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“I’m not really superstitious. I think the whole ‘spirits returning to earth’ thing is ridiculous. I don’t believe in ghosts or demons or even angels. I have no fear of dark places. There is nothing here that will hurt me. I am safe. I will remain safe.” Clara mumbled this under her breath as she moved through the graveyard. Her heart pounded in her chest, her hands were shaking, and she could almost feel the dark pushing down on her. But she had to get through this, so instead of letting that hinder her, she blocked it off.
Clara was not scared. She wasn’t.
There were lights lining the walkways, but instead of illuminating the rows, they seemed to cast narrow pools of light. The dark waited with baited breath to clutch back its territory. It hovered impatiently at the edge of the light, wavering and hungry. Clara was pointedly not running between the lights, but instead avoiding them. That… between space, where dark and light met. It didn’t feel right. So despite being completely safe, she walked among the graves instead, finding her footfalls in the narrow spaces she knew threaded around the burial holes.
She may not be scared, but she didn’t want the feeling of walking over a corpse to follow her after this.
They’d told her she needed to take a picture with the witch’s grave. She couldn’t leave until she did it and sent the picture to them. It was a ridiculous dare, of course, because witches weren’t real and graveyards weren’t dangerous. So she took it, she let them drive her out here, and she entered the graveyard.
And Clara was not scared.
At the back of the graveyard, a tall willow stood bent against the wind, its branches swaying. The darkness seemed deeper under the tree, but of course it couldn’t be. It was just the branches blocking out the thin moonlight illuminating her path. When she swept a few aside to step under its canopy, she felt no different.
Her heart paused its beat in her chest, and she stumbled over a root in her path. She heard her breathe catch in the quiet of the night. A tremor ran over her body, though she didn’t feel cold.
This meant nothing, she wasn’t scared.
The grave was small, simple. A round stone lay nestled among the roots of the trees, almost looking natural but for the inscription on its face. Here lies Tabitha Jones, of whom we will not speak ill.
It seemed inappropriate to take a picture with the grave, now she was here. Ghosts did not exist, but it was still rude, right? Even so, she took a deep breath. She let it whoosh out of her lungs in a great exhale, and, without thinking about it at all, raised her phone and pressed the button on the side for her camera. It flashed, blinding her for a moment, and she felt a moment of— no.
Clara was not scared. She did not feel panic at being unable to see what was around her in that moment, and she most definitely did not stumble away from the grave as it it would rise up and smite her.
“Now you’re an interesting contradiction, aren’t you?” A voice said from beside the tree trunk.
Clara jumped and blinked quickly, willing her eyes to adjust back to the darkness. It seemed they agreed, as she began seeing a figure standing there, but then she realized they were glowing.
Clara froze entirely. Her breath wove itself into a knot, somewhere in her throat. Her hands went tingly, as if blood was rushing back into them.
“I mean, you’re terrified. Absolutely to your bones. I can see the cloud of fear around you. Yet you refuse to accept it.” The ghost moved closer, almost solidifying as it stepped onto the grave of the witch. It was a middle aged woman, tall and wrapped in layers as if it was the dead of winter. Her scarf covered her mouth, winding around her shoulders an impossible number of times, but her eyes were clear and expressive, one thick eyebrow raised. “You can move, my dear, I won’t hurt you. I don’t mind a few photos now and then; visitors keep the afterlife interesting you know.”
Clara was not scared. But she didn’t know how to start again. Her body had betrayed her, after she ignored its signals for so long. It stood frozen as she worked on building up her barriers again.
It was more difficult, when faced with the thing she’d been telling herself wasn’t real, telling herself she didn’t believe in. If that fell, what did she have to base her lack of fear on? What foundation could she lay in its place?
She didn’t know. She didn’t know. There was nothing left. She was standing in a graveyard in the dead of night and a ghost was talking to her.
The ghost was moving closer. Clara was not scared. Clara could not move. She no longer knew how to place these things together. A ghostly hand came down on her shoulder, unbelievably solid, and those deep eyes peered into her own.
“Ah. Okay. I understand.” She placed her other hand on Clara’s other shoulder. “Here, let me help you.” She leaned down and placed a kiss on the crown of Clara’s head, whispering something into her hair.
She felt herself go loose and her breath suck back into her lungs. With a cough, she fell forward into the ghosts arms, instinctively reaching up to hang on. She was…
Clara was absolutely terrified. Every moment of her trek through the graveyard swept down on her in one moment, coming out in a wrenching sob as the ghost lowered her to the ground. Even further back, her trepidation on the drive here, her anxiety when she accepted the dare, the things she saw in the corner of her eyes at night as a child, the shadowy figures that had reached out toward her as she retreated under her blanket and stopped thinking—
“There, there, get it all out. You have so much terror in you, child. Let it have you for a little while.” The ghost’s voice was low and rumbling, her hand soothing through Clara’s hair. Clara buried her face in the luminescent neck and sobbed harder than she had in her life. Memories flashed in front of her eyes, things she hadn’t let herself think about as they happened. Things she’d thought couldn’t hurt her if she didn’t acknowledge them.
She was wrong of course. She felt the scars on her heart, now that she let herself feel it again. God did it hurt.
“Why—“ She gasped, attempting to stop her sobs— “what have you done to me?”
“Oh, child, I’ve only repaired what you broke. It’s what you did to yourself. Do you have no teachers, that you’ve used your magic so? No witch should have allowed you to cast such a spell.”
“I cast no spell.” Clara finally felt the tears retreating, and pushed herself away. She tried not to think about how odd it was, to touch a ghost like this, but whatever block she’d had before, it was gone. It was gone, and she almost growled with frustration.
The ghost— Tabitha, it had to be, who else could it be?— shook her head. “You did. I could feel it over you, circling your thoughts. You stopped yourself from identifying with your instincts. It’s dangerous, and you shouldn’t have done it. This is the result. Going into a situation you’re not prepared for with no protections. If I was anyone else, had been more bitter or angry, you would be dead. Thankfully, I’m not, and you’re not.”
“I don’t understand. How are you even— ghosts aren’t supposed to be real. Witches aren’t either. You weren’t supposed to be a real witch, just a strong woman who got on the wrong side of some asshole.”
“You know witches are real, and ghosts. You were attacked by the latter as a child and as a result you, a witch, cast a spell on yourself that let you forget. It’s gone. Let it be. Find a mentor and get down to actually protecting yourself, with useful spells.” The ghost stood up and swept her hands down her front, as if wiping away dust that couldn’t be there. “I, however, will be returning to my rest. Go home.”
“Wait!” Clara reached out, snagging the end of Tabitha’s skirts. “I don’t know how to find a witch. No one believes in them, anymore. Why can’t you, you know, help me out? If you’re not going to kill me?”
Tabitha laughed. This time, her voice did come out bitter. “I’m dead. My magic is a pittance, and I have no inkling of the world as it stands. Tap into your instincts, now you have them back. They’ll lead you to whatever passed for magic these days.”
She tugged out of Clara’s grasp and disappeared.
Alone again, Clara looked around at the dark graveyard around her. It felt utterly different. She could see other spirits wandering the grounds, many of them standing right outside the rings of light she’d avoided earlier, mournful gazes drinking in the contrived touch of daylight. Darker shapes too moved in the corners of her eyes again, but none moved in her direction. She could feel a well of power in her chest, somewhere, waiting patiently for her direction. It was familiar but distant, like a childhood friend you hadn’t seen in years.
It was comforting. It felt like it could protect her, if she learned to use it.
Clara was scared. But she stepped forward anyway.