Andy

I helped my Mother carry in the groceries and put them away. Fate took a strange hold of the moment thereafter, because the phone rang and she whisked herself away to the living room to chat. In the meantime, I slipped out onto the back patio through the sliding glass doors in the music room.

I stand on the patio for a moment, watching the one window in the living room that would have a somewhat clear view of me. I don’t see her silhouette pacing around so I assume that I am safe and make my move.

With a quick jog, I make my way towards the row of tall bushes dividing our yard from the neighbors. There, underneath the scraggly branches of one of the bushes, is the ‘cookbook’.

I snatch it out of the dirt and mud and hold it tightly to my chest, moving quickly towards the backdoor again with it in hand. I don’t have a lot of time to waste, things are difficult enough without enhancing my parents’ suspicions that I have a secret lover or some shit.

I hop up the patio steps and duck through the backdoor, taking precautions in cutting through the dining room and kitchen to avoid my Mother still chatting away in the living room.

I climb the stairs and seal myself away in my room, quietly shutting my bedroom door behind me and retreating to my seat by the window to take a look at what we’re dealing with.

I sit and pull my knees to my chest, balancing the book against my legs, studying the cover art for a long moment while I contemplate my decisions. With a deep breath, I open the cover and am greeted by an introductory page rambling about homemade foods. I flip to the next page, and am greeted by a completely different sight. These pages are aged and well-worn. Stains clutter the spaces on the pages not covered in carefully drawn illustrations or lengthy paragraphs.

As I flip through the pages, each one has a unique title like that of the stereotypical spellbook. Though, these ‘potions’ I guess you could call them... They’re not the normal ‘love potion’, ‘warts’, and ‘hell fire rain’ that you always see in the movies. To the naked eye, they sound completely useless... They kind of spells and potions that would only come in handy if you had a suspiciously specific issue to deal with.

One, however, catches my eye. It’s bold, italicized font reading: how to safely navigate a vortex (mirror image) dimension.

“The Hell is that?...” I murmur, my gaze lingering on the illustration of a figure facing themselves in the mirror... Only the reflected face is grinning maniacally back.

Spiritual vortexes can be created by strong entities. They can conjure up these in spaces of heavy sorrow, regret, or guilt. They are powered by (fed by) negative energy. As they grow, they can be manipulated by the entity which created them. Anyone who gets caught in them, similar to a bug trapped in a spider web, will be seemingly transported to an alternate version of their universe.

Be wary, this is not so. When someone (entity or mortal) enter the vortex (invisible to anyone other than its’ creator, therefore difficult to discern if one has entered) they will not know, nor recognize that their surroundings have changed. Once trapped, the creator entity can manipulate the environment and bring to life anything they can think of. Anything from horrific creatures to reanimated a deceased loved one for the sake of trickery, nothing is off limits in a vortex.

If you are ever in doubt that you have entered a MMR (Manipulated Mirrored Reality) use these three easy steps to discern whether you are or not.

1. Concentrate hard on your surroundings. Find what does not belong. Entities must change at least one major factor about the environment to be able to duplicate it and manipulate it. It can be as simple as the color of the carpet or the location of your favorite CD on your shelf. Something must change.

2. If you have found the change, and believe that you are trapped in a MMR, you must now figure out why you are here. Entities target specific people with reason. Vortexes require many resources to create and will not be wasted on the regular Mary-Sue.

3. Lastly, find out who has lured you here. It is highly unlikely for someone to accidentally enter a vortex. The entity that has brought you here has a personal connection. Think hard: Who in your life or around you has died? Who would be most likely to use this method to contact you?

It’s important to note that note all MMR sequences are to be considered dangerous/fatal. Sometimes it’s the only way for an entity to communicate with the living on a one on one basis. Do not be scared if you discover a loved one has lured you in. They will have to set you free sooner or later as keeping open the vortex wears down on their energy.

Oh fun... We also have alternate dimensions to get stuck in, too. As if the shapeshifter, the spirits hunting for souls, and the multiple possessions weren’t ba enough in their own right.

I flip through a few more pages, skimming over their contents and titles. How to ghost-proof a room, remedy for fever sores, dreamcatchers and folk-lore charms and totems, removing the right eye of your tormentor... What the Hell?

Halfway through the book, I open to a page featuring a detailed ink illustration of a Mason jar filled with all kinds of bodily nasties. The title of this page was no other than the spirit jar.

Meant to ward off negative entities or to invite them, these jars are filled with all the unpleasant things that come from the human body. Everything from blood to toenail clippings, these jars are meant to be the barrier between you and the spirit world. How you choose to bless them with affect their purpose and efficiency.

I read down through the ‘shopping list’, and I am both glad and sickened that we went the extra mile with our excavation. We’d collected some things that were not on the list.

And while we have almost everything we need for both Andy and Ashley’s jar, I still have to get mine. All the nasties... Fun. The hardest one to obtain I think will be the blood. I’m fairly squeamish, so using needles or blades to get what I need will be very difficult.

But with the time we’ve got left before the next mystery attack, we can’t afford to lose any more time. I need to get it one way or another, and the easiest way of getting it, Andy is not going to love.

I could just do the cut somewhere no one will see, blot the blood and toss the tissues in the jar. I believe that will be efficient enough to suffice. There is definitely easier ways to do this, but I doubt that my mother keeps needles and syringes in the house. The one we used on Andy’s body... I have no clue where he got that one or when he found the time to stuff it into my backpack.

A knock on my bedroom door sends me scrambling to shove the book underneath the nearest piece of furniture. I drop to the floor and give it a good kick, and it smoothly slides under my bed just out of view.

“Come in.”

Andy steps in, closing the door behind him on his way in. I breathe a sigh of relief, half expecting it to be my Mother coming in.

“Where’s Ashley?”

“He wanted to get more things for his jar, so he went to his parents’ house to look around. Also, he is majorly lucky.” He says, peeling off his prophet jacket and tossing it onto the bed, plopping down beside it and sprawling across my comforter.

“How so?”

“He was a donor.” He says, rolling onto one side to prop his head up with his hand, “On the last year of his life, he participated in the blood drive. Some of that blood, he believes, was stored here in town. Now, there’s a 90% chance it has already been used or shipped to another hospital for use, but hopefully that last 10% is in our favor because his body did not turn up much in terms of blood or tissue. He’ll need whatever he can get.”

I nod, contemplating.

“What’s up?”

“I have been thinking about something...” I trail off, my brow pinching in concentration. “Your new skill? The revival?”

“Yeah?”

“What can it really do? Have you experimented with the limits of it yet?”

He shrugs a bit, “Not really. Haven’t had the chance. Why? What are you thinking?”

“Do you think you could simply heal someone? From any injury? Or even... Revive them from death?”

He shrugs a bit, “Maybe... I don’t know.”

“Do you think...” I hesitate, “That it’d be possible to revive yourself?”

“Like... Bring my body back from the dead?”

I nod.

He goes quiet, pressing his hands to his chin while he contemplates and mulls over this possible, new fix for the latest problem. If he were human again, things... Could be different.

“I don’t know,” He admits, running a hand through his hair, his eyes focused on the floor. “I mean... I would think so, but... To what extent? Would I be fully revived and rejuvenated? Or would I end up raising an army of the undead?... And then have to put myself down again anyway?”

“Zombies.” I echo.

“Right.”

I pace a bit more before walking towards the bed and plopping down on it beside him, staring ahead at the window. There’s some oppressive clouds trying to overwhelm the sky, mixing nicely with the depressing mood that seems to always be present.

“Is that all you had on your mind?”

I shake my head no. “No... But you won’t like the rest of it.” I sigh.

“It’s about Ashley?”

I loll my head to one side to look at him, my tired gaze taking in his face while I contemplate an answer that will not anger him. I hesitate, trying to decide which is the lesser of the two evils... Bringing up the blood extraction by blade, or bringing up my suspicions about Ashley. I made a promise... I can’t take it back over something seemingly so minor like knowing something I didn’t before.

“What is it?”

“No.” I shake my head, a humorless laugh following. “We’re not going down that road again.”

“It’s important, isn’t it?” He insists, scooting closer to me, leaning forward to see my face better so he can read every thought and emotion that crosses it.

“It is,” I agree, looking ahead. “but if I tell you, you can’t get exasperated or impatient, okay?”

“Promise.”

He holds his pinky towards me and I twist mine with his and shake our hands once to seal the agreement. I take a deep breath and explain it as quickly as I can, almost rambling through the details. I try and avoid his gaze as much as I can, but the few times I look at him his expression is either confused or in deep thought.

“So on that note... That means that Ashley is animatedly aware of the local ghost stories... Or at least at one point he was. Why wouldn’t he say anything if this information was so important?”

“It’s weird... I can talk to him, do some surveillance and try and figure out why he has never said anything, if you’d like?”

“You’re eager to assist.” I accuse him jokingly, “Normally you’re very opposed to doing anything negative towards him.”

“I don’t want to,” He sighs, looking down. “But there is too much evidence that just says things aren’t what they seem. I hate to doubt him, and I hate to doubt you... If getting him alone for a little while for a private Q&A is the price to set all of this straight, then it is a small price to pay. We’ll go tonight, I have some additional things that I think would benefit my own jar to have.”

“Speaking of which,” I hop off my bed, a proud smile spreading across my face. “I accompanied my mother to the store and confronted that woman-”

“Damn, you’re cold. Didn’t think you had a mean bone in you.” He interrupts with a grin, which I choose to ignore and carry on. “She told me that the cookbook was in fact the book we needed... And that in our haste to solve our problem, we threw it out the window without even opening it... Hence, this.”

I crouch down and grab the book from under my bed and open it to a random page, handing it to him with a proud smile on my face.

He grabs the book, scanning over the words and drawings printed on the page.

“Could’ve saved us a lot of stress if we’d been patient enough to actually open the thing.” He says, shaking his head, raising his eyebrows while he reaches into his back pocket for his cigarette pack.

“Aren’t you supposed to not be addicted to nicotine anymore? You know, since you have no body for it to be addicted to?”

He meets my eyes for a moment before looking back down at the crumpled pack in his hand, one cigarette hanging from his lips, flipping around as he shifts it while he thinks. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

He gets ready to light the killing stick when I swipe the lighter from his hand, giving him a look.

“What?”

I point up at the ceiling to the smoke detector, happily minding its own business for the time being with a calm little green light. “Ghosts have been known to set off smoke alarms... Smoke alarms have been known to draw unwanted attention from parents, which leads to my Mom thinking I smoke. Please take it outside, dear.”

I pat his jaw and give him an endearing smile, dropping the lighter back into his hand. “More roadblocks and restrictions is the last thing we need right now, and my parents are all to eager to provide them for no reason.”

“Yes, ma’am.” a wonderful smile curls his lips, his cigarette caught between his teeth, warming my heart at its presence. He reaches out toward me, placing his hands on either side of my waist, looking up at me from his place on the bed.

“Alright, alright,” I sigh, plucking his hands off my hips and dropping them into his lap. “we both know where this will go,” I pause to give him a firm, knowing look with he responds to with a sly smile. “and the answer is no.”

“As you wish.” He says, impersonating Wesley’s accent from The Princess Bride.

“Pssh, go find your princess.” I nod towards the door. “Go smoke and do your thing for a bit. We can finish catching up later.”

His brow twitches at bit and his eyes narrow in confusion, his smile unwavering. “Is there a reason you want me to leave?”

“Yes... I need time with my secret lover,” I reply with a guilty tone. “I have been waiting for the right time to tell you.”

He fakes a surprised gasp, stumbling back across my bed, messing up the comforter as he scuttles backward, his expression mirroring that of someone who has been electrocuted.

“How could you?! When were you planning on telling me?!”

“Go on,” I nudge him towards the door. “Scram. I’ve got some planning to do.”

He stands up and makes his way towards the door, but keeps turning back halfway, flashing another smile, hoping I’ll change my mind. I shake my head at him, suppressing a smile.

Once the door has closed behind him, I sigh. I hate lying to him, but it’d only stress him and make him angry if he knew what I would actually be doing... Or preparing to do. With him and Ashley heading out tonight, it is the only opportunity I will have to do it.

I give it a few moments before I step out into the hall, listening hard for a moment before picking up on my mother’s voice downstairs, still on the phone. With that knowledge in mind, I go towards my parents' room.

They have their own bathroom in their room, and there I am hoping to find the necessary items needed to get a fair bit of my own blood. I hate having to use this route, but time is not a luxury we have right now.

Their room is much brighter than mine, with everything having the bland, contemporary design of a hotel room with white bedding, white walls, carpet, and watercolor prints of sailboats and flowers on the wall.

I go left, towards the bright, white little bathroom and close the door behind me, going for the cupboard beside the mirror and rummaging through it. Tylonel, aspirin, peroxide, Vaseline, a roll of gauze, and a bottle of vitamins reside on the shelf.

Rejected, but still determined, I open the counter under the sink, then pause, remembering what I found last time I rummaged around under someone’s sink. Didn’t matter much, there was nothing but cleaners and extra boxes of soap in there.

I stand up and turn, facing the small linen closet that contains the towels. There’s a smaller cupboard just above it. I drag my mother’s counter stool over and climb on top of it

I rummage around in the cupboard, patting between the shampoo bottles and toiletries until I grab a small box. I pull it down to inspect it. Industrial Scraping razors.

“Better be a clean one.” I mutter under my breath as I pull open the flaps on the side and slide out the little plastic tray. Scraping razors tend to find themselves in the gnarliest of places.

They're not intended for shaving, but for scraping hard water off of tubs, toilets, and anywhere else gross things grow. Making sure I get a clean one is kinda crucial in all of this.

Two blades are already missing from one end, but just to be safe I remove mine from the opposite end of the package. I set it on the corner of the countertop while I reseal the package and put it back where I found it. I get back down, pushing the counter stool back into place and taking a moment to run the razor under water to ensure its cleanliness as much as possible.

With that, I wrap it securely in a couple of tissues and take it back to my room where I hide it amongst my possessions on the top shelf of my closet, closing the door behind me.

I hate that I even have to do this... Andy would be broken hearted if he found out what I was doing for the 'cause'... Just thinking about the pain it’d cause him makes me second guess if it’s really worth it at all.

I take a deep breath in an attempt to clear my head, but it doesn’t do me much good. All I can think about is the guilt. I’m going to engage in this thing that almost destroyed the person I love most... For what? For a chance to be protected against those fuckers in the woods?

We’ve still got the holy water to lay down around the house... Maybe that’d be enough and I wouldn’t have to?

No... I need to. After everything we have already given to the cause to ensure our safety and that of those around us, it’s no time to be turning back or getting cold feet. I don’t want to lie to Andy, but him knowing would hurt him too much. This is one of those what they don’t know won’t hurt them situations, isn’t it?

I stand in the middle of my bedroom, feeling more like a ghost myself than living. Just standing in a room from my former life, drifting through things, pondering my existence...

But then, maybe I feel more alive than ever. I grew up living a sheltered life, bland from any trouble or adventure except for the occasional outing with Elizabeth, but even those events were strictly legal and safe and we never did anything concerning enough for our parents to get a couple grey hairs.

Things are definitely different these days. I feel like I’m truly becoming my own person through my struggles, strange as they may be. Like a caterpillar emerging from its chrysalis... Or something like that.

I suppose all I can do is pray that this sacrifice will be worth it.

Notes

Thank you Merelan and Mezzy18 for commenting!

Okay, two quick things:

1. I don't mean to take cutting/suicide lightly, nor come off as disrespectful. I know a lot of people struggle with it and I'm not trying to come off as flippant about it. Including it here plays an important part in the coming chapters and I felt it was necessary to include.

2. I meant to post much earlier today but I've been procrastinating on writing this chapter all week because I didn't know how to address the cutting. I can assure you though that there will not be more of it in Ash's future because I hate writing it lol