I gasped as fiery breath filled my lungs.

  “She’s waking up! Give her space!”

  I didn’t realize my eyes were closed until they fluttered open. Everything was blurry and confusing. There were faces hovering over me, wide-eyes, grim mouths.

  There was a hard, coldness beneath my legs, back, and head. Was I on the floor? But a warm, light, pressure rested on my chest, and my left hand was gripped tight.

  My right hand and left foot throbbed in pain.

  “It hurts,” I mumbled.

  “She’s talking!”

  I slowly refocused my eyes on what I thought the source of the voice was. A man and a woman knelt next to me. The man had his hand pressed to my chest. The woman was holding my hand and the man’s other hand, joining the three of us together. He had beautiful hazel eyes. Once I saw the tracks of eyeliner tears on his face, reality came back to me.

  “Len. What happened?”

  A sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob choked out of him, and he moved his hand from my chest to grasp my free hand.

  “Are you okay, Ames?”

  The woman’s eyes had been closed, but she opened them and gently placed my hand on the ground beside me. Now that my senses were coming back to me, I remembered that she was Emlynn. Part of the ghost hunting group. That’s what I’d been doing…ghost hunting with Len.

  “You managed to get caught up with an energy stealer,” Emlynn said. The words were matter-of-fact, but her voice was weak. “I’ve never experienced anything like that before. That was intense, and I was only experiencing it secondhand. How are you feeling, Amy?”

  I felt like I’d just woken up from a nightmare. Bits and pieces played on repeat in my mind’s eye, but some details were already fading away.

  “Tired,” I said, suddenly struck with a bone-tired exhaustion I hadn’t felt since I’d had mono in high school.

  “I couldn’t believe it.” This was a different voice I recognized. I looked up and noticed Sterling standing behind Len. If there was one thing I’d learned about Sterling and Carlisle, they were always composed. The Sterling standing in the theater had rumpled hair, his face drawn into a long frown of worry. His eyes were wide and gazing toward me, although I didn’t get the impression he was really seeing me.

  “At first I thought you and Len had hatched a plan to make it all more convincing, although that’s not like you. But you went into a sort of trance, and then even I knew you weren’t faking. Carlisle was screaming for someone to do something, but none of us had any idea what to do. But then someone did.”

  He turned his somewhat blank stare to the back of Len’s head and pointed at him.

  “This kid. My ridiculous, screw-up brother knew exactly what to do. He told me to call 911, then ran out, got her—” he gestured to Emlynn, “And they made this crazy connection circle. I didn’t think it would do anything, but it did. You’re back now.”

  Emlynn shot Len a glance then looked up at Sterling.

  “I think you need a drink,” she said.

  Sterling ignored her and put a hand on Len’s shoulder.

  “We all think we’ll be the hero in a crisis, but look at all of us. We choked. You got right into gear, and you did it. You were amazing!”

  I don’t know what was more shocking, having been pulled into a ghost realm with a spirit trying to steal my life force, or hearing Sterling compliment his brother.

  Lennox didn’t take his eyes off me.

  “Thanks,” he said. “But we’re not done yet. You and Carlisle go out front so you can direct EMS when they get here.”

  I’d never seen Sterling and Carlisle move so fast or Len be so authoritative with his brothers.

  “EMS is coming?” I asked, still sounding feeble.

  “Yeah. You cracked your head pretty good when you fell on the floor. Best not to take any chances with that.”

  “Oh.” I turned my attention to the back of my head to see if I felt any pain, but all I felt was the hard floor under me.

  Now that I sort of knew what I’d just been through, Emlynn, Len, and I took turns looking at each other. Finally Emlynn stood up.

  “I’m going to leave you guys alone right now, but someone needs to tell you your ‘best friends’ schtick is a bunch of bullshit. The things I felt from you two while we were connected was way beyond friendship. You may have been in denial this long, but newsflash, you’re in love with each other.” She started to walk away, leaving me and Len to gape at each other.

  “You’re welcome,” Emlynn called before I heard her pull the theater door open and disappear.

  I knew we wouldn’t be alone for long with EMS on the way. I had to act fast.

  “Len.” His name was like velvet in my mouth, smooth and heavy. Luxurious but familiar.

  I searched his face, and it was like my trip to the beyond had removed the veil I’d had over my own eyes for most of my life.

  His face was always pale, but it was paler than usual. There was no hiding from the black streaks leading from his eyes all down his cheeks. He may have been a master of masking his feelings so he wouldn’t get hurt, but I’d always thought I’d seen through it all. To the bright, golden heart that beat within his scrawny chest. I’d been wrong. I’d also been extremely stupid.

  In the muffled distance, the piercing wail of a siren could be heard. I realized it must be coming for me, so I only had a few more moments alone with Len, and I needed to make the most of them.

  Len slipped his hand gently into mine. He looked me in the eye. I could tell he was trying so hard to hide his fear and be strong for me and the realization nearly made my heart burst.

  “I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, his eyes filling with fresh tears. “I never would have asked you to come here if I thought something could actually happen to you. I promised to keep you safe, and I completely failed.” His voice broke and he looked away from me.

  “Hey,” I said. “Nobody would have guessed this would happen. I wasn’t even sure any of this stuff was real.”

  “But I knew,” Len said, snapping his gaze back to me. “I knew it was real, and I knew there could be bad stuff, but I just assumed it wouldn’t happen here. You mean more to me than anybody, Amy. You never did care for this kind of stuff. I shouldn’t have asked you, and I’m sorry.”

  All I wanted to do was wrap Len in a big hug, so I started to push up but Len stilled me.

  “Take it easy, Ames. You’ve been through a lot.”

  The siren was getting louder. There wasn’t time to be cautious.

  “Len, I have to tell you something.” I didn’t want to be laying on the floor of a theater while having a serious conversation so I pushed myself up slowly. This time, Len cradled my head and we gently moved together as I got into a sitting position.

  “Do you feel ok? Lean on me if you’re dizzy.”

  I did feel a little dizzy, but not from any head injuries.

  Len put his arm around my shoulders and slid right next to me.

  “You have to listen to me,” I insisted. “EMS is going to be here soon.”

  “Of course,” he said. “I’m listening.”

  He turned his face to mine and we were only a couple inches from each other. I caught his eye again and resisted the urge to just stare into his beautiful eyes. They were eyes I’d looked into so many times in our lives, but it was different this time. They were all I wanted to see.

  “I was on the other side. It was completely dark and so cold. This guy was talking to me. I couldn’t see anything other than a sparkle of light, but do you know what kept me from panicking?”

  Len’s lips were trembling but he didn’t say anything.

  “You,” I said. “All I could think about was you and what you’d do and how much I wanted to be with you. Now that Emlynn’s said it, she’s completely right. I always want to be with you Len. Ever since I met you, until today, into tomorrow. I wanted to get back here to be with you. You know I love you, that’s not a surprise, but that’s not all. I’m in love with you too. And I really hope you feel the same, because if you don’t—”

  I didn’t get a chance to finish babbling.

  “I hope this isn’t a concussion talking,” Len said, “because I’ve been in love with you since day one, Amy.”

  The doors to the theater were opening. I didn’t break my gaze from Len’s and did the only thing that felt right.

  As his brothers held the doors to the theater so EMS could push a stretcher inside, I closed my eyes and pressed my lips against Len’s. He wrapped me firm, but gentle, in his arms and kissed me back. Years of repressed emotion, on both sides, danced across our lips. Maybe I was still messed up from crossing to the other side, but those dazzling sparkles I’d seen there had nothing on the fireworks going off in my heart while we kissed.

  Vaguely conscious of the paramedics, I pulled away. Len and I had only a few seconds to look into each other’s eyes, but I squeezed his hand quickly.

  “We should have done that a long time ago.”

  He coughed out a kind of incredulous laugh.

  “Yeah, ya think?”

  The stolen moment was truly over as a paramedic crouched next to me and asked my name and if I could tell him what had happened.

  As he proceeded to check my vitals, Len and I just looked at each other, stupid grins on our faces.

  The back of my head was starting to throb, but warmth was returning to my body. All this time, I’d been afraid of ghosts because I thought they might haunt my house or steal my soul. I’d never considered that the threat of losing everything could show me exactly what I had.

  The paramedics decided it would be best to get me checked out at the hospital and have some tests run. They strapped me into the stretcher as Len’s brothers stood off to the side looking stricken. Meanwhile, Len and I just gazed at each other with a newfound awe.

  Before they got ready to wheel me away, Len squeezed my hand. “Will you go on an official date with me next weekend?”

  I wanted to frown and pretend to think it over carefully, but my head was actually starting to hurt.

  “Yeah, but I have one condition.”

  “Anything,” Len said, looking gravely serious.

  “Let me pick the event this time.”

  Acknowledgments

  This story would not exist if I’d never met Ken Suminski. Thank you for getting me out to that first public ghost hunt, which has since turned to several. Luckily, I never ended up like Amy.

  Thank you to my husband and children, who graciously put up with all the time and energy I spend on writing.

  Heather Hollister, you are incredible! I can’t thank you enough for all your expert help over the years.

  About the Author

  S.J. Lomas is a cheerful Michigan girl who writes strange and somewhat dark stories.

  She’s written a YA duology about dreamworlds, conspiracy, friendship, and romance: Dream Girl, Dream Frequency. She’s also contributed to the first Winter Chills collection and has two books of poetry: The Blue Muse, In Between: Poems of Midlife.

  She does author interviews at her website: www.sjlomas.com

  Dead Air

  Dan MacDonald

  It started when I was a little boy. Specifically, when I got sick.

  I found out I could hear voices.

  I think I always could, but they got much louder when I started paying attention.

  To hear them, you must listen.

  Listen to the sound of the room and then listen beyond that.

  The fridge humming. The furnace purring.

  The creak of the house shifting.

  The birds in the trees. The cars on the streets.

  The wind touching the window.

  The snow coming down. There is a sound to it if you listen closely.

  And then listen deeper than that.

  It’s the other things that make a different kind of noise.

  Perhaps before you go to sleep at night, when you’re alone and there’s nothing else to listen to, to distract you.

  “It’s like a radio playing in another room.”

  That’s how someone once described it, the things I hear every night.

  It made sense when they put it that way.

  The person who said it was supposedly psychic. A celebrated clairvoyant on some random daytime TV talk show I saw when I was much younger, home sick watching all the shows I normally missed because I was in school.

  The psychic was a large, robust woman, massive forearms, and husky hands. Despite her well-manicured nails, they looked like they were hands that had seen their fair share of hard work over the years.

  Her hefty figure was draped in a loose, flowing dress. She was dripping in gaudy jewellery, gold rings, beaded bracelets, charms that dangled from her ears and wrists; a bit on the eccentric side.

  Also, clearly no stranger to a tanning salon.

  She had a natural kindness, easy to see her as a counsellor or “life coach” of some sort, maybe a bedside nurse or perhaps most fittingly: a warm waitress at a diner. Smoker’s voice. Raspy laugh. Rough around the edges. Lines traced across her face like a road map illustrating a rocky journey of hard living. Despite her kindness, she was someone who appeared to have zero patience for BS and would have no problem telling you what’s what, without hesitation, if you needed to hear it.

  The TV show audience was made up of curious people who wanted to know about dead relatives, the afterlife, their future. Perhaps people desperate to make sense of things that made no sense.

  People who so badly wanted to believe.

  A woman from the audience was selected to ask the psychic a question. She was a beaming conservative-looking mom, who appeared ecstatic for her 15 minutes of fame.

  She stood up with her young son—about 11—and nervously but eagerly informed the psychic: “I’m a really big fan! This is my son and he hears dead people, just like the kid in that movie! He hears them talking!”

  There was a ripple of amused chuckles through the audience.

  The psychic remained stone faced as she directed her question to the child.

  “Do you hear the voices loud and clear…or is it hard to tune in to what they’re saying?” she asked him.

  “Hard to hear them,” the little boy answered, timidly.

  The psychic nodded knowingly, as if she had an immediate understanding of what it was he was experiencing.

  “It’s like a radio playing in another room on low? Like you can barely make out the words, but you can still hear people talkin’? Right honey?”

  He nodded.

  She continued.

  “It’s like…you know you can hear something… but you can’t quite make it out. Right? You have to strain. But the harder you listen, the harder it gets to hear. It’s because those sounds, those voices aren't on the radio in another room. They are playin’ through the little radio antenna inside your head, sweetie. You’re tuning in to something, and you need to learn how to tune in clearer. That’s a skill and it takes time and practice before you get it. And hey, maybe you never will. Maybe this is as clear as it’ll ever get. Maybe some things will tune in better than others. You know how on a clear day you get better reception on the radio or TV? Other days you get nothing? Just static and snow? It might be like that. You’ve got it though. Listen to those voices. If you can make anything out, pay attention to what they’re telling you, because they’re reaching out for a reason, okay? But be careful too, hon. Don’t invite any unwanted guests in, if you know what I mean.

  “You just have to be careful they aren’t malicious. But listening won’t hurt you.”

  I never forgot that TV show or what the psychic said because it made sense to me.

  I never realized I have what that kid has, until I saw it spelled out on that stupid daytime talk show.

  It’s not as crazy as it sounds, and even more than that, I’m convinced everyone has a little bit of whatever…this…is.

  My belief is we all have it, it’s just that most of us don’t pay any attention to it. We aren’t listening for it, so we don’t hear it. Or maybe it’s harder to decipher amongst all the noise, the static, the fuzz.

  And on the other hand, maybe some of us pay too much attention to it and it drives us to darker places.

  We see those people every day. They are the ones on street corners having conversations with no one. Perhaps the voices just got too loud to ignore? Too amplified and focused to drown out.

  And maybe it’s not the voices that drove them there at all. Perhaps they have lost their mind or are on drugs. Maybe a combo of the two. You can snuff out the static through many methods and many people take substances to block out, erase, distract and forget.

  That said: I don’t believe what I hear is just a matter of me losing my mind, and I know it’s not drugs.

  What I experience is something else.

  It’s a constant running commentary, conversations, words, questions.

  It’s something I’m tuning into or something that is tuning in to me.

  Some of it is just our own internal voice, the stream of consciousness that narrates every single human being’s every waking moment as we go about life.

  Usually, it’s a version of our own voice or someone we know.

  Our intuition. Our consciousness.

  But there is another layer that’s constantly flowing like a steady current or undertow in an ever-moving river underneath it all.

  For me, I can barely hear it and I’m barely aware of it. My brain tunes it out very easily, but it’s always there.

  It’s exactly like what that daytime talk show psychic said: It’s like a radio playing in another room. Like that tiny boombox I had when I was a kid back in the 80s. I dropped that mini boombox in my room once and the antenna snapped off.

  After that it was difficult to get reception.

  “It just sounds like snow,” my dad would say.

  Snow.

  Ghosts of radio waves, static-riddled whispers of broadcasts that would drift in and out as I’d grow more and more frustrated, trying to position the radio or manipulate the stub of the broken antenna with tin foil or a wire closet hanger to pick up a better signal. At times my broken radio would pick up some great reception and tune in crystal clear.