Out of Salem Read online

  “You deranged—” Uncle Hugh began, but then he stopped as an electrical current surged through his body. He let go, looking puzzled and alarmed. A second current surged through him and he doubled over.

  “Sorry,” Z said, getting up. They walked quickly away to the women’s bathroom. Uncle Hugh made no attempt to follow them.

  There was nobody inside, because everyone was at the service. Z squinted and made their way to the sink. They knew they needed water for the eyeball. Saline solution would be best, but water would do. They turned on the tap and let the hot water run until the stream was lukewarm. Then they rinsed off their eye, carefully, hoping nobody would walk in. They gently pressed their eyeball to their socket, slowly increasing the pressure and hoping for the best. Their eyelid got caught, so they held it open with their other hand. After a few seconds, the eye slid back into the socket. Z blinked a few times, and the contact lens they had been trying to get out fell into the sink. Z took out their other contact lens. Their vision was blurry now, but at least they had eyes.

  Z returned to the service and sat down in the back, far away from Uncle Hugh. They watched the weak gray sunlight come in through the windows. Z wondered why everything, everywhere, seemed so gray.

  After the service, as always, there was sour coffee and dry ginger cookies. Z stood in a corner. Children stole sugar cubes from the bowl by the coffee and dropped them on the floor or ate them. Z was thinking about what they would do when they got home with Hugh, and how to avoid Hugh, when they noticed a small, wrinkled witch in a bright orange sweater standing nearby, staring at them avidly.

  “Mrs. Dunnigan!” they said, with the first real feeling of relief they had had in the last week.

  Mrs. Dunnigan was an old friend of the family and godmother to Z and their sisters. She ran a bookshop in downtown Salem. She had short, well-kept hair. Z had not seen her in over two months, and didn’t know if she had gone to their parents’ funeral. They forgot she attended church services weekly. As she approached, her manner intent and gregarious, her knees cracked. Z braced for the inevitable condolences.

  “You still look just like your mother,” Mrs. Dunnigan said. Her brown wrinkled face had not changed since Z was young. Mrs. Dunnigan was the same as when she had babysat for the Chilworths.

  “Ah,” said Z. They reached up and ran a finger through their hair. They thought there might still be some blood clotted in it. Z had not taken a shower since the accident. Their skin was discolored slightly, whether from not washing or something else, Z was not sure. They did not think they looked remotely like their mother.

  “It’s the worst thing that could have happened. I’m only happy you’re still here.”

  “For now. Hugh is taking me back to New York with him.”

  Z glanced around. Uncle Hugh had disappeared into the men’s bathroom. They felt a question rising in their chest, but weren’t sure what it was.

  “Looking for your uncle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come on, let’s go sit out in the garden and avoid him. I want to chat with you.”

  “It’s raining,” Z said.

  “I have an umbrella,” Mrs. Dunnigan said. She brandished a monstrous hot-pink umbrella hung with water-repellent charms. Mrs. Dunnigan’s entire person seemed to pulse with bright colors.

  “I missed you,” Z said. They and Mrs. Dunnigan went out, the huge umbrella clanking against the doors to the church. The rain was coming down much harder now. Mrs. Dunnigan led Z through the wet grass outside the church. There was no garden, only a few raised flower beds near the sign at the front of the parking lot.

  Mrs. Dunnigan turned to Z when they reached the row of wet cars farthest from the church doors. “How have you been?” she asked Z.

  Z wondered where to begin. There were no feelings to dredge up. “Well,” they said, “I’ve mostly been just at home since it happened. Tomorrow Hugh and I leave for New York.”

  “New York. And you’ve been staying with him since the crash? How has that been?” Mrs. Dunnigan looked, for a second, very fierce and concerned.

  “It’s . . . I’ve been all right. We don’t, you know, talk very much. I stay out of his way. He’s, uh. He’s dealing with stuff.”

  “Of course, of course,” Mrs. Dunnigan said, rocking back on her heels. The rain pattered more softly on her umbrella. She looked at Z very intently. “I am very worried about you, dear. I saw what happened in the hallway earlier.”

  “Oh,” Z said. “Yeah.”

  “How terrible, Susan. Did your parents leave you with him on purpose?”

  “It wasn’t clear, in their will. They didn’t think I’d be . . .” Z looked at Mrs. Dunnigan to see if they could trust her. “I’m undead now.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “In the crash. I died and came back.”

  Mrs. Dunnigan bent forward and looked at Z more closely. “Those scars,” she said. “Good lord.”

  “Yeah,” Z said. They studied Mrs. Dunnigan’s face. She looked uneasy. “That’s why it’s so rough with Uncle Hugh. He’s nervous I’m going to end up the kind of zombie who eats people. And he does legal work around that, so he knows how bad it can get, I guess.”

  “This is worse than I thought,” Mrs. Dunnigan said.

  “I mean, I’m fine. I’m me.”

  “I know, dear. I mean worse for you. Living with him.”

  “We’re leaving tomorrow. I thought it was going to be all right, but now I don’t know. Maybe I’ll run away when we’re in New York.”

  “That’s not a good idea. I’m saying that as someone who has run away before.” Mrs. Dunnigan reached into her pocket and pulled out a container of mints. As she opened it and popped two small mints into her mouth, Z kicked at a wet mushy place in the grass.

  “Stay with me instead,” Mrs. Dunnigan said suddenly. She proffered the silver case of mints.

  “What?” Z took one, but didn’t put it in their mouth. They clutched it in their palm like a penny.

  “If I’d known sooner, I would have offered sooner,” she said, putting her hands on Z’s shoulder. “I’ve been asking about you and no answers. I think it makes sense. People don’t like to talk about this, though it does happen. But it’s not right to treat you like Hugh just did. We can leave here together now, if you want to. I mean it.” Mrs. Dunnigan leaned forward. “He should not be near a child if he thinks it is appropriate to hurt you like that. I’ve liked you for a long time, Susan. It would be an honor for me to have you in my house. And I have to say I am worried about you in his.”

  Z said nothing for a moment. They felt a little dizzy. The incident in the hallway had changed things, and staying with Uncle Hugh no longer seemed like a remotely good idea. There was something wrong with him, something beyond his fingernails and fish breath.

  Z made a quick decision. “That would be lovely, thank you,” they said with as much sincerity as they could muster. Their voice rasped like a grave opening in dry earth.

  “Let’s go catch a bus,” Mrs. Dunnigan said. “My car broke down in November, so I’m afraid that’s all we really have to work with.”

  Mrs. Dunnigan’s apartment was in a complex where the buildings looked like very long two-story suburban houses smashed together. The upper stories had a stairway up to a locked door, and the lower stories had front doors shadowed by balconies. It was close to the bus stop, and although it was very small, there was an extra bedroom. It once had been the office of the other Mrs. Dunnigan. It was only in the last year that Z had noted the meaning of the lesbian symbol on Mrs. Dunnigan’s refrigerator and on the pin on her brown overcoat. The Dunnigan couple had lived together for over forty years. Z remembered the apartment from childhood, when the Chilworth children had sometimes stayed over for long weekends. Mrs. Dunnigan had more cats now than she had then.

  Mrs. Dunnigan phoned Uncle Hugh at the house and left a message saying that Susan would be living with her now.

  “He’ll come and try to find me,” Z s
aid.

  “Let him try,” Mrs. Dunnigan said. “We’ll sort it out. Have you met my cats? There’s Millicent, Carlos, Pamela, Antonio, Isadora, Angelina, and Marceline. I originally named all of them Angelina but that got very confusing for everyone very quickly.” Mrs. Dunnigan laughed. The cats took an interest in Z, nipping at their fingers.

  The old office had a small bed and was papered in bubblegum-pink and acid-yellow stripes, which peeled slightly at the corners.

  At four in the evening, five police officers appeared at the door. Uncle Hugh was just visible behind them, his white forehead spotted with sweat. Mrs. Dunnigan answered the door and then looked around at Z.

  “We have received a report of you illegally harboring a dangerous, rabid zombie,” the tallest policeman said to Mrs. Dunnigan. He looked skeptical of this claim as he scrutinized the pastel clutter of her domestic space.

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Dunnigan said. “Susan is undead, but she’s perfectly lucid. I’m her godmother, I should know.”

  “Can you provide evidence of that, ma’am?”

  “She’s right as rain, ask her yourself.”

  Uncle Hugh bristled. “The zombie’s eye fell out today and she attacked me.”

  Z felt compelled to rebut this lie. “I’m okay,” they said. “I promise I won’t hurt anyone. He was grabbing me and shaking me. That’s why I left.”

  “It is true, officer,” Mrs. Dunnigan said politely. “I saw it and I was alarmed, and I thought, as a good Christian and dear friend of Susan’s mother, I have to take this child away. I know Hugh is very concerned about monsters but it just isn’t right to hurt a child.”

  “I have custody!” Uncle Hugh said. He looked at Mrs. Dunnigan. “Ma’am, we haven’t met, but I promise I am more capable of handling this situation. I know you still see Susan as who she was, and she is that, sort of, but there is something else there and it will be too much for you.” He reached inside the door and tried to grab at Z’s arm.

  “Don’t touch me,” Z said, and stepped back. Hugh fell in through the door and landed on all fours.

  “Sir, please calm down. Escalating this isn’t our policy,” said the second-tallest policeman.

  “Officer, I’m leaving tomorrow and traveling to New York,” Hugh said, looking over his shoulder from the ground before standing. “I have to settle this tonight. Susan, come and get in the car.” Z saw his car was parked outside. “You’re my niece. I have custody of you.”

  “Do you?” Mrs. Dunnigan asked. She looked at the policeman. “Does he?”

  Z looked at the officers, and felt a weight in the center of their chest plunge into their stomach. “Mrs. Dunnigan is my godmother,” they said. “I’ve known her all my life. She knows me better than Uncle Hugh. If I’m a danger, she’ll tell you.”

  The policeman turned to Uncle Hugh. “Unfortunately, sir, though the deceased is a minor and your relative, in Oregon State there’s no kind of law that says you have custody. If she wants to live with this woman and this woman wants to take her on and can contain her until she disintegrates, that’s legal. It’s the Benjamin decision. Nineteen eighty-nine. The state can neutralize threatening undead, but has no authority in family disputes over nonthreatening undead relatives.”

  “I’m the only family in this conversation,” Hugh said. “The zombie is only related to me.”

  “Look,” the policeman said. “The only action we can take on zombies is shooting them or incinerating them when they present a danger. We take that very seriously. You told us she wasn’t lucid and that’s why we’re here. But she’s lucid. The kid’s not dangerous at this point. That means we’re not in the picture. She’s undead, so it’s not a kidnapping, it’s not a custody battle. It’s more like a dog, who gets custody of a dog.” He looked at Z. “No offense.”

  “As the dog,” Z said as clearly as they could, “I’m expressing now that I would like to stay with Mrs. Dunnigan.”

  One of the policemen smiled.

  “Of course, you have to sign on as a custodian,” the tall policeman said to Mrs. Dunnigan, scratching his nose. “And allow for an investigation to confirm that no illegal necromancy is being performed and that the deceased’s state is the result of a preexisting curse or condition. Without a custodian, any member of the undead is eligible for incineration as part of the anti-necromancy act. That’s if anyone reports them traveling alone in public. And you have to prove she’s lucid and psychologically well every six months. I think it’s within a week, you have to sign the papers. Up at the courthouse, that’d be. Get a registration card. All that.”

  “I’ll do that,” Mrs. Dunnigan said.

  Uncle Hugh spluttered, “This woman is not competent. She may be fine, personally, but this is an undead creature. I work in monster case law. I know what I’m dealing with.”

  “Sir, look, the state will work to evaluate her competence. And if there’s any trouble, we’ll intervene.” He looked back at Mrs. Dunnigan. “I have to say, though, ma’am, this was a rather sudden move on your part. Do you know what you’re getting into? At your age, and all.”

  “Absolutely,” Mrs. Dunnigan said.

  The police went away, and Uncle Hugh stood for a moment outside and then got into his car and drove away as well.

  “The impudence of that man,” Mrs. Dunnigan said bitterly as they got onto the bus to go and buy Z replacements for all of their clothes the next morning. “Just because you’re dead. It isn’t like you aren’t awake.”

  Z didn’t say anything. The people in the bus stared openly at Z’s scars.

  They went to the courthouse with Mrs. Dunnigan on Thursday and signed the papers. There was a test that involved a civic spellcaster, who had a long sharp nose and cystic acne. Z stood inside a machine. The machine identified the location around Z’s heart as the source of a necromantic spell. Z pulled up their shirt and sports bra and showed Mr. Sindul the nine-pointed star that had appeared on their skin after the crash. He took them to a different room, where another machine with a bulb like a camera was pointed at Z’s heart.

  “It’s a spell cast by someone who is now deceased,” the spellcaster said. “A protection charm to guard you from death and restore you to life if you perish. It’s one of a set. Did you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “Yes, but they’re dead.”

  “It’s not very well cast,” the spellcaster said, looking at the sheets of film being printed out of the top of one of his gray machines. “It’s disintegrating rapidly. It could be that the other loci were dissolved immediately with the death of the spellcaster.”

  “Do you think my mom could have cast it?” Z asked.

  “Perhaps. Was she a dissident?”

  “I don’t know,” Z said. “I didn’t think so. But it couldn’t be my dad, he couldn’t do spells much.”

  “We’ll assume she was the caster, given the lack of other evidence. Based on the looseness of the magic, I doubt she had access to necromancy books when she cast it, so there doesn’t seem to be any reason to investigate further. The spell seems to be undoing itself fairly quickly. I would say in under a year it will unravel.”

  “What does that mean for me?” Z asked.

  “You may gradually lose control of your body and also may be driven toward violent or cannibalistic acts,” the civic spellcaster said. “Or you may simply lose consciousness.”

  “Is there any way to not have that happen?” Z traced the slightly raised lines of the star.

  The man looked at them seriously. “That would be illegal necromancy, unfortunately. You are already dead. Physically, there’s nothing that a doctor could do. Necromancy beyond what has already been cast is going to just prolong your disintegration in any case.”

  Mrs. Dunnigan had the people at the courthouse call the hospital to get another copy of the note saying Z was lucid, since Uncle Hugh had taken the first one back to New York with him. She filled out a form stating her income and listed all potential factors that could complicate her a
bility to care for and control an undead being.

  “I may have fibbed about the income part a little,” she confessed to Z on the bus home. “Nobody makes the amount I put down, running a bookstore in this town of illiterates.”

  “That’s okay,” Z said. “Money isn’t everything.”

  Every evening after she took her vitamins Mrs. Dunnigan would make a strong-smelling salve out of various powders from the jars of herbs on her shelf and tell Z to put some on the bruises, but all that seemed to do was to keep the cats from getting as close to Z.

  “It’s about all we can do,” Mrs. Dunnigan said. “But that’s what I do when I have joint pain.” Mrs. Dunnigan kept some of the salve for herself every night.

  On the eleventh day after the accident Z realized that they were starting to smell. They hadn’t showered since getting out of the hospital, and their hair was tangled, except for the patches where it had been sheared away from their scalp as doctors tried to stop the bleeding in their brain. Their sense of smell hadn’t been very good since waking up, and it was possible the odor had started much earlier without noticing. Z took a long, hot shower in the yellow bathtub while Mrs. Dunnigan was out grocery shopping. They scrubbed hard oatmeal soap into their skin. It had taken on a faint grayyellow color in some spots and a kind of funny mauve in others, and parts of it peeled off when scrubbed hard. Z wondered if the hot water would actually do any good or whether it would somehow hurt them, now that their body was different. As Z dried their hair and rubbed most of a bottle of clove oil every place that still smelled odd, they made a mental note to check Mrs. Dunnigan’s library.

  Z still had Chad’s last letter to them. They kept it in their sock drawer, which was half filled still with things left behind by the other Mrs. Dunnigan. Chad had survived a lot. He’d been homeless for years, after running away because his parents kicked him out for wanting to live as a boy. His life seemed impossible, but it was real. For better or worse he was alive. Z wanted to email or send a letter to him, but they didn’t know where he was. His forum account was still down. They couldn’t tell if he had deleted it or someone else had gotten him blocked from the forums where Z had met him. Besides, Mrs. Dunnigan didn’t have a computer except at her bookstore, and she used that one for sales.