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Graveyards freak Illi out. Ironic, considering her whole half-dead vibe. Illi isn’t a pussy, though. When her brother begs her to ghost hunt with him, she accepts.
Their graveyard of choice is old. There hasn’t been a groundskeeper here for years, if the creeping decay is anything to go by. A lack of security is good for the siblings, but not so good for Illi’s anxiety.
“Oh, come over here!” Mikey calls to her, “I found a section of collapsed fence, should be easy to get in.”
Great. Illi had been hoping there wasn’t a way in, so she could get out of here. It’s too late to back out now, she supposes.
Splinters catch on her skirt and nab her legs. Sometimes Illi really hates Mikey. Like right now, for example. She hopes he trips over a rock and eats mud.
To no surprise (but Illi’s continued disappointment) the place is even creepier beyond the fence. Crumbling headstones are arranged in neat lines. Rows upon rows of the deceased. Illi feels like she’s being judged by them for entering their place of rest.
Mikey doesn’t share her discomfort. He seems perfectly happy to gallivant through the weeds.
“Where looks best to do a séance?” Mikey leans onto his tiptoes, trying to spot a clearing in the overgrown greenery.
“I dunno, man. Just pick a grave, any grave.” illi kicks a rock in front of her. It bounces off the corner of a headstone. “Like that one.”
“Okay, fine. The rock gets to pick,” Mikey sighs, sitting down beside the chosen grave.
Illi sits across from him. Dewy grass pricks her legs. It was stupid to wear a skirt. Her legs are going to be all irritated later.
This feels too ritualistic for Illi’s comfort. Someone could mistake the two for satanists; all in black and about to summon a ghost. Illi really hopes nobody sees them here. It would be a nightmare to explain to their parents.
Mikey shrugs his bag off his shoulder, riffling through it to find their séance supplies. “Did you grab salt?” he asks, laying out the candles he snagged from their Mom.
“No, why?” Illi pulls the bag towards herself and looks inside it.
“It keeps the malicious spirits away. I think we’ll be fine without it, though,” Mikey explains with a shrug.
Illi scoffs, trying to sound more confident than she feels. “If one of us gets possessed it’s on you.”
“Nah, nah! It’ll be fine, trust me.”He laughs, much to Illi’s irritation. “So, I think we just say a prayer, ask if anything is with us, and then use the board?”
“Okay, sure.” Illi extracts the spirit board—borrowed from Frank—from Mikey’s bag and sets it on the grass. She prays that Mikey doesn’t notice her jitters. “Where again did you learn all of this?”
“Oh, y’know… the internet?” Mikey shrugs.
“Ah, of course… the internet,” Illi echos, unenthused as ever. “Let’s just get this over with. You owe me dinner.”
Mikey grins at her. “Love you too,” he says, far more enthused. He sets two of his fingers on the planchette.
Illi places two of her own on the wooden pointer with a long suffering sigh. “Do you have a prayer ready, or are we gonna have to improv it?”
Mikey unfolds a piece of notebook paper from his pocket. “You think so little of me, of course I have one.”
“Great,” sighs Illi.
“Move the planchette in a circle while I open the circle,” Mikey tells her. Once Illi complies, he begins to read from his paper. “We ask for a spirit to visit us tonight, to grace us with their presence, and to guide us on this fine eve,” he says in a low voice.
“You don’t gotta talk all ominous-like,” Illi hisses beneath her breath.
“Ssshh. You’ll fuck it up,” Mikey whispers back, “now stop moving the planchette.”
Illi does so, but not without another long-suffering sigh.
“Are there any spirits with us tonight?” As Mikey calls out, his voice returns to its un-ominous usual.
A minute passes, then another.
“I don’t think anything’s here, Mikey.” Illi starts to pull her hand off the planchette, only to be stopped by Mikey.
“No, no. Give it another minute.” He shakes his head, a frown tugging on his lips.
Illi gives him a bewildered stare. “You can’t seriously think this’ll work.” Okay, that was kind of mean. “Sorry, it’s just… we’re using an Ouija board Frank got at Spencer’s and Mom’s scented candles,” she backtracks, “we’re not all that well-equipped.”
“Just wait a little—“ Mikey falls short, looking at the planchette. The planchette, which is moving. A giddy grin splits across his face. “Are there any spirits with us?” he repeats, eyes fixed on the spirit board.
The wooden arrow settles on ‘Yes’, then drifts over to the letters. It spells out ‘H-I’.
“That’s just you!” Illi whisper-shouts. She doesn’t pull her hand away, though.
Mikey looks ecstatic. “It’s not me, swear!” he whispers back. “Shit, I didn’t write down any questions…”
“I got one,” Illi says, “what might be your name, O Spirit?” Her tone turns grandiose, humouring Mikey.
‘R-A-Y-M-O-N-D’, the spirit spells. It moves the planchette slowly, pausing in-between every letter.
“Huh, nice to meet you.” Illi doesn’t exactly know what to do with its name.
‘U-2’ replies Raymond. The candles around them burn brighter, then flicker back to normal.
“Are you dead?” Mikey pipes up. “Actually, never mind. You don’t have to answer that.”
The planchette moves to ‘Yes’ then spells ‘I-T-S O-K’. The candle next to Illi blows out and a chill settles over her.
She takes in a shaky breath. “Bit rude, Mikey,” Illi mutters. “How old are—were—you?”
‘1-9’ it tells them.
“Geez, 19?” Mikey frowns. “That sucks, man. Is this your grave?”
It indicates ‘Yes’. All of the remaining candles flicker.
Illi looks up to read the engraving on the headstone. ‘Raymond (Ray) Toro, 1953-1972. May he continue to illuminate the world, even in death.’ “Huh,” she expresses lamely. “You’re Ray?”
‘Yes’ it repeats, ‘M-E’.
“Woah, cool name. I’m Mikey,” the aforementioned Mikey says, “and this is Illi, my sister.” His grin widens.
“Really, Mikey? You’re just gonna tell them our names immediately?” Illi groans. For some reason, she isn’t all that annoyed.
Mikey shrugs sheepishly. “Oops? It’s a little late now.”
‘N-O-T D-A-N-G-E-R-O-U-S’ Ray promises. The candles’ flames burn higher for a few seconds. Ray must be laughing, Illi realises.
“What’s so funny?” she questions, trying not to smirk.
The planchette is still for a beat. ‘Y-O-U’ Ray finally spells, ‘1-S-T P-E-O-P-L-E I-N A-G-E-S’.
“Oh,” Mikey says. A frown creeps back across his expression. “That’s… sorry, man.”
‘O-K. U C-O-O-L’, they reply. Another candle blows out; next to Mikey, this time.
“You’re pretty rad, too. For a ghost, I mean,” Illi tells Ray. Was that mean? Hopefully they understand teasing.
‘W-O-W T-H-A-N-K-S’. The flames flicker. Ray seems amused. It’s hard to gauge their tone, though.
“Are you stuck here?” asks Mikey. Now that ghosts have been proven, his curiosity is insatiable.
‘No’. Then ‘Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye’ in quick succession. Each of the candles extinguish, one after another.
The siblings don’t say anything for several long seconds.
“Well,” Mikey finally starts, “that went… hm.” At a loss for words, he falls silent again.
“Yeah, that really was,” agrees Illi, pulling her hand away from the spirit board. “So, what, do we just go home now?”
“I guess? I owe you dinner, right?” Mikey stops touching the planchette, but he makes no move to gather their things up.
Illi nods. “Yeah, you do.”
They lapse back into silence as they clean up. Neither are willing to unpack the night’s events. They’re slipping back through the collapsed fence when Illi’s head spikes with pain.
She lets out an audible gasp and nearly trips over her own shoes. “Ow, what the shit?” Illi hisses, palms pressing into her temples.
At her gasp, Mikey turns back toward her. “Illi? Are you okay?” He grabs her arm, steadying her.
“I dunno, I just got a weird headache,” Illi shakes her head, “It’s gone, now?” It is gone, oddly enough. The pain ended as abruptly as it began. “I think I’m good.”
Mikey gives her a concerned look, but doesn’t push back. “Maybe we should go straight home, we can eat out tomorrow.”
“Yeah, okay,” Illi agrees, “that’s probably a good idea.” The pain is gone, but she feels disoriented. Dizzy, too. Going to bed sounds wonderful.
Mikey hooks his arm through hers, and they walk side-by-side. Every so often, Mikey glances at her. He’s more worried than she is, honestly.
It’s a quarter past two when they get home. Their parents are sound asleep upstairs, just as they were when the two snuck out. The siblings’ bedroom is illuminated by a small nightlight, unchanged during their absence. Illi slumps immediately into her bunkbed, the lower of the two. For once, she’s glad the lower bunk is hers. She can’t imagine climbing a ladder right now.
Illi is dead asleep before Mikey can bid her goodnight.
— —
Water surrounds them. It chokes them, sears their insides. They kick up silt as they struggle against an unseen aggressor. The water is so foggy now. They can barely make out their own shape. Small particles glimmer in rays of sun that breach the depths.
Rays of sun. Ray, their name. Ray. Ray.
They’re drowning. Drowning like Icarus; fallen with charred wings. Cloudy water fills their lungs. They can’t hold their breath anymore. Panic spikes in their chest, sharper now. They’re drowning.
They hear their name. No, not their name. Someone else’s name, directed at them.
“Illi? Illi!”
They jerk awake. Not drowning anymore, not burning up. Air fills their lungs. They descend into a coughing fit, choking on laughter.
“Shit, Illi?” the voice—now attached to a person—sets his hand on their knee. Mikey, they recognise, the boy from last night.
“Mikey, Mikey, Mikey,” they repeat, engraving the syllables into their brain. “I’m, hah, sorry.” Another giggle trips out of their mouth.
The boy, Mikey, stares at them. “Are you okay? You’re kinda scaring me here.” He worries his lip between his teeth, gnawing off a layer of not-quite dead skin.
“Fine, fine. I’m fine,” they reply. A grin creeps across their face, mirroring Mikey’s from last night.
Mikey jerks his hand away from them. “No, you’re not. What the hell is up with you?” He sounds scared, and his fear stabs glass shards into their stomach. They don’t like that sound very much.
Their smile falters, falls away. “Ray—I, uh—me?” they manage to say, although their tongue starts to taste like decay.
“What does that mean?” Mikey looks near-hysterics. He grabs their arm, holding it too-tight. They can’t tell which of them he’s trying to console.
They swallow the maggots writhing up their throat before continuing. “Last night? Followed you, stuck to Illi,” they explain with stilted words, “…sorry.”
“This isn’t funny, Illi. You are freaking me out for real.” Mikey’s fingers dig indents into their forearm, discoloured replica marks of his fingers pressed into their flesh.
“Not funny,” they agree, “not lying.”
Mikey stares blankly at them. “So you want me to believe that you’re a ghost, and you possessed my sister… by accident?”
They nod, a lopsided smile returning to their face.
“Oh, fuck.” Mikey drops their arm. “Shit, so you’re… that ghost from last night? Ray, right?” his voice is shaky, and he tumbles over his words.
They nod again. “Ray,” they confirm, “Ray.” The name slots back into place; they’re Ray, like the sun. They’d almost forgotten.
Mikey’s lips press together in a sharp line. “Can you get Illi back? What even happened to her? She’s fine, right?”
Ray (that’s them!) nods, then changes their mind and shakes their head. “Dunno. Think she’s fine. Asleep, probably.” They think for a moment. “Not hurt,” they decide aloud.
“Great, great,” Mikey’s tone implies it’s not actually great, “What does ‘asleep’ mean to a ghost?”
Ray tilts their head. “Sleeping? Same as you? Not hurt,” they reiterate. Repetition always helps.
Mikey’s shoulders slump, visually wilting. “Of course,” he agrees. “Can’t you wake her up, or something?”
They shake their head. “Wake up on her own. Soon, probably.” Ray, too wilts. They rest their head on their knees and watches Mikey.
Illi will wake up soon, they weren’t lying about that. Ray wishes she wouldn’t. They haven’t had a body since they died, and they aren’t ready to let this one go.
Soon turns into now, and they are returned to the depths as Illi tears herself from them.
— —
Illi wakes up feeling sluggish. Sluggish isn’t quite the right word, actually. She wakes up feeling water-logged; like her head was held under water and she has to remember how to breathe.
A hand crushes around hers.
“Illi? Jesus fuck, if that ghost—“ Mikey says from somewhere off to her right.
“Mikey?” Illi interjects, “what are you going on about?” She squeezes his hand back.
“It’s…” Mikey starts, stops again. He sighs deeply before starting over. “I’m gonna sound crazy, but you have to believe me.”
Illi scans his face, trying to extrapolate his mood. “Uh, sure? I mean, I always sound crazy, so…”
“This is a different kind of crazy, Illi. I think you were possessed last night.” He doesn’t pause to let her process. “This morning you said you were the spirit from last night—Ray, or whatever.”
“You aren’t making any sense, Mikey. I what?”
Mikey presses on. “You said you were Ray, and you were acting really weird.” The hand in Illi’s is clenched and shaking.
“This morning?” Illi asks, feeling suddenly faint.
Mikey nods.
“Did Ray… do anything?”
Mikey shakes his head. “No, no. They were just weird. Like, really weird. They said you were asleep?”
Illi tries to think back. “Huh… I was, but I had the weirdest dream. I died in it, I think,” Illi replies, “it wasn’t a full-on nightmare, just strange.”
“This whole thing is strange,” Mikey huffs, “but ‘strange’ doesn’t help us get rid of the thing.”
“Don’t kill me for this, but do we need to get rid of them? They didn’t hurt anyone, and I’m totally fine.” Illi tentatively eyes Mikey.
Mikey reacts about as she expected him to. “Come on, Illi! Of course we need to get rid of them! Just ‘cause nobody got hurt this time doesn’t mean they won’t hurt somebody in the future,” he protests, extracting his hand from hers.
Illi makes a halfhearted sound of dissent, shaking her head. “They seemed nice. Maybe they’re just… I don’t know, lonely? They’ve been dead for over 30 years.”
Mikey stares at her like she’s gone mad. “They can’t just… take over your body every night. That isn’t terrifying to you? They could do whatever and you’d have no way of stopping them!”
“They’re nice, Mikey. I don’t think they’d do anything.”
“You don’t even know them!” Mikey argues back. He snaps his mouth shut when Illi flinches. “Sorry, Illi. I’m just worried.”
“I can tell,” sighs Illi, picking his hand back up.
Mikey allows her to entwine their fingers, but doesn’t reciprocate. “If you got hurt, I’d hate myself forever,” he whispers to her.
“I won’t get hurt, then,” she whispers back, “promise.”
Mikey nods solemnly. “Promise,” he echos. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Illi smiles at him, and he smiles back. She isn’t lying about any of it. Ray’s nice; she knows it deep inside her, nestled beneath her heart like oh-so-many maggots. They're still luminous, Illi thinks, just like their grave prays.