DISCLAIMER: See previous entries.
So, how many months has it been this time? Just one? Six? Am I a forty year old veteran with an eye patch and bionic legs now? Actually this occurs barely ten or so hours after my last. I'd taken the girls home, walked up to my room saying I have something to work on, and went straight out my window to the train station. There have been some minor references in to local newspapers about some unusual sightings in an abandoned warehouse. Better safe than sorry, so I took a trip out there.
Guess what I found? A bunch of overweight teenagers with expensive cameras and night vision goggles, talking about magnetic fields and temperature readings, wandering around the warehouse talking into a voice recorder. They were making an independent film about ghosts and spread those rumors for publicity.
I was ticked, so I crouched down in a shadowed room in an un-natural stance, letting my eyes glow so they'd just see a demonic shadow with two eyes. When they opened the door looking for a bathroom that still worked, they saw me, and froze. I moved my hand towards them and they ran out screaming. What? I'm a ghost, let me have some fun revenge.
So, that's it. No major fight, no major revelation. I'm disappointed too. By the time I flew home from the train station it had midnight, so I towards the barn instead of my house to wait for my family to go to sleep. Hey, they're scientists, they usually clock out at therein the morning. So there I was, flying toward the ranch not even bothering to hold one fist out heroically, I was too tired. The wind felt nice at least, the train never had air conditioning.
I noticed the lights on in the main house, confirming that my folks were awake so I dovetailed out to the right, straight toward the blocky shadow of the barn. The moon drifted out from a cloud and in the pale blue light I saw a square opening on the angled portion of the barn roof. It was once a skylight for the barn and for ventilation. Now that we had electricity in there it was pointless, but I kept it open just for this purpose. I flew up in a sharp curve, then dove right through the square frame in a semi-perfect flip onto my feet, not even making a creak as my feet hit the old loft boards.
I dusted off my jacket, it seemed to clean itself every time I shifted shape but the dust occasionally settled on it and clashed with the black. I adjusted the folded collar, turning to look for the ladder. I noticed it right next to that glowing electric lantern and the girl with the guitar. I walked over and jumped/flipped twenty feet down to the first floor. Then thought of something. When did I get a lantern? And a girl with a guitar? I flew back up, landing in front of the brightly glowing electric lantern and its owner.
…sitting cross-legged on the floor of the loft, guitar laying across her lap, was Kirby. Dressed in a very loose hooded sweatshirt and equally baggy jeans to keep warm, she was sitting there holding the bridge of the guitar as if she were in the middle of a song, staring at me. I stepped a bit closer, into the light of the lantern so she wouldn't see two green eyes like those nerds at the warehouse. She didn't blink. Judging by the fact she wasn't smiling, she was probably in shock.
I cleared my throat, my common sense apparently MIA as I stayed in ghost form.
"...how long you been there?"
She shrugged slightly, not taking her wide eyes off me.
"Few hours…eh, you just get a make over?"
I looked down at my appearance, thankfully I was too tan to blush in this form. As I thought of an excuse, maybe a costume party, I hard her speak up as I looked down at my boots.
"…I already know about it. Remember? The vending machine?"
…oh. Well, in that case I won't have to make up an excuse about how the drugs being passed around at the party allowed me to fly. I looked back up to see her now relaxed and in her usual toothy smile. She gently set down her guitar besides the lantern, standing up to nearly my height and walking up to me as if approaching a potential dance partner. I stayed still as she moved closer and closer until her tan face was inches from mine. Her dark green eyes were cutting into mine, examining the neon color. Between the skylight showing the full moon, and her lantern it was clear enough to see each other if we stood sideways from the light. Oh yeah, and night vision kicks serious ass.
Eventually, her curious, cat-like eyes began to make me uncomfortable. I cleared my throat to try and give her a hint. I felt her grab my head, pulling it down so my silver hair was at her eye level, I didn't ask what she was doing as she ran her nails through my hair. She let go of my hair without warning, stepping back so I could tilt my head up as in one smooth motion she bent down onto one tall knee and took the open sides of my jacket in grasp. She began feeling the material between her hands, even leaning close to examine the leather in the dim light.
"This isn't leather. No cracks in it, you get this right from the shop?"
I blinked, probably very visible since my eyes glow in the dark. She took this as a 'What?'
"This is either fresh off the cow leather, or something else."
She let go of my jacket, standing back up in something that looked like a tango move. Thankfully, she left my pants, shirt and shoes alone. She just grabbed my wrist, pulling it out before me so she could examine my sleeve, and so enough she was holding my hand between hers. She pressed her thumb into the skin on my knuckles, feeling the huge calluses that she'd seen me have for years. Punching bags. She resigned to flipping my hand over to look at the palm, either she was checking how my skin felt or she was reading my palm like her mom did once. She leaned her cat-eyes close to my open hand, confirming my guess.
"Your lifeline is longer than it was…"
She'd read my palm six months ago at a family reunion that became boring very fast. I raised one silver eyebrow, not understanding what she meant.
"The lifeline is more or less a guideline to your time on Earth. A few months ago you had about sixty years left. Now your lifeline runs straight to the edge of your energy point."
"…English? Or Spanish even?"
She made a musical grunt in her throat, pulling my hand closer to her face trying to see in the light of the dimming lantern.
"Well, a palm reader can't pin a death date on you."
She suddenly let go, letting my hand swing back to my side as she shifted her weight to one dancer's leg, smirking so I could see the slanted line of pearly teeth in the dark.
"Well, the new look suits you."
I just stared.
"Um…hearing that from a cousin, thanks."
She walked back over to her lantern and guitar without a word, falling forward into a comfortable sitting position. She once again smiled up at me, I was still standing in the dark.
"Well, show me your moves Cuz'."
I stared at her blankly for a minute or so before breaking into a small smirk. I slowly raised my right hand and snapped my fingers, smirking more as a bright green ball of flame appeared in my open palm. I held it there, it floated an inch above my hand as its light washed over the dark loft. I saw my cousin nod her head in interest before I turned on my heel and flung the fireball out into the open air of the barn. It streaked right towards the wall as I reached out the same hand and made a pulling motion, the ball slowed down and disappeared without a trace before it hit the wooden wall.
"I tried moving it around once. I can make it drift one way a bit, but for the most part I just pull or throw."
The green light of my flame faded, leaving just the lantern's circle of light in front of me. Kirinia was leaned back against her guitar, looking slightly impressed. Her golden face was tilted a bit at me, still examining my form with those eyes that were trained to watch dance steps.
"So, fireballs, flying, what else?"
I flashed another faint smirk as I walked up to her circle of light.
"I'll fly you back to the house, show you a few things."
One of her penciled eyebrows raised at my suggestion as she reached behind her, pulling out a piece of cloth which she wrapped her guitar in before switching off the lantern. I didn't notice the sudden lack of light, these eyes are amazing. I stepped back into the beam of moonlight so she could see me. I turned to the wall away from her and bent my knees slightly.
"Hop on."
I heard her snort behind me.
"Sounds fun already."
I managed not to sound surprised as I felt a sudden weight clamp onto my back, two arms lock themselves around my neck to cross around my chest, and two legs longer than mine wrap around my midsection, so long they wrapped around me at least twice. I rolled my glow-in-the-dark eyes to myself.
"Well, somebody has done this before."
And I felt light elbow smack into the back of my head, I chuckled and jumped straight forward, taking flight and speeding towards the wall. I heard my passenger prepare to scream right before impact, when I went invisible and went cleanly through the wall. She stopped her upcoming screech as she opened her eyes and saw we were outside, slowly drifting as she adjusted. She must have looked at herself because she said.
"…whoa, where are we?"
I shrug, curving up into the air and towards the third floor windows. The lights in the basement had gone out, finally. She clutched me tighter as I gained altitude, I was barely flying 2MPH so she wouldn't scream or anything.
"Invisibility, I have the density of oxygen like this. I found out last week I can do the same thing to whatever I'm touching at the time."
I floated up to my window, which was marked by a little desk lamp visible in the dark glass, floating through a section of the wall and the window before moving my feet forward and landing standing on both feet. I felt her slide off, probably onto her feet like a cat. I turned to see her looking herself over, confirming she was visible again. I flicked on a light as she stopped looking herself over.
"…where'd you learn to fly?"
I shot her a confused look, I probably looked less creepy in a lit room.
"…well…eh, it took me ten minutes to learn, really."
She replied with a confused look of her own, probably inherited from her mother, just like I did mine.
"…let's leave it at that then…"
She sat down on my bed in her baggy clothes. I found this odd, she usually had snappy outfits, but that old boxing hoodie and the torn jeans weren't even her size. Wait…that was boxing hoodie number 23 that I kept in the third shelf of my dresser…I blinked hard, going human before asking the obvious.
"…why are you wearing my clothes?"
She looked down at herself casually, taking her time before looking up at me ready with a smile that could melt a glacier.
"I only brought my guitar, my suitcase was too heavy."
I sat down on the edge of my desk, the conversation was becoming more normal.
"…suitcase? Kerri said you just popped in for a shopping trip."
She laid down without warning onto my bead, her hair fanning out around her head like a halo on the comforter. She always seemed to make her movements dramatic without trying.
"…my mom got the short straw when grandma got out of the hospital."
I gave her a look of sympathy even though she was staring at my ceiling. She sighed in the usual drama queen fashion before continuing.
"And as you know, grandma is…"
"…an ancient bitch who Adam turned down for Eve. He'd rather get kicked out of Eden than marry her."
She laughed. Which scared me a bit, she has this way of just busting out in a guffaw without warning.
"Whew…yeah, she hates the way I dress, act, the way I was born in a hospital…you know her. So, for a change my mom has the mercy in her heart to let me stay with another part of the family for a while."
I asked jokingly.
"So, you're staying here until they clear out a habitat for you at the zoo?"
She smiled at the ceiling, I'm not a funny guy, she just has that kind of outlook on life.
"I'm here for as long as she's there. I remembered those guest rooms you have, and the way you all do your own thing."
I shrugged to myself, nodding at her point. It was an easy household for some one like her.
"So I got a ride down here with the essentials, and my stuff is being shipped."
I nodded in understanding, picking up a little figurine off my desk and tossing it between both hands.
"Sounds good. So, how exactly did your mom find out I'd…"
She stayed on her back, but tilted her head up to give me an apologetic face, raising her eyebrows while giving a little smile.
"…she just mentioned before I left that you walked into the studio that morning, and she thinks she had a vision of you…flying."
I let my eyes lower.
"…flying…"
She nodded.
"Flying. I told her it must be a symbol for something, but she said she saw you actually flying while after you left. Another of those visions she gets."
I set down the figure onto my desktop. That makes sense. She had a vision a month ago about my grandmother getting the flu from some filthy young guy at one of her wild parties, and she's just getting out of the hospital today.
"That seems reasonable. So, you're staying here."
She nodded, breaking into a grin as she rolled off my bed into a full standing position, lifted her leg effortlessly up and propped it atop my desk chair, doing stretches without thinking.
"…and you thought it'd be nice to go out to the barn loft and do some chords before bed."
She nodded, still happily doing her stretches while humming the bars to 'The Nutcracker' to herself. I told you she was quirky.
"Hey, I see you have some new posters."
She pointed up at my ceiling as she bent her torso down to meet her raised knee.
Ah, my posters. My room is pretty Spartan. Bathroom, bed, walk-in closet, desk, flat-screen TV on the wall in the corner. And my walls are plastered with vintage boxing promo posters. Every inch of my room, including the ceiling as of last week, is covered in famous match-ups for heavyweight titles all over the country. Every time she visited, Kirby liked to go upstairs, look at my posters and steal my clothes, as she did just now.
"Yeah, a friend got me some copies of a few Foreman scans."
I admired the new posters for the third time that day as the girl next to me lifted her leg off the chair and spun on the toes of her left foot in a classic ballet pose. I chuckled as she spun around what must have been six times, she can be at this for a while. Her mom told me it has to do with weight shift, so it must me like chain punching. Except it flashes more leg.
When she finally spun to a stop, bowing to the audience of her own mind as she returned to reality.
"Oh, Sherri said the room next to yours is the biggest guest room."
Indeed it was…speaking of which, I haven't mentioned much about this house have I?
How is this place laid out, anyway? When you first see this place you thing that's one huge farm house. The front door opens into our foyer, living room, dining room, kitchen and library. Go up the steps and you'll find eight bedrooms, most of which have their own bathroom. One for my parents, two attached ones for the twins, and the others are equipped for any guests we might have.
But each bedroom has a small living area with couch, coffee table, television and bathroom. But here's the scoop. When we do have an important guest he or she usually stays in a hotel. These extra rooms are kind of a waste.
The second floor also houses the main library, larger than the other, and the personal gym for the twins and my folks. It consists of two of those rod bending machines, no free weights. Some cardio machines and medicine balls, my folks take advantage of every trendy fitness method available. This is why I work out in an old barn.
The third floor is a good deal smaller due to the shape of the house, there is a promenade on the roof of the second floor which covers three sides of the house, my window however drops off to the side of the house. Which is lucky, if I had to sneak past the security lights on the promenade I couldn't sneak out at night to fly to the nearest haunting.
Then again, I can turn invisible. I just like making excuses for why I'm lucky in my little fantasy world. My room is a bit odd compared to the others. For instance it's not a suite, it's just a larger than average single room. The bathroom door is off to the side, along with the door to the hallway. And the basement is a lab. That's all you need to know.
…yeah, the Latina Ballerina has a point, we're sharing a floor. Ah man, I can't walk around naked anymore. Ah, who am I kidding, I never do anything even remotely like that. I'm just a clean cut, blue collar type who believes in staying clean, getting down to the gym to bust some heads in, and sending every undead creature of freak science back to their realm of suffering. And I like to tuck my dirty socks into a little ball and try to make three point shots in my hamper from my bed. I'm a simple man.
As I came to terms with her being my floor-mate, I came back to reality to find her on my bed again doing yoga stretches. Geez, and I thought I had a short attention capacity. I tilted my head nearly sideways as I saw she had her knees locked around her own shoulders in a weird act of contortion. She noticed I was staring at her one person kama sutra and so she unfolded effortlessly into a sitting position. She broke back into conversation with one of her usual random questions.
"So, how strong are you?"
I managed to keep my eyebrows from flying off my face as I answered.
"…if you mean flat bench press, then yesterday I did 350 pounds fifteen times."
She whistled, falling onto her back and moving her arms up and down into the air like she was doing a bench press. She had a habit of…doing things like that in the middle of conversations. You should see her when we talk about skiing off a cliff into a volcano.
As she rolled onto her stomach and started doing push ups with one ankle crossed over the other, where did she get all this energy from at one in the morning?
"Alan, why aren't you kicking me out so you can sleep?"
…another mind reader in the family, oh joy.
"I'm not tired."
She kept doing push ups without looking at me.
"You need to sleep, right?'
…actually last night I stayed up watching some marathon and come sunrise I felt fine. I'd been theorizing for a while that this ghost thing means I need less sleep. Great, now I have ten more hours a day to waste.
"…I don't need much sleep. How about you?"
She kicked her foot off the bed and I watched in mild amusement as she did a handstand on my bed, she stayed in that position. She looked at me upside down and shrugged, lifted her head to one side because she couldn't move her shoulders.
"My mom says I'm a radiant sun being. My dad says I need tranquilizers."
I chuckled as she flipped back onto her feet, yeah, she also did gymnastics. I could probably do it too, we both rained with her mom and my aunt in martial arts as kids. She became a bit of an acrobat, I became a fighter. Don't get me wrong, I can still squeeze out a back flip every few months.
She hopped off my bed and landed soundlessly onto my rug. She walked out my door and turned off to her own with a slight wave, leaving me alone in my room way past my usual bedtime. My father always warned me about Latin women, they can mess you up if you're attracted to them or just related to them. And now I had one living next to me. Why must everything I taunt hit me in the face? Ghosts, girls, my last name, that guy in the funny hat at the comedy club. They all hit me in the end.
One evening of lying in bed staring at the ceiling comfortably later, I took the bus down to the gym and went through my usual routine. Sparring, bags, stretching and focus pads. And four hours of this I retreated to the arcade machine they just hooked up next to the locker room. It was some space fighter game from the 1980s, the owner bought it so us kids would have a taste of class.
Well, class must mean yelling curses at the little black and white triangle that was my ship as it exploded into a little circle. I sighed, not bothering to pop in another quarter and shuffling off to my locker. I got dressed as a trainer walked in, a younger guy who's been here for about a year. He saw me and walked up as I pulled my shoes on.
"Phantom, just the guy I'm looking for."
I nearly jumped to alert at the name, before remembering these guys referred to me by my ring name sometimes. I looked up and him and nodded, asking what he needed.
"Some pretty little thing just walked into the office looking for you. Says she's your cousin."
He winked at me before walking off to do whatever it is trainers do, probably counting time for a pro or doing drills. The younger trainers never really do a thing. My own trainer was a veteran when I met him. I just sighed, standing up and grabbing my bag as I walked to the owner's office.
I walked down the hall and made a left to see the doorway leading to the lair of the gym's elderly owner. Standing next to it was a girl in tight black jeans and a long-sleeved black blouse, even sporting black leather boots. Now, all this would be good if she hadn't of turned around, yelled my name and ran into me, latching her arms around my shoulders. You realize I'm talking about my cousin, right?
"Cuz'!"
She kept hugging. Geez, did she forget I just saw her last night?
"…eh, hi. What are you doing here?"
She kept hugging.
"…hello?"
I pried her off with my free arm and saw she was staring at a plaque on the wall behind us. After I shoved her off she walked up to it for a closer look. I shook off my confusion as if it were a headache and walked up behind her, looking at the same plaque. It was a picture of me wearing my USA title belt after my last fight. I was wearing the heavyweight belt loosely around my waist, and in each arm I was holding up the belts from the Golden Gloves Division and the International League belt. I even noticed around my neck I'd been wearing that necklace that now hangs over my bed, my trainer slipped it on me after the referee raised my arm when I won.
"…did you like borrow those and just pose the picture at a stadium?"
I rolled my eyes. Kirininia here doesn't pay attention to the finer points of my life. She thought that was some picture I faked to hang on my wall.
"Actually, that's my promo shot that they used in my 'Looking Back' article in…"
All of a sudden these two emerald eyes were an inch from mine. All I saw were two green-ringed pupils.
"…Kirby, please stop doing that."
She continued staring at me in her usual manner as she asked.
"…if you're a champ, why isn't your face marked at all?"
I shrugged, not blushing about or even caring the way she was an inch from my face in a public hallway.
"I don't scar easy, and I rarely got hit. And near the end most guys went right for my kidneys."
I saw the two eyes bob up and down, she was nodding. I stepped back an inch and turned my back to her, hitching my black canvas bag up on my shoulders.
"So, why are you here instead of dancing with Frost back home?"
She laughed as we walked to the exit in the same stride.
"Dukes, your folks spent all morning trying to get me to sign some closure paper. I went with the gemelos to pick up some movies, and Sherri pointed out your gym, and here I am."
Well, that partially explains why she's here. Wait, 'Dukes'? I found later that from this point on, she developed a gradual habit of calling me 'Dukes' casually. She later explained it was supposed to be a synonym for fists, the tools of my trade. Well, I countered with my own derogative nickname.
"Well, let's go catch a ride home, Legs."
Needless to say she broke out into a musical laugh at my newly coined term, en minutes later when we slid into my mom's borrowed van, both my sisters turned in the front seat to look at us strangely. I was sitting there humming a folk tune, and my new female counterpart was still cackling maniacally over one accurate nickname. By the time we pulled into the driveway back home she was on her red-painted cell phone telling her inner circle back home about her new nickname, which she wanted tattooed wherever she could find a space for it.
Thankfully when we popped in a movie later Kirby was silent, watching the screen like the Statue of Liberty watches…well, watches pigeons circle it and slowly cocoon it in feces drop by drop. It's like an Edgar Allen Poe scenario. But back to my now silent life, it seemed the only time our cousin wasn't moving or talking was when she was dancing or something interesting was on TV. Well, interesting to her, I've seen her scoot to the edge of her chair watching the food channel.
While my sisters and estranged cousin were captivated by the concept of British people falling in love, I snuck away to the barn by literally turning a corner that led to the stairs, going mirage and phasing right out the house into my hiding place. I know you want to learn how I wrap my hands and put my gloves on. Don't deny it. Well, too bad, I'll cut to an hour later, I'm drenched in sweat, bobbing and weaving around the bag like a moon around a planet occasionally crashing a blow into the leather/bubble wrap like an asteroid.
When I did finally tire, I shucked off my gloves and bandage-like wraps, stepping back from a bag about twenty feet away and closing my eyes. When I opened them again, my sweat-darkened shirt and dusty jeans were replaced with my black and gray outfit. I examined my wrists, seeing no signs of sweat as I stepped back, swung my fist back and through like a baseball pitch and shot a blast right at the bag. It struck nearly square on the bag, the green glare disappearing into the bubble wrap but nonetheless the bag shook like it had been hit with a bat.
I didn't even stand back to admire my work, I swung out my other hand in another blast. Then another, and another. I kept chaining blasts away for a few minutes until I had to stop in mid-throw, fall onto one knee and just breathe. As I panted like a dog I thought of why I had to. It wasn't physical, nothing as a ghost made your lungs or muscles burn. It was all in my head. The concentration needed to phase or fire energy was like walking through sand with a camel on your back.
When I could breathe normally I decided to cut things short, pushing myself back onto two feet slowly. I managed not to fall over, so I blinked back to my sweat-soaked human self to rest myself. I walked to the nearest pillar and leaned against it, feeling the sweat evaporate off me as I heard it. Silence, for the last hour all I'd heard was energy flying and impact sounds. And now nothing but the sound of the wind blowing through the skylight in the loft. My own relaxed breathing. The nearly inaudible sound of guitar strings being tuned. A bird flying by.
Wait…since when can birds tune guitars and fly at the same time? I quickly went into high alert, looking up at the loft, the only area I couldn't see from down here. I couldn't see through the floorboards, but the sound of guitar tuning was still there. I heard a few high, random notes pluck through the air. I walked over to the ladder, quickly and quietly ascended the old rungs and poked my head over to see into the loft. Do I need to tell you who was up there tuning her guitar? Why is it that our first house guest in years has to invade my life like this?
I sigh, hoisting myself onto the elevated floor as she continued testing string tightness on her dark-wood folk guitar. She doesn't even look at me, she just smiles down at the bridge as she keeps strumming.
"I thought you were watching that movie."
"Back at ya'. It ended two hours ago. I walked in here while you were at the bag, you didn't even notice."
…well, I'm pretty focused when it comes to striking, she could be telling the truth. I don't reply, just folding my legs into a half-lotus near where she was sitting in a full lotus. I built up the courage to finally say it.
"Why are you following me around?"
She kept on smiling at her guitar.
"Well, last night was pure accident."
True.
"What about following me to the gym? Ever since you got here you've been my second shadow."
She plucked a pure, low note and nodded to herself and to her now well-tuned instrument.
"Your sisters are happy with each other. Your parents are just weird. Who else would I follow around?"
I don't even bother raising an eyebrow to that, reaching up and scratching my bangs.
"…it's the ghost thing."
She sighed as she began playing a chord a few times to test the thing all over again.
"Yeah."
I let out a hiss of air out the side of my mouth, too exhausted to defend my humanity.
"So, what do you think? Like a cheap horror movie, or like a well written comedy?"
She stopped in mid-chord, letting her fingers hang on the bridge. I glanced at her and soon found her gemstone eyes directed right at me. Quickly I felt the blood rush to my face, her eyes do that to me every time. She could give Samantha lessons.
"Alan. Look at me."
I slowly twisted my eyes upward to meet the oncoming assault of emerald coming at me. She nodded at my obedience and went on.
"Cuz', back when you slugged, did you ever ask for help?"
"Sure, all the time."
She plucked a string, a medium pitch rang out.
"You ever ask anyone for advice?"
I shook my head.
"Always thought it looked pathetic."
She hadn't taken her eyes off me yet. I felt like I was being interrogated.
"Well, get a glass of water and swallow your pride. You're in for it."
My awkward nervousness washed away into pure confusion as I tilted my head at her. She stared playing the beginning riff of a folk song as she spoke.
"I just watched you throw punches non stop for close to an hour and a half."
She nodded at the silver watch on her wrist as she began the chorus. I just raised an eyebrow at the mention of my habits.
"Then you turn into a ghost and throw those fireball thiugs non-stop for…two minutes."
I lowered my brow into a glare. Then she said it.
"Why?"
Her short question threw me back into looking at my shoes. The beam of sunlight from the skylight had moved closer to us, must be getting late.
Her song began to take shape in the dusty air of the loft as she went on.
"Ghosts don't get tired. Your problem is all in that busted head of yours."
…was she yet another psychic, or does she have a longer attention span than me? This is a girl who finds vegetable seasoning exciting.
"You can push yourself like a superhero when it comes to boaxing."
…eh, allow me to explain. Kirb's accent is very light, she's bilingual since birth but she still lilts her English like Spanish. One quirk of this is how she pronounces 'boxing' like 'boaxing' like in boast. Now, I chuckled at his word before her entire sentence sunk in.
"What, you want me to find a gym full of dead guys and train with them?"
"I want you to do the same thing you do when you fight."
I kept staring.
"What are you talking about?"
She didn't answer. She looked down at her guitar, freeing me from the barrage of her eyes. She began nodding her head in tune to the string rhythm, starting to hum in her throat.
"You tell me."
Right as I was going to tell her exactly what I was feeling, she broke into the middle of her song with her voice. I grunted softly, knowing she was beyond my reach now. I stood up and turned to hop down the ladder when her voice picked up a note while I did so. She began singing about some amazing guy who does something or whatever, obviously the modest type. But I'm not a music lover, so I'm not sure. Then the chorus came up.
"…he said, he's just, another maaan…"
I froze, my back to her as she finished the line. I was staring straight ahead, but my eyes weren't looking there.
"He just couldn't stay down, rising back each time…"
I didn't move. I suddenly smelled something drifting under my nose. The lingering smell of sweat, melted butter and a hint of fine American beer. This was what I smelled every time I ducked through the ropes into the ring. I remembered the faces in the crowd as I remained a statue in the loft. That voice behind me went on. I sounded somewhat like a ballad. I'm not sure what all the words were, but these were the lines that got me.
"They say he came back like a phantom…"
My eyes closed, and all I saw was the crowd roaring as the referee held up my glove.
"…came back like a Phan-tom…"
That phrase phased out until the notes finally winded down.
"…He came back…like…a Phantom…"
She drew out 'Phantom' for ten seconds in her soprano voice. After the notes ended I opened my eyes again, the crowd and the ring replaced with the wooden walls of the barn.
I slowly turned to see Kirby examining her plain, not even manicured nails as her guitar sat on her folded legs.
"…you write that?"
Shem shrugged, still examining her pinkie nail.
"Haven't written it down, all up here."
She tapped a finger against her forehead before examining the nail on that one, too. I thought of how much she resembled a cat as I asked.
"…when did you write it?"
She didn't look at me, I was a bit thankful. I can stare down the undead, but those eyes of hers…
"While I was pretending to watch that movie."
…she's weird enough to be a Fenton…
"I got the idea a few months ago. I went with some friends to watch my friend's brother fight down in the city, he was a boxer for maybe a week. We stayed for the last fight. Turns out you were fighting that night."
I sighed, closing my eyes. I remembered that exact night. But I didn't know she was in the audience.
"…that was my last fight, too."
I heard her nod, she had a silver necklace that made a bit of noise so I heard it with my eyes closed.
"I got my paws on some of your old fights on recording. They call you that for a reason. Every time the other guy beat you into a bloody pulp, crushed your body and spirit, you went down and he knew you wouldn't get up. The guy always turned and walked off to his corner. He only turned back because the crowd went wild. And there you stood, reborn and ready for a rematch."
I opened my eyes again, crouching down into a sitting position and looking at the floor.
"That's just what the fans say…"
"They say it because it's true."
I heard her sling her guitar back over her shoulders by the denim strap, I got up and walked toward the ladder, she followed. As I clambered down the rungs, she did so with some difficulty carrying her guitar. Eventually we wandered back up to the house in silence. We went to our respective rooms and the night passed without us seeing each other, we had our own bathrooms and food supplies, why walk out and risk running into a Fenton?
The next day I woke up to find Kirby's door closed, my sisters rooms empty, and my parents cars were gone. I made myself a modest breakfast. Actually, odd as it is I actually slept that night, most nights I have to lie there. This ghost thing bust still be developing, oh joy.When I came back up to my room I heard some guitar notes coming from behind Kirb's door. I figured she must be practicing, so I kept walking into my room.
I was laying on my bed reading when Grandma walked by in the hallway.
"Mornin' Alan."
"Hey Grandma,"
I read two more pages before it hit me. Wait…Grandma! I jogged down the steps in a flash and found her sitting in the living room unpacking a small bag.
"When did you get here?"
She kept unpacking some shopping bags on to the couch. She only came near this area to stop.
"…just passing through. When I got here your folks and sisters were gone, you were asleep, and there was a Latin girl dancing around in your kitchen making toast."
I sat down in an easy chair.
"…eh, she's a relative on mom's side."
Samantha looked at me with an odd smile as she finished unloading shopping bags. Since when do Gothics like shopping? Sure she buys creepy, dark things but she shops more than most cheerleaders.
"Like heck she is. I just spent three hours getting to know her. I told her myself if she wants to go by the Fenton name she can, we need more girls like her."
...I blinked, not bothering to question how an elderly Gothic woman could befriend a flighty dancer type. Before I could even try the dancer herself, dressed in a red leotard and a pair of my old cutoffs, slid down the banister and landed on the floor on one foot. She waved to me with her lifted foot before literally waltzing over to the couch and sitting next to Grandma, picking up the remote and clicking on the TV.
"Hey Alan, your grandmother is awesome."
I just stared blankly as my awesome grandmother chuckled.
"Please, call me Sam."
They started talking about how Kirby had played a few songs for her upstairs, so that's what those notes were. Out of nowhere my grandmother spun in her seat and shot two violet bullets at me in one glance.
"…she played that song she wrote about you…what do you think of it?"
By the time she was done speaking I was nothing but two feet going up the stairs. I heard her sigh s I rounded the corner.
"That boy can take a board to the head, but when you give him a compliment he slips it like a jab."
Author's Note
...did you honestly think I'd let Alan develop an easy day-to-day routine with nothing to mess it up? Things change, you have to roll with it. Some of you are probably wondering where Kirby came from. She's based on a number of people I've met back when I worked in theater. I created her to be yang to Alan's yin. Completely different in some aspects, but came out similar at both ends of the spectrum. So, how about that song? I have it all written out somewhere, not sure where. I wrote it myself, so don't try to delete this.And for those who review this, I need serious feedback on my characters, I'm just that kind of writer.
