Hunger by Michelle Sagara
“All right,” I said quietly. “Where?”
She started walking, and I started to follow her. All the while she was chattering away. Food, please. Please, I’m so hungry. Please, feed me.
“I’m not doing this for you,” I said. “You’re already dead.” But I didn’t realize, until the words left my mouth, how true both statements were. She stopped her chattering then; left it behind as if she didn’t need it anymore.
* * *
I must’ve looked funny, coming away from my car with a shovel and a pick-axe. If I did, no one commented, and I made a note to leave a generous tip if I wasn’t interrupted or interrogated. You see, the site that she came to stand on wasn’t all that far away from the grounds of the house.
“Did you die here, that night?” I asked her, in between shovelling dirt.
She said, Feed me please, I’m so hungry, feed me. So I didn’t ask her anymore questions. I just kept upending shovels full of dirt until my back ached with the effort. You’d probably laugh if you knew how shallow the unofficial grave was, but I didn’t get as much exercise as I should back then. But I found her, and this was the only Christmas miracle I can think of: The body. It was dead, all right, and it was obviously the same little girl that had plagued my nights for twelve days each year, but it hadn’t decayed at all. No smell, no worms, no rot. I thanked God—and I didn’t care whose. I hadn’t thought much beyond finding the body.
Should’ve, though, because as it turns out, it was a long walk from the hotel to the place that the little ghost began to lead me to. This was the fourth day, and the day was definitely gone. There’s really not that much in the way of light along the dirt roads, and the lamp I held didn’t help—the body didn’t weigh much, but it was really awkward to carry one-handed. I managed.
Funny what runs through a mind in the dark with a small girl’s corpse hugged against your chest. Mostly, I was worried that the police would appear over the horizon, see me with this young girl, and have me shot on sight. I thought I was crazy; I thought I was stupid. But I wouldn’t have let go of her; this was as close a chance to peace as I was ever going to get. I kept following her and she kept leading.
And then we found it. An old farm, of sorts. Not a good farm, and not one that was meant to make a lot of money either, although I’ll be the first to admit that I’m no judge of farms. There was this little light flickering in the window of the small farmhouse, and as I approached it, I realized that it was candle-light. Someone was awake.
You’ve never frozen solid in the middle of a dark night with a little girl’s ghost nagging you and a little girl’s corpse in your arms. I didn’t know what to do. I mean, now that I’d found her and brought her home, I wanted to drop her body and run. But she kept on at me, asking for food with her pale thin lips and her wide eyes, and I knew by now that it meant she wasn’t quite finished with me. So I did the stupid thing.
I walked up to the closed door of the little house, and I knocked as loudly as I could. After five long minutes, someone answered. She was short, little; she seemed ancient. I thought she was going to drop the candle she was holding when she saw what I was carrying; she went that funny white-green color that people go when they’re in shock.
I’m sorry, I said, in my broken Spanish. I wanted to—
But I didn’t get a chance to mangle the sentence; the little pale ghost suddenly threw herself over the threshold of the house, chattering away—chattering in a child’s high, fluting burble. Saying something other than please feed me or I’m so hungry. She pressed herself tightly against the apron of the old woman.
No one in the world had ever seen the little ghost but me; she’d ruined every Christmas I’d ever had. Except this one. This one was to be the exception. The old lady looked down at the apparition, and then she did drop the candle. I caught it before it hit floor, but she didn’t seem to notice; her arms were tightly pressed into her granddaughter’s shoulders.
No, not granddaughter’s.
She began to speak in rapid Spanish, and the girl replied softly, almost soothingly. Neither of them spared a word or glance at me for the better part of an hour, and all I could do was stand and stare. I wondered if Mary’d ever come back this way for me. Shook my head, to clear it—but the thought was so fierce, I’ve never forgotten it.
It might have been my shaking that caught their attention, either that or it was the fact that dawn seemed ready to clear away the night’s ghosts. That included my little tormentor. She came to me first, and reached out softly to touch her own dead cheek. Pulled back at the last minute and shook her head.
Thank you, she said, in toneless but perfect English. I’m not hungry anymore. She turned to look back at the old woman who had been her mother. Said something else in Spanish.
Tears were streaming down the old woman’s cheeks, and even though my Spanish was bad, I understood what she said back. Her daughter walked into the dawn and vanished like morning mist. And I stood on the porch, with my stiff arms and her daughter’s body, waiting for her to say something.
* * *
I buried the body on the grounds in front of the house, and made a rough cross to mark the grave. There were other such rough graves, but I didn’t ask her and she didn’t volunteer. Maybe if we’d spoken the same language, we might have communicated better. But maybe not; I understood what it meant for her to rest a battered old doll against the newly turned earth; I understood what it meant when she whispered to the face of the awkward cross.
In the end, she said ‘Thank you’, and I said, ‘You’re Welcome.’ There was a lot of pain in her face, but there was a lot of peace there too. If I could have brought her daughter back to life, I would have. But I would have brought mine back, too. Sometimes you just have to live with your limitations, no matter how much they hurt you.
* * *
I gave her all the money I had with me.
I know it’s tacky, but she took it. I told her to feed the children, but I didn’t ask her what she was going to do with it. I didn’t care. I wanted to be back home, with my own family, before the end of Christmas.
On the fifth day, there was no sign of my hungry little ghost. On the sixth, there was nothing either. And on the seventh, while I sat on the plane, tapping my feet and wondering if Melissa had moved all of my things into the guest room, it was blissfully silent.
She met me at the airport, Melissa did. Her face had that searching look to it, and she stared at me for a long time before she hugged me. It was a good hug, a real welcome home.
“I’m free,” I told her, and I meant it.
* * *
That was thirty years ago, and that was the year that Christmas became a time of peace, rather than a thing to hate or fear. I tell you about it now, because I saw her again—the little ghost girl. Only this time, when she knocked at my window, I wasn’t terrified and I wasn’t angry. I know what she’s trying to tell me this time, though I don’t know why she’d be bothered. You’ll have to take care of your mother when I’m gone. Yes, she does need taking care of—just not in the obvious ways. Let her talk at you, let her talk to you.
Just like I’m doing now.
I always loved all my kids, and I know that it doesn’t have to stop just because one of us is dead.
I love you.
THE END
Short Stories by Michelle West and Michelle Sagara
The first six stories released are connected to the Essalieyan Universe of the novels I write for DAW as Michelle West. Since those are my most asked-for short stories, those are the stories I wanted to make available first. The rest of the stories will be released in chronological order from the date of their first appearance, which are listed in brackets beside the titles, along with the anthology in which they first appeared. All of the stories have new introductions (which will probably come through in the samples if you’ve already read the stories but want to read those.)
In the Essalieyan universe:
1. Echoes (2001, Ass
2. Huntbrother (2004, Sirius, the Dog Star)
3. The Black Ospreys (2005, Women of War)
4. The Weapon (2005, Shadow of Evil)
5. Warlord (1998, Battle Magic)
6. The Memory of Stone (2002, 30th Anniversary DAW Fantasy)
7. Birthnight (1992, Christmas Bestiary)
8. Gifted (1992, Aladdin, Master of the Lamp)
9. Shadow of a Change (1993, Dinosaur Fantastic)
10. For Love of God (1993, Alternate Warriors)
11. Hunger (1993, Christmas Ghosts)
12. Four Attempts at a Letter (1994, By Any Other Fame)
13. Winter (1994, Deals with the Devil)
14. What She Won’t Remember (1994, Alternate Outlaws)
15. The Hidden Grove (1995, Witch Fantastic)
16. Ghostwood (1995, Enchanted Forests)
17. When a Child Cries (1996, Phantoms of the Night)
18. The Sword in the Stone (1997, Alternate Tyrants)
19. Choice* (1997, Sword of Ice: Friends of Valdemar)
20. Turn of the Card (1997, Tarot Fantastic)
21. The Law of Man (1997, Elf Fantastic)
22. Flight (1997, Return of the Dinosaurs)
23. The Vision of Men (1997, The Fortune Teller)
24. By the Work, One Knows (1997, Zodiac Fantastic)
25. Under the Skin (1997, Elf Magic)
26. The Dead that Sow (1997, Wizard Fantastic)
27. Kin (1998, Olympus)
28. Step on the Crack (1998, Black Cats and Broken Mirrors)
29. Diamonds (1998, Alien Pets)
30. Sunrise (1999, A Dangerous Magic)
31. Elegy (1999, Moon Shots)
32. Return of the King (1999, Merlin)
33. Work in Progress (1999, Alien Abductions)
34. Water Baby (1999, Earth, Air, Fire and Water)
35. Faces Made of Clay (2000, Mardi Gras Madness)
36. Sacrifice (2000, Spell Fantastic)
37. Shelter (2000, Perchance to Dream)
38. Pas de Deux (2000, Guardian Angels)
39. Déjà Vu (2001, Single White Vampire Seeks Same)
40. To Speak With Angels (2001, Villains Victorious)
41. Lady of the Lake (2001, Out of Avalon)
42. Truth (2001, The Mutant Files)
43. The Last Flight (2001, Creature Fantastic)
44. The Knight of the Hydan Athe (2002, Knight Fantastic)
45. Legacy (2002, Familiars)
46. The Nightingale (2002, Once Upon a Galaxy)
47. A Quiet Justice (2002, Vengeance Fantastic)
48. The Augustine Painters (2002, Apprentice Fantastic)
49. How to Kill an Immortal (2002, The Bakka Anthology)
50. Fat Girl (2002, Oceans of the Mind VI, ezine)
51. Winter Death* (2003, The Sun in Glory: Friends of Valdemar)
52. Diary (2003, The Sorcerer’s Academy)
53. Dime Store Rings (2004, The Magic Shop)
54. To The Gods Their Due (2004, Conqueror Fantastic)
55. The Stolen Child (2004, Faerie Tales)
56. The Rose Garden (2004, Little Red Riding Hood in the Big Bad City)
57. The Colors of Augustine (2004, Summoned to Destiny)
58. Unicorn Hunt (2005, Maiden, Mother Crone)
59. The Snow Queen* (2005, Magic Tails; with Debbie Ohi)
60. Shahira (2006, Children of Magic)
*Set in Mercedes Lackey’s Valdemar, as the anthology titles suggest
For more information—or just to say hello!—I can be found online at:
Twitter: @msagara
Facebook: Michelle Sagara
My blog about my written works: Michelle West & Michelle Sagara
Michelle Sagara, Hunger