The Dead Girl Club

Chapter Eight: 1609

Her name was Joan and she loved her dog.

Winston was her loyal companion through anything and everything. He was a big dog, still young and excitable. He followed her everywhere. They would walk to the beach and find seashells together, where Winston liked to dig and dig until Joan told him to stop.

They were truly a perfect pair.

Soon winter came, and food was scarce. Everyone was making sacrifices to survive. Joan began going outside and helping her older brothers gather firewood and find other means of food. The supply ships hadn't come in a very long time and everyone in Jamestown was on their own surviving the cold, harsh winter.

People were starving. It had gotten to the point that people would catch rats and bugs to cook and eat. When people started eating their pets and whatever animals they could find, Joan couldn't bear the thought of eating her best friend.

Her mother had told her that the time would come. Joan refused to allow it.

When her father and brothers were busy and her mother was preoccupied fixing their ragged winter clothes, Joan trekked out to the woods with Winston behind her. Occasionally he would slow down, unsure of what was happening, but she would call his name to get his attention again and the big guy would run right back to her. She felt a pang of guilt in her heart, but this was better than the alternative.

Soon, they were far into the woods. Further than Joan's parents would ever allow her to go. It was near the camp she'd never seen but heard so much about. They could give Winston a home.

Leaving her best friend was the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life.

Joan wondered if it was wrong. Would it be her fault if her family starved? Surely not. They were going to starve anyway. Leaving Winston with the natives had only saved him from being eaten sooner. Joan would rather have died than eat him.

She did.

It wasn't too far into winter when Joan had fallen ill. The lack of real food seemed to have done her body in and before she knew it, she was on her deathbed.

Joan died knowing that Winston was safe, and if only that was the end of her story.

Her burial was peaceful. Her family had prepared themselves for it as soon as she had gotten sick, so there was little surprise when the time came.. Joan had prepared herself for death a well, but not for becoming a ghost.

Although unexpected, being a ghost gave her the privilege of watching out for her family, and even Winston who was now learning to hunt even better. It was a nice couple of days wherein she chose to stay.

Her family was still slowly starving along with everyone else in Jamestown.

The couple of days passed and Joan's attention was caught watching her father and brothers wielding shovels. She followed them and watched in horror as they silently dug up her grave. At that moment, she no longer chose to stay there.

Joan was stuck there.

Her family was starving, yes, and because they had no other ways of getting food, because they exhausted all other sources, people were resorting to digging up the recently deceased. They just wanted to survive.

Joan watched her family consume her body. She turned away and left so she wouldn't have to see it anymore. They survived winter because of it.

It was crazy, but Joan was still glad that she was the one to feed her family rather than her dog. Winston was still alive.

She spent hundreds of years watching society evolve, watching the country grow and colonies succeed at what Jamestown failed. It was like watching everything happen from behind glass, including her family, her brother's descendants that she enjoyed keeping track of.

One day, she met an obnoxious girl named Dot, who had only just died a few years before. Dot and Joan stayed at each other's sides and made their afterlife more bearable having a companion. Decades later, Holly showed up, as grumpy and negative as ever, yet starved of friendship.

They were the perfect trio.

Holly had led Joan to a museum where her skull was on display for everyone to see. It made her cringe, the idea of all of these people looking at a part of her body, unaware of who she was.

What Joan wanted was a burial.