A Guide to the Other Side (11 page)

But all the embarrassment melted away when I walked through the door of my bedroom and saw Kristina waiting for me on my bed.

She wasn't alone, though.

Standing beside her and gazing politely around my room was the ghost of a man dressed to the nines as an eighteenth-century British soldier, complete with leather kneecaps, a tricorn hat, and a vivid red coat.

“Is it . . . is it Halloween again?” I asked, looking the man up and down while he studied the picture of a Florida sunset that was hanging on my wall.

“There you are,” Kristina said, rising. “Baylor, I'd like you to meet one of our spirit guides, Colonel Fleetwood.”

The man turned and bowed slightly to me. “How do you do, Baylor?”

“I'm very well, thanks,” I said. “How do you guys do?”

“Ugh, stop being awkward, Baylor,” Kristina said. “Colonel Fleetwood is here to help us with the Sheet Man.”

“Oh, good. Are you going to be able to capture him and compel his exit?” I asked.

“In a way, yes,” he said. He had a pleasant face, although his cryptic grin confused me: I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or amused to be here. Even odder was that he seemed way too young to be a soldier. I'd guess he was sixteen when he crossed over.

“So,” I said, “how?”

“I hope you've kept up with your whittling skills,” he said as Kristina smiled mischievously next to him.

  *  *  *  

A few hours later, in the dark of the night, I found myself wandering through the woods near my house and wondering what it would be like to be normal, to not have to talk to ghosts and construct talismans to ward off evil spirits.

“Tonight is the full moon,” Kristina had said earlier, “so it's the perfect time to build it.”

“You know I have homework, right? I need to write an English essay and try to understand the math lesson I missed yesterday. I don't have time for this.”

“It must be done tonight, young lad!” Colonel Fleetwood said. “No other night will offer the protection that a full moon can.”

“First off, ‘young lad'? You're, like, two years older than me. Secondly, why can't I do it during the day, when the big ball of fire called the sun is shining? Doesn't that offer some protection?”

“The sun knows only light,” the colonel said. “The moon, however, sees through the dark.”

“Uh, okay,” I said. “Did you get that from a fortune cookie?”

“A fortune cookie? I don't know what that is, but it sounds delightful!”

Kristina scoffed. “Stop, Baylor. The full moon offers the best protection because it illuminates even the darkest of nights. Isn't that obvious?”

It did make sense to me, in a way, but I couldn't figure out why they hadn't just brought over some high-powered ghost zapper from the Beyond to blow the Sheet Man up. Surely,
someone
over there had to be capable of stopping him.

Alas, they wouldn't hear of it. This situation was one I had to deal with head-on.

“I learned a bit more while I was gone,” Kristina said, “and I think you were right, Baylor. Even though there's something seriously wrong here, I don't think the Sheet Man is purely evil.”

“You learned a bit more? Who teaches you these things? Were you and the colonel sitting in a classroom taking notes from Buddha or something?”

“Shut up, Baylor. There's something bizarre going on, and we need to figure out how to help.”

“And this talisman is going to stop him?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” Colonel Fleetwood said. “It's quite effective.”

Before heading into the woods, I had been sort of excited, like we were going on a mystical adventure, just me, my ghost twin, and our British soldier spirit guide. But when they finally told me what I was looking for, my spirits fell, pun absolutely intended.

“I'm looking for a big piece of wood and a stone,” I said. “You can't be serious.” I had been expecting them to say we needed something really weird, like thirteen roses and the blood of a newborn deer.

But no. I needed some wood and a stone—the tools a caveman would use to crush bugs into paste. Not what I viewed as the ideal tools to keep a spirit from stalking me.

We trekked through the woods for a while, and an eerie silence seemed to permeate the air. My flashlight, in addition to the full moon, provided ample light, and yet there were no trees rustling, no birds chirping, no squirrels running amok, and heck, not even an earthworm wriggling around. I suspected the two energies walking alongside me had something to do with it.

I shone my flashlight on more than a hundred pieces of wood before finally finding one that Colonel Fleetwood deemed suitable. It was a part of a fallen branch, the snapped end just wide enough that I could hollow it out to fit a stone inside.

Then we went to a babbling brook nearby and searched for some stones. This hunt proved to be easier in terms of finding the perfect stone, since the only requirement was that it be as spherical as possible, yet getting it was infinitely more challenging because the water was probably forty degrees. It had to come from the water, though, because of some dumb rule about purity. All I know is that by the time we had found the perfect one, I could no longer feel my hand.

“Welcome to our world,” Kristina said as the colonel nodded. “We don't feel a thing.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course I wouldn't get any sympathy from the dead people.

Back home I found the jack-o'-lantern carving knives, which hadn't seen the inside of a pumpkin in a long time, and headed up to my room. Under the guidance of the colonel I sawed off the long, scraggly end of the branch, leaving me with a hunk of wood that resembled a thick hockey puck. Then I began whittling away at the wood bit by bit to create a deep enough space. I slowly carved for hours while I listened to the ghosts chat casually like they were old friends. Well, they probably were old friends, but it was still weird to hear Kristina chatting with someone who wasn't me.

“It felt quite strange, greeting my mother once she crossed over,” the colonel said to Kristina as he leaned against the wall. “So I can only imagine how utterly unreal it will feel to you when you must do the same for yours.”

“Your mom at least knew what you looked like,” Kristina said. “Mine doesn't even know what color my hair is.”

“She does too,” I said. “I've told her a million times.”

“Yeah, but she doesn't really know,” Kristina said. “You didn't do that good of a job describing it.”

“I repeated to her exactly what you told me to say!”

“Yeah, and it still wasn't very good.”

“That side seems ready, lad,” Colonel Fleetwood said, looking over my shoulder. “One more side to go and you'll have a good space there.”

I nodded. “Got it.”

He turned back to Kristina and said, “Did you hear from Lincoln what Selene said about the moon tonight? She was apparently in a bad mood and wanted to cover the sky with clouds, but he put a stop to that for us.”

“As he should have,” she said. “Everyone's too riled up for her to go doing something like that.”

“Hopefully, it'll all be sorted out soon. This talisman should do the trick, and then I'll be able to be on my way.”

“You're staying?” I asked, whipping my head around.

“Of course he is,” Kristina said. “I told you I was bringing reinforcements.”

“Oh. I didn't realize you meant
him
.” I jerked my head toward the colonel. “I thought you meant someone like, I don't know, Jesus or Vishnu or someone like that.”

Kristina and Fleetwood looked at each other for a loaded second before throwing their heads back in laughter.

“What! Why is that so funny?”

“I can't . . . I can't . . . s-speak!” Kristina sputtered.

After a few minutes she finally regained her composure, while I sat there, jaw clenched, whittling away like Mister Geppetto.

“Sorry, Baylor, I don't mean to laugh so hard,” she said. “It's just that, well, this issue isn't really
that
serious. To put it in a way you might understand, it would be like dropping a nuclear bomb to kill a spider, rather than just using a rolled-up newspaper.”

“He kills spiders?” the colonel asked, suddenly perturbed.

“I tell him not to,” Kristina said, her voice going high. “He doesn't listen.”

“Lad, you shouldn't do that!” he said. “Bad karma.”

“Weren't you a soldier, Fleetwood?” I asked, totally aware of how annoyed I sounded. “Didn't you kill people when you were alive? How is killing a spider worse than that?”

“I was duty-bound to serve in a war,” he said, nodding. “It was something I had no control over and believed to be justified.”

“Well, I feel justified in killing spiders when they sneak up on me out of nowhere,” I said. “They have double the legs of most animals. It's creepy. Why do they need that many legs? They're clearly monstrous animals, and I treat them as such.”

He raised his eyebrows at Kristina, who slowly shook her head, but I didn't care because I felt like I had won the argument.

After I was done whittling, they instructed me to crack an egg downstairs and bring the shell back to my room.

“This is the stupidest thing I've ever done,” I mumbled to myself, walking from the kitchen, eggshell in hand, and thinking of Fleetwood and his dumb accent. Why was Kristina even bothering to hang around him? There had to be better spirit guides in the Beyond besides that clown.

“Here we go,” I said, presenting the shell to them. “One eggshell, at your service.”

“Wonderful,” Fleetwood said. “We're nearly there!”

“All you have to do now,” Kristina said, “is put the stone inside the eggshell, close the shell up, and then place it in the center of the wooden bowl.”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “Okay,” I said slowly as I did as they instructed.

“And here we are,” Fleetwood whispered, admiring the talisman. “Excellent work, Baylor. Now, if you'll kindly turn off your lights and light a candle for us.”

I nodded, grabbing a fresh one from my nightstand and switching off the light before walking back. Illuminated by the glow of my computer's screen saver, I struck a match and lit the wick, which crackled violently.

“We're ready,” the colonel said. He and Kristina positioned themselves around me, forming a small circle. “Baylor, place the talisman on the ground and keep hold of your candle. Good. Now, what I need you to do is very simple: Imagine the light of your candle enveloping the talisman with positive energy, and all the while think the words, ‘With this tool I will only do good.'”

I shut my eyes and imagined the flame spreading out from its home on the wick and encircling the talisman.

With this tool I will only do good.

With this tool I will only do good.

With this tool I will only do good.

I opened my eyes and nearly dropped the candle. A thin golden ribbon was slowly slicing through the air, like a river on fire, heading right for the talisman, where it began to shoot around the way an asteroid would orbit Earth, quickly, blindingly, securing the wooden bowl into its web of flames.

I watched with awe, longing to touch it just to see what would happen.

“Uh, Kristina? You never told me I could do this.”

“Not now, Baylor,” Kristina murmured. She extended her hands, palms down, over the talisman and calmly said, “Spread your light.” And from her hands emerged that same blue light that she had used to send away the meddlesome spirit at the hospital. It pulsed out of her in feeble waves, eventually joining the candlelight and turning the sphere electric blue.

Colonel Fleetwood mimicked Kristina's hand position and said, “Find your purpose.” The waves of light that emitted from his hands were shockingly white, hitting the blue and gold with a sharp hiss and causing the whole thing to swell and burn white, like a small supernova.

After several seconds of staring at the inferno, both amazed by what was happening and worried that my retinas were burning, a fierce, powerful sensation boomed from within me, like I was made of fire, and I found myself saying, “Love conquers all,” in unison with Kristina and the colonel, both of whom seemed completely unsurprised.

And then, as soon as the last word escaped our mouths, the ribbons of energy dissipated, the lights in my room turned themselves back on, and the wooden bowl on the ground was . . . still a wooden bowl.

I bent down to pick it up and noticed it looked exactly the same, except for one small change.

“The shell isn't broken anymore,” I gasped, as if that were really the most amazing thing that had happened in the last two minutes. I jerked the bowl around and noticed the egg wasn't rolling around either, like it was glued to the wood.

“The stone is sealed inside,” Colonel Fleetwood said. “The next time you are visited by the Sheet Man, crack the egg open and throw the stone at him. You'll find your troubles will end there.”