Kingdom of Glass

I died today. It was quiet and beautiful but lonesome. Those final moments felt like a soft breeze while the scent of perfumed red roses circled freely. Yet, I still feel like I have a purpose since I'm sitting in front of my parent's plantation home. The tall bay window on the kitchen front are cracked open, and my mother is prancing around happily humming holiday songs. Fresh steam seeps outside, and I can only imagine mother is baking a pie for Thanksgiving this week. Her butterscotch caramel pies with dark chocolate cream were always my favorite. I will miss you the most, Mother. I can't bear sticking around much longer because it hurts seeing my life from the other side. Scraping the soles of my torn converse along the beaten road, I wrack my brain, trying to make sense of this. Why do I feel the ground under my feet? It's almost like I still have the sense of touch but not as strong. Maybe I'm just too familiar with this town and know what to expect. I remember my living life and that I hated my birth name, "Finley." It sounded too masculine and growing up, my bullies called me "Fishley." Honestly, I hardly felt like my body frame would even pass as feminine unless I wore gowns. I'm more of the fishnet and sneakers kind of girl. Growing past the awkward years, I wasn't dating material in any sense. My mom liked to say I was the black sheep of the family, but she dressed like this too when she was in high school. I'm lost in my thoughts once again. I need to focus on what I do next and the ins and outs of this new realm. So far, during my stroll, I'm not alone. It appears almost everyone who has died here stayed because the streets are bustling with ghastly figures. The other ghosts in this small-town wander around aimlessly. Are they stuck here, or did they choose to stay? Most of the men are in top hats and old coats and standing around somberly watching various families. The women are in period dresses with a similar flare to the men's outfits, striking cake-like makeup, and they walk on the same path along the roads over and over again. It's hard not to bump into them. The large garden that sits in the center of the town is oddly contorted. A beating heart sound leaks from the gate while a visible pulse shakes the hedges that surround the entire entrance. The inside now resembles a maze of flowers and smoke. Was this maze here before? A giant rosebush looms in the far back, towering over the entire garden. I bet this whole area is the epicenter for all the dead to retreat to when we're no longer bothering our loved ones. What happens if I go in? I'm too scared to try right now. Why am I here? My parents don't even know I'm dead yet. My mother hasn't dropped everything and screamed since I arrived. Or at least before I started wandering around. I kind of wish I showed up at my own home in Manhattan. Mostly because I never enjoyed our home in Westphalia. Every house looks like it was built in the 1800s. And with a population of 202, everyone knew our personal lives a little too closely. I believe the people here drove me out of Indiana over time. I never fit into the small-minded stereotype of getting married, having kids, and living in the same house until your marriage fails or you croak. I wanted to be where art and weirdos thrived. "Excuse me." An unfamiliar deep buttery voice interrupted my train of thought. I stopped abruptly right past the beacon of a garden and stared down toward my feet. Who in the hell just said that? Funny, I have been wondering if I'm in some type of purgatory leading to hell. "You can't hide that way, Miss." Miss? I don't appreciate that phrase because it makes me sound older than I am. Clearing my throat, I locked my resting witch face forward and spoke for the first time since my arrival. "Am I in your way?" My voice sounded coarse, and I could only choke out a whisper. The figure that was only a foot or so away was a tall, unfamiliar man with pale yellow hair that reached his hips. A basic black 70's hair metal band-tee under a tattered red flannel caught my eye the most. Don't tell me this guy is my inner demon coming out to play. "Not at all! I just moved into town and saw you walking past. You seem a little lost like myself." The left side of his body shifted into a meaningful lean. A type of stance that meant he was sticking around longer. "Mind giving me a run-down of what goes on here?" I'm pretty sure my jaw smacked the ground. Just moved into town? Is this guy in denial? Or am I the one out of place? Maybe it's best to play the card of innocence. "I assume you know this town is small. Everyone is nosey, and they lack creativity." I shrugged my statement off and crossed one knee in front of the other. "I don't know why someone my age would move here willingly." A devilish smirk snuck across his face while he sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "Busted. I got into some trouble in two different cities a state away. I needed a quiet area to turn into a home and a practice studio. Places like this are the best for that." Suddenly, he relaxed his stance, and his eyes locked with mine like he was searching for an answer. "Josh, by the way." I can only assume by Josh's attire that he is in a cruddy band of sorts. I can't quite put my nose on if he's even dead. His demeanor is nothing like the spirits dressed in older garments. They are stuck in a type of loop while Josh breaks the norm. Unless he is like me and can move as he pleases. "Two cities? Really? Well, Josh, I won't share my name, but I'd suggest keeping your cool here. If not, I'm sure the locals will run at you with pitchforks." Stepping past the noticeably limber man, I wave a limp "come on" signal with my hand. He catches up, and we are walking past Old Scratch's house. Old Scratch is a nasty man that will spit tobacco chew at your legs if you come too close. I'm kind of surprised he's still kicking last I heard. Josh's eyes gaze upward like he's racking his brain before flapping his gums again. "I happen to like Pitchforks. Plus, maybe a place you believe to be nauseating needs a little stir in the pot." He seems so sure of himself about wanting to be a hero. I don't want to break it to him that heroes never last. We all seem to end back where our lives started. "So, no name, at least share your music taste." Those last few moments before I could answer were gentle and helped me forget my fate. Yet, a blood-curdling scream a few streets behind us interrupted the atmosphere. There were no words as I sped off toward the violent screaming, leaving all my thoughts behind with Josh. It felt like I swallowed my whole heart before breaking the horizon of my parent's home. Mother was on her knees in the front lawn clutching her head. Her long black curls bounced in the chilly wind of the season as her banshee screams grew loud enough to break eardrums. Watching Mother's heart shatter instantly sent me spiraling. My dry eyes stung from tears pooling into each corner. Without any hesitation, I called to her as I tripped over my feet onto the lawn. I dropped to my knees and wrapped around her tightly, "Mommy." Mother looked up toward the sky with tears dripping down her face while attempting to catch her breath. Taking a few more moments to relax, she dropped her head and locked eyes with me. Yet, it wasn't me she was even looking at. Her eyes distanced right through instead. "My daughter is missing." Those words punctured me like stray bullets. How can any parent prepare for this? That newly familiar smooth buttery voice broke the silence. "Who is your daughter?" I never realized Josh followed me, and I'm a little grateful. Not at first, but I can later use him to get to mom once he realizes I'm dead, and if she doesn't think he's crazy. "Finley. Finley Maddison. She's five feet five inches, beautiful black hair that reaches her shoulder blades, grey eyes, and she has my nose." Letting go of her, I took a few steps back to watch from afar, tears wetting my face. "She lives in Manhattan, but she was leaving today to come here for the Holidays. Her best friend, Dawn, went to check on Finley's cat, but her car was home, and she wasn't." Poor Mother started getting uncontrollable again with her sobbing. I didn't know anyone hasn't found me yet as it's been a few hours. It's almost embarrassing how much it hurts knowing that your body is missing. Josh took his time listening to the weeping parent. He stayed calm and reassured her that all these emotions were normal. "Mrs. Maddison, my previous boyfriend is a detective in that area. I will contact him to join any search parties. For now, you need to be with your family." She agreed to disagree and thanked Josh for his help. I didn't stick around too long after. Quickly, I stormed down the street and pondered why Josh didn't even look at me. I'm sure he realized I wasn't alive and that I matched the description. It took a few minutes to reach the garden again, only to be interrupted by feet running toward me. "Finley!" A tired Josh called out. "I know Mrs. Maddison meant you and that she couldn't see you." "Oh, really now?" I scoffed like this information was new to my day. "How do you know?" Josh slowed down and stopped a foot away, only to cross his arms and stare at me compared to a steak dinner. That grin was pure evil across every crevice. "I killed you."