Searching for a Ghost

Girl, you just gotta go.

I mentally spoke to myself while looking in the tiny circular mirror of my compacted chipped paint, light-green bathroom. The one I wasn't allowed to touch unless I cleaned it.

Don't worry about how anymore. It will work out for you.

I thought of Al. My best friend.

Some might think it odd for a twenty-eight-year-old young woman to be best friends with a seventy-five-year-old man.

But it's Al. My Al. The mysterious psychotherapist, anthropologist, and alchemical shaman who decided to mentor me about three months ago.

Me. The petite, brown-haired, eyed, and honey-skinned, penniless artist and romance author stuck to abide by small farm family’s every whim in the middle of nowhere.

He'd say during our secret phone conversations, “I'm a poor man living like a billionaire.”

Yes, it's true; his beaten-down truck always somehow makes it to the gas station. And someone always happens to show up at the right time, offering to get him gas. Last week a woman even gave him all her groceries.

I mean, he may dress a little homeless. He doesn't use that word. Instead, he goes, “I'm on the bop.”

Oh Al, how I wish I could send you some money. How I long for having more effect on this world. Who is asking, begging for love. For insight. For proof of magic.

Or is that us too?

The storm brewed in the middle of the night as I went outside to feed the chickens. My head spun, and my heart felt constricted.

How am I going to go? How am I going to go?

After getting the chickens and rooster tucked safely in their huts, with rain crashing down all over me and dripping from my nose, I went into the barn to spend time with the cows.

It's my downtime with the animals, the rare moments of respite in my day-to-day life of chores and strict rules on the farm, growing hungrier for my work by the day.

Bertha, Hannah, Alvin, and Tim watch me strolling over as I begin chatting to them about my plans to escape.

It is a cold January night; I let them inside for some warmth, which happens to be our hang-out. I'm not too ashamed to say my best friends are cows and a seventy-five-year-old man that reads palms for free in local diners.

They were all a dark brown, except Alvin. He was pitch black with the longest eyelashes and wisest eyes you've ever seen.

I sat down on a barrel of hay, contemplating ways to get me out of here—the place I nose-dived into nine years ago.

Funny how life twists and turns.

I rest my cheek against my fist as my elbow presses into my leg, and my free hand sits over my other knee.

“You're a farm girl, not a hero.” A sudden low voice echoes behind me, sending shivers all over my skin.

I spin around. The only thing in my sight is a white, rather large barn owl with yellow eyes staring down at me from a banister across the ceiling.

Heart racing, my alerted eyes scan the barn, but I see nor hear anything. My muscles abruptly tense, planning to slip to the door in 3… 2…

A strong force crashes against the back of my head. Pain shoots down my neck and back. I fall forward, but before I can put together what had just happened, I've already spun, adrenaline coursing through me.

I face down at the cause of this force, having pulled it under me from a fear of the unknown.

Finally, I do not choose flight over fight anymore.

My arm pauses up in preparation to rein down on whatever just hit me.

A young man, maybe early to mid-twenties, looks at me with brown eyes that are almost bored. His dark-brown hair falls in spikes over the floor as he lays on his back. Scratches are all over his face, neck, and every part of skin I can see. The rest of him dons a thick black turtleneck and black trousers. His skin is close to mine, only a tad lighter.

Rain pours all over the wooden roof as thunder crashes in the distance.

Then this man lifts his hands in place of a white flag. His lips stretch into a shameless smile.

“Never mind.” He laughs, eyes wild.

I stand up abruptly. The first thing I think is, is he hurt?

Then I catch myself in a second already weakening for someone who is most likely the type to take advantage of those like me.

But an underlying thought takes over.

Owl. Crash. Person. Scratches.

He gets up to face me, peering down from his six-foot-tall stature. At once, we take each other's throats in our hands. Then I jump back, bringing my hands to my face as my eyes widen.

What was that? Why did I do that?

I'm dreaming. I have to be. My palms slap my burning cheeks as I start laughing.

My expression drops. Wait, that slap didn't wake me.

“Fill the air.” A graveling, calm voice behind me states. I turn to notice a man with the whitest hair and big light-blue eyes slowly walking towards and staring down at me.

He must be six-foot-two or at least three, towering over my five-foot-two petite figure. He is dressed as if he just got back from a night out with friends. Tiny rounded sunglasses sit at the end of his small nose. A white patterned button-up hangs loosely under a black jacket with black trousers. This person seems older, just. Maybe even my age with a skin tone like the other.

“Hey, mom.” That sounded all too casual. He lifts a hand, eyes brightening and growing larger as if he saw a ghost. Despite his gaze, he smiles warmly.

The man’s first two fingers and thumb come together as if in a mantra. At least that's what it looks like from what I've practiced. Once I borrowed a Yoga book from the library. I had to hide amongst the cows and chickens between tiring shifts to read it. It was a way to release the endless stress and pain from a confusingly blurry past.

And I may have invented Cow Yoga.

He lifts his arm higher, bending at the elbow as his demeanor melts into pure confidence. The air around him spins slowly, then a sizeable translucent sphere around him expands until the whole barn is full of soft light and sparkling dust.

A peaceful, blissful feeling washes over me.

“Do you have to show off?” I turn, noticing the man in black brush hay off his outfit with a disgusted face.

“What are you doing here, Mom? You should have left much earlier. Don’t worry. I got you now.” The blonde says coolly.

My mind starts to go back to a disheveled state. I look up, and the owl is gone. Then I look at the man in black who is staring at me with the same bored expression as before.

“You dropped Lily's gift,” blondie says with a slightly cocky smirk. He pulls a small black teddy out of the hay where the brown-haired one fell. His long arm moves towards me. “Don't you like teddies too?” He asks as if it's just some drink brand we happen to share an interest in.

“Mom.” I jump and turn to a small voice. Maybe in her early to late teens, a young girl sits behind me on a block of hay. She reclines comfortably, hands behind her back as her head tilts to the side with a close-lipped smile. Her hair is blonde but darker than the eldest, and her eyes are blue but intensely so, like a clear sky. Her skin is the same as mine.

I finally get the words out. “Mom? What is going on? Who are you? Am I dreaming?”

“I told you she'd struggle with this idea.” Blondie’s shoulders sag as his hands go into his pockets.

The brown-haired one sulks and looks to the side as they face him, now standing in the middle of us all.

“She gave birth to us. I only expected her to have that motherly connection.” He looks at me, plain-faced, but a slight pain in his deep-dark eyes shows.

Eh? “Who's the father?” I surprisingly sound less shaky than I feel. I know it is an odd question, but this whole situation has thrown me completely off. And why was I caring for this thought in particular?

“We were looking for him too.” The girl says, catching the teddy as it is tossed to her. She gazes up at me in a kind admiration.

“What the…” I go to walk but stumble. Before I can blink, the blondie and the brown-haired one are holding my arms diligently; one stands on either side of me.

“I thought you would calm her down.” That dark gaze watches me as if I have a bee between my eyes and he is contemplating swatting it.

“It doesn't feel right doing a spell on her.” Blondie has a sort of charm as he speaks.

The men sit me down gently on a block of hay. I look at my cows, just watching us as if it was a daily occurrence. The girl peers over at me from about twenty feet away. She looks between her brothers then barges over, revealing a slight temper.

“You had to turn into an owl.” She glares at the careless one who now seems slightly annoyed.

“Wait.” This owl has been here for a year at least. It was my way to communicate with-- “Do you know Al?” I look over at them. All three shake their heads softly, watching me with similar freaked-out expressions to mine.

“No, we don't, but we gotta get you out of here.” The girl says. She's dressed rather cute with a brown dress hanging above her knees and a matching cropped short sleeve blazer. Her golden hair is pulled back in a thin pink flower crown.

Maybe they are my kids. They do have great style. I shake the thought.

“Mom, we need to find Dad.” she bends forward, resting over the back of her legs as her fake nails wrap around my muddy knees. Her piercing blue eyes lock into mine.

“We're running out of time.” The brown-haired boy states, looking down as if it pains him to make eye contact with me. Oddly, that hurts. I don't get why, but my stomach aches at the realization.

“Lia!” A sharp, angry male’s voice shoots through me. The barn doors rattle.

“Let's go.” The tall blonde man gently closes his hand, bringing his thumb and forefinger together.

Just as the barn doors open, we all disappear.

Then reappear.

This new place we arrive at is a vast field of long soft grass. The sun is shining. A tree stands alone beside us. It is tall and green, flourishing as if it is the warmest day of the year, right after rainfall. The air smells clean and fresh with a hint of flowers.

I look down, noticing my overalls are gone from before. I'm still wearing clothes, but I don't recognize them. I wear a rust-orange dress with yellow detailing and a deep green shawl wrapped around my shoulders. My hair isn't messy anymore. Dark brown silky strands flow down my back in waves and smell like my favorite shampoo, a mix of honey, coconut, and peaches.

“Better, mom? The outfit and hygiene was my touch.” The girl smiles, waiting for a response.

I nod twice for some reason, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

“Yes.” She congratulates herself, smacking her hands together and intertwining her fingers.

“She will need a moment.” When the dark-haired boy looks at them all, I notice his eyes are so familiar. They look exactly like my mother’s, endlessly black. Mine are chestnut, golden in the right light.

“Alright, let's go Lily.” The blonde rests his hands on her petite shoulders. Her eyes water, not wanting to go as her feet stick to the ground.

My heart cracks. Why do I feel this way?

She looks down and goes to turn.

Wait. “Lily,” I mutter. “Stay.” I loved that name as a child.

“We spent our whole lives without you. Our whole lives.” Lily trembles looking into my eyes. “Atticus….Warren the longest. We've been in another world. Thinking you and dad were dead.”

“I remember what he looks like. White hair, almost silver, long and soft over his head. Narrow dark-grey eyes, sometimes blue. Tall-ish. He was known as a prodigy sorcerer.” Warren, the oldest, grins as he reminisces.

“You raised us together. When Lily was born, he disappeared.” Atticus adds with a rather indifferent tone of voice.

Lily, Atticus, Warren. I know what it's like to have no father also. But on top of that, no mother? “Wait, do any of you remember me?” I quietly gulp.

“Yes.” Warren smiles, his glacier eyes looking down through his sunglasses. I can just make out his long light-blonde lashes. “You raised us in secret with Dad. Until Lily was a baby, then the both of you disappeared along with our memories of you.”

“Until Lily messed up a major spell. One that could have killed us three.” Atticus grumbles. “Instead of dying, it gave us our memories. Amongst other troubles.” He rests a hand in his pocket and walks to a wide creek beside us, looking down at his reflection aimlessly.

“I had to see you… it was supposed to bring you back from the dead.” Lily sticks her chin up, revealing a tenacious nature.

“Only our parents aren't dead. You brought something else back instead.” Atticus says, looking down still.

“It’s inside all of us now. We need Dad and you to save us.” She replies without an ounce of regret.

My left hand lightly covers my mouth. “What is in you?” Whether this is a deep-state dream or something else entirely, I can’t fight my blossoming curiosity of these three. From what they say, a deep seed appears within my stomach that is fighting to hear the rest.

“It’s also in you and Dad. You both are soulmates and are the same. But it's been dormant. Well, in you at least. Dad can control it, but he's been gone for so long. We’re scared he might have given in to it.” Atticus’s voice still sounds void of any emotion.

“Shall we?” I stand tall. Then at once, I notice my shaking limbs and rubber muscles. My cheeks flutter, and my stomach grows weak as I try to balance over the now spinning earth. Everything they said fully hits me. I don’t want to deny it, and I’m not sure I could if I tried.

The boys run to me, and I blush from an overwhelming feeling of gratitude.

“What?” Lily watches me with glistening eyes.

I speak up as fear hovers over my head. “Shall we go get your father and save you three f-from whatever this thing is?”

Lily smiles, as do the boys; only Atticus's expression is gone as soon as it shows.

Although, I think I like him. I like each of their personalities. They seem unafraid to be themselves like me. Or, the old me.

“C’mon, Momma.” Lily wraps her small hand around my arm, and I rest mine over hers, looking into her sweet gaze. Warren steps ahead to allow her to come closer to me.

I was always good with kids when I got the chance. Albeit these kids are all almost grown. Still, it’s like I am delicately settling into this role. I may feel unease within, but it is now only a gust of wind against a resilient willow tree, becoming my spirit.

Warren laughs excitedly as Atticus steps to my other side. We smile at each other, well, he grins lightly, and a part of me feels a bit victorious to see this side of him.

“Let's go,” Warren says, leading us. He inhales deeply; a throaty breath slowly leaves his lips as he looks ahead, relaxed and focusing on the air in front of his face. “We will go to where I suspect he might be.”

A long gold-framed mirror, taller than any of us, starts to appear and glows as if it contains the sun. I become breathless, but I’ve tasted magic before, so this doesn’t leave me completely blind-sighted.

Warren steps into the mirror first. Then Atticus, Lily, and I.