Chapter Two: Close Encounters of the Spectral Kind

"Apparently, 'Just fuck me up' is not a proper coffee order." - Unknown

Danny

Based on the shape of her form, the ghost who approaches us used to be a human. She is a little bit shorter than me and has light green skin and teal-colored hair pulled back in a bun at the base of her skull. She is very pretty, with high cheekbones and large eyes that are human but for the technicolor blue irises. She wears a simple pale blue dress with a white apron over it.

Her small hands are folded in front of her, and she regards my father and me with a warm, friendly smile. When she speaks, I notice her appearance and soft-spoken voice are juxtaposed by a mouthful of sharp, pointed teeth. "Forgive me, but I couldn't help overhearing. I don't believe I've seen you two around here before. Are you tourists?"

"Sure are!" Dad confirms. "I'm Jack Fenton," he puts his hand on my back, "and this is my son, Danny."

I nod at the introduction. "It's nice to meet you, ma'am."

"Likewise," the ghost says. She places her hands over her core. "I'm Jennie Wade. I'm a bit of a fixture around here."

"Sounds like me back home," I jest. At her curious expression, I channel enough power to flash my ghost-form's glowing green eyes.

"Ah," Ms. Wade says in understanding.

She turns expectantly to my dad, who waves his hand in front of him and clarifies, "Oh, no. I'm totally human."

"I see," Ms. Wade says kindly. "My condolences, sir."

My face turns bright red, and the discomfort in my chest has nothing on the awkwardness of the statement.

Dad, also red, coughs into his fist and mutters, "Uh, thanks."

Oblivious, Ms. Wade gets back on topic. "So, you gentlemen were asking about the battle?"

"Yeah," I say. The pressure is on the left side of my ribcage, and it makes me feel oddly off-balance. "Do you know anything about it?"

Ms. Wade gives me a secret smile. "Quite a bit." She turns and waves for us to follow. "If you have the time, perhaps we could talk in my house."

"You have a house?" Dad and I ask at the same time.

"It's right down the road. Shall we?"

We follow her as she walks down the sidewalk, and I ask, "Now, when you say 'house,' are you talking about your Haunt?"

Nine times out of ten, a spirit feels nothing but terror when they come across the place where they died. However, there is that one out of ten that becomes attached to the place, which becomes known as their Haunt.

"I mean," Ms. Wade says, "that my house is my Haunt. If you can believe it, my original home from way back when is a historical landmark! I even help give guided tours of it!"

"Oh, wow!" I say. "Really?"

Could she be one of the Civil War ghosts I was hoping to meet? Since she's a woman, she obviously wasn't a soldier, given the time period. Maybe she was a nurse or was married to a soldier. Whatever the case, she must be someone pretty important. Or, at least connected to someone important.

Dad echoes my thoughts. "You must have been quite the hot shot, Jennie!" He stops her just before we cross the street and hooks his arm around her. She makes a startled noise at the contact. "Let me guess. You were a double agent! You said you were on one side…but you were actually playing for the other team."

I inwardly cringe. "Dad, 'playing for the other team' doesn't mean what you think it means."

Ms. Wade phases out of Dad's grasp. "Believe me," she says, "I wish it was something that exciting. My house is right over there." She points to a small brick house directly across the street from us. "I'll tell you more once we're inside. You two are lucky," she goes on as we cross the street. "You'd normally have to pay to go in there!"

Dad nudges me. "If it's free, it's for me, eh, Danosaur?"

I don't answer because the pressure is on the far left of my back, and I'm seriously concerned about what's over. Or rather, who is over there.

"Ms. Wade," I say, "is there any chance that some of the soldiers from the war might be, you know, lingering?"

Ms. Wade stops on the short stone staircase and gives me a funny look over her shoulder. Then her eyes light up, and she spins around. "Oh! You mean Sarge."

"Sarge?"

"The Sergeant. Or, 'Sarge,' for short. He won't let you call him anything else," she adds with an eye roll. "He shows up from time to time. He's a bit of a grump, but he's nice to you if you're nice to him."

Not what I was asking, but good to know. "Actually, I was wondering about…wanderers?"

Dad stares blankly at me, but Ms. Wade purses her lips and tilts her head. "Maybe," she says. "Soldiers go into battle accepting that they might not come back from it, but I suppose some of them could be wanderers." She shrugs. "Only an angel could tell you for certain."

"I have no idea what you guys are going on about," Dad says before slapping my back and proclaiming, "but this guy is an angel! And, I'm not just saying that from a proud father's perspective!"

I am grateful for two things: the fact that my father is proud of me and the fact that the streets are so vacant.

Ms. Wade gasps and looks at me in an embarrassingly reverent way. "Is that true, Danny? Are you really an angel?"

Wait until she finds out that I'm two ultra-rare types of ghost. "I am." I rub the back of my neck as heat creeps into my cheeks. "But, one thing I forgot to mention: I'm kind of trying to appear fully human, so could you please keep the ghost thing on the down-low? It's a long story, but I've got a bit of a secret identity situation going on back home, so…"

Ms. Wade raises her right hand. "I heard nothing, and I saw nothing." I thank her, and we follow to the front door, where she stops and giggles. "Sorry. I was just thinking how I could never have invited two men into my household without chaperones back in my day. Oh, what a scandal that would have been!"

Dad frowns. "But, I'm married," he points to me, "and he's a teenager."

I'm about to blow my father's mind. "Teenagers got married in the 1800s, Dad."

He looks at me like I told him he turned blue. "They did?"

"Oh, yeah. The life expectancy was, like, forty."

"It's true," Ms. Wade confirms.

She pulls a key out of her apron pocket and lets us inside. The living room is tiny. Really tiny. There's room for the three of us, but I don't know how you could fit an entire tour group in here. I suspect the rest of the house is the same way.

"Don't sit on any furniture, Jack," Ms. Wade warns. "It's all the original stuff. Not sure how well it would hold up if a human sat on it. You should be fine though, Danny, if you wanna take a seat."

I look around. "Are there cameras in here?"

"Not anymore," Ms. Wade says smugly as she sits on an armchair.

I like this lady.

I go ghost and sit in another chair close by. Because I feel bad, I form a mass of neon green Hard Light into a chair for Dad.

"Thanks, son!" He sits down, and I ignore his muttering of, "Oh, this is not comfortable."

"So," Ms. Wade folds her hands in her lap, "you were asking about the Battle of Gettysburg?"

I nod. "See," I place my hand over my core, though the pressure is still on my back, "I'm kind of new to this angel thing, and based on what my grim - a ghost I imprinted on. Based on what they said, I think I'm sensing a wanderer. I just wanna get some more information-"

"Um," Dad's hand is in the air, "I don't know what a wanderer is."

Oh, I guess I never mentioned it. "Basically, it's a soul that's trapped in limbo. They're dead, but they aren't able to move on or become ghosts for whatever reason. They're kind of stuck." I'll get into detail later. I turn back to Ms. Wade. "The Battle of Gettysburg was a really bad one, right?"

"Not just bad," Ms. Wade says solemnly. "It was the bloodiest battle in the Civil War. With a total of roughly fifty-one thousand casualties!" Dad lets out a low whistle. "Yet, miraculously," she holds up her index finger, "there was only one innocent civilian killed."

"That is a miracle," I comment.

"Out of curiosity," Dad says, "who was it? Do you know?"

Ms. Wade laughs without humor and spreads out her arms. "Why do you think my house is a historical landmark?"

Once my dad and I pick our jaws up off the floor, I stammer, "Y-you? You were the civilian death?"

"Yep. I was in the kitchen, just going about my day." She points to the door. "See that hole in the door? That's where the stray bullet came through."

"Yikes," I say sympathetically.

"My thoughts exactly," Dad agrees.

Ms. Wade sighs and shakes her head at the memory. "Happened so fast, I didn't even know I'd died. Somebody had to tell me I was a ghost."

"That's how I met my girlfriend," I say. I jab my thumb at my chest. "I was the lucky bastard who got to break the news to her."

Dad turns to me. "I didn't know that about Mira."

"Really?" I scratch my ear. "I guess it never came up. Anyway, Ms. Wade, You're saying that there could definitely be a wanderer or two roaming around."

Ms. Wade shrugs. "Like I said, soldiers go into battle knowing what could happen to them. But, I wouldn't be surprised if someone was hanging around. You would know better than me, though. Say," she stands up suddenly, "this is a little random, but may I see your wings? I've never met an angel before, and I hear they have the most marvelous set of wings!"

After letting Ms. Wade feel and admire my feathers, Dad and I say our goodbyes and exit the house. The streets are a little busier now, though no one seems bothered by my ghost-form's presence. Some people turn to look at me or take pictures, but no one runs away screaming.

The internet was right. People are comfortable with ghosts around here.

"So, what's the plan now?" Dad asks, coming up beside me.

I bite my lip, but the sensation in my core trumps the guilt that comes with what I'm about to say. "D- Jack," I amend since strangers are too close for comfort, "I know this trip is supposed to be about fun, but I can't leave lost souls to suffer in limbo. Especially when I'm the only one who can help them."

Dad doesn't lose his eager grin. "Exactly! So, what's the plan?"

I should have expected this, but I'm still surprised. "You-you want to help me?"

Dad opens his mouth, sees how many people are passing by, and leans in to whisper, "Start flying us there, and I'll tell you the rest."

It's a little tricky, carrying someone my father's size. The best I can do while keeping my grip is to pick him up by his elbows and hope I don't dislocate his shoulders.

As soon as I lift him into the air, he starts talking, more serious than I'm used to. "Son, you've had your powers for almost three years, and never once did you have my and your mother's support."

"That's not true," I say even though it was until I told them about me a few months ago.

"It is true, and you know it. But, things are different now. I want to be here for you. In all the ways I should have before. Your mother will tell you the same thing."

I'm telling myself that it's the wind in my face making my eyes wet. "Thanks, Dad."

My core guides me to a huge brick building that sits along the road. A group of people come around the side of the building. My guess is that it's a tour group, as the one in front is talking and the others are taking pictures. I'm too focused to hear what's being said.

I turn my dad and I invisible and phase us in through the front door, as I'm sensing that the wanderers are on lower ground. Seeing no one inside, I regain our visibility and set Dad down.

This place must have been a church once, albeit a very small one. There are eight wooden pews, and a large white cross hangs on the wall in front of them. It all looks very bland but oddly new or at least well cared for. Which makes sense if there are tour groups walking through it. There are some doorways up front. I wonder where they lead.

"Kind of dark in here," Dad comments, reminding me that he doesn't have a ghost's impeccable night vision.

"Can you see alright?" I ask.

"Well enough. Let's just hope we're not here when night falls. Oh, wait!" Dad rushes over to the wall and flips a switch I hadn't noticed. The lights turn on. "That's better."

A building from the 1800s with a light switch. Not what I'd expected. "I guess if they give tours here, they have to have safety measures."

Dad gazes around excitedly. "Is the wanderer here?"

The pressure is stronger now. It is closer to my stomach and leaning forward a little. "I think we need to go further in." I point to one of the doorways. "Through there. Turn the lights off. We don't want anyone to think we're robbing the place."

Dad flips the switch, darkening the room once more. "Lead the way."

I gesture for him to come toward me. "Stay close. It looks even darker back there."

"I'm not worried," Dad says. He whips a flashlight off his belt and turns it on. "See? A Fenton is always prepared!"

Satisfied, I lead Dad through the doorway. It takes us to a room with four tables and four chairs at each. A dining room?

"Yeesh," Dad says, "it's pitch-black in here. No offense, son, but your glow isn't doing much. Thank goodness for the Fenton Flashlight!"

I turn to him with a raised eyebrow and point to the flashlight. "That's a regular flashlight, isn't it?"

"Yes," he shows me the green sticker on the side, "but it's a flashlight with the word 'Fenton' on it!"

I smile and shake my head.

I start to move on, but Dad stops me by asking, "What happens when we find the wanderer, anyway?"

"According to Reaper, wanderers want someone to know what happened to them. And, sometimes they want a little more than that. After that, they're able to move on."

"How do we find out what happened?"

Here comes the part he'll hate. I rub the back of my neck. "They send angels visions of their deaths. Reaper swears up and down that the visions can't actually hurt me, but I will see and feel everything the wanderer went through. It's probably not gonna be pretty."

Dad hums with a pensive look. "I don't know about this."

Neither do I. "I can't ignore this, Dad. I'll admit that I am kind of apprehensive, but I need to help this person. Or, people. There might be more than one. I can't tell."

Dad still has that expression. "You're sure these visions can't hurt you?"

"That's what Reaper told me."

But, I'm half-ghost. It hits me that there's a chance I could be hurt. That sends a new wave of anxiety through me, but it's not enough to dissuade me.

I turn back around so Dad can't shine the flashlight at me and see my expression. "Let's keep moving."

My core leads us to an opening in the hallway. The opening itself is barely big enough for my father to fit through, and he's going to have to crouch down. Even worse is that the opening leads to the darkest, steepest, most narrow staircase I've ever seen. Luckily, there's a light switch. I flip it on, but the brightness is a small comfort.

"I'm not sure I can fit down there," Dad says from directly behind me. "Did they not have tall or fat people in 1863?"

I weave around him and grab him from behind, saying, "I got this."

I turn us both intangible and fly us down the stairs, stopping once our feet hit the ground.

"Thanks, Danny," Dad says.

I don't respond. The pressure in my core has morphed into an intense, anticipatory pulsation. When I look up, I know why.

Three glowing, golf ball-sized orbs float toward me. They are a silvery-white and have a staticky quality, like glitches in a video game. Upon closer inspection, one of them has a tiny bump on it. I wonder if that means anything.

"I think we found the wanderers," I say. "There are three of them."

"Cool!" Dad chirps. He remembers that the flashlight is still on and turns it off. "Where are they? I don't see them."

"I don't think you can," I say.

When he droops in disappointment, I describe the wanderers as they float around me, curious, eager.

I finally take in my surroundings. The walls are stone and the floor is dirt. There are rickety-looking wooden benches along the walls. An ancient key ring hangs off a peg on the support beam. A doorway - more like a hole in the wall - connects to some room deeper in. I look behind Dad and do a double-take when I see a set of manacles attached to the wall close to the ground.

A sinking feeling hits when one of the wanderers flies over there and hovers above the manacles.

Dad must follow my gaze. "What are those doing here?"

"I don't know," I say. "But, I think I'm about to find out."

I walk up to the rusty iron chains. My heart hammers over the pulsing of my core as I sit down against the wall.

The lights flicker off, surrounding us in what must be pitch-darkness for Dad. My first thought is that the lightbulb burned out. Then, Dad starts fiddling with the flashlight that's suddenly not working, and I realize what's happening.

"Wanderers can mess with electricity," I explain. "I think they want us to know what this looked like when they were alive."

Dad makes a cautious, anxious noise. "Good thing you're basically a walking glow stick. Are you really sure about- What are you doing?"

What I'm doing is phasing my hands through the manacles and letting them trap me by the wrists. "This one wants me to do this," I say, glancing up at the wanderer still floating above me. "Don't ask me how I know that. They must have been chained here."

"Danny, I don't like this," Dad says.

That's the last thing I hear before a wave of dizziness overtakes me.