I should have been afraid, walking through a mountainside in the dark by myself. Instead I felt safe, surrounded by the songs of birds, engulfed by the scents of sweet moss and pine, and cocooned in a mist that contained a little bit of magic. I had been in many unusual situations before: the dangerous and the plain bizarre. In my line of work I followed all leads, wandered down all paths and never allowed fear to cause me to turn away from a direction that could lead me to finding someone. I wasn’t afraid to turn over every stone that lay in my path or hurl them and my questions around atmospheres with the fragility of glass houses. When individuals go missing it’s usually under dark circumstances most people don’t want to know about. Compared to the previous experiences of delving into the underworld, this new project was literally a walk in the park. Yes, my finding my way back into my life had become a project.
The sound of murmuring voices up ahead stopped me in my tracks. I hadn’t had human contact for days and wasn’t at all sure if these people would be friendly. The flickering light of a campfire cast shadows around the woods, and as I quietly neared, I could see a clearing. The trees fell away to a large circle where five people sat laughing, joking, and singing to music. I stood hidden in the shadows of the giant conifer, but like a hesitant moth being drawn to a flame. Irish accents were audible and I questioned my ludicrous assessment of being outside the country and of being outside my life. In those few seconds I questioned everything.
A branch snapped loudly beneath my foot and it echoed around the forest. The music immediately stopped and the voices quietened.
“Someone’s there,” a woman whispered loudly.
All heads turned toward me.
“Hello, there!” a jovial man called excitedly. “Come! Join us! We’re just about to sing ‘This Little Light of Mine.’” There was a groan from the group.
The man jumped up from his seat on a fallen tree trunk and came closer to me with his arms held open in welcome. His head was bald apart from four strands of hair, which hung spaghettilike in a comb-over style. He had a friendly moon-shaped face and so I stepped into the light and instantly felt the warmth of the fire against my skin.
“It’s a woman,” the woman’s voice whispered loudly again.
I wasn’t sure what to say and the man who had approached me looked now uncertainly back to his group.
“Maybe she doesn’t speak English,” the woman hissed loudly.
“Ah,” the man turned back to me, “Doooo yooooou speeeeeaaaaak Eng-a-lish?”
There was a grumble from the group, “The Oxford English Dictionary wouldn’t understand that, Bernard.”
I smiled and nodded. The group had quietened and were studying me and I knew what they were all thinking: she’s tall.
“Ah, great.” His hands clapped together and remained clasped close to his chest. His face broke into an even more welcoming smile. “Where are you from?”
I didn’t know whether to say Earth, Ireland, or Leitrim. I went with my gut instincts and “ Ireland ” was all that came out of my mouth, which hadn’t spoken for days.
“Splendid!” The cheery fellow’s smile was so bright and I couldn’t help but return it. “What a coincidence! Please come and join us.” He excitedly led me toward the group with a hop, skip, and a jump.
“My name is Bernard,” he beamed like the Cheshire cat, “and heartiest welcome to the Irish contingency. We’re frightfully outnumbered here,” he said, frowning, “although it seems that the numbers are rising. Excuse me, where are my manners?” His cheeks flushed.
“Underneath that sock over there.”
I turned to look at the source of the smart comment to see an attractive woman in her fifties, tight salt-and-pepper hair, with a lilac pashmina shawl draped around her shoulders. She was staring distantly into the center fire, the dancing flames reflecting in her dark eyes, her comments flowing out of her mouth as though she were on autopilot.
“Who have I the pleasure of being acquainted with?” Bernard beamed with excitement; his neck craned up to look at me.
“My name is Sandy,” I replied, “Sandy Shortt.”
“Splendid.” His cheeks flushed again and he shook my outstretched hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Allow me to introduce you to the rest of the gang, as they say.”
“As who say?” the woman grumbled irately.
“That’s Helena. She loves to chat. Always has something to say, don’t you, Helena?” Bernard looked at her for an answer.
The wrinkles around her mouth deepened as she pursed her lips.
“Ah.” He wiped his brow and turned to introduce me to a woman named Joan; Derek, the long-haired hippie playing the guitar; and Marcus, who was sitting quietly in the corner. I took them in quickly: they were all of a similar age and seemed very comfortable with one another. Not even Helena ’s sarcastic comments were causing any friction.
“Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll get you a drink of some sort-”
“Where are we?” I cut in, unable to take his bumbling pleasantries any longer.
All other conversation around the fire stopped suddenly and even Helena raised her head to stare at me. She took me in, a quick glance up and down, and I felt like my soul had been absorbed. Derek stopped strumming his guitar, Marcus smiled lightly and looked away, Joan and Bernard stared at me with wide frightened Bambi eyes. All that could be heard was the sound of the campfire crackling and popping as sparks sprang out and spiraled their way up to the sky. Owls hooted and there was the distant snap of branches being stepped on by wanderers beyond.
There was a deathly silence around the campfire.
“Is anyone going to answer the girl?” Helena looked around with an amused expression. Nobody spoke. “Well, if nobody speaks up,” she wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and grasped it at her chest, “I’m going to give my opinion.”
Voices of objection rose from the circle and I immediately wanted to hear Helena ’s opinion all the more. Her eyes danced, enjoying the choir of disapproval.
“Tell me, Helena,” I interrupted, feeling my usual impatience with people return. I always wanted to get to the point. I hated pussyfooting around.
“Oh, you don’t want that, trust me,” Bernard fluffed, his double chin wobbling as he spoke.
Helena lifted her silver-haired head in defiance and her dark eyes glistened as she looked at me directly. Her mouth twitched at the side. “We’re dead.”
Two words said coolly, calmly, crisply.
“Now, now, don’t you mind her,” Bernard said in what I imagined was his best angry voice.
“ Helena,” Joan admonished, “we’ve been through this before. You shouldn’t scare Sandy like that.”
“She doesn’t look scared to me,” Helena said, still with that amused expression, her eyes unmoving.
“Well,” Marcus finally spoke after his long silence since I’d joined the group, “she may have a point. We may very well be dead.”
Bernard and Joan groaned, and Derek began strumming lightly on his guitar and singing softly, “We’re dead, we may very well be dead.”
Bernard tutted, then poured tea from a china pot into a cup and handed it to me on a saucer. In the middle of the woods, I couldn’t help but smile.
“If we’re dead, then where are my parents, Helena?” Joan scolded, emptying a packet of biscuits onto a china plate and placing them before me. “Where are all the other dead people?”
“In hell,” Helena said in a singsong voice.
Marcus smiled and looked away so that Joan wouldn’t see his face.
“And what makes you think we’re in heaven? What makes you think you’d get into heaven?” Joan huffed, dunking her biscuit into her tea and pulling it up before the soggy end fell in.