Folio A. Headspace – Page 6 – A Piece, of the Sky

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It was winter. Thin city snow sprinkled black trash bags and the green-yellow dead grass of dormant lawns. It was mostly a clear night; the moon was high in the sky and surrounded by a blue-white halo of ice crystals in the upper atmosphere. Alli was out on an evening walk after work with her dog. Her dog was a German shepherd named Rufus. She liked to think the brown parts of his coat were the color of ginger ale.

Back at home, she sat down in the downstairs living room to watch the evening news, Jeopardy and some of the gossip shows. The moonlight coming though the drapes of the bay window had dimmed. She got up to get some water and looked out. The moon was lost in voluminous dark gray clouds, its lighthouse beam reduced to a faded and fuzzy signal that strained as if shining from underwater or from behind heavy cloth. Even with the clouds, the moon and the sky were still beautiful. Alli got herself a glass of water and sat back down on the couch.

Alli noticed Rufus was in an interesting mood. He normally lay near her feet when she watched television. He was lying near the window looking up at it as if with his supersonic hearing he could hear something rustling that she couldn’t. Maybe someone was outside putting out trash and traipsing across their lawn down the street. Or maybe there were cats outside who were going to trigger the motion-sensor light around the back of the house near the garage. Her dad used to chase them away, along with the squirrels that ate up the birdseed in the backyard’s birdhouses. Whatever it was, Rufus soon lost interest and came to lie across her feet.

Or perhaps whatever it was had come inside the house, because movement flickered in Alli’s peripheral vision. She naturally turned her gaze toward it and froze, a familiar and unwelcome pins-and-needles feeling spreading over her arms, neck and shoulders. Sitting near the doorway to the foyer, was another dog, a black dog with white eyes and fur that seemed to move and wiggle, like fire or smoke. Otherwise it looked like a normal dog and was just sitting there panting. Other than its ghostly appearance it did not look frightening but Alli still felt terrified.

It did not disappear or lunge or do anything. Alli became more puzzled than terrified. She didn’t want to look away from it lest it move or attack or disappear, but she had to glance at Rufus. He had not done anything. He hadn’t leapt up or barked or even shifted from his position of lying across her feet. Alli naturally took this as a sign that Rufus was not frightened or angered. But he could see it. He was looking at it – placidly, even perhaps in boredom or out of a strange sort of familiarity – but he was looking at it, which made Alli feel tense. Unless Rufus was hallucinating too, she wasn’t the only one seeing the ghost dog.

Alli reluctantly dragged her eyes back in the direction of the foyer, hoping it was gone, had disappeared in the fleeting seconds she had taken to observe Rufus’ reaction. It was still there. Alli felt a sinking feeling of dread like the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. Still she could not move. And before her eyes the dog transformed. As if it were made of mist it changed into a human form – a human outline drawn by pencil thin lines filled with what looked like white-gray campfire smoke. The human form was not a monster – it was pleasant to look at, normal even, a young woman around her age in a sweater and jeans, bespectacled with long, light-colored gray-scale hair. In Alli’s peripheral vision, Rufus had not reacted at all. In fact, the figure had taken up enough of his time and he gone back to watching television.

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The moon reflected off the lake, creating a specter of double light. Alli turned around and watched ripples float away from the opposite shore. In one hand, she held a cast-iron pot full of water, collected from the pump down the hill.

Even at night, the entire woods exhaled. Alli breathed in the sharp, minty smell of pine needles. Acorns lay underfoot. Clouds scraped the sky, silently passing each other in the night.

Alli let the cool air fall over her, like a blanket. She hiked through the dull-colored underbrush back up to the cabin. Candlelight was visible through the windows. She walked up the steps and brushed off her shoes on the welcome mat. Inside, Xen was feeding the fire in the stove with twigs.

The pot of water went on the stove and Alli sat down on the lower bunk bed, to better pull off her all-terrain boots. Kaan lit the large myrrh and frankincense candle on a wrought-iron candlestick, and they all gathered around, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Xen got up and extinguished all the other candles in the cabin. She also took a piece of chalk out of her sweater pocket and drew a circle around them. The three of them crossed their arms also and held hands around the circle.

Alli inhaled the incense. The cabin fell away bit by bit. She felt freezing air on the nape of her neck. She was in a heavy parka, with a fur-trimmed hood, and wore Inuit snow goggles to block out the glare of the midnight sun. Walking on the ice floe, in a white suit and pants, was Aro.

“Is your Inner Space always cold like this?” Alli asked, clapping her gloved hands together to generate heat.

“No,” said Aro, “I am speaking to Kaan at our old seaside cabana. I am speaking to Xen in a Starbucks.”

“Lucky them,” Alli laughed.

They watched the plates of ice, shift and crack over the water. The barren bricolage stretched into the distance.

“What should I do?” Alli asked. Her voice came out as a whisper, nearly a soundless puff of condensation.

“Do you like Xen?” Aro asked. The wind swirled around, picking up snow, that was merely frozen dust.

“Of course!” Alli exclaimed, but her heart sunk a little lower.

“You’re holding back,” Aro said. She snapped her fingers, and they were standing in a sea of stars, that continued forever. Above them, the constellations winked in the heavens.

“I can’t shake this feeling that I’m making a mistake,” Alli murmured.

A green light appeared, twinkling on the horizon. It drew closer, as the waves passed their ankles, until a barrel of green fire was right in front of them.

Aro turned to her, “Do you even know what you are giving up?”

Alli’s eyes widened. She shook her head, “No.”

Aro turned back to the fire; it seemed to leap higher with every second. With an inhuman jump, she carried herself into the flame. Her shell disintegrated into flying embers, and only an ever larger, growing afterimage of smoke was left.

Aro, now also made of green flame, with an aura at least ten feet high, spoke to Alli from the sky, “A tulpa is on your back. Its feet are around your torso, and like a monkey, its hands are grasping your head. You must let go of this thing that you are carrying around.”

Alli looked down from Aro, to the barrel of green flame which she had risen from, like a djinn set free from a thousand-year slumber.

She took a running leap and cleared the lip of the barrel with ease. She jumped into a blinding, white light.

Alli awoke in the darkened cabin. The incense candle had burned down and gone out, leaving a twisted wick. The other two were asleep, heads tucked into their chests. Everyone was still holding hands.

She let go and stood up, stretching her legs. The others slumbered on. Alli left the circle and re-lit one of the candles in the window. In the gloom, beyond the reflected orb of candlelight, Alli thought, for a moment, that she could see Nealy’s face.

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