Spirit’s Key (8 page)

The undertow has pulled me far away from where the Hatterask kids were playing. I tear down the beach after Sky toward them. Yasmine and Gomez wave their arms in the air, jumping up and down like they're trying to flag a boat in the ocean far away. Unless they can see Sky bounding toward them, the boat must be me.

Sky gets to them before I do, and the three of them look like they are doing some kind of dance together. I don't think they can see Sky, but it's eerie the circle the three of them make. But not as eerie as what's in its center. A crumpled heap of wet fur, a wet-dog smell so pungent there's no doubt it's real.

Sky howls the howl of the dead. A deep rumbling wail of sadness.

Lifeless. The other baldie looks like Sky did. I marvel that he lies only a few sand dunes away from Sky's grave. As if he knew this was a baldie graveyard.

“Scared the creepers out of us!” Yasmine says, her voice high-pitched and breathless. “I thought it was alive.”

How she could ever think this poor crumpled dog was alive is beyond me. That she would
truly
be scared if he were? Even more unimaginable.

“Do you have a lighter?” Gomez asks. “We could drag him to the water. Send him out.”

“We should bury him,” I say.

They stare at me like I've suggested stringing him in a tree.

“I thought you'd want to help,” Yasmine says. “I thought you liked the baldies.”

“I love them.” Sky's howl of pain for his relative is my howl.

“Burying is bad,” Gomez says. “Even for a baldie.”

“Especially for a baldie,” Yasmine says.

“That's ridiculous,” I say.

Yasmine shrugs like she doesn't care if a dingbatter believes her or not.

“What about all the baldies that die in the woods? Do you go looking for them to make sure their devil spirits are burned?”

“If it dies in the woods, it's okay,” Yasmine explains. “That's its home, and we stay out of there. But this baldie doesn't belong here.” She grabs one of the dog's legs, and Gomez grabs his head. They pull the animal toward the ocean, united in blood and beliefs.

With Sky's spirit howling beside me, I wonder if there's something to what Yasmine said. I buried Sky instead of burning him. I don't think he's a devil spirit, but his spirit is here, instead of wherever spirits usually go. Is he really my gift, or is he here for some other reason?

“Okay, I'll help.” I run over to them and take the part of the animal that's dragging in the sand. I study the dog for signs of how he died, but he doesn't have any visible wounds. Like he was lured to sea and drowned. Were you lured, too, Sky?

Sky stops howling and follows us to the water, sniffing the sand as if for clues. It's not unusual to find dead animals on the beach—crabs, jellyfish, the occasional dolphin—especially after a storm. But a baldie? Yasmine's right. He doesn't belong here.

“What if you found a dead fish? Do you have to burn it?” I ask.

Gomez cracks up and rolls his eyes at Yasmine. “Now who's being ridiculous?”

I'm not sure what's so funny, or if that's a yes or a no. Maybe a no since I've never seen anyone on the beach burning fish. I guess the ocean is where fish live, so it's okay?

“I'll go get a lighter and a pallet.” Gomez runs off. The sun has finished setting, and it's dark. I watch him leave. The only part of him I can still see is his white T-shirt racing over the dunes.

Yasmine and I wait with the dead baldie. “It's so wet it'll be hard to light. We can use driftwood for kindling. We'll have to be careful not to burn ourselves.”

I nod.

“Had to do this for my pet turtle last year.”

“You had a pet turtle?” Except for the Selnicks, who keep a horse, I don't know anyone else on the island with a pet.

Yasmine nods. “Mom says they don't live as long in captivity. She should have told me that
before
he died.”

“I'm sorry.”

Gomez comes back with a lighter, and Nector is with him, carrying a wooden pallet.

“Hey,” Nector says.

“Hey.” I can't think what else to say, so I watch Sky. He paces around the dead baldie like it makes him anxious. The wet-dog smell crashes into my nose like a storm wave. Overhead, an eagle circles. I'm not sure how, but I know it's my eagle, the one I freed from Mrs. Borse's house. How could I
know
?

But I do.

She's not here to feed. I smell her sorrow. Like a rotten holly bush. An eerie feeling swims inside me. “When was the last storm?” I ask.

“Tuesday, May 6, high winds, tropical storm,” Nector replies.

You can count on the Hatterasks to know about storms. It's already June. The storm was over five weeks ago.

“Why do you want to know?” Yasmine asks.

“I'm wondering how this baldie died.” And how Sky died. And the baldie in Mr. Selnick's yard. This makes the third dead baldie.

“Who cares?” Gomez says, kicking off his shoes and tossing them up the beach.

“I care.” I'm outnumbered three to one, but I'm sick of people not caring. I look at Yasmine. “What if he was your pet turtle? What if no one cared that he died?”

The three of them stare at me as if waiting for the punch line. Finally Nector says, “But he's not a turtle.”

“Or a pet,” Yasmine says.

“I know that!” My voice rises to match my anger. “He's a dog. A dog who hasn't done anything to you. Why should it matter he's not a turtle? He's dead, and that's what matters. That's what's bad. Not if we bury him or burn him.”

“He's a baldie,” Yasmine says.

“See, I told you she wanted to bury him,” Gomez says to Nector. He makes a motion around his ear with his finger, meaning I'm crazy.

It dawns on me that Gomez made Nector come along to make sure I didn't stop them from burning the baldie. I'm so furious I can't decide if I want to keep helping them.

I wanted to bury Sky because I wanted a place to visit him. I wasn't ready to let him go. I wanted him to be part of the island where I live. Always. And I'm sad about Sky's relative, I really am, and I want to understand what killed him, but I don't need to visit him.

I force myself to speak calmly. “If you want to burn the baldie, it's fine with me. That wasn't my point.” I want to shake them. Make them see this animal is not the devil. A baldie is as worthy as a turtle. But I won't convince them. No matter what I say.

So I help them load the baldie on the pallet in silence. Sky watches from the shore. The wind is strong, and it's hard to get the fire going. But we light the kindling first, and finally the pallet catches. We push him out to sea.

When I get home, I hate it that Sky can't come inside with me. He paces at the bottom of the steps. I wait with him awhile. I think about sleeping in the yard. I wish I could put my head in his soft fur. But I can't. So I tuck the dog tag in my pocket and watch him disappear.

 

13

G
RAVE
T
RICKS

After school on Monday, Dad's still sleeping, so I force him to wake up. “You have to eat.” I move a spoonful of soup to his lips. It took me an hour to find the can of chicken noodle in the mess of boxes.

Dad sips the spoonful, then turns his head into the pillows.

“You have to eat more,” I insist.

He groans but takes another sip.

“I don't want you to get dehydrated. I better get Dr. Wade.” I stand up.

Dad shakes his head and moans no.

“Are you
sure
you're sick because of the gift?”

Dad nods.

It doesn't make sense. “What about Mr. Selnick? Why is he sick? What does he have to do with us?”

“It's my fault. I scared him.”

“Being scared can't make you sick,” I argue.

“Being scared is the worst sickness.” Dad coughs like talking hurts him. “We must use our gift to provide courage. It's the Holden way.”

I don't understand, but Dad looks tired. And I have a more pressing question. “Can you see ghosts with the gift? Did you ever see Mom?”

“Spirit,” Dad warns.

“Dad, I'm trying to understand. I want to help us.”

“I know you do, and you will. You'll help us all.”

“How? How will I help?”

“I had a dream, and the Greats told me you would.” Dad has a coughing fit.

I get excited. “The Greats? They contacted you, too?”

But Dad is still coughing. He shakes his head, letting me know he can't talk anymore. I tuck him into the blankets, and in seconds his eyes flutter closed and his breathing gets deep. I place a glass of water and the bowl of soup by his bed, and quietly step outside. I want to ask him what he dreamed and if he had a vision. I want to know more about the Greats and the message they sent. But until Dad gets better, I think I have to find my own answers.

*   *   *

The minute I'm off the front porch, I touch Sky's dog tag. He appears, and all my fears wash away. He's got his pheasant in his mouth. So I toss it, and he leaps into the air. The joy seems to burst off him like a firecracker. I'm so happy I could burst, too. When it's me and Sky together, I can't worry.

He dashes back to me with the pheasant like he can't wait to get to me. I love that about Sky. Every time we're apart, even if it's just for the length of a pheasant throw, he acts like we've been separated for years. Maybe to him we have. Time seems to do something impossible when I'm with him. When I got home from the beach last night, it was so late I couldn't believe it. Dad would've been upset if he'd been awake to realize.

I could keep throwing the pheasant all afternoon, but Sky stops and gives me his
Follow me
stare. So I follow. And follow some more. We walk the whole island until we get to the dune where he is buried. He stands on top of his grave, staring at the ocean. The wind blows back his ears, making him look like a flag on a hill. Instead of a grave marker, I got Sky himself. Or his ghost anyway.

The pheasant I placed here is gone. I assume it's in my hand now—that Sky's ghost picked it up on the way out of his grave.

Whooping wowzers!

Suddenly, I know how to turn the kibble into magic.

I run off the dune, but Sky doesn't want to follow. He stands on his grave still and strong, ears back, chest up, his legs straight and unmoving.
Stay,
he commands with his stance.

“Come, boy. I have a surprise.”

He doesn't budge.

“We'll be right back to this spot in a minute. I promise.”

Sky continues to stand on his grave, asking me to stay.

“Are you trying to tell me your grave is special?”

Sky doesn't answer. He doesn't move from his spot.

“I get it, buddy, but we have to go home for the kibble. Let's go!”

Yet Sky still doesn't want to come.

So I leave him. I stop every now and then and look back, like he does for me. I do this until finally he follows.

*   *   *

At home I race to retrieve the dog food. I leap off my front porch toward Sky, excited to try my experiment. But I have to scramble back, because Nector skids on his bike nearly running over us. “Watch it!” I yell. I'm guessing his bike would go right through Sky, but last time I checked I wasn't invisible.

“Sorry,” he says. “I was going so fast … and the sand is slick.” He stands over his bike like he might ride away with his tail between his legs.

I remember my offer for supplies. “Do you need something?”

“What kind of cereal do you have?”

I set down the bag of kibble. Telling my invisible baldie to
stay
would probably freak Nector out, so I tuck the dog tag in my pocket and Sky disappears.

“We order one box a week, and it was Yasmine's turn to pick. Hers is too sweet for me. Not to mention that it's pink.” Nector makes a face. “It's enough to make me not want to wake up tomorrow morning.”

“I'm sure we have a few choices.”

He smiles and gets off his bike.

“Come on in.”

He hesitates at the door like he isn't sure he should step inside a dingbatter's house. Of course Nector has never been inside my house, because his mother thinks we bite. Or she thought Sky would. I wonder what Nector would say if he knew seconds ago Sky was standing beside him. Would he run away screaming about devil spirits?

“Go on.” I give him a little push. “We don't make deliveries.”

“Ha-ha.” He steps inside. “Wowzers. It looks like you just moved in.”

“Yeah.” Lucky for Nector, I happen to remember seeing cereal while I was looking for soup, so I take him to the green room.

“You keep cereal in the bedroom?”

“Don't you?”

Nector shakes his head. He doesn't get the joke.

“I'm kidding. I know it's weird. We have more food than will fit in the kitchen.”

“It's crazy how much stuff you have.” Nector steps around the open boxes. “If you saw it, you'd think our house was empty.”

“I did see. I was in your house once.” I decide to ask about his loose floorboards even though I'm scared of the answer. “Why does your floor open like a trapdoor?”

“Helps the house handle a hurricane. The water rushing in has to go somewhere. Mom makes us keep blow-up rafts by all the beds, too. So we can float out.” He shrugs. “When it comes to the weather, we know our future.”

“Why do you think hurricanes chase your family?” I dig through some boxes and pull out three different kinds of cereal.

“Because I'm such a fast swimmer?”

I'm a fast swimmer, too, and hurricanes don't chase me. I almost say so, but Nector cracks a smile.

“Ha-ha,” I say. Who knows why, right? Maybe instead of a gift, the Hatterasks got a curse. Our gift feels like a curse at the moment, with Dad too sick to get out of bed.