The Other Side Of The Veil

The First Encounter

     The first time Joanna realized she hated her world was when she was eight.
     A boy she never saw again told her of it. The sky was thundering and the wind bore droplets of warm rain. The trees that loomed large above them were bright, and their shadows were dark.
      "Do you believe in Spooks?" That was what he had said. She had asked what they were.
     Then, knowledge came spilling out. Bright and shining, a blessing and a curse.
    He told her the truth of the universe. She was certain of it. He told her of the fourth dimension, and what became of souls after death.
     "If a soul has done neither bad or good, God will separate it into two parts. A spook, and a specter," he explained, "The specter can be at peace if its challenge is completed. But the spook will live forever, so it plays tricks to keep itself entertained."
      Joanna was silent. Then:
      "How do you know?"
     He told her how a specter had approached him one hot day in Georgia, and he completed the specter's challenge.
     "What was its challenge?"
     He frowned, following Joanna as they broke out of the trees, following a path she had trod a thousand times, and would a thousand more. He stayed silent as they approached the river.
     Her river. It was always hers.
     She kicked off her shoes and stepped into the gentle water. It was chilly, and the shale sky rumbled. She was half-sure you weren't supposed to be in water when it thundered, but couldn't remember why. The boy did the same and stood up the bank from her, toes digging through soft brown mud.
     "What was its challenge?" She repeated, staring resolutely across the water, to the other side.
     "Fear." He responded in an instant, "I had to walk through a room with every fear in the world, without running away or chickening out."
     "And then?"
     "And then the specter was at peace."
     "Why is a Spook following you, then?"
     "Because that's the other half of the specter's soul."
     Joanna said nothing. She raised her head to the engorged clouds, and closed her eyes. The image stayed stark in her mind, the clouds all soft gray, periwinkle, and vivid white. She pondered what he had told her.
     "Do you believe me?"
     It was as if someone sent a shock through her bones, then a moment she almost wanted to laugh. Like when you know someone's about to scare you, but you jump anyway.
     She squeezed her eyelids shut hard until orange swirled in her vision and her eyes ached. Would she choose to believe, step into the world like the books she so lovingly read?
     So, she opened her eyes, the light blinding her momentarily, and it was in that moment of blindness that she said,
     "Yes."
     They walked back up, not talking. Her river never was the same after that. It always bore the memory of that one word, etched in its soft banks, enclosed in its timeless waters. The wind's sighs always echoed his one, innocent question.
     And though her belief grew dusty in the corners of her mind, though a lifetime of painful logic chipped away at it, it still remained.
     Waiting to be discovered.