Want It Back

© November 2012 Betty Widerski

All Rights Reserved

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Chapter 4 Part 1

“Why is it dark?” Allie thought. “Maybe my eyes are closed?”

She opened her eyes… or thought she did. There was no difference in the darkness and she wasn’t even sure her eyes were there. She picked up her right hand and passed it in front of her face… or thought she did. She still saw nothing. She considered moving her hand towards her eyes and touching her face – but was suddenly afraid: what if she tried that and found that her face wasn’t there?! Panic was starting to grab her by the (perhaps nonexistent) throat – where the hell was she? WHO the hell was she?

Suddenly she felt something touch her left hand. The unexpected outside input startled her but also brought great relief that she was not stuck alone in some featureless Limbo. Not caring what it was she somehow reached out, grabbed it tightly and pulled.

Tom’s hand gently touched the woman’s – and had a totally unexpected result: though her physical hand remained limp and unmoving he suddenly felt like the world was spinning and creating a vortex! Out of the center of this vortex a “hand” reached out, clasped his hand strongly and pulled. He couldn’t tell whether it was trying to pull him into the vortex or was looking for an anchor to pull itself out. Whichever it was, he wanted none of it. But he was losing his metaphysical footing…

Until another unexpected sensation intruded: he felt a pair of strong hands on his shoulders, pushing him down, anchoring him against the pull of the vortex and the phantom hand clasping his. Then he heard a woman’s voice speaking with the tone one uses to reprimand a recalcitrant puppy:

“STOP IT! Control yourself young one – pulling my grandson into your maelstrom of panic will do neither of you any good.”

“Gramma Yetzi?!” Now Tom felt like he was really losing it – but the vortex slowed, and the hand released its deathlike grip while retaining contact with his.

“That’s better, child.” The hands apparently attached to the voice claiming to be his deceased grandmother also released their downward pressure on his shoulders.  But she was not finished with him.

“And YOU, son of my daughter: that was as poor an excuse for grounding and shielding as I have seen. How could you fail to perceive the need for those before making contact?”

“Ah… what?” Tom did not have a clue about the direction this conversation was taking. Plus he was starting to worry – surely the emergency medical responders and police would be coming through the door at any moment. Being found holding hands with an unconscious victim and talking to thin air (while he hadn’t yet dared turn around to face the voice attached to the hands on his shoulders, out of the corner of his eyes he could not see the hands he felt resting there so doubted there was any other visible part) would not be fun to attempt to explain to them.

“Why are you worrying about being interrupted when we are side stepped?”

He jumped, still not expecting that voice to come from behind him. And he hadn’t thought that he had articulated that concern out loud – was she (or whatever this being was – did ghosts have a gender?) reading his mind?

“Of course I know what you are thinking – how else would we communicate while side stepped?”

Before Tom could formulate in his mind (or whatever the hell was going on here) his questions about what “Yetzi” was saying and why she expected him to know all about it already, another voice entered the conversation.

“Umm – hello? Who are you all? Where am I? Why can’t I see you?”

Tom noticed a disturbance that might indicate that the vortex was starting to circulate again.

“Why can’t I see or feel ANYTHING other than your hand?!”