A Stroll By Starlight

I could almost taste the gratifyingly cozy flavor of sleep as I teetered on and off from unconsciousness. My eyelids had gone heavy, my hands limp, and my thoughts slurred.

Out of the darkness, a high, piercing bark jolted me from bed.

Heaving an annoyed huff, I kicked the blanket off my legs. The room had gone dark, hot and stuffy in the midsummer night air. The movement from the other room had stopped. Everyone was asleep.

Except me.

And that infernal dog.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and rose, snagging my glasses off the nightstand as I went, weaving between the mess of my room. I crept down the stairs and through the living room, bashing my shins on the coffee table and nearly breaking my neck tripping over a fidget spinner.

I climbed to my feet, grumbling, and covered the rest of the distance to the door with my hands out, feeling blindly in the dark.

Chestnut was going nuts by the time I stepped out on the porch.

“Chestnut! Hey!” I tugged at her collar, soothing her hackles.

Chestnut, finally realizing she’d gotten someone’s attention, stopped barking and began jumping up.

“Get down, girl. What’s going on?” In response to my own question, I glanced outward at the yard and driveway, looking for whatever had alerted Chestnut. Twilight was fading. The edge of the horizon was still violet, but a navy blue night was spreading across the sky. Orion twinkled at me, as if greeting me after a long time away.

Chestnut whipped around suddenly, bounding toward the edge of the porch and freezing at the stairs. I followed, reminding myself that I was committing the first horror movie no-no. I could see the headlines: “Idiot Resident Is Murdered Investigating Strange Noise.”

Searching absently for Chestnut’s tufts of fur, I squinted through the dark for threats. Shadows blanketed the bricked fire pit. Trees hid whatever lurked in their bushy leaves. The starkly white driveway stood out most, reflecting the little light the stars provided. Chestnut growled, her glinting eyes locked on the drive.

“It’s probably just a raccoon, Chestnut, no need to—” As I spoke, a flicker caught my eye. There was something in the driveway, much too big to be a raccoon. Upright, but too slender to be a bear. Tall, but too short to be Slender Man.

Ice fell into my stomach, goosepimpling my exposed arms and legs. I wanted to run, to bolt for my room where the safety of the blankets waited, but my feet were suddenly cemented to the smooth wood.

“Who’s there?”

The question tumbled out of my mouth in an odd rush of bravery. A second horror movie blunder. Nevertheless, I was glad I’d asked, for the figure had to be a person. The way the shoulders were situated. The straight backed gait.

The figure turned toward us, revealing a somewhat slender and slightly bowed frame, as if shrunken under the weight of many years of hard labor. With another jolt, I realized the movement was familiar.

The wisping gray hair and hooked nose. The black slippered feet. Blue button down.

“Grandpa?”

“Hey, sweetie.”

The ice in my stomach melted into hardened lead.

That deep, friendly bass was something I never expected to hear again. He was gone. I’d been there that night. I could still hear my mother’s voice: “He died. He’s gone.”

But even as I stood frozen like a statue, tobacco and wood smoke and Spearmint Tic-Tacs wafted toward my nose. I couldn’t fabricate smells, could I?

Chestnut gave another bark, this one different. It wasn’t frantic or alarmed like it had been before. It was happy. Excited. A greeting.

When I finally found my voice, I sputtered, “What are you doing here? How? You died.”

My grandfather’s figure chuckled, a sound like buckeyes shuffling against each other. He raised his arm, bringing a white mug to his mouth. Coffee. Of course.

“I know this is kind of a big surprise, isn’t it? I mean, I died. I had to come.”

I stepped back, pressing a hand to my forehead. Hot. That was it. The southern heat was getting to my head. This was some kind of fever dream.

“Walk with me?”

Walk? With my grandfather's ghost? In the dead of night? In the middle of a southern, 90 degree summer?

“Why?”

“Why not?”

I blinked. As long as I was indulging this dream, I might as well go all the way.

Chestnut had tiptoed back to her poof and was curled up, probably already asleep, so when I stepped off the stoop, I stepped alone.

I padded across the damp, dew covered ground towards Grandpa’s flickering figure.

“How is school?” He asked as we started down the driveway.

My subconscious seemed determined to give me the full experience. That was exactly what my real grandfather would have asked me… And in that moment, I was grateful. Dream or not—real or not—if I had my Grandpa back for a night, I would take advantage.

“Oh, great,” I drawled, rolling my eyes. “I’m only paying them thousands of dollars to make my anxiety worse.”

“Why not quit?”

I opened my mouth to reply—because I’d gone too far to quit. Spent too much time and money to back out. I couldn’t quit now.

But as we neared the end of the driveway and the grassy field came into view, the mountains in the distance blotting out the stars along the horizon and a creek’s trickling reached my ears, I hesitated.

What if I quit?

What if I turned my back on all that stress? No more emails dinging in my inbox. No more participation grades. I’d never have to hear another teacher tell me to get over it.

And where would I go? To work? With half a degree and a load of anxiety?

The cold of the night settled across my skin, grounding my back to reality, and I shook my head. “I can’t.”

He didn’t respond, just stared at me with an odd humor in his eyes.

I sighed, shaking my head. “So how’s everyone? Have you met Grandpa E.? And Aunt Betty-Ann?”

Grandpa nodded. “Oh, yeah. They’re all doing fine. Grandpa E. never stops talking about you all. He’s very proud.”

“And I guess you want to know how we’re all doing…” I trailed off. Where to start? His death had left the family splintered. We didn’t talk to Uncle Don anymore. His son had come over to “our side.” Mom still refused to go to therapy, no matter how many times I urged. “There’s nothing shameful about going to therapy. They’re there to help…”

Before I could continue, Grandpa shook his head. “There’s no need. I know.”

I turned a questioning gaze on him. “How?”

An almost sheepish grin crossed his withered face. With a start, I noticed his eye—the milky one that’d been left almost useless after being punctured by a fish hook—was clear and an azure blue once again.

“Death had its advantages,” he said, trailing off.

So, he knew. He’d seen the train wreck that had started with that disaster of a family beach trip last summer.

“I’ve tried to…” he struggled with the right word. “Influence the trouble. My efforts have always been a bit late.”

Which trouble? The trip? The car breaking down in the middle of the interstate? The broken picture. The pot. The wreck…

“You were there!” I shouted, pointing. “The day of the wreck. It was you.”

Grandpa nodded. “I hoped breaking the picture would be good enough. Warn you that something was coming.  When no one understood, I had to go to the next level.”

I remembered all too well. First, Grandpa’s framed picture had fallen and shattered. We’d sighed it away. Accidents happened.

When the cast iron cooking pot had split in two after being run over, we were bewildered. How had the pot gotten outside? How had it broken so easily? But we’d sighed it away. We could find a blacksmith.

Then the wreck happened. My brother was on the way home from school, going just a little too fast, being just a little too reckless. The truck had rolled three times, strewing tools and glass all across the road.

“It’s not every day a young man walks away from a wreck like that with a couple scratches,” Grandpa whispered, his voice dark.

“You shielded him or something?”

He nodded. “In a sense. I used a lot of energy to keep him safe that day. I had to retreat for a while, gather my strength. Then I got the call to be here tonight.”

We’d come to the stop sign at the end of the road. The trees swayed, as if testing their roots’ limits. Crickets chirped like a choir, filling the silent night with lullabies.

A second chill swept through me and I hugged my arms in, shivering.

“You’re getting chilly. I should go.”

“Wait.” I held my arms out, begging for his hesitation, for more time.

He did hesitate, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

“Why did you come tonight?”

A peculiar expression crossed his face. “Because I was needed.” His tone suggested the answer should’ve been obvious.

My brow furrowed. What did I need?

“Can ghosts see the future?”

He thought, frowning slightly. “Not the whole future. But the dead are granted a little knowledge.”

“Should I stay in college?” For the second time, the words tumbled from my mouth, but, once again, I didn’t regret them.

He chuckled again and stepped off the road into the field. Assuming I was to follow, I struck out across the dew strewn field, following his lead. Grandpa’s steps were steady and smooth, not slow and unsure the way I remembered, despite the fact we walked on uneven ground.

“Well?”

We’d come to a stop in the middle of the clearing. Silence settled around us, as if the night creatures understood this was an important moment and were determined not to miss it.

“I can’t tell you what you should and shouldn’t do,” Grandpa began.

As I started to protest, he held up a hand and I closed my mouth.

When he didn’t speak, I tried again. “Am I on the right path?”

But Grandpa’s figure began flickering worse than ever until his legs began to fade and a dim light began engulfing him.

I wanted to protest, tell him to wait. Ask him to stay a little longer. But my tongue caught in my throat.

Grandpa had turned back to me and his face was shining with pride. He smiled that warm, fatherly smile I’d grown up with—the one that made his laugh lines stand out and his mustache quirk up at the edges. The one that meant everything was all right.

“Wait…” I whispered, reaching toward him. I tried to move, but with a start, I realized I was on the ground.

Grandpa’s lips moved and no sound came out, but I knew the words. Love you.

The light became blinding. It surrounded him, lifting him towards the sky, his eyes still looking down at me with fondness and assurance. And then the light faded away. He was gone.

Sleep settled over me in a wave. I fell back, feeling as if I hadn’t slept in weeks. I was out before my head hit the ground.

I awoke well rested, for once feeling as light as a feather, as if every anxious thought that had ever plagued my brain had vanished. This was going to be a good day.

I stretched, smiling, then froze. Instead of the silky, polyester of my pillowcase, my arms scraped across what felt like barbed blades of grass.

My eyes popped open and I shot up.

I was in the field. My feet were dusted in dirt. My glasses sat askew. How had I gotten here?

The events of the night rushed back in reply.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

I scrambled to my feet, tripping towards the place I’d seen Grandpa. My eyes traced another undeniable set of tracks trailing a few yards away, but there was nothing else. No tobacco or wood smoke or Spearmint Tic-Tacs. No chuckles like buckeyes shuffling.

I took a step forward, hoping to somehow pull the correct trigger with the movement, and jumped when my foot kicked something hard.

I swept grass aside, crouching, and came face to face with a white mug, half full with black coffee.