Young Writers Society

"Whatever you are?" I repeated, tilting my head to the side. "Don't you recognize me, Butch? I'm the man you murdered."

I looked up into his eyes, head still tilted to the side.

"You killed someone who's job was to help people," I said, "all because he showed a little kindness. Did you really think you wouldn't be punished for that?"

Butch pointed his ax at Oliver's corpse, his hands shaking. Corpses were not supposed to come to life. He didn't know what evil magic this was, but he didn't know if hacking at it any more would make it more dead.

"Don't get any closer," he threatened, but his voice was pitifully full of fear.

Getting hacked by an ax wouldn't kill me, but it would hurt. I needed to take care of that ax - and I needed to do it in a showy way. I could use some of my ghostly abilities to yank it out of his hands, but I knew any even better way to terrify him.

I had done something similar to what I was about to do when I was on Nikko's world. Usually, ghosts would use this kind of power to move things. But if I tried "moving" an object from multiple directions, I could crush it. I had done it with a can before, but an ax wouldn't be all that much harder if I added just a bit more pressure in the right places.

The blade of the ax broke into a shower of metal shards. I could have done the same with the handle, but I thought it would be just a bit more terrifying to have the weakest part of the weapon left.

"Why should I listen to your request?" I asked, tilting my head even more to the side. It was starting to hurt my neck a little, but I was willing to make that sacrifice. "You didn't listen to me when I asked you for mercy. Why do you deserve mercy from me? Reed certainly didn't get it, and all he did was watch."

That last part was a bit of a gamble; if Butch had found Reed since I got out of his body, he might call my bluff and realize I had done barely anything to him. But Butch also was genuinely shocked and scared by me, and I was pretty sure he wouldn't be as terrified if Reed had told him about being possessed.

James had a pained few minutes as it became evident that much of the stew had run through him and come out in a very unpleasant manner. He took his time emptying himself, but he quickly cleaned up and drew up his pants, hobbling back to the campsite.

He caught another whiff of himself. Gods, he still smelled terrible. He hoped some of that smell wasn't coming from him.

As he shuffled through the forest, he heard voices up ahead, and he froze. The campfire was out. James slowly crept up closer, taking cover behind a tree in the dark, trying to get a view of what was happening.

Oliver was standing there, looking up at Butch, sitting atop his horse. His heart stopped as he heard Oliver's words and saw his face.

There was a gaping hole where his other eye should've been. James felt sick.

And then the blade of Butch's ax shattered into a million little pieces without anyone touching it. He watched as Butch's already paled face grew ever-more painted with terror - a look he couldn't have even imagined on a man of his nature.

Butch stared at the wooden handle in his hands as Oliver's words seemed to hang in there air as an ominous threat of an unknown fate.

Butch's hand opened like a claw, dropping the handle to the ground before he flipped around and spurred his horse in the side, sending it shooting off into the forest. James tucked behind the tree again as the horse rushed past him, and that was when it hit him.

Oliver was a corpse. Oliver was dead, or supposed to be dead, but was somehow still moving and breathing and speaking.

James leaned heavily into the tree. He found himself thankful that he had digested his small meal, otherwise, it would've come up. Instead what bubbled in the back of his throat was bile, and he fought to push it back down, not wanting to reveal his hiding spot just yet if he sputtered.

Now he wasn't sure who to fear more anymore - Butch, or the dead man walking?

Butch was gone.

I resisted the urge to sigh in relief, instead turning my attention to the more pressing issue: Tiberius had to be coming back soon. I reached up my hand and felt around the place Butch had shot earlier. I could still feel maggots in there - which had been a welcome surprise earlier, but were going to be a problem if they moved underneath the cloth when I put it back.

But it was hard getting them out. No matter how many times I reached into it, I could only get a few out. Should I just try to put the bandage back and hope Tiberius was too out of it to notice?

James watched as Oliver reached for the hole in his head and started pulling something out. He came to the sickening realization that is was probably something alive. That would explain so much about the smell.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go back. A completely different form of horror overtook him as he considered the implications of Oliver’s living soul being trapped inside his rotting corpse. How was that even possible? How?

James wished he could just run away and forget he ever saw the doctor’s horrifically massacred face, but he knew he wouldn’t make it that far.

That, and Oliver had Elliot, and James would rather die or face a dead man than leave his companion behind.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, mustering up the courage to face whatever Oliver was and emerged from the trees, his heart starting to race so fast his heartbeat seemed to reverberate down to his feet.

There was movement from the treeline.

Was Butch back? I didn't hear a horse, but Tiberius would have run away if he saw me right now - right? I didn't want to face the possibility, but if Butch had stupidly returned, I had to be prepared for it.

I tilted my head to the side and dropped the temperature again.

But when I slowly looked back at the treeline, I found myself looking at the person I least wanted to see.

Tiberius.

I straightened my neck out and stared at him with one good eye - desperately covering the other with my hand. The temperature returned to where it normally was, but I had another problem on top of everything else.

I was having trouble standing.

I had been so caught up trying to scare Butch off that I hadn't thought about the effects of using my ghostly abilities. If my struggle to stand was anything to go off of, I had pushed them too far.

"It's not what it looks like," I hurriedly said, my voice a little weak. I staggered a little as I tried to keep my balance - I had to lean up against a nearby tree to keep myself from falling. "I...I..."

My vision was start get blurry. I blinked, desperately hoping I could stay in this body for just a few more minutes.

Even though I knew I'd be lucky if I just got one.

James wasn’t sure what was happening. Oliver looked weak and unsteady. Was he finally dying? Were the limits of his miraculous and horrifying survival met? Was his soul finally returning to the earth from whence it came?

James slowly drew close, having to hold his breath now that he knew the true source of the smell was rotting flesh.

“Oliver...” he said, his voice quiet and unsure. Terrified, if he was honest. “What happened to you?”

"I'm not..." I started, trailing off when I realized I didn't want to stand my last few moments trying to explain my apparently complicated identity to him. I needed to focus. The last thing I wanted was Tiberius to go running off when I passed out. "I'm...I'm about to pass out, but I'll still be here. Don't...don't go-"

And that was when Oliver's body decided to oh-so-nicely kick me out.

Oliver's body went collapsing to the ground, but I was left standing - as a ghost, of course. It was different seeing the world as a ghost. I couldn't exactly describe it to someone who had never seen it, but you got a better idea of what was living and what wasn't. Case in point: it was really easy to see Tiberius, but less easy to see the dead body I had just been possessing.

I looked around the clearing. I needed something to pick up - something to show Tiberius that I was still there like I had said I would be.

I eyed the loaf of bread.

A second later, I had hopped over Oliver's body and was picking the loaf of bread off of the ground, waving it in the air in what hopefully came across as a friendly greeting. Tiberius wouldn't be able to see me, but he would be able to see the bread moving around.

James watched as Oliver’s body crumpled to the ground. He rushed to kneel down to it, but as he drew near he caught another whiff of him and curled his head to the side and retched. The odor was so strong. James keeled over, holding a hand to his stomach as he tried to reign himself in.

He sat back up with a shaky breath, looking back at Oliver’s limp frame.

Though it was dark, seeing Oliver up close, with his mortal wound uncovered made it feel all the more real. Butch had shot him in the face. All because Oliver had untied his feet. Oliver hadn’t even helped James escape - not really. Not intentionally - at least, he hadn’t yet, if what Oliver’s corpse said was even true.

James felt his lower lip tremble.

This was all his fault, wasn’t it?

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, lowering his head as he knelt beside Oliver.

“You didn’t deserve this. No one des-“ his voice caught in his throat as he caught sight of movement in the corner of his eye.

The loaf of bread. It was floating.

He stared, his mind barely processing what was going on. Was... was that Oliver?

He looked from the corpse, to the bread. Oliver had said he would “still be here.” Was... was this some dark form of magic?

Well, I had gotten his attention, but he still looked terrified. I glanced around again. I needed something else...

My gaze landed on Tony.

I rushed over to his side - bread still in tow - and dug around for another extra shirt. It didn’t take me long to find a white shirt that I could wave in place of the bread. I returned the bread to where it had been earlier and did exactly that.

James stared as he watched the bread switch places with a shirt. He blinked, wondering if it was a trick of the moonlight in the darkness, but it was all in vain. His imagination wasn’t creative enough to cone up with this - was it?

He looked from Oliver and back to the floating shirt. He felt paralyzed. Too scared to move.

“...Oliver?” he asked the shirt, his voice barely a whisper.

He was going crazy. He had to he going crazy. He was losing his mind.

How was I supposed to answer that? I could tell the truth, but he was confused enough as it was. I'd have to explain who I actually was later. For now, I had to focus on making sure I didn't scare him off.

I thought for a moment. How exactly was I supposed to do that? I could try drawing pictures in the dirt, but I didn't even know what I'd draw in response.

I eyed the white shirt I was waving.

Tiberius couldn't see me, but he could see the shirt. And the shirt didn't go through me like a living person would, so...

"This has to be the stupidest thing I've ever done as a ghost..." I grumbled to myself; Tiberius couldn't hear me.

I dropped the shirt over my head and gave a nod. Hopefully, he'd be able to see what the movement was supposed to be.

He stared as the shirt raised and fell over what looked like the shape of a head. It almost looked like it nodded.

Was this... Oliver’s spirit? Removed from his body? James had never studied the more spiritual teachings of the people up north, but he knew the talked about mystical happenings and magic. They’d all been mostly stories, until he suddenly found himself living in one he didn’t even know how to begin to explain in words.

What was he supposed to say to a ghost? A phantom? A shadow of a person?

James held both of his hands together in his lap. It provided little comfort.

“I don’t understand anything that’s going on,” he whispered. “This... this is beyond me.”

"This is beyond me, too," I said, plopping down on the ground. I knew I was just talking to myself at this point, but it felt good to vent some of my frustrations out. "I'm not even sure how I'm supposed to talk to you - I can't write, probably can't draw that well, and the shirt can only do so much-"

An idea came to me.

I still didn't know how long I had until I'd go back into Oliver's body, but I needed something a little tangible. Thankfully, Tiberius couldn't see me getting changed when I grabbed an extra pair of pants from Reed's pack. I slipped the pants and shirt on. Once I had done that, I grabbed some bandages and wrapped them around my head. It was far from perfect, but it gave a good outline of a person. Shoving my hands into the dirt so Tiberius could just barely see them, too, was the last step.

"There," I said. "Now we can have an actual conversation."