Helen sucked in her breath. It was a powerful ghost, having consumed others. This was dangerous. With her own spirit being so open to the other world, it might try to consume her, and she would have to destroy it. She had never destroyed a spirit, and never wanted to. It was sinful and terrible, however necessary it might be.
The ground shifted more, rippling like disturbed water. It shimmered, glowed, and a woman rose up, stepping out of the ground as one would step out of a bath. It was Elayne McCoy, a physical manifestation. Dangerous, indeed.
McCoy looked up at his wife, who was already drifting toward the house. "Elayne," he whispered.
"You need to call her louder, Dr. McCoy."
"Elayne." The spirit paid him no mind.
Helen nodded. So be it. "Take her in your arms, Dr. McCoy."
He walked as if he were underwater. "Elayne." He put his arms around her, and she stopped.
"Mark?" Her voice shimmered, shaking through the spirit world. Helen winced at its volume.
"Elayne, my darling. I miss you."
"Mark, it hurts."
"Dr. McCoy, you must tell her she is dead. She has to know."
McCoy's face twisted, and he kissed his wife's cold lips. Helen shook her head again. That was a dangerous game. "Tell her now, sir."
Stilling the Dead
A Helen Highwater Story
"It always is."
The spirits closer to Elayne's grave were frightened. She comforted them, letting them know that all would be well soon. Helen Highwater was here, she told them, and brought one who could settle things.
McCoy noticed how slow she was walking. "Helen?"
She waved him away absently. "Hush. Just keep walking."
He took her arm. She was glad to have the warmth of the living with her. The spirits clung to her, and it was cold. They all spoke at once, some gibbering in fear. The little ones were the worst, and kept speaking of babies who had been consumed by Something.
That was bad. Mrs. McCoy's spirit, then, was malevolent toward the other spirits. Perhaps she did not mean to be, but there it was.
McCoy stopped beside a grave beneath a weeping willow. "This is it." He dropped to his knees, cleared away weeds from the headstone. It read "Elaine H. McCoy -- Beloved Wife and Mother." Helen sat down, huddled down for warmth, and waited. One good thing -- no spirits would come here. She had peace and quiet.
McCoy finished his task and sat motionless next to the grave. The moon rose higher, and the clouds cleared, allowing silvery light to trickle down between the tree's drapery.
Earth shifted over the grave, stirring like the restless breath of the world. And shifted again. Trickles of dust fell away from the tombstone.
