept through trees and sprinted directly toward me. I took a wonky step back in shock. Even if I ran now I wouldn't outpace it.

Before my incredulous eyes the mist flew straight at me... and then hit an invisible wall. I fell backwards onto my ass, eyes bloated wide with incredulous terror. From just beyond the stream the mist swirled in place. Unable to cross the water and take me. I laid back in fear, eye-to-eye with the formless mass of smoke. It lingered for a long moment, as if staring me down before retracting. Sweeping back the way it came, and vanishing amidst the forest.

I blinked and panted. Scanning the empty scenery. Inching up and twisting my head. I scurried awkwardly, rattling stones and dirt. Got to all fours and pushed myself away from that place. Racing to my car and getting inside, gasping for breath and my hand shaking too violently to get the key in the ignition. My nerves were sparking, the back of my head screaming at me to drive. I got the car started and sped around, took off for home.

I blinked back tears on the way. Then in my driveway I stopped, bit down on the back of my hand to keep from screaming. What the fuck was that?! Smoke? I was attacked by smoke? What the hell was Simon going to say? Forget zombies and ghosts, there is a possessed cloud drifting around the outskirts of Scone. I'd finally, finally seen something firsthand, face-to-face. I wish I hadn't. It defied all logic and common-sense. It seemed impossible, but I know what I saw.

No one will ever believe me.

Simon will. It took a great deal of time to calm myself enough before I could walk quickly into the house. Race upstairs and bolt-lock my bedroom door, talking to no one.

*

Saturday afternoon I told Simon as soon as he hopped in my car. There was a shiny black ute in his driveway. Andrew was home, and he either didn't want me in the house or Simon didn't want us to meet. He was fine with coming to my place. I'd already been over his house half-a-dozen times, it would be interesting to see how Simon would like my home. He seemed interested in going there too. I hoped he wouldn't be too weird with my parents.

As I drove he was thoughtful, my hands were flexing and unflexing on the steering wheel. I was stressed. I felt like we were in this together though, me and him had both seen something now. Beside me Simon's head was lowered, his thin eyebrows bunched together. He looked very confused. Even sceptical, and that was surprisingly infuriating. No wonder Simon had been so mad before when he told me what he'd seen. Now I knew how that felt. It made me guilty for not taking him more seriously, but I supposed in this case seeing really was believing. He didn't speak again until we turned onto my street.

"So now we have Tommy Phelps as a zombie, Angela Preaker as a... ghost, and mist."

"And you think all these different monsters were summoned by magic, the same group of witches?" I pressed. He was the genius theorist.

"Supernatural beings don't just exist. There isn't a subrace of them living in secret. That is movies and book crap right there." Simon insisted. "To me, magic is a bit more credible. Demons are more credible. Most of the world is religious, and they believe in a God and devil. Ghosts are credible. Magic is supposed to be learning to use psychic brain power to talk to ghosts and demons. Willing things to happen. But what you told me sounds like... did you see anything else?"

"I told you everything I saw that night. There was no person there, just the mist. It was alive. It was coming at me, I knew it was. Apart from that all I've seen was something out my window that night... and my dream." I pulled onto the front lawn by my house. "I had a dream of Angela Preaker."

"Me too." Simon's head snapped in my direction.

"Was she outside of your house?"

"Outside my window, yes."

"Is... she trying to talk to us through our dreams? Trying to communicate something?" As I recalled her frightening face in my mind, I saw no urgency in her expression. Nothing she wanted to say, just a predator smile. Simon seemed to have gone still.

"No. No I don't think we were dreaming." He ducked down below the dashboard.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember what you did after seeing Angela?"

"No. I woke up in bed afterwards, I can barely remember it."

"It seemed like a dream. Like we were asleep at the time. But I remember... banging my foot after as I went back to bed." Simon straightened up and showed me his foot. My eyes widened. Around his big toe was dark red, dry blood around the toenail from where he'd stubbed it. He looked at me seriously "We really did sleepwalk to our windows that night. We saw a girl outside our houses. I bet she visited Jane too. But why? I remember nothing tripped the security light outside my house."

"Simon... my room's upstairs. When I saw her she was floating. She was wearing a white nightdress, it was trailing behind her..."

"This is more urgent than I thought." Simon slipped his shoe back on, unlatched the door. "Let's go inside. Angela isn't visiting us in our dreams. She's visiting us in real life."