Singing in the Poison Garden

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. It was for this reason that Bree found herself on the roof of her apartment building, cold and shivering, waiting to speak to Maude Wilkerson’s ghost. Her phone buzzed again. Her mother, wondering where she was. She must have found the empty bed.

Four minutes to midnight.

The sky was a muddy, slate gray, never fully dark above the city lights. Bree sighed as her pocket vibrated again, her breath visible as a ragged cloud. She yanked off a glove with her teeth and powered down the phone. It would be worth the argument later.

She rose to her feet and began to pace, partly to kill the remaining minutes, but mostly to return the feeling to her numbed legs. The night sky swelled. The air around her sparked with some unseen force. She ignored the goosebumps that erupted across her skin, the way her hair rose in an unearthly halo around her head, no longer bound by gravity.

It was starting.

With a crackle, the dark skies yielded to an electric bruise of color. Violent apparitions clashed and tumbled across the kaleidoscopic plane. The clouds rippled into forms briefly sentient: warring cirrus children, howling beasts, crawling roots. Then they burst in a wave of brilliant purple light.

“Come on, Maude,” Bree whispered, blinking through the glow of the concentrated storm. “I know you’re still out there.”

She stooped and withdrew from her pocket, an antique silver hand mirror. Its surface flashed as she set it down carefully before her. When she glanced up next, a familiar figure had descended from the buzzy, violet sky.

“I know this…” The voice was a whispering echo, as though rising from a deep well. Bree squinted at the translucent shape as it approached. It was difficult to discern Maude’s features anymore. She seemed to be comprised of the same pale steam that rose from trees on cold mornings. One misty hand was pawing at the mirror’s tarnished handle. She could not hold it.

“Here,” Bree offered, raising the mirror at an angle.

Maude’s head drifted lazily sideways, peering down at the place her reflection should be.

“Oh,” she sighed sadly. “I can’t see anything.”

If she was surprised to see Bree huddled alone in the dark on the rooftop of her old home, she did not show it. Maude blinked slowly, seeing things invisible to Bree’s eyes.

“What’s it like? Dying?” Bree could not stop herself from asking.

“I’m not sure,” said Maude. “I haven’t finished yet.” She looked longingly overhead, towards that glowing portal of purple light. Strange shapes spiraled in its orbit. Human outlines. The old woman turned back to Bree. “They want me to go with them.”

“Wait!” Bree cried. “I’m sorry to call you back, Maude, but I need your help.”

The world was quieting around them now. Midnight settled in a thick layer over the city – ethereal, muffled – like winter’s first snow. The storm had settled into a gauzy haze. The clouds ceased their frenzied dance. They drifted in lazy circles around Bree and Maude, encasing them in a soft, sunset-colored dome.

Outside, the bustle of the city persisted. Inside, everything was still.

The pale imitation of Maude reached again for her old hand mirror. Bree had admired the object countless times during visits to Maude’s apartment. She knew it would serve as the perfect anchor to draw Maude’s spirit back from the brink.

She repressed a sniffle. For the first time, Maude looked up into Bree’s face.

“You’re crying.”

Bree swiped at the sudden wetness coating her cheeks. Her voice shook.

“I’m sorry, Maude. Oh, I’m so sorry you’re dead. It’s all my fault.”

And then the guilt and horror tied to the sweet old woman’s death came crashing over her, and her shoulders bowed under their weight.

“No, dear,” crooned Maude. She brushed an icy hand towards her, but it drifted straight through Bree’s arm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I should have warned you!” Bree raised her head, face shining, and the truth spilled from her trembling lips. “I saw the flowers of the Dreamlace shrub had been plucked. I noticed it right before we left for the party.”

Maude blinked and shook her head, confusion lining her wrinkled face.

“Mother had been singing to the plants every night for a month,” Bree went on, desperate to unburden her guilt before their time together ran out. “I knew she was up to something, but I didn’t question it. I didn’t want to question it.” She shuddered, then said in a quieter voice. “She’s done it before you know – my uncle…but that time, she said she had a good reason. Said his powers were a threat to us…” She raised red eyes to meet Maude’s vapory pupils. “I didn’t know she was planning to poison you.”

The air sparked between them, and a bloody wash infused the darkening sky. The space between this world and the next was growing farther apart. Soon, Maude would have to continue on – wherever that may be.

“Sweet girl,” said Maude. “There was never any poison in my cup. I’d been dying for some time already.” Her milky eyes roved wildly through the air. Bree, in her panic, was half-listening to these words.

“I can go to the police,” she said. “I’ll tell them everything. My uncle, the poison garden –”

“Bree, child, listen to me!” Maude’s voice strained. “I don’t think I was ever the one in danger –”

But her breath hitched midsentence, and the sky broke in forked veins of amber. Bree raised her arms overhead as a powerful wind buffeted the rooftop. The wispy dead rose like autumn leaves in a gale, and Maude – fragile, gentle Maude – was rising along with them.

Their time was up.

Squinting through the stinging wind, Bree watched as the pale shape was swept skyward, disappearing amongst the silver stream of half-there forms. The wall of soft, purple clouds broke. Inky sky and city noise bled through the cracks. Then the world resumed its familiar shape.

Maude was gone.

As the wind died, Bree heard once again the distant noise of sirens and car horns. She glanced up at the sky, but it no longer contained the whirling multitudes of color. Her hands were shaking. She shoved them into her coat pockets, bumping into her phone. She thought of her mother’s incessant texts and calls and wondered how many new messages had been sent since she shut it off. Maude’s final words were ringing in her head.

Perhaps she had expected the rooftop door to open all along. She heard the echoing bang and slap of footsteps on concrete. Her mother’s chest heaved as she emerged from the stairwell.

Bree stood her ground.

Reluctantly, her mother’s face pulled into the imitation of a smile. “What are you doing up here? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Bree shrugged and glanced at the sky. “Midnight,” she said, in her best impression of nonchalance. “Wanted to say goodbye to Maude. I’ll miss her.”

Something flickered in her mother’s eyes, but the next second it was replaced by a look of relief. She beckoned. Bree walked robotically into her embrace, repressing a shudder as the claw-like hands rested on her back.

“Me too,” breathed her mother. “I’m glad your gift is coming in handy. It’s getting stronger every day, isn’t it?”

“A bit,” smiled Bree, stepping back from the hug. “Only a bit.”

There was a pause.

“It’s cold out here. Let’s go downstairs and I’ll make us some tea.”

* * *