Excerpt: Phantom *very tentative*

(Author's note: This is not the beginning)

The memory slipped up on me, and before I could stop it I was sitting on the steps in our old house. The square room was empty. Our old furniture sat under an inch of party dust and the light from the single blue light-bulb I'd installed shrouded our candy bucket in eerie shades of purple, green, and any other color that blue makes. Out on the porch I could see my single pumpkin with it's frowning face as it greeted the silent neighborhood. Maybe there were trick-or-treaters out, but their parents didn't want them getting too close to us.
Then I heard the knock. I stood up with our candy bowl, plastering on the best fake smile I could manage.
My lips fell back, limp at the sight of what was waiting for me one the other side of the door. A gypsy woman, an honest gypsy woman grinned at me with her crooked brown teeth, framed by the doorway. She carried a large bag in one hand; the other was too covered in jewelry to be much good for anything. “I am here to see your mother,” she said.
I stared at her for a moment. “Mom!”
I hoped. I prayed. I wished that she wouldn't answer.
“Coming!”
I sank back against the staircase as mom, or a woman who looked a little like her, walked into the room and greeted the woman. Mom wore a sweeping skirt and her long gray hair was tucked back into a long braid. On her headband was printed the words “Make Love not War” Something about her distant eyes told me she wasn't dressing up for Halloween. When she spoke again her voice was a tinkling bell, the harmless wind-chime of a distant breeze. “Ah Clarissa, please come.”
She made a strange jerking motion with her hand and the woman followed her into the kitchen. I peeked around the corner into the room but the massive gypsy blocked whatever it was they were doing. I heard something clanking around and the shadows went faint from the flicker of candlelight. The gypsy woman heaved herself into one of our kitchen chairs. It sagged under her weight. She started to hum.
On the far side of the table my mom shuttered, her body vibrating but her hands held out as still as a master of meditation. “Mom?” My voice cracked and I bit my tongue.
“Hush!” Mom barked. Streams of tears ran down her face. The skin along my scalp began to prickle and my eyes went blurry. I chewed my lip letting the pain distract me. I wanted to hum. I wanted to hide the choking sob that waited for me if I dared to breathe through my mouth. My body went into lock down. I couldn't move. I couldn't blink. I couldn't feel. The gypsy woman wove her spell, again and again muttering her simple phrases in some strange language they would never dare to teach in school. Mom shuttered harder every time, her puffy, pink shirt stained with a pattern of dark pokadots. Her chest rose and fell, again and again. I wanted to reach out; to shake her out of it, but I didn't dare move. It was like watching a piece of pottery wobble on a shelf, if you tried to steady it, it might slip out of your hands and shatter.
For hours this went on, until I was too tired to hold back the tears, too tired to cry at all. I slipped away into the safety of sleep.
When I woke it was to my mother's smiling face. “I've seen my Simon” her eyes were small and red, but her face was smiling. I couldn't help but smile back. I wanted to cry.