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It had been a week since Edwin Payne escaped Hell, and now he was staring at a boy.
Edwin considered his week fairly well-spent, all things considered. After years—and it must have been many, many years—of carefully planning his escape and fighting tooth and nail to execute it, he realized that he hadn’t actually thought about where he was escaping to . Because of this, he was a bit surprised when he emerged in one of the many dingy, cobwebbed attics in St. Hilarion’s School for Boys. It made sense that he would return to St. Hilarion’s, since that was where he was sacrificed, but a part of him subconsciously hoped he wouldn’t have to face the wretched school ever again.
But perhaps it was for the best. Although St. Hilarion’s was rife with bad memories, the attic was almost comforting to Edwin. In the attic, he did not have to confront all of the years he’d lost – the world that had moved on without him. On his first day out of Hell, he had left the attic and wandered the halls of the school. Everything looked different. The layout and general design were still the same, but almost everything else was new. Photos of students and teachers he’d never seen were hung up on the walls. The students wore strange clothes and used strange words. He felt like he had stumbled onto an alien planet, and there was no way to return home.
Strangest of all, no one could see him. People looked through him as if he weren’t there. Admittedly, that wasn’t very different from his life before Hell, but what was truly strange was that several people walked through him, which was quite uncomfortable. After that, Edwin had hurried back to the attic, where he came to the conclusion that he was a ghost.
The realization wasn’t terribly shocking. In life, Edwin had never believed in anything mystical or extraordinary, although he enjoyed reading stories about it. But after being sent to Hell and swapped between gruesome, powerful demons, he was much more amenable to the idea of the paranormal. Besides, if he got to choose, Edwin would rather be a ghost than trapped in Hell. So, he stayed in the attic, and started to figure out what being a ghost meant.
The attic was full of clutter. In it, Edwin found an unused notebook and a pen. He might have jumped for joy when he found the items, if jumping around wasn’t terribly improper and childish. As a living student, Edwin had been a meticulous note-taker: it had always been easier for him to sort through his thoughts when they were written down and itemized. Edwin opened the notebook and wrote on the first page: Property of Edwin Payne. Then, he started a list.
In the days he spent in the attic, Edwin quickly learned a plethora of what he decided to call “ghost rules.” One of the first rules he discovered was that ghosts could touch anything they wanted – they just couldn’t feel it. Edwin had first discovered this when he found his notebook and pen. He could hold the notebook, but it was like holding air. He couldn’t feel the smoothness of its leather cover, or the thinness of the paper, or the cool metal of the pen. Interacting with objects felt like pantomime. But it was no matter. He was sure he would adjust.
He’d spent a week like that, holed up alone in the attic, experimenting with his strange new existence and writing down everything he learned. He could have gone on like that for a long time. But now there was a boy in the attic, and he did not look well.
Edwin had seen the boy approaching from the attic’s small window. A group of stocky older boys had been chasing after him, yelling about how he was a tosser and they were going to get him. Eventually the boy lost them in the trees, and made his way to the attic.
Edwin stood in the corner, watching the boy lower himself to the floor and wrap himself in a threadbare, moth-eaten blanket. He was drenched and shivering. Edwin could hear his teeth chatter.
Slowly, the boy started to shuck off his soaking wet clothes until all he wore was his trousers and a white tank top. It didn’t seem to help much. He still shook like a leaf, and Edwin could see light bruises starting to blossom on his neck and arms.
Edwin swallowed. He wondered, was this boy like him? Was he also tormented by bullies, boys who took it one step too far and damaged him in ways no one would ever understand? Did he, too, feel alone? Did he, too, flee to the attic simply because there was nowhere else for him to go?
On Edwin’s right, there sat a discarded lantern and a box of matches. As he removed a match, lit the lantern, and began to carry it towards the freezing boy, Edwin didn’t think that a floating lantern might scare the living daylights out of him. All he thought was that the boy needed to get warm, and Edwin could help. It was only when the boy said, “Who’s there?”, that he realized this may have been an odd decision.
The situation became stranger when the boy looked Edwin straight in the eye and asked, “What do you want?”
Edwin looked behind him. There was not a single other living soul around. The boy was talking to him . He looked back.
“You can see me?” Edwin asked, unable to hide the disbelief in his voice.
The boy didn’t reply. He stared at Edwin, jutting his chin out slightly in an attempt to look tough, but his shivering and shaking betrayed him. It dawned on Edwin then: there could be only be one reason the boy saw him.
“I…I thought perhaps this lantern would help,” he said. “You can simply extinguish it if any of those boys come up here.”
“You saw them?” the boy asked.
“I did,” Edwin said. “I went to school here a long time ago. We had bullies too.”
He kneeled as he spoke, lowering himself to the boy’s level. As he looked into the boy’s eyes, full of fear he was clearly trying to conceal, he knew he could not tell the boy why he could see him, and what would soon happen to him. It would be cruel, he thought. Why make his final hours more frightening than they already are?
“Rest assured,” he said. “I shan’t hurt you.”
The boy’s defensiveness melted away as he reached out to take the lantern. “Cheers, mate. I’m freezing. Never been this cold in my life.”
He set the lantern down by his feet and took a deep breath. The light glinted off the dangly silver earring he wore on his ear. Edwin couldn’t help but wonder when it became acceptable for young men to wear jewelry like that. He supposed it didn’t matter, not really. Besides, the earring looked quite nice on him.
“I’m Charles,” the boy said, snapping Edwin back to reality. “Rowland,” he added, like an afterthought. Never one to forget his manners, Edwin extended a hand.
“Edwin Payne,” he said. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Charles chuckled under his breath as he shook Edwin’s hand. His grip was weak. “Yeah, you too.”
Hesitantly, Edwin sat down next to him. He didn’t want to impose himself, but he didn’t want to leave Charles alone, not when he was in such a state. Charles smiled feebly at him.
Suddenly, there was laughter in the distance. The loud voice of a young man shouted, “Showed him, didn’t we? Little shit.”
Charles swore under his breath. Edwin glanced at the window, but didn’t spot the boys from before. Slowly, the laughter trailed off. Edwin looked back at Charles.
“It seems your…friends have left,” he said.
Charles scoffed. “They’re not my friends. Not anymore, at least.” Edwin raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. Charles sighed. “The other day, I stopped them from beating up this boy in our class. They got really pissed at me.” He pulled the blanket tighter over himself. “Guess their way of dealing with it was chasing me into the bloody lake and throwing rocks at me.” He shivered.
“I see.” Edwin said, his ghostly heart aching with empathy.
“Just didn’t seem right,” Charles continued. “Letting that kid get beat on ‘cause he’s from Pakistan. I mean, I’m half-Indian. Why am I so different?”
“That is a fair point,” Edwin agreed. “They were the same country back when I was alive.”
If Edwin was still alive and could still have physical reactions, he was sure the color would have drained out of his face. He certainly hadn’t meant to say that. But he supposed the truth would have come out eventually – there was no point in lying.
“Right.” Charles said. “...Wait, what?”
“I–” Edwin began to explain himself, but cut himself off when Charles rose to his feet. Edwin rose to meet him. “Charles, I do not think that is a good idea.”
“What are you talking about, ‘when I was alive?’” Charles asked. “And, before, you said you went here a long time ago. When did you even go here?” He started to laugh, but the sound suddenly twisted into violent coughing. He leaned against a shelf, pressing his hand against his chest.
Edwin stepped towards him, brow furrowing in concern. “You should sit back down, Charles.”
Edwin placed a tentative hand on Charle’s back, scooped up the lantern, and gently led him farther into the attic. Towards the back, Edwin had set up a table and chairs for him to write. He had never expected for another person to come to the attic, much less come and sit with him, but he had added a second chair nonetheless. The set-up simply felt incomplete without it.
Edwin sat Charles down, put the lantern on the table, then seated himself across from him. In the back of his mind, he had the small thought that now the space was complete. But he pushed it aside when Charles coughed again, his chest heaving.
“Are you all right?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
Charles took in a sharp breath and adjusted his blanket. “I’m fine. Just answer my question.”
Edwin had to think for a moment to come up with the precise years. His sense of time had become so muddled by Hell. He had barely begun to grasp how long he had been dead. It must have been a long time, he knew that much. A very long time.
“1913 to 1916,” he finally answered.
“Bullshit,” Charles said immediately, his bewilderment shifting into a kind of disbelieving amusement. “When did you go to school here for reals?”
Instead of questioning Charles’ peculiar slang, Edwin said, with more certainty, “1913 to 1916. I am dead, Charles.”
Charles chuckled to himself, ducking his head. Edwin raised his eyebrows. Charles looked back up. His eyes widened, and the smile dropped off his face. “Oh.”
“Oh,” Edwin repeated with a small sigh.
“So, you’re like…a ghost?” Charles asked. Edwin nodded. Charles hesitated, then, with a hint of trepidation in his voice, asked, “Did you…die here?”
“Not here specifically,” Edwin answered. “But I did die in this school.”
“Fuck.” Charles said.
“Quite.”
Charles opened his mouth to speak again, but all that came out was a new wave of harsh, scratchy coughing. Edwin stood and started to move towards him, but Charles raised a hand. Edwin paused.
“I’m all right, mate,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Can we get back on the floor, maybe? Felt better when I was lying down a bit.”
“Of course.” Edwin said. He took Charles’ hand and slowly lowered them both to the floor, taking the lantern with him. Charles laid down, eventually ending up in an awkward half-sitting half-lying position. Edwin didn’t comment on it; he seemed comfortable enough. For a few moments, they sat in silence. But Charles, as Edwin was quickly learning, was not one for silence.
“So…what is it like? Being a ghost, I mean?” he asked. “Are you trapped here? And how are you touching stuff? I thought ghosts couldn’t, like, interact with the world.”
Edwin was eager to share the knowledge he’d accumulated over the past week. “Actually,” he started. “You can move around any space however you like. It is not that you cannot touch things, you just…cannot feel them.”
“It’s stupid, but…I think I’d miss kissing. Do you miss kissing?”
Edwin blinked, then stiffly shook his head. That was not where he wanted the conversation to go. He quickly stood, an idea springing into his head.
“Would you like to see an example?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah, sure, mate.” Charles sat up, eyes trained on Edwin.
Edwin walked towards the wall, took an unnecessary breath, and phased through it. He phased right back in, and was amused at the sight of Charles’ awestruck face.
“Shut up, mate,” he said breathily. “That is brills! Why don’t you fall through the floor?”
Once again choosing to ignore Charles’ mystifying language, Edwin said, “There are many, many so-called ghost rules. I shan’t waste your time listing them.”
“Only asked about the floor, didn’t I?” Charles smirked.
“Because I choose not to fall through the floor,” Edwin replied, just as cheekily. “Happy?”
Charles laughed, his face falling into an easy grin. Edwin was surprised to find himself smiling back.
They spent hours passing the time that way, Charles prodding Edwin with questions about being a ghost and about what his life had been like before he died. Edwin answered the ghost questions with fervor (the life questions, not so much). Nevertheless, Edwin enjoyed keeping Charles company, even though the boy’s impending fate lingered in his mind.
Eventually, Edwin said, “It is getting very late. Perhaps you should go back to your dormitory.”
“Nah, mate,” Charles said without giving it a second thought. “If any of the lads see me, they’ll just go right back to chasing me. I’ll wait until the morning. Besides, I feel too shitty to be going anywhere.” He said it like a joke, but the severity of the words weighed heavily on Edwin. He was not able to save Charles Rowland. He knew that.
But he could try to make his death comfortable, in all the ways his own was not.
“Well, then,” Edwin said. “If you insist on spending the night, we must get you warmer.” Charles moved to follow as Edwin rose to his feet, but one sharp look of disapproval from Edwin sent him back to the floor.
Edwin walked further into the attic. On his first day there, he’d been surprised to find how large it was. It made him think about all the secrets the school may hold. He had already died there, and Charles soon would. What other skeletons, figurative or not, could St. Hilarion’s be hiding?
Edwin shook the thought off when he spotted a pile of pillows tucked into a corner. They were dusty and yellowed with age, but Edwin was in no position to be picky. In one swift movement, he picked the bundle up and carried them over to Charles. Edwin dropped them at his feet. Charles smiled.
“Aces,” he said, as he tucked one of the pillows under his head and set the lantern on top of another. “Thanks, mate. Hey, look what I found.” He reached to the shelf next to him, the movement clearly straining him. He pulled out a thin cardboard box. Before Edwin could question him, he lifted the lid and pulled out a stack of thin paperback books, even more yellowed and aged than the pillows. “They’re all, like, old detective stories. Back from when you were alive, I think.”
Edwin delicately took the books. “I hadn’t noticed these,” he said. “I did use to enjoy detective fiction.”
“Yeah, me too,” Charles said. “My mum used to read ‘em to me when I was a kid.”
Edwin smiled at Charles’ sheepish expression. He obligingly asked, “Would you like me to read these to you?”
“I mean, if you want,” Charles answered. His play at nonchalance was endearing, if unconvincing. Edwin nodded and pulled over a chair. He selected a story and started to read.
Edwin barely noticed the early hours of the morning passing as he read. It was nice to lose himself in a book again, the way he’d loved to do when he was alive. It was even more nice to provide this comfort to Charles, small as it was.
He only realized how long it had been when Charles suddenly rose from his spot on the floor in the middle of Edwin’s narration. Edwin watched with raised eyebrows as Charles walked towards the window and peered at the rising sun. His movements appeared much easier than they had before.
“Not enjoying this one?” he asked. “Carrados the Blind Detective was just becoming quite popular in my day.”
Charles turned around and looked to Edwin’s right, the spot where he’d been lying just a moment before. His eyes went wide. Edwin followed his gaze, and felt his heart crack.
The weak light of the dawn paired with the lantern’s glow to make Charles’ corpse look almost alive. It would have been nice to play into that, to believe that Charles was just sleeping and would wake any moment now. But they both knew he wouldn’t.
Charles Rowland was dead, and he had left his body behind.
Edwin stammered as he searched for the right words. He finally decided on, “When you could see me, I knew it was too late. But I simply…I did not want to scare you.”
Charles swallowed. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t say anything.” He looked at his hands, his brow slightly furrowed. “Doesn’t feel like I imagined. Being dead. Feels okay, doesn’t it?”
Edwin sighed. Based on the stories he’d heard in Hell, the things he’d seen and learned, he knew things were going to move quickly. He couldn’t stay to ease Charles through this. Unfortunately, that was Her job now.
“I sincerely wish we could have been friends for longer,” he said. He dropped the books back in their box and rose from his seat. “Death will come for you now. You should go with her when She arrives.”
He turned on his heel and started to walk away. If Death saw him when She came, he could only assume she’d want to take him back to his afterlife. He was certainly not going back there. He would just phase through the wall and wait for Her light to fade.
“Well, I’m not ready, am I?”
Edwin stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he turned around. Charles looked at him, his face a strange combination of fear, desperation, and hope.
“I don’t wanna go somewhere else yet,” he said. “What if I just stay here for a bit with you instead?”
Edwin could not believe what he was hearing. It was silly. It was impractical. It was ludicrous! It was… nice. In any case, he had to convince Charles to go.
“Then you will always be running from Her,” he argued. Charles opened his mouth to speak again, but Edwin cut him off. “Also, I’m not good with other people. And I only just came back to this school after escaping Hell, so, I’m out of practice, to be perfectly frank. So when the blue light comes, you stay, and I go.”
With all of his cards on the table, Edwin was sure he’d successfully discouraged him. He turned again to go.
“Well, I’m aces with other people!”
Good Lord. Against his better judgment, Edwin stopped again.
“And I’m pretty chuffed you got out of Hell, mate,” Charles continued. “That sounds hard. Nice job.”
Edwin turned and stared at him. His arms were crossed over his chest, his face a picture of confidence. This boy was absolutely, utterly perplexing. Why was he so insistent on staying here? Staying with him?
“This is not how you make decisions,” Edwin asserted. “Just based on whatever you happen to be feeling in the moment.”
“It’s how I lived my life,” Charles said. He glanced over at his body. “Doesn’t seem all that different now.”
For a split second, Edwin swore he could see a look of grief pass over Charles’ face. But it disappeared as quickly as it came.
He looked back at Edwin and shrugged. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
Edwin didn’t know what to say. What could he say to argue against Charles’ stubbornness, his determination, his inexplicable commitment? He had just opened his mouth to say something, anything, when a soft blue light started to pour into the room.
He froze. She was coming. Would She drag him back to Hell immediately, or would She at least allow him to plead his case? Or worse, would She drag Charles down with him? It would be unimaginably unfair, of course, but the afterlife hadn’t been fair to Edwin so far. Why would it start now?
Charles looked towards the light. He seemed to consider it for a moment before looking back at Edwin. He smiled, cheeky and resolute.
“We better get going,” he said. Then he grabbed Edwin’s hand and ran.
Edwin had never truly enjoyed the company of others. In life, he had always been searching for somewhere he could be alone. In Hell, his dreams of escape never included other people. But as he bolted through the wall with Charles’ hand in his, he was suddenly very glad to be in his company.
Edwin didn’t think about where they were going, or whether Death would follow them, or all of the things that could go wrong. The only thing he could think about was that he was now stuck with Charles Rowland.
A small part of him selfishly hoped Charles wouldn’t change his mind. But when Charles laughed and smiled at him as they raced down the stairs, it didn’t seem likely.