Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Spirit's Voice ❯ Chapter 1

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The Spirit’s Voice
(Please note: I do not own John Mayer’s “Why Georgia”)
As I watched the trees go by, I was reminded of one of my favorite songs. Gently, I sang it, trying to not fall into the usual sleepiness that hits me whenever I’m in a car.
“I am driving, 85-ing, the kind of morning that last all afternoon. Just stuck inside the gloom.”
“Grace,” my sister, Amanda, said from the seat in front of me. “Either don’t sing, or sing what I’m listening to. You’re voice is distracting me.”
“How am I supposed to know what you’re listening to, let alone what part?” I quietly remarked as I return my attention to the window. Ignoring her haughtiness, I went back to my song. “Four more exits to my apartment. But I am tempted to keep the car in drive, and leave it all behind.”
“Grace, I must admit, it is a little annoying,” my mother said from the front of the car, the gentle concern in her voice evident. She did not want to have to deal with a sibling argument while trying to concentrate on the road in front of us. “Maybe if you just hum?”
“Don’t bother, Mom. She won’t listen anyway. You know how she is. Just like Dad,” Amanda scoffed apparently turning the volume on her IPod up further.
Her comment caused me to shrink further into the back seat of the minivan that I occupied. It wasn’t my fault I was like him. I can’t help my genetics! “I’m not just like him,” I muttered lowly, not looking in my sister’s direction.
“Eh? What was that, dear little sister? I couldn’t quite hear you.”
“Nothing,” I said in a slightly louder voice, doing my best to avoid my sister’s full attention. Sometimes, I swear she has it out for me.
With a “Humph!” Amanda turned about around to once again turn the volume up on her IPod. Either she has it so loud that she can’t hear us anymore, or she’s trying to fall asleep to her classical stuff. My mother sighed with relief at having avoided the horrible sisterly argument that usually took place every time we made this trip.
We were headed to upstate Vermont, a state that once used to be everyone’s favorite. Now, I think I’m the only one left that can think of the mountainous area with anything other than hate or sadness. My father loved the state so much, he made sure that we visited at least once a year. Every since I was little, the Green Mountains had called me time and time again, and I embraced the call every time.
My sister could never understand that call, although I’m pretty sure that she could feel it echo through her bones just as strongly as I did. I don’t know why she never answered it. Maybe, when I heard the call her English, she heard it in French, and could never grasp what it was trying to tell her. Either way, she never had the longing I did to be among the rocks, rivers, and woods.
My mother tried to answer the call, but her body couldn’t keep up. While my father and I would be scuttling over rocks like chipmunks, my mother’s knee would slow her down to a turtle as we ascended. She enjoyed what would eventually be seen, but the strain on her body soon became too much, and she stopped following the call.
I answered the call with full-hearted enthusiasm. At the end of every school year, when we would make our annual trip, I would be excitedly telling my friends about the adventures I was sure to take when I finally returned to my home away from home. Whether it would be mountain boarding for the first time, or even kayaking on Lake Champlain or the Lamoille River, my joy would be palatable. My father shared it with me, and together we would go over trail maps, trying to find a path untaken by the two of us.
My mother would smile and the two of us bonding, and my sister would turn her head away from the sight. I didn’t care either way. I had a kindred soul that understood the call that echoed through my head whenever I felt terrible. Relax, it would say, once you return, all will be well. Just push forward with your life until the moment you return. We will wait for you always. Other times, when something made me glad, it would whisper, We are glad at your joy, little one. Be sure to tell us of this when you return. We will be waiting for your tale, little one.
I once mentioned the voice to my father, and how it called me to Vermont. He just smiled at me, and said, “Don’t worry, Grace, I heard it too when I was your age. As long as you keep it close to your heart, Vermont will be a haven that you can find nowhere else.” At the time, I didn’t understand what he meant. I was only seven years old, and my classmates had been talking about how hearing voices make you crazy. But he just smiled and pulled out the trail map, and I was happy to join him.
But now, I have no one to share this voice with. The place my father claimed would be my haven is what stole him from me. The place that should have protected me now has my sister loathing my very being, and my mother is barely being held together by the strings. I don’t hear the voice as I once did. It used to be strong, yet gentle, enough for me to notice and pay it great attention. Now, it is merely a whisper that I can sometimes barely hear over the other things in my life.
Finally, I see the ferry that will take us over the border into the land that my family now hates. Lake Champlain, a huge expanse of water that makes us a large portion of the boundary between New York and Vermont, always marked for me that we had almost reached our destination. People say it has its own version of the Loch Ness Monster, named Champy. As a little girl, I would stand on the edge of the ferry, looking as far over the side as I could to try to find him. My father would often join me, saying “We’ll find him this year for sure, right honey?” I would just giggle and smile and return to my search.
My mother paid for our tickets, and we drove onto the awaiting boat. This time, I didn’t go to the railing to search. I stayed in the car, and tried to not piss my sister off. At times, it’s easy to do, and at others, completely impossible. Then again, she is able to make anyone become pissed off at her, so it’s pretty easy for her to get mad herself.
I managed to keep quiet for the entire ferry ride, and the majority of the final hour of our journey. It’s one of the most famous places in the state, Mount Mansfield. People know it more commonly as Stowe, a wonderful ski resort in the northern part of the state. Sadly, it’s also right next to where we lost my father.
We headed up the winding road through the area known as Smugglers’ Notch. The pass was filled with caves, most of which managed to maintain a constant cool temperature. When the government decided to go prohibition, smugglers and traffickers would sneak into Canada, get booze, and then hide it in the cool caves until they could distribute it to the masses. I always found the story fascinating as a child, but now it was just another tale.
Finally my mother pulled into a parking spot and slowly exited the car. In her hand was a bouquet of foxgloves, primrose, and snapdragons; flowers that represented my father’s adventurous and wild personality. I never asked why my mother picked those flowers. Maybe she thought they fit him with the way they grew, maybe not.
Quietly, she turned to face me as I exited the car. “Grace, you know that I can’t make it up to…there. Do you mind?” She held out the flowers to me, a pleading look in her eyes. I nodded quietly, gently taking them. I went back to the car and pulled out a small backpack that would hold the flowers on my back, but not crush them. Gently I placed the bouquet in the bag on my back.
Turning to my mom, I said, “I should be back in an hour, but don’t worry if I’m not. If you’re really worried, you can send Amanda to find me.” Amanda, who had not left the car, scoffed at the thought of running up the mountain to find a sister she could barely tolerate. Ignoring her harsh attitude, I began my journey along the trail.
The route to Sterling Pond was supposed to be a fairly easy one, but most people forgot to include the thinner air, the vegetation, and if it had rained, the multiple streams that crossed the path, varying from trickles to creeks in width. Those were just some of the reasons my sister rarely joined in on the trip to the pond, and my mother’s knee was not made for going over some of the larger rocks that riddle the trail. Usually, it was just me and my father, trying to see how quickly we could make it to the top. Each time we got a little faster as we became more familiar with the trail, and the view was worth it each time.
However, this time I wasn’t headed for the pond on the top of the mountain that many people enjoyed both in summer and it’s convenience in the winter (you used to be able ski across it to try the trails on another mountain without paying extra for a lift ticket). No, this time I was headed to about the three quarter mark on the trail. It was marked in my memory with its large boulders and the creek that flowed in between them at various thicknesses. This is where my life started to fall apart, completely and totally.
My father and I had made it to the pond, and continued to the top of the mountain, enjoying the view of clear skies and green trees. However, we soon spotted clouds rolling in, heavy with rain. Mountain weather can change in an instant, so we were more concerned with getting off the mountain before we got into danger rather than enjoying the view more. The rain had started falling once we got under the cover of the trees that marked the entrance to the trail. Things had gone to hell in a handbag when we reached the boulders.
I had bounded over the rocks, my long legs helping me reach drier parts that held my footing better. Soon I had cleared the rugged area and was in the shelter of a large maple tree that had grown out of the rock, its roots protecting the rock from becoming dangerously wet. I had been about to call out to my father, to inform him that I was waiting for him, when a shiver went up my spine.
Young one! The voice that I had always heard echoed through my head, making me swing my head around to view my father, fear taking root inside my head. I was scrambling back over the rocks before I could even register what was happening. My dad must have made a bad step and had been pulling into the rapidly increasing water as the rain beat down from the sky and further up the mountain.
“Daddy!” I had yelled into the angry wind, trying to reach him even as he clung to the rocks. I couldn’t think of anything other than reaching him and saving him. I was too young to lose him, to have him taken away from me. The voice in my head was trying to talk to me, but I couldn’t hear it over my own fear.
Finally after what seemed like ages, I reached my father’s side. Desperately, I reached my arm out, trying to give him something to hold on to. “Daddy, take my hand! I’ll pull you up!” I was screaming, I knew I had to be if I wanted to hear myself over the sound of my heartbeat. I couldn’t tell if the water littering my cheeks was rain or tears or sweat from earlier. All I knew was that I couldn’t let my father slip away from me.
All he did was give me a sad smile. “Grace,” he said in a surprisingly calm voice, “we both know you can’t pull me up on your own.”
“I won’t let you go, I promise, Daddy. Please, don’t leave me,” I sobbed as I tried to extend my arm further. I thought that if I could at least grab a hold of him, I could keep him with me.
“Grace, I’m sorry this had to come so soon. But I need you to stay strong for Amanda and Mom, okay? They’re gonna need you a lot.”
“They don’t need me, they need you, Daddy! Please, just take my hand!”
“And keep listening to the Spirit, okay? It won’t steer you wrong, I promise.”
“What are you trying to say, Daddy? Please, grab my hand, you’re slipping!”
“I love you Grace, and Amanda and Mom. Can you make sure they know that for me? I know Amanda is stubborn, but I’m sure you can get through to her.”
“Daddy, please don’t go! I don’t want to be alone! Daddy!” I could say no more as I watched my father being washed down the mountain, which I knew had many steep drop-off and areas where there would be nothing to slow a trip like his. “DADDY!”
The next thing I knew, I was being placed in an ambulance on the road that passes through the Notch. My mother was watching me with fearful eyes. Seeing my eyes open somewhat, she hurriedly asked, “Grace? Are you all right? Oh please, sweetie, please be all right.”
“Mom? Where’s Daddy?” Those were the only words that I was able to get through my suddenly painful throat. She reached out gently to grab my hand, and I could see that hers was shaking, the tremors transferring to me.
“I-I don’t know, Grace. They’re trying to find him. Oh, I’m just so glad that you’re all right. If something happened to you too, I don’t know what I would do.”
“Tired,” was all that I managed to utter as I squeezed my mother’s hand. She smiled at me and let go of my hand.
“Then you should get some rest, sweetie. Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll find Daddy. I’ll see you at the hospital soon, okay?” I managed a sleepy nod before my world fell back into darkness.
While in the dark, I heard the voice, the one that my father had called the spirit. This time, instead of just listening to it, I actually answered.
Young one, are you all right?
“How can I be all right if my father is lost in the mountains of Vermont, possibly dead?” I asked in anger, unable to pinpoint where the voice was coming from.
We are sorry, young one. Your predecessor has been lost to us. We can no longer find him.
“Predecessor? You mean my father? He could hear you too? Why didn’t you warn him like you did for me? Why did you let him fall like that?” I asked in anger. The thought had come to me that my father’s death (if he was truly dead) was this…spirit’s fault.
We are sorry, young one. Your predecessor told us to make sure you survived over him. We can only speak to one of you. Long ago, your predecessor willingly gave his power to you when we found you could hear us. We could only make sure you survived. We are sorry.
“So it is your fault,” I said in a quiet voice. “It’s your fault my father is gone.”
Young one…
“No, I don’t want to hear it anymore. It’s your fault. Leave me alone!” I yelled into the darkness.
I became aware of the world when I was in a hospital bed. My mother and sister were both in the room, apparently listening to a rescue worker. I couldn’t hear fully, but I understood that my father had died. I tried to sit up, but groaned at the pain that flashed through my system.
My sister’s head quickly swung to look at me, and her eyes narrowed in anger. She quickly stalked over to my bed and leaned over me, her shape making an imposing figure. “This is your fault. If you hadn’t wanted to go up hiking for the hundredth time, Dad would still be with us.”
“Amanda,” my mother tried to soothe her, placing a hand on her arm. My sister quickly and violently shrugged it off.
“No! It’s her fault. She’s the reason Dad was stolen from us. It’s her fault! I’m never gonna forgive her! It would have been better if she was the one that died!” With that, my sister ran out of the room, heedless to my mother’s call. My mother then turned to me, in an attempt to comfort me.
“Grace, don’t listen to her. She’s just upset right now. It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is, Mom. It is my fault.”
“Why on Earth are you saying that? I know you would never want that to happen to your father, and you probably did everything that you could to help him.”
I was quiet for a moment. “It is my fault. I never told you this, but there’s always been this voice in my head…I told Dad about it, but he said not to worry. The voice warned me that I was in danger, but not Dad. Apparently he used to hear it, but told the voice to watch after me. So it is my fault that Daddy died. Because he didn’t have the voice to protect him anymore.”
My mother was quiet for a long moment. “How long have you heard this…voice?”
“Since I was little. That’s when I starting to like hiking so much.”
She was quiet again. “I’m glad you finally told me. Now we can help you.”
“Help me with what? I’m fine, Mom.”
“Sweetie, hearing voices in your head isn’t a good thing.” She leaned down to hug me. “Don’t worry, we can get rid of that voice. It won’t bother you anymore.”
I was quiet, not sure of what to say. A nurse entered my room and did something with the IV in my arm. I guess she gave me a sedative or a painkiller or something, because I fell asleep almost instantly.
My mom sent to me doctors, who gave me medications and consoling and other stuff to try to make the voice in my head go away. There’s a big technical term for what the doctors think I have, not that I can remember it for the life of me. My sister, who had already not liked very much, soon began to resent my very being. I was a nuisance, a hassle, and the reason my father’s monetary support for our family had been lost.
I finally reached the spot, the sight of it forever etched into my mind. How could I ever forget the place that stole my father away? I quickly found the rock that my father had clung to in his last moments as I tried to save him. I ran a hand over it, feeling its smooth shape.
“Hey Daddy,” I said, my voice quiet and tight with emotion. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. But at least I can finally try to lay you to rest in my heart, right?” I pulled the flowers out of the bag on my back and placed them on the rounded surface of the boulder. “I tried to tell them, Daddy. I tried. They wouldn’t listen. And Mom thinks I’m crazy to listen to the voice you told me to follow. I guess you can’t tell me what is right or wrong, right?”
Grace, I heard the voice say, only, it was different this time. In the past, it sounded like a bunch of people speaking at once, their voices blending, making it impossible to tell any of their gender. This time, a single voice stood out over the other, and it sounded like…
“Daddy?” I asked out loud, looking around as if he would simply walk out of the woods and grin at me like always. He always had the same stupid grin whenever he pulled a trick on me, and every time afterwards I would forgive him and hug him, like I wanted to do now.
Grace, the voice said again. Can you finally hear me? You blocked us out for so long, I was getting worried.
“Who’s we, Daddy? The voice that got you killed?” I asked, a hint of bitterness audible at the thought of my father willing joining his killer.
Grace, it’s not our fault I died. It was my time, and I wanted you to have the comfort that I had experienced as a child. And I’m glad that it took care of you instead of me. You have so much to live for…
“No I don’t. Amanda hates me, Mom thinks I’m going crazy from listening to this voice as a kid, and people think I’m the reason you died. I have nothing without you, Daddy!” I said, finally letting my frustration be voiced, if only to a figment of my imagination.
Amanda has always been rash, and she doesn’t admit her mistakes. And your mother just worries about you. If she only knew the truth, she wouldn’t think like that.
“Then what’s the truth, Daddy? What is this…thing that pops into my head? That you used to hear, but people think I’m crazy for?”
The voice with my father was quiet for a time. This is going to sound weird, Grace. It’s the spirit of the Green Mountains. They find a soul that will protect and cherish them, and in return for the energy given off when the person is near, they offer their comfort and protection.
“Wait a minute, you mean this spirit thingie has been sucking my energy since I was 6 years old? And it did the same with you? Is that why you died? Because it took all your energy?”
No, Grace. I knew it was my time. And if you would let us back in, we can help you. Don’t you remember how you used to want to come to Vermont all the time, and how we gave you peace? We can do that again, if you simply let us. Please Grace, forgive them, and let us back in.
“But, Mom already thinks I’m crazy. If I do this, I’ll lose her again. It’ll be like it was just after you left us. I don’t want to face that again, Daddy. I don’t think I could survive if I did.”
Trust me, she won’t. If you can accept us, I can finally explain everything to your mother and sister. Our link to you will let me make the connection to them. Please Grace, trust me just one more time.
I was quiet for a time. What choice did I honestly have? Allow my life to continue to run the way it had ever since my father’s death, possibly go insane from whatever my father was suggesting, or not go insane and have my mother and sister again. Quietly, I nodded and said, “Okay Daddy. Do whatever you have to do.”
Let us in, stop trying to keep us out. Don’t worry, everything will be well afterwards. We promise. I heard him say, speaking in the third person, right before something happened.
A warm rush of energy filled me, causing me to gasp. It welled up from my chest, and spread throughout my body. Images flashed before my eyes, and somewhere in the back of my head, I knew that they were images from past guardians of the mountains. I saw images of my father as a child, and then I was in them as well.
I think I might have passed out, because suddenly I was in a black space, and my father was standing in front of me, just like he had years ago. I ran to him and embraced him, feeling his arms wrap around me like they used to. “Daddy…”
Shush, it’s alright, sweetie. I’m here, and we’re not going to leave again. We’ll take care of you from now on, I promise.
“And Mom and Amanda?” I asked, wanting to make sure he would keep his promise.
I’ll talk to them in their dreams tonight. Even if they don’t remember it afterwards, it should at least fix things between you three.
“Thank you, Daddy. Will you be able to visit my dreams as well?”
Yes, but if you truly need me, I’ll always be here to talk. We all will be. You had better start back down the trail, sweetie. Your mom is probably starting to worry.
“Okay, Daddy. But what should I call the rest of you? I mean, it’s not just you anymore, right?”
My dad just smiled at me, that same look he would get whenever I said something funny that I hadn’t intended to. It had been so long since I had seen that look, I felt a tear well up in my eye. Gently, he wiped it away.
You can just call us the Spirit, was the only thing he said before I woke up again. With a gentle look on my face, I headed back down the mountain, confident and hopeful that my life was finally turning around. My father promised me, just like Christine’s in The Phantom of the Opera. Except, my angel wasn’t a lie, nor someone taking advantage of my father’s promise.
My angel truly is my father, and he’ll be with me for a long time. Somehow, I just know he will