Page 5 of Miserable Marionette

“Gideon! I was worried you weren’t going to come!”

“Shhh…” he hushes, his eyes darting across the street. “We've gotta be quick. Follow me.”

My tummy makes an odd flipping feeling as Gideon grips my hand, holding it tightly as he tugs me into the woods. His palms are cool thanks to the chill in the air, but it warms mine all the same. They look so big wrapped around mine. Immediately, I think about those daytime soaps Mom always watches, where the old people kiss and yell and cry a lot.

“Where are we going?” I whisper, despite knowing we’re far enough away by now that nobody will hear us. Whispering just goes with sneaking; I don’t make the rules. He doesn’t answer, just trudges along inside the wood line. But this time, instead of taking me deeper into the thicket, we stay just hidden, following the road toward the creek bridge leading into town. Soon enough, the bubbling sound of water breaks up the sound of our footsteps on the fallen leaves.

I groan when I realize he intends to cross it. My shoes dig into the dirt, halting him. “I don’t want to get my shoes wet. Let’s do something else.”

For a moment, I think he rolls his eyes, but that doesn’t seem like a very Gideon thing to do. “Stop complaining, I’ll help you across.” With only a few more grumbles, I relent. When we reach the rocky creek bed, I can’t hide my flush in the early evening sunlight as he carefully holds my hand, helping me across each of the slippery stones just like he said he would. That’s one of my favorite things about Gideon. Even after a year of being his best friend, he’s always done what he says he’s going to do. He doesn’t make empty promises. He doesn’t talk much, so the things he chooses to say matter. There’s a purpose there. Gideon makes me feel… special. Out of all the kids in Swindon, he chose me to be his only friend. He’s the best friend I could ever ask for, different from the kids where I lived before, better.

His black hair hangs in his inky blue eyes as I concentrate on keeping us both upright, the wet smell of old submerged wood and leaves filling my nose. We’re almost to the edge of the thick log, but I’m paying more attention to him than I am to my footing, and sure enough, my stomach jolts to my chest as I go down.

Gideon gasps almost loud enough to drown out my screech as his arms snap out to catch me. It works… mostly. Only the very back of the birthday dress Mom got at JCPenney dips, making me hiss as the cold creek water drips down the back of my legs, wetting my tights. “Great, my dress is wet. Mom is going to kill me!”

Gideon ushers us off the end of the log and turns me, grabbing the back of my dress to check the damage. “It’s just the back. We can dry it at my house. She won’t know.”

This time, I stop for real, not playfully, as he tries to tug me with him. “We’re going to your house?”

“Yeah, it’s where my birthday present for you is.”

My eyes slam to sparkly shoes, the toes of them splattered with broken-up leaves and mud. Mom said they didn’t match and kicked up a real fuss when I refused to wear anything else until Dad stepped in. “Can’t you just… bring it out to me?”

“My house isn’t haunted, Audrey.”

My head slams up, embarrassment making my chest swap from cold and unsure to scalding, indignant. “I didn’t think that!”

“Then why won’t you come in?”

I shrug, fiddling with my white tights, trying to unstick the backs of them to my legs. “It just doesn’t make sense. Why didn’t you just bring it to my party? You didn’t even come sing happy birthday to me. Again.” Last year we’d spent the day in our special place, but when it was time for the party, that one small and private, his mom had dropped off a gift saying he was busy.

I cried.

“I haven’t been home all day. I didn’t have it with me.”

I glance up at the small bridge above the creek, debating just turning around when his words finally click. “Wait, where have you been?”

He just gestures to the woods.

“All day? Doing what?”

His eyes dart back toward my house, but he doesn’t answer. A few more moments pass with us just standing on the other side of the creek before I realize he’s just fine waiting here all night until I do what he wants. And he would. We’d both die out here in a battle of wills; that’s how suborn he is. Where Gideon always seems to have no issue waiting around until he gets the result he’s looking for, I hate waiting. “Fine, but I don’t want to go anywhere near the bodies!”

This time, I’m sure he rolls his eyes. “I don’t live in the morgue,” he offers, tugging me down the long, looping trail to his house. I don’t bother asking why we didn’t just cross the street, already guessing the answer: his mom is weird about friends coming over.

And he’s technically right; he doesn’t live in the morgue, but of course, that’s where the washer and dryer are. The upper floors of his house look… super normal. Apart from the weird lobby-like foyer and the church room off to the left, oh, and his dad's office, of course. They live above the funeral home, upstairs. Yet here I stand staring at the double flappy doors that lead to the scary part of his house, waiting for a ghost to pop through. Gideon left to grab my present from his room just a few seconds ago and already it feels like he’s been gone for hours. Sneaking into his house wasn’t too hard; his mom and dad are apparently in the office speaking with a family. Again, my mind goes to Uncle Rodney, wondering if being in a place like this bothered him after they got his body out of the woods. If he even knew. Mom used to yell at him for telling me all his “la-la land” stories, as she called them. But Uncle Rodney had sworn to me that ghosts, fae, sprites, and all the fantastical things from his stories were real. I believed him and still do. Even if rarely, mostly just in moments like this, I wish I didn’t.

When Gideon rushes around the corner, the room wobbles for a moment; my anxiety makes my head light. “Here,” he offers, holding out a large hoodie for me. I frown, running my fingers over the fabric. The idea of wearing Gideon's clothes makes my belly feel weird. Mom always wears Dad’s clothes to bed, and they’re married… in love.

“Where do I go?” I whisper, my face hot.

Does this mean Gideon loves me? Girlfriends and boyfriends share clothes sometimes; the older girls at school are always in their boyfriends’ jackets. Is that like this? My heart is hammering wildly, my breath held tight in my lungs, and this time it has nothing to do with ghosts.

His eyes trail around the room as if he’s trying to figure out what I could be referring to. My eyes follow his, taking in the plain white room, nothing on the walls. No need to dress up the parts the families won’t see. There’s a small sink and cabinets in the far corner and a gray loveseat that matches the course gray carpet that trails up the stairs.

I finally release my breath. “To change, Gideon.”

“You can go in there.” He gestures to the wide double doors behind me, leading to the embalming rooms and body freezers.