Ghost Stories

“Your campsite’s haunted,” Mia announced one fine morning. 

I fiddled with the metal poker stick in my hand, two sausages speared on its forked head. I was crouching so close to the flames that my face felt sunburnt. The sky was gray, and I was in a sour mood. Eris was still asleep.

Dad looked up from his eggs. “Really, now?”

Mia nodded, fast enough that it made me a bit dizzy. “Last night, I saw a lady in a white dress walking around. She headed back over to your site, and then dissolved into the air!”

“Oh, how scary,” Dad said. “What could it be?”

“Maybe someone died.” Mia jabbed me in the shoulder.

I slapped her hand away.

“Gentle, Lauren,” Dad scolded me.

Mia was not at all hurt. “Lauren, did you bring your ponies?”

“No.”

“That’s okay,” Mia said with a shrug. “I’ll share.” 

“I don’t want to play.” I turned the sausages over; the bottoms were black.

“Why?”

I’m not a stupid little kid anymore. “Go back to your sister.”

Mia pouted, puffing up her cheeks. “No! I don’t wanna.”

“Well, I don’t want you either!” I glared at her. “Go back to your dumb sister.”

As Mia ran off, crying, Dad took the poker stick out of my hand. I waited for him to ground me or something, but he only looked sad.

“Do you want to talk, Sweetie?”

“I’m fine.” I stared into the fire.

“You know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I told you,” I said. “I’m fine, Dad.”

“Did you get enough sleep last night?”

It was as good an out as I was going to get. “No, I don’t think so. It was. . .” I was too spaced out to even fake a smile. “. . . the ghosts.”

“Why don’t you go lie down, then? Breakfast can wait.”

I kicked a rock. It skittered down the dusty road and came to rest a few steps away. When it got within kicking range again, the cycle continued.

It was sun-blaring noon. I wandered the campground with my headphones on, my CD player rattling around in my pocket. I wondered how long I was going to have to wait for Dad to get me an iPod Touch; Christmas and my birthday had already passed with crickets.

The edges of my ears were growing sore from the hours spent with my headphones pressing against them. I traipsed down shady paths and wide-open fields, passing dozens of other sites along the way. Sun-faded American flags waved limply from tree trunks, and choice rocks, stuffed with mica, gleamed along the road. It was so quiet that all I had to worry about was jumping to the grass when the occasional truck sidled up behind me. A man in direct sunlight was splayed out on his lawn chair fast asleep, Jimmy Buffet rolling on without him. 

The dark cloud in my brain hadn’t faded from that morning— had maybe only gotten worse— so I ended up sticking the day out alone. It was like the sun hated me. It turned out becoming an adult had left me mostly unchanged— just sore. Sore in ways I had never imagined. 

After visiting the sad little arcade and spending all my quarters on pinball, I hoofed it across the main drag and over to the pool, abandoned of all but the retirees and their grandchildren. I whacked the fence on my way past to hear it jangle. I went over a gentle hill, where woodchips surrounded a beached pirate ship. Down past this was the real park, with the swing sets and curly-Q slide. Pausing at the top of this hill, I saw Chloe before she saw me.

She was sitting at a nearby picnic table. Her flip-flops flip-flapped on and off from the soles of her feet as she hummed, kicking idly. My eyes skirted, slowly, to the playground. Mia was at the top of the jungle gym, squatting across from another girl her age. I made a decision— a stupid one. 

“Hey.” I slipped onto the bench beside Chloe, tugging my headphones off.

“Hey.” She examined her nails. 

There was a soft breeze surrounding us. Chloe was wearing perfume, some kind of sickly sweet scent that filled girls’ bathrooms everywhere. It was brought right to me. Her nail polish was sparkly blue, but she had already picked away most of it. 

Nose still downturned, her eyes found me. Only then, without the barrier of dorky pink glasses, did I notice that she had hazel eyes.

“I wasn’t kidding about the eyeliner, you know,” she said. 

“Oh.” I hadn’t bothered putting it on in the morning. 

Chloe reached across the table to grab her purse, again. It dragged across the aged gray table, parting the layer of orange pine needles. She brushed these away with a grimace. Once satisfied, she unzipped the purse and dumped its contents. Cosmetics lay across the table, glittering like a dragon’s hoard. Chloe began naming them one by one with a dainty finger. 

“Mascara, foundation, blush, watermelon lip gloss—” She paused to unscrew the lid and reapply hers. “ — eye shadow, tweezers, lip liner, and eyeliner.”

I picked up the eyeshadow palette, turning it over so the little boxes sparkled. “You’re like a mad scientist, Chloe.”

She smiled for real. “Daddy says I should go to college for beauty.”

“That would be cool. You’re good at it.”

Chloe picked up the eyeliner pencil, twirling it between her fingers. She tucked a leg under herself and scooted to face me, grinning. “Mind if I give you a makeover?”

“Uh— sure?” I don’t know why I said that. A brief image passed through my mind, horrifying— me in a blonde wig and pasty pink face-up.

Even in the wilderness, Chloe clearly paid attention to herself. She was wearing a tight-fitting shirt and a thin vest, jean shorts and the flip flops. A turquoise ring glittered on her left pointer finger. 

She began to sharpen her eyeliner pencil, and took hold of my face with firm hands. I winced as the pencil jabbed my tear duct.

“You want it heavy, right?” she said. “Like, goth-y?”

“I want to look like Gerard Way.”

“Who?”

“He’s— uh, never mind.” I swallowed. I couldn’t look away for fear of disturbing her steady line. “Gothy works.”

Chloe took it in stride. “How long have you been wearing makeup?”

“A couple weeks.”

“What made you start?” 

“Oh, I dunno.” As I spoke, she pushed my chin up and began penciling my lower lids. “I wanted the outside of me to reflect the darkness inside.” 

Chloe snorted. She ducked her head down, hair swaying, and began to laugh.

I joined a moment later. Our earlier animosity melted away in the sun.

“Yeah,” I said with a smirk. “I’m soo messed up, Clo. You have no idea.”

Chloe was shaking with constrained laughter. She put a hand over her mouth. 

I continued, “Like, sometimes, I don’t eat my vegetables at dinner.”

“You animal!”

“And I’m always breaking uniform policy.” I wiggled my black nail-polished fingers.

 “Oh, you’re scaring me!” She waved a hand in front of her face, as if swatting a mosquito. 

“C’mon, Chloe, you’ve gotta have some darkness, too.”

She shook her head, pressing her hands together like prayer. “I’m an angel.”

“Then we’re perfect together.”

Chloe returned to the makeover. She pulled the bangs from my eyes, nicking my forehead with her long nails.

I said, “Darkness and light.”

She didn’t reply, now in rapt concentration as she attempted to line my eyes with perfect wings. Her sweet smell unfurled, filling my mouth as it hung open.

I really am messed up, I thought. I leaned in towards her neck.

“Huh? Lauren, what are you—?”

The kiss lasted only a moment. The only parts touching were our faces, a ghostly brush. Chloe slapped my cheek and pushed me off the bench. 

I hit the grass on my side.

I writhed around for a moment until I could see the sun. Chloe was standing above me, her lip gloss smeared up to her eye. 

“What the fuck was that?”

I winced. “I’m sorry, I—”

“I’m not some kind of weirdo.” She ran a hand through her hair, letting it fall back like a wave. She bared her teeth, though her eyes glinted with tears. “Stay away from me!” 

“Oh, my beloved. Little darling. My blood and my life. . .”

The next thing I remembered, I was lying on top of Eris in her tent. My face was damp with tears, and awareness only made them start anew. I panted. “I’m sorry. I—I thought—”

“I won’t leave you, Ophelia.” She was petting me, over and over. The firm weight of her hands made my heart stutter in rhythm. She pressed down, and I whimpered. “You’re young, still, and now so full of love to bursting. Of course it would overflow; of course it would go to an unworthy soul.”

I nodded, gasping. I clung to her clothes, hands curling in and out like a cat kneading blankets. “I didn’t realize— I thought maybe I could find— I thought that there was someone who was. . .”

“Shh. . . don’t think, dear Ophelia.” She rubbed my cheek with her cold knuckle. “What have I told you in the past?”

I swallowed; my vision was swaying. I raised my face to stare into her eyes. If it weren’t for her soft body, I would’ve thought I was floating.

Eris pulled me closer, so my face rested in the crook of her neck. Softly, softly, she bit into the cartilage in my ear and said, “It is always painful.”

I had another nightmare, I think.

Overnight, a noxious smell filled the camper. It was bad enough to wake me, and strong enough that I couldn’t fall back asleep.

The bed creaked as I lay on my back, my chest heaving, trying in vain to breathe in some clean air. The smell was sweet and rotten; like old fruit left out in the sun. Dad was asleep on the pullout couch only feet away, tucked away in his blanket and snoring profusely. Through the window screen only the faintest light came through, creating shimmering patterns along the kitchenette floor.

I sat up, my sleeping bag unfurling onto the floor. I felt around until I dragged my Converse over, and put them on without socks. The inside of the canvas was still damp and soft. I crept around Dad’s bed and over to the trash can at the opposite wall. Something must’ve gone bad in there, and I knew I wouldn’t go back to sleep until it was gone. Like an amputation. 

It’s hard to comprehend just how dark the dark can get. I had to double-check that the flashlight from the junk drawer was even on. The light was eaten up only feet in front of me. I had taken the path to the dumpster a dozen times, but never at night.

The wet bottom of the trash bag pressed against my bare calf.

As I crept forward, guided only by my dim flashlight and a distantly hooting owl, I considered just dropping the bag and running. I had, in my haze, forgotten about the cold. I was only wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Goosebumps ran up and down my arms. 

But I couldn’t leave it in the site. That would just attract critters— raccoons or coyotes or, god forbid, bears. 

I didn’t even know the time. The only clock in the camper was the microwave, and neither Dad or I knew how to set it. But I figured it must’ve been really, really late. There were no lights on in any of the campers or tents, no fires still smoldering. The owls were up, which meant— to my imagination, at least— so were the wolves.

The farther I went down the hill, the more acutely I felt the sense of sinking into Hell. The woods around me grew thicker, the path winding in and out. The effort was becoming too much, just putting one foot in front of the other.

Finally, there was a break, once I reached the bathrooms. The lights were still on in the sagging wooden building. I could even hear the fan. The lump in my throat receded. 

The women’s door was propped open with a metal chair, moths hovering in the orange light like a thick net. The additional light spilled out onto the road, illuminating the figure that shambled across from me.

It was small and gaunt in a billowing green garment, hair swaying like a curtain. For a moment, thanks to Mia’s comments, I swore it was a ghost.

 I froze in my tracks, my flashlight rattling in my hand. The thought passed as quickly as it had come, though.

It was just Chloe in her pajamas: an oversized t-shirt and bare legs. Her hair was frizzy— total bedhead, and blocked her face. I swallowed, and wondered if now was a bad time to apologize.

My voice was stuck; what little noise I made was drowned out by the overwhelming crickets. Chloe moved at a glacial pace, zombie-like with her hands at her sides. Her face was looking forward, into the woods; no way she saw me. The paralyzing chill that had swallowed me so often in dreams returned, and I realized that I wasn’t awake.

I turned around. Standing before me, glossy coat bleeding into the darkness, was the green-eyed cat, as big as a panther. An eerie calm washed over me. The cold became soothing, as if I were standing under the waterfall again.

The waterfall. With a flash, like a forgotten memory, I felt myself lying on the rock bed in green water lapping up to my chin, in total zen. There, I was able to lie back, to not think, to let the water do what it will.

I sank to my knees. The cat came closer.

Even without my conscious fear, my breath came out in awful wrenching huffs. The cat’s shoulders swelled as it walked, its head down and eyes pinned on me. Its purr grew louder and louder, until it was nudging my cheek with its head. 

My hands gripped at the collar of my shirt, stretching the fabric until I was able to pull it down over my shoulder. The garbage bag lay forgotten on the road, but the scent of moldering fruit bloomed a horrible bouquet as my body leaned back, the base of my neck bared.

Snap! 

At the breaking of a twig, a flock of frightened birds briefly blacked out the moon. More brush rustled as someone fell through it, behind me. The cat growled in my ear. 

By the time I was able to move again, it was gone. I was all alone, mosquitoes congregating on my arms, my bare knees to the gravel. The bathroom light flickered.

I spit a strand of hair out of my mouth, trying to displace the taste of blood, and whispered, “Chloe?”

But she was gone, too. I picked up my flashlight and stumbled over to where I had last seen her. 

There was little sign of her left. The only thing there was a smattering of dark wet spots that shone underneath the light. I somehow knew, without further examination, that it was blood. It led into the woods.

I didn’t follow. I was only dreaming, after all. So, I marched back over to the camper and rolled into my bunk.

I stared at the window blinds, at the red light bleeding out from in-between, and remembered that my arm was still outside of my shirt. As I fixed it, I whimpered. I bit my tongue, but still some part of me was weeping. I tried to stuff my head under the covers, but I couldn’t stop the sight in the forest from playing over and over in my head. I rolled over. 

Eris stood in the kitchen in a white shift, dripping from chin to toe with fresh blood.

"AHHHHHH!!!”

Dad sprang up in bed like a shot. The dream was broken, dead Eris gone. He turned to me, but I wasn’t the one screaming. Stunned, I could only give a weak shrug.

Someone was knocking furiously at our door. Dad untangled himself from the blankets, smoothed down his dinosaur t-shirt, and unlocked the heavy front door.

It swung open. On the other side of the screen was Mrs. Lambert in a bathrobe and slippers, her hair a rat’s nest. Tears were streaming down her face. 

“David,” she said. “Is Chloe with you?”

“Wha—? No.” He rubbed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s disappeared from her room.” The woman’s voice was a terrified hush. “She didn’t even take her cell phone.”

Dad jolted to near-full alertness. “I’ll call the police.”

“Jeff’s already gone down to the office,” Mrs. Lambert said. “We’re going to organize a search party.”

Dad grabbed his coat. I helped him track down his sneakers, kicked under the bed. 

The contents of the junk drawer rattled something fierce when he yanked it open. He dug through, ignoring decks of cards and bottle openers in order to stuff his pockets with the industrial flashlight and a can of bear spray.

“I’ll be back soon, Sweetie.” He kissed my forehead. “I’ll go get Eris, and then you can stay in here together. Don’t lose any sleep because of me, okay?”

“N—”

That brief flash I had seen was stuck to the inside of my eyelids— Eris with her eyes fleshy and bloodshot, white mouth grinning. Lined and dripping with red.

“What is it?”

I shook my head. “Never mind. I’ll be fine, Dad.”

That was just a dream, and I was grown up, now. This was not the time to cry over monsters under the bed.

I watched through the screen door as he jogged over to Eris’s tent. 

He shook the outside and said, “Hey, Kiddo? There’s been an emergency.”

No reply. Eris was as heavy a sleeper as always— at the worst time. Dad rocked the tent a couple more times, raising his voice to no avail. Mrs. Lambert was waking the rest of her friends. A fleet of adults jogged down the hill past us, flashlights blazing through the trees. 

Dad threw his head back, his hands on his hips. He met my eye, and wordlessly I left the camper to come and save him.

He turned around and folded his arms as I unzipped the tent’s front door. 

He said, “Eris, I’m very sorry to have to wake you up. But there are extenuating circumstances, and I think it’s best in this situation that you girls stick together so that—”

“Dad,” I said.

“What?”

My voice shook as I stared at the neatly-folded sleeping bag. “She’s gone.” 

With two girls gone missing, the search party ballooned. Apparently, there was now a suspicion of foul play. I was thrown in with a handful of other kids at a bug-eaten spot under the pavilion, only a blanket and a cell phone to my name. We were supervised by the owners’ beleaguered teenage son.

It was the ultimate impromptu sleepover. Over the concrete, scored by a symphony of crickets, all the children were whispering from under whatever sleeping gear they had scrounged. The cold didn’t matter. From the rafters, a camping lantern swung, spinning the shadows around. 

I sat on top of a picnic table hugging my knees, staring out at the mass of dark pine trees writhing above the road. 

Eventually, the chatter quieted. I assumed most of the others fell asleep, but I was hardly in the right state to notice. I only looked away from the sky when someone joined me at my table.

Mia sat on the very edge of the bench, too small to even tip the table. She slouched with her hair in her eyes. She didn’t look at me, and I didn’t speak. I leaned over and readjusted the baby blue blanket across her shoulders. They weren’t shaking from the cold.

Mia said, “She didn’t take her shoes.”

I rubbed her back. She climbed onto the table and laid her head in my lap. Her hair was all knotty, and the ends were wet from her chewing. I gently brushed it out with my fingers until she passed out. 

But I remained, watching the police arrive. The flashing lights, whipping down the dirt roads, stung my vision. Dogs began barking, bouncing across the campground. 

I knew, logically, that it was probably just the police dogs riling up the others into a feedback loop— but I dug my nails into my arms all the same. I imagined Chloe with bloody feet and torn clothes, devoured by wolves.

By dawn, it was clear there had been some kind of revelation. The adults who came to pick their children arrived carrying thousand-yard stares and no words on the girls’ fate. The commotion woke Mia, and together we plodded back to our sites.

The sun rose. At first the sky was gray, then a soft pink. Mia slipped off to sleep in her own camper— to check if Chloe was only hiding under the bed— and I was too wiped to stop her. 

Dad had left the door unlocked in his panic. I nudged it open, then pulled back the screen with tired, rote motions.

Eris was sitting at the kitchen table, picking her teeth. 

For some reason, seeing her didn’t alarm me. I stood in front of the door with my arms by my side. “People are looking for you.”

Eris folded her hands, leaning them against her cheek. “Why?”

“You weren’t in your tent.”

“Why were you peeking in my tent?” She giggled.

Dawn was still rising behind our lowered blinds. The sunlight traveled up the back of my neck, crawled along my bare, bug-bitten arms. It killed the little fight left in me. 

I said, “Chloe went missing first. I think she’s dead.”

I don’t know why I thought that. My stomach clenched painfully as the words passed my lips.

Eris hummed. “Well, she was never very nice.”

I was starting to sway on my feet. Without another word, I stumbled over to my bed, rolled into the tangled covers and ignored it all. A hand brushed my shoulder, smoothed down my hair, and kissed my neck. That was all I knew.