Seeing the Unseen: Elisa's Shadowy Quest

"You should see what's living in the trees."

Elisa's mother was her best friend, one of the few people who knew the truth and helped her hide it. She knows Elisa can hear her, but she doesn't care. It's like someone just came into the room and started whispering to you when you were alone; you don't stop talking, you don't acknowledge them. You just keep on doing whatever you were doing.

"She had a meltdown at school today."

That girl has always been a bit off.

"I've talked to Mr. Cleary about it, he says she's homeschooled now until we can figure out what is going on with her."

What are they doing with her?

"She said something about ghosts, but I told her that there is no such thing as ghosts."

They think she's crazy. They're trying to cure her so they don't have to pay attention to it anymore.

"Why would they even send her back here?" His voice sounded like gravel in his throat. He'd been drinking again; Elisa could smell the alcohol on his breath from behind him. He never drank before dinner before Mom died. Well, he did drink, but he'd only drink after everyone went to bed or when Mom went to work. He'd sneak over to the liquor cabinet and pour himself a glass and sit in Dad's chair in the living room and stare at nothing for hours until he fell asleep. But as soon as Mom had been gone for two weeks Dad started drinking at night again, and then he started drinking during the day too. Drink until you pass out and don't wake up until late morning, then go back to work where nobody notices you because they're all thinking about their own problems or their own dead loved ones or their own nightmares.

Dad wasn't looking at anything, just staring dead ahead into a corner of the room where there wasn't anything except dust motes floating in the air and sunlight streaming through the window beside him. As usual, his eyes didn't reflect any light - he appeared to be looking at something behind him instead of at the room around him.

"What do you mean?" Dad asked calmly, like this was normal conversation between them these days: Mom asking Dad questions about Elisa and what was wrong with her when Elisa was sitting right there behind them both pretending not to listen while taking bites from a sandwich she hadn't touched yet and Dad acting like everything was perfectly normal instead of like Mom had just left them both last week and wasn't buried out in the graveyard down by the edge of town next to Grandma Margaret who died when Elisa was ten years old and so young that she never really knew her but still missed the thought of being able to talk to someone who actually knew if she had blue eyes or green or if she liked horses better than dogs or if she cried when she got hurt or if she ever hated anyone, even if it was only for a short period.

"I'm not sure why they sent her back here," Dad said slowly as he stared forward without seeing anything around him except his memories playing across his mind like a movie projected onto a blank wall. "Maybe she wanted to come home." He paused briefly and took a deep breath; Elisa couldn't see him from where she sat but from past experience she could picture him rubbing his face with both hands and closing his eyes for a moment before continuing: "Or maybe they thought this place would help her forget about everything that happened." He stopped again for another long moment; Elisa could feel him deciding whether or not to continue talking about it with Mom hovering over them both like an angel watching over her children that hadn't gone away yet and never would because Elisa had already seen them die enough times now that death was no longer scary–it was comforting, almost like sleep but without all of the terrifying dreams that woke you up screaming in terror at night any time your head hit the pillow.

"She seemed happy here," Dad continued softly as he looked straight ahead into nothingness once more, "before ..." His voice caught for a moment as his throat tightened around something large trying desperately not to get lodged inside of it, even though there was simply no room left inside of him for one more thing that made him feel sad. Sadness makes him want to drink himself into oblivion where he stops feeling anything at all anymore except maybe rage, which is better than sadness anyway because anger can make you do things instead of making you want to die all over again every time you think about how much everything hurts.

Suddenly propelled by an inexplicable urge, Elisa sprang to her feet, inadvertently knocking over items on her desk as she pushed herself away from her chair. She turned toward home, running across fields, dodging trees, ducking under fences, and jumping over rocks. She skidded down hills, slid through mud, slipped on ice, and rolled down slopes. All the while, pain and injuries