Restless

THIS IS A WORK IN PROGRESS - ANY COMMENTS WILL BE WELCOME!

“Our dead are restless, Kathleen. They're missing someone, and they'll be here soon.”

I let the wooden screen door go as I turn to face her; I jump a little when it bangs shut behind me. I look across the sunny kitchen to where my grandmother is bent over the table, kneading bread. Her silver hair is pulled back in a low pony-tail. I watch her and I’m a little jealous of her elegance and grace. No matter what she’s doing, she is perfect and I love her but when she starts this “dead” stuff I want to bail. It’s creepy. What’s even creepier? I know exactly what she’s talking about because I can feel them too. I just refuse to listen to them. “God, Mimi, stop saying crap like that; it’s not normal!”

“Kathleen!” Mimi laughs. “I know you feel them, too. They’re a part of you. It will serve you well to pay them some attention. If you continue to ignore them, they’ll make trouble; they don’t like to be ignored. They like to feel needed.”

I shiver. I hate when she goes all Celtic spooky on me. It’s not like we even live in Ireland. We live in Massachusetts. We’re not even all that Irish anymore. There’s just residue, not the good stuff either. All I got was freckles and an affinity for the dead, both of which I’d give away in a second.

“Fine!” I pout. “I’m not discussing this anymore! The dead are dead. They should stay that way!” I turn and leave, letting the screen door go with a smack. I’m practically running by the time I get to the woods. I hate being around people – dead and alive - when everything is restless. I just want to be alone. I run through the woods until I reach the meadow where I collapse. I’m drawn here whenever I’m upset. I don’t understand why, but it makes me feel calm.

“SHUT UP! LEAVE ME ALONE! I don’t care what you want. I hate you all. You’re more than useless. I don’t know what you want! Go see Mimi. She likes you. Me, I hate you and wish you would die forever.”

Our dead don’t really talk to me. Not really. That might actually be kind of cool. I could walk up to people and freak them out by telling them their secrets. But then there’d be those who would want me to help them contact their poor old aunt or find out where Grandpa Sal stashed his money. It doesn’t work that way for me ‘cause our dead are lame. I can only “hear” our dead. Our, as in family, dead. Dead relatives. Yeah, totally and completely lame.

I don’t really “hear” them as much as I feel them. They’re not here all the time. They only show up when someone in the family is going to die. The problem is the never tell you who it is or when it’s going to happen. So they just hang around and make trouble, moving stuff, hovering, making me jumpy and gloomy. Whenever they’re here I feel like I’m swimming in melancholy. They surround me; it’s in the air I breathe and the water I drink. A fog that gets thicker as the event gets closer.

As I lay in the fragrant grass, feeling the sun warm on my face, I remember the first time I came to the meadow; I was twelve. It was my first experience with our dead. I thought I was going crazy and I was going to ask my mom to take me to the doctor.  It was summer and it was already hot and sticky. I was sitting on the front porch rail trying hard to stay cool and failing miserably. I loved to sit on the railing and try to follow the maze of climbing roses as they worked their way up the trellis. The porch is wide and deep and it runs the length of the house. It has square columns that are the perfect leaning size. I’m slumped against the first column next to the stairs, one leg dangling off the side when Mimi finds me.

“Come on Kitten, let’s have a walk.”

I didn’t want to move since I was already sweaty and sticky, but since she’s my grandmother, I really had no choice. Mimi headed for the flagstone path that ran along the side of the house, stopping to pull a weed from the flower bed, and headed for the woods. I jumped off the railing and hurried after her, not sure where she was taking me but I was determined to be as miserable as possible about it. We walk in silence until we are well into the woods.

“I’ve noticed that you’re not yourself Kathleen. I know it’s hard when they first realize you can hear them.”

Whoa. I pretend I can’t hear her but she just keeps talking.

“I was your age when I first heard them. I think it was the summer before I turned twelve.”

I stop walking. “What did you say?” I asked her quietly. Pretty sure my mouth stayed open there at the end.

Mimi turns to look at me. “Our dead, Kathleen, I know you can hear them. I also know that when it first starts it can be a little disorienting.”

“DISORIENTING! I’m going crazy and you call it disorienting?” I stare at her. Standing there in the middle of the woods with my hands on my hips, I open and close my mouth willing it to say something that resembles a coherent thought.

“You’re certainly not crazy, Kathleen. Come on, it’s not far, now.”

“I’m not taking another step until you tell me what’s going on!” I cross my arms and set my face.

“I intend to but we really can’t talk out here in the open.” Mimi replies.

“Mimi, we’re alone. In the woods!” but Mimi, not listening, turns and walks away. I watch as she disappears. Like disappears, disappears. One second she’s there, the next she’s gone, disappeared.

“Hurry, Kathleen. We don’t have all day.”

“Wait. Where are you? What, what just happened? WHERE DID YOU GO?”

“Keep on the path and you’ll find me.”

An owl hoots and I nearly jump out of my skin. Cautiously, I start walking. I’m looking around for what, I’m not really sure. I keep on the path and walk between two dead trees, their branches stretched across the path forming a barrier; I brace myself for scratches but feel nothing. I turn to see how I managed to escape being scratched and I’m shocked to see two stately old Birch trees. They’re the oldest trees I’ve ever seen, tall and graceful, their branches woven overhead into a beautiful canopy. When I turn back, I find Mimi standing in a beautiful meadow like nothing weird was going on at all.

I’m awestruck. I’m standing in a small meadow, surrounded by more Birch trees. The trees stretch upward, weaving their branches into a living ceiling made from leaves. A breeze ripples through the meadow. The sun filters through giving the meadow an ethereal glow. Where I entered stands a delicate metal gate covered in morning glories. The air is gently perfumed. In the center of the meadow is a smaller area defined by rocks and boulders of varying size. The light seems brighter there and I’m drawn to it. The dead that have been crowing me are quieted, calm.

“Are you sure I’m not going crazy, Mimi? ‘Cause I kind of feel like I am.”

“I’m sure, Kitten, but I wouldn’t be able to explain what’s happening without first showing you this place.” She says as she walks to the edge of the meadow to where a large boulder rests. She sits down, patting the spot next to her. I walk over and sit on a rock that is more comfortable than it should be. I am not prepared for what comes next.

“Kathleen.” She says as she takes my hands in hers. “You’re special. More special than you realize. Our family has a great responsibility; we are the guardians of this meadow. I am guardian now but one day it will be your responsibility”

“NO!” I shout. “This can’t be real. I refuse to let it be real. I don’t want to know anymore.”

“Let me finish, please. There are some things that are bigger than one person, one family. This is one of them. Our family, the guardian specifically, is responsible for safeguarding the inhabitants of ‘The Isle of the Blest.’”

“Am I hallucinating? I looked it up and it said that you can’t always tell ‘cause it feels real. That’s why they’re dangerous. Oh, why am I asking you? You’re part of this. Maybe I banged my head.”

“You’re fine Kathleen. I know this is a lot to comprehend and I’ll do everything I can to help you adjust and prepare for when you will be Guardian – Coimirceoir. Our surname, Cameron, comes from it. I’m still the current guardian and I will remain Guardian until it’s time for you to take over. We’ll need to start on your studies.”

“But…” I try to interrupt.

“The Isle of the Blest is where the dead reside, Kathleen. We have been the Coimirceoir since before recorded time. In Ireland, we were once considered Priestesses and were honored and revered above all others. The affinity we have with our dead allows us to communicate with the inhabitants of the Isle. More importantly, it allows the dead to communicate with us. Together we keep the living away. It is an important task Kathleen and one our family has performed scrupulously. Strange and powerful magic resides there and it cannot be allowed into the realm of the living. This meadow is a sacred place and it is my – really our whole families – responsibility to keep it safe.”

“Are mom and dad part of this?” I interrupt.

“Yes. I’ll get to their role in all this but first let me tell this my way.”

I’m dragged from my memory by the dead. They are thick and suffocating. I can feel them in every pore. They’re so thick I can almost see them, like a fog, gathering along the ground and curling in and around the boulders at the center of the meadow. I can’t see the trees, only the canopy above. Then they are gone. Totally gone. No sound. No pressure. Silence so pure it hurts. That’s when I panic. If the dead are quiet that means someone’s died.

“Kitten? Are you here?” Mimi’s voice surrounds me.

“Oh my god, Mimi, is everyone ok? Who? What happened? How?” The questions spill from my mouth without thought or order. I’m practically hyperventilating. “It’s not Mom or Dad? Please don’t be them!”

“They’re fine Kitten.” Mimi replies.

I scan the meadow looking for her. “MIMI?” I shout as I start to panic. “Where are you? I can’t see through the fog.”

“I’m here, Kitten, you just can’t see me any longer.” Her voice is wistful and sad.