DARJA
As it turned out, being dead sucked. Like, for real. I could feel a tugging deep within my… soul? It felt like someone had cast a fish hook and caught me under the navel, pulling me toward something unseen. But every time I tried to follow the feeling, I disappeared. Flickered out, as Sofi described it.
I was still there, in those moments…wherever ‘there’ was. But nothing was the same. The world around me dimmed, like an old Polaroid left in the sun, the image floating distant and blurred beneath the cellulose. A rushing noise filled my ears, a dull roar that felt disorienting and strange. There were voices, carried through the air around me; plaintive sounds that never formed into recognizable words.
I had sat with Sofi in the woods while she struggled to stay awake, blinking in and out of existence seemingly against my will. We hadn’t said much, as the other girls, though out of sight, might still have been within earshot. Besides, what was there to say about this messed up situation, other than just that? We didn’t know what it meant, or where to go for answers.
So we sat, silent and still, each lost in our own thoughts. I could see Sofi shivering as the deepest dark slowly faded to gray, but I couldn’t feel the chill. Eventually, just as the dew began to shimmer along the delicate spider webs spun through the grass, Sofi’s mother came to collect her.
They hugged, and Sofi peered at me over her mother’s shoulder, her eyes searching and unsure. I didn’t know if I should follow her, or even if I could, so I just shrugged. The two began to walk toward the edge of the woods, and as they got farther away, the tugging sensation inside me grew stronger, nearly unbearable. It wasn’t a physical pain, but there was an ache—an empty sort of yearning—I couldn’t define.
I scrambled to catch up as they moved through the trees, and the longing subsided—though it did not dissipate—the closer I got to Sofi. They walked out into the field where Ms. Kross had driven me the night before, a few tire tracks denting the grass the only indication anything may have happened in the woods beyond. Sofi walked around to the passenger side of a small blue car, and I felt a surge of panic. I didn’t know where she lived. Didn’t know if I could ride in a car, or how Sofi might feel about a dead girl riding along in the backseat. And very suddenly and very certainly, I didn’t want to be left alone.
I silently pleaded with Sofi to look back at me, to see me like no one else could. To tell me what the hell I was supposed to do. But she slid into the car and buckled her seat belt without a backward glance.
“Bitch,” I whispered half-heartedly, even knowing it wasn’t fair. After all, she was just as freaked out and overwhelmed as I was. But at least she’s not dead, I thought bitterly. I watched the car move slowly across the field and turn onto the road that ran down to the koolis.
Don’t panic, I told myself. Just breathe.
Except I couldn’t breathe. The realization knocked me sideways and sent me reeling. I was dead. I had died. And I had come back. But not back to life.
Back to what?
My mind raced. Was I a ghost? A spirit? Was I haunting Sofi?
A hysterical giggle bubbled up in my throat. I flickered then, everything around me going suddenly out-of-focus, those strange noises rushing up to envelope me like a physical presence. I gasped, the ache inside me growing so strong I doubled over, wrapping my arms around my body.
I clamped my eyes shut, humming loudly to cover the sound of the voices pleading, taunting, wailing. I knew I was dead. Knew I had lost my body. But I felt I was losing my mind as well.
When I opened my eyes again, I was in a bedroom. It wasn’t my own sparse dorm at the koolis, decorated with a cork board full of plaintive song lyrics, less-than-flattering doodles of all the tajas and not much more. This room was warm and bright and messy, a dark wooden bed in the corner strewn with cast-off clothing. Situated just under a window outfitted with soft yellow curtains was a squashy armchair covered in floral fabric and mismatched floral pillows, an equally squashy orange cat perched in the middle. I swore loudly, startled by the sudden change of scenery, and the cat flicked his eyes toward me, issuing a sound that could have been a purr or a growl. Then, with a careless yawn, he curled deeper into the cushions and closed his eyes.
I frantically took stock of my surroundings, noting the photos tucked around the vanity mirror, the braided flower crown from some midsummer past slung over the bed rail, and the laptop open to the lyrics of a song in the old language perched on the desk.
Sofi’s room. But how—?
My thoughts were cut off by the soft creak of the door handle turning. I didn’t know where to go or what to do, so I quickly sat down on the bed, trying to look casual.
The door opened and Sofi entered, her shoulders slumping as she crossed the threshold. She looked up, eyes going wide, and staggered backward into the hall.
“Holy shit!” she squealed, palms flat against the wall behind her. I could hear a muffled voice from somewhere else in the house asking if she was okay.
“I’m fine,” she called, though her voice wavered. “Just forgot that Sprat was in here.”
Sprat, who appeared to be the fat orange cat in the chair, cracked an eye, then swished his tail before resuming his nap.
Sofi inched slowly back into the bedroom and closed the door behind her, staring at me like she’d hoped the whole night before had been some sort of bizarre fever dream.
“What the hell are you doing in my room?” she hissed. Her long blonde hair was wild where it had pulled loose from the unity braids, and the cornflowers hung limp and wilted, tangled with dried bits of grass and a few withered leaves. A smudge of soot ran down one cheek, and the hem of her white dress had turned dingy brown.
“You look like shit,” I responded. The pain and terror of the night before was written plainly across her face, and a surge of guilt spread through me.
“Well you look like—”
“Like what?” I said, my guilt subsiding.
She looked away. “Like a ghost,” she muttered.
Her words lanced through me like needles, and I winced.
We lapsed into silence, though I could feel the unanswered questions hanging between us. I gazed down at the quilt on the bed. It was smooth all around me, no wrinkles or indentations where I sat. The realization that I had no weight, made no impression, unnerved me.
“What now?” I said finally, glancing up to meet her eyes.
She sighed and began to fidget with the ribbon at the end of her braid. “I wish I knew. I mean, it worked, right? For the first time in more than a hundred years. It has to mean something, right?”
I shrugged. “Mean what? That a hundred and fifty years of murdering girls is suddenly fine because the magic works?”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said softly.
“Because it’s not fine.”
“I know that.”
“They drugged me. They dragged me against my will into a fire and threw me in it while I was still alive. There is nothing that can justify that.”
“I know that,” she said again, and this time, the firmness in her voice stole whatever fight was left in me. This wasn’t her fault, and no matter how much I wanted to throw some blame, she was my only ally in this thing, and I wasn’t going to get far without her.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you know. I just…I’m just freaking out.”
“Same here,” she said with a tight, humorless smile. “I just want to go to sleep and pretend it never happened. When I got in the car with my mom, I thought I could. Then you were here, and I just…” she sighed, then glanced down at her dress. “Ugh, I’m disgusting.”
I let the abrupt change of subject slide. “You are,” I said instead, grinning when she shot me a look.
“I need a shower before we can figure out what to do next.”
“Knock yourself out,” I said, pretending that I hadn’t just realized I’d never again experience a hot shower.
Sofi grabbed a pair of leggings and a t-shirt off the bed, careful to avoid the space I sort-of occupied, then gave me a quick smile before disappearing out the door.
I sat motionless, staring aimlessly for a few minutes, wondering what to do, when I heard Sprat scratching the seat of the chair.
“Bad kitty,” I said offhandedly, but to my surprise, he turned and looked directly at me, letting out a curious mewl. I narrowed my eyes. “Can you see me?” Feeling a bit dumb, I waved a hand in the air, then let out a low swear when Sprat’s eyes followed the motion.
By the time Sofi returned, wrapped in a towel and a cascade of damp hair trailing down her back, I had a plan.
I waited impatiently while she got ready, rolling my eyes but obliging when she asked me to turn around so she could get dressed.
“So,” she said, while I gazed out the window at the late morning sunshine. “You’re saying Sprat can see you? Just like I can?”
“He knows I’m here,” I said with certainty. “I’m sure of it.”
“And this means we have to go to the koolis because…?”
I sighed, not sure how to explain. In that moment, when I’d realized Sprat knew I was there, I’d remembered something. There’d been a cat at the koolis. A slim and standoffish calico that one of the tajas had fed once and then never gotten rid of. Sasha, as we’d called her, lived almost exclusively in the library. She was fond of lounging outside the door of the historic section, a small, glassed-in room that held texts, paintings and artifacts from the old country. Every few days, Sasha would emerge from the library and saunter down to the kitchens, where she’d wait at the back door until the egg lady appeared.
The egg lady was an elderly woman who lived alone on the outer edge of Vaikesti. She kept chickens in her backyard, and a few times a week would bring a basket of eggs to the tajas who also worked in the kitchens. In a separate basket, she would wrap up several small fish she’d caught in the stream that ran along the outskirts of the town, and these she would leave just outside the door for Sasha.
I was fascinated by the egg lady. She wore odd clothing—heavy skirts draped in scarves and patched in numerous places, and a threadbare velvet coat that looked as if it came from another century. We all knew the egg lady was crazy, as she spent most of her visit muttering incomprehensibly to herself and looking nervously over her shoulder.
I had always thought it was odd that Sasha was the only one with whom she spoke directly, petting and cooing over her while she put out the fish. What was even stranger, I remembered thinking, was that Sasha always seemed to be looking beyond the egg lady, following something just behind her with a careful, curious gaze.
The same gaze Sprat had given me.
“Darja?” Sofi said, interrupting my memory.
“Yeah,” I said, turning back to face her. “I’ll explain when we get there.”
“Speaking of,” she said, running a comb through her hair. “How are we getting there?”
I shrugged. “You drive. I’ll meet you there.” I wasn’t sure I could replicate whatever had gotten me from the field to Sofi’s bedroom, but I was about to find out.