Ellie Feltovic

Revenant

Novel extract

Prologue

He walks through the woods he used to live in; his footsteps don’t mar the snow. A perfect white blanket covers the dirt he knows lies beneath the pines. If he closes his eyes, he can picture the tiny granules of dirt packed on top of each other, suffocating under the weight of the ice. He thinks about the worms that live in that dirt. Are they all dead now? Where do they go when the cold permeates their tunnels? The trees that once seemed so tall don’t seem as big anymore. They remind him of Christmas trees.  

He walks among them and then stops. The biggest trees are always in the middle of the wood. Someone comes and cuts them down at the same time each year. Concentric circles of hacked and bleeding stumps are all that’s left.

He looks at a tree. A balsam fir. It’s full, a sturdy trunk blending into strong limbs. Hard green spikes jut from every branch. He takes a deep breath. He can’t feel the sharp air rush into his chest. Pine and snow hit him instead. He can’t smell much anymore, but he would know that scent anywhere.

Home.

He touches the trunk of the tree. He can’t feel it, not really, but he knows what he’s supposed to feel. Tough bark, maybe some of it flakes off under his fingertips. Sticky sap bleeds from the inside of the trunk. He pulls his fingers away and presses the pads together. If they stick this time, maybe something has changed. Maybe he can change.

He continues on.  

He feels her before he sees her. She doesn’t know he’s there, not yet. He can feel the heat radiating off her body. She stands on a snowbank, melting its ice crust with her warmth. The small footprints behind her show him the path she traveled. He stops before the clearing. He shouldn’t let her see him. She’s been doing better lately; this he knows for sure. He watches her most days. He promised himself that he would leave her alone, but he’s not able to. Even when he doesn’t mean to, his limbs plot against him.  

He tucks himself against the bark of a tree. He can see her clearly now, but she still can’t see him. Not yet.  

She’s happier today. Before, he wasn’t very good at reading her face; now, he thinks he’s got it down. She isn’t crying, at least. She holds something in her gloved hands, but he is still too far away to tell what it is. His eyesight has never been great. He can’t do anything about it now.

The wind picks up. Her shoulders clench and rise to meet her ears. She’s bundled in a thick coat, Bean boots, and sweatpants. He looks down at himself. He’s wearing a Heather-grey t-shirt. There are faint greenish stains down the front. He doesn’t remember why but knows he doesn’t want to. He’s wearing flannel pajama pants.

He isn’t cold.

She is.  

Her blonde hair is shorter now, but it still whips around her face. He catches her scent in the wind. It’s so much stronger than any tree in this forest and threatens to make the memories return. She smells like summers at the creek, playing games in the barn, late nights in the back of his car. She smells alive. It’s enough to bring him to his knees.

He shouldn’t be here. This hurts him more every time. He should leave her and go somewhere else; he can go anywhere now. She can too. But she chooses to stay.  

She pushes off the tree and moves to place the object he can’t make out back into her pocket. As she turns her body to unzip her coat, her gaze catches on him from across the clearing. She wasn’t meant to be able to see him. Did he do this? Or does this mean something different?  

She drops the object in the snow. He looks at it, trying to avoid her face for as long as he can. It’s a bracelet. A blue and yellow bracelet. He recognizes it dimly, but it’s from a time long ago, a past he can’t quite grab onto anymore.

She says something. It might have been his name, but he’s not sure. He hears the crunching of ice and the squeak of packed snow beneath her feet. She’s coming closer. She’s coming to him. Her smell is overwhelming. 

He steps out from behind the pine tree so that he is directly in her path. In the clearing.

In the open.  

He isn’t sure what he looks like now, which version of him she can see. He used to be worried about that, but he isn’t anymore. This is what he’s afraid of.  

Her snow boots stop in front of him. His eyes are trained on the ground. She stops just out of his reach. He begins to move his head upwards and she stumbles forward. His arm shoots out. A reflex. She grabs his forearm. It burns him. 

She blinks. He must have done it again. Moved too quickly. Now, he is facing her, and she seems startled, but not afraid. In this moment, he can see her in other lifetimes.

He sees her face, chubbier, flushed with youth, looking up at him from the bed of the creek. He can almost feel the heat from the Pennsylvanian sun on his face. All too soon, that image is replaced with the same girl, now a bit older, punching him in the same arm she grips now. He’s tucking her face into his armpit as she struggles. She’s laughing and the sound surrounds him. He can smell the faint scent of apples from her shampoo. 

He blinks and that’s gone too. Now, in his mind’s eye, he’s surrounded by men, all older. Pine and cedar drift between them. Men he loves, men who love him, men who share his name. 

Her again, older still, looking at him expectantly, reverently.  

The backseat of his car. He can almost feel the worn leather. With her. With other girls. With her best friend.  

He tries to hold on longer, but the memories refuse to stay. There’s a ripping in his chest as a scream pierces his ears. He vaguely remembers that it’s his. And then it’s gone.   

Her face in the clearing. Right now. Looking up at him once more. She’s let go of him. He can’t interpret the expression on her face. He hasn’t quite figured her out. Even after all this time.  

He takes his hands, lifting his pale limbs, and places them on her cheeks. Impossibly, he feels the smooth flesh there. She’s warm. He can feel the light dusting of peach fuzz coating her face. He moves his thumbs back and forth below her eyes. He feels it when she begins to cry. The silent droplets seep between his thumbs and her cheeks. 

He looks into her green eyes. She opens her mouth and says his name. 

Part One: The Youth

Chapter One: December 1991

Alice looked out her bedroom window at the pines in her backyard. The trees near her house looked like little goblins, the best trees were closer to Paul’s house. Alice had spent basically all her winter break making her Christmas gift for Paul, and now it was only a week away. She knew she should be working equally hard on the gift for her sister, but since Francine wasn’t particularly fond of Alice’s arts and crafts skills, she couldn’t be bothered. Alice cared more about what Paul would think.   

Paul Moorish had lived next door to Alice for her entire life. His family owned the land she lived on; it was their Christmas tree farm that Alice could see from her window. Paul was Alice’s best friend—despite him being the same age as her sister, a very grown-up thirteen. Well, Francine had just turned fourteen, and wouldn’t let anyone forget it, but she and Paul were in the same class at school.   

Alice turned twelve in two days: no longer a kid. She’d been included in frog hunts at the creek since she was little, but now she’d be allowed to go swimming in the lake with the teenagers. A large river flowed directly into a smaller creek that cut through Oley Township and fed into Lake Otelaunee. Paul and his brothers spent most summer days at the lake.

Smiling to herself, she glued more fish cut-outs onto the homemade tackle box, as she thought of next summer. She wasn’t sure exactly what kinds of fish he caught in the lake, but Alice knew Paul would appreciate the effort she put into his gift.   

Alice had borrowed an empty shoebox of her mother’s and fortified it with a few layers of thick-cut blue and green construction paper. She took an old copy of In-Fisherman from the stack in her parent’s bathroom and, with the kitchen scissors, cut out every cool-looking fish she could find. Alice also borrowed glue from her classroom at school— she was going to bring it back in January – to stick the cut-outs to the box. The entire process had been relatively easy, except for hiding what she was doing from Francine.   

The only sensation Alice felt as keenly as the excitement of giving Paul the tacklebox was the anxiety over Francine’s teasing if she ever found out. She knew if Francine found it, she would spoil the surprise.   

Alice’s older sister reminded her of Angelica from Rugrats. They were total and complete opposites in every way. Francine had thick chestnut brown hair, but Alice’s was thin and blonde. Francine loved lip gloss and trips to the mall, Alice would rather be climbing trees. It seemed the only thing they shared was their collection of Barbies, but even that was only due to Mom saying she wouldn’t buy two of each.   

As Alice glued the final fish onto the tacklebox—a largemouth bass—she heard the tell-tale whistle from outside. Immediately, she jumped from her spot on the bedroom rug and threw open the window.   

“Come’ere Boone. I haven’t got all day,” came a shout from below.

Alice broke into a gap-toothed grin as she rushed to pull on her sweatshirt and thick socks. She dashed down the stairs and into the mudroom where she pulled on snow boots, gloves, and a hat, and was shrugging on her jacket when she noticed Francine in the doorway.   

“What have you been doing all day, Boone?”   

“Don’t call me that,” Alice grumbled.   

Francine giggled. 

“You’re just jealous because he wants to hang out with me, not you.”   

Fran’s laughter ceased.

“We’re in the eighth grade, he doesn’t want to spend his time with sixth graders, that’s so lame,” Francine said. 

Alice’s face flushed and her chest tightened. Mom told her whenever Francine was being annoying, she should count down from ten.  

Ten…Nine…Eight… 

“Freak,” Francine muttered. Alice threw her hips into Francine’s body as her older sister went to pass by. She resumed counting.  

“What’s wrong with you? Mom, she’s doing it again!”  

Alice made for the door. She didn’t want to stick around and face the disappointment of their mother. Mom said she had been “lashing out” recently, but Francine was being a jerk. So what if Alice hit back? She really was trying to be nicer, and she did not need another talking to. The only person she wanted to see right now was waiting for her on the other side of the door.  

Paul tossed a baseball against the blue shingles of Alice’s house. Though he looked away when the door slammed, he still managed to catch the ball without even looking.

“How do you always do that? It’s like you have a sixth sense.” 

“What’d you do this time?” 

Alice braced her hands on her hips. “I didn’t do anything.” 

“I heard Franny screaming.” 

Paul laughed as Alice stomped her foot on the ground. 

“Aw, geez kid. Why’re you always riling her up?” Alice gave him a glare that was ferocious for an eleven-year-old.   

“I’m not a kid,” she said indignantly.   

“Of course, you’re not. We both know you’re the reincarnation of Daniel Boone,” he said as ran his knuckles over her hair.   

Every sixth-grade class had a unit in social studies on the early history of Pennsylvania. They learned about the founding of Oley Valley and its notable residents; the only one being Daniel Boone. When Paul was in sixth grade, he took to calling Alice “Boone” for her frog-tracking skills. It stuck.  

Alice looked up into Paul’s face and smiled. Though she was tall for her age, Paul with his gangly limbs was a good head above her. His long black hair flopped off his forehead and into his eyes, so he was constantly blowing it out of his face. 

“We’re burning daylight, Boone. Dad and Cory are waiting out by the barn.” Paul took her hand and walked with Alice through the trees. Alice probably knew the farm better than Paul, but she let him lead her anyway. She liked the feeling of his icy hand between her gloved fingers. He was looking after her.

#

December was a month of business on the Moorish Christmas Tree farm. Paul’s oldest brother, Luke, would be returning home from his first semester of college that evening and the Moorish family had been anticipating his arrival for the entire month of December.   

Alice took in the warm yellow light of the Moorish’s barn as it came into view. The left half of the barn had been converted into a store where the family sold garlands, kissing balls, and ornaments in the winter, and jams, fruits, and honey in the summer. The barn was painted red, but it was faded, exposing the light brown wood underneath. The outside boasted pine wreaths with big red bows, connected by green and gold ribbons wrapping around the edges.   

Alice walked into the store in front of Paul.  

Inside, it was lined with wooden beams that crossed the ceiling and blended into the walls and floor. The cash register nestled on a counter in the corner by the door, and a large table topped with shelves engulfed the middle of the room. More shelves lined the sides of the store, meaning there was only one possible path to wind through the tiny shop. Alice thought this made it feel bigger than it really was.   

Mrs. Moorish sat atop a stool behind the cash register weaving boughs of pine into shapes for the kissing balls. Mr. Moorish stood over her, clearly distracting her from her task. Mrs. Moorish laughed as she tried to push her husband out the door. They both looked up when the bell clanged, announcing Alice’s presence.   

“Hey there little miss. Paul roped you in to helpin’ us again, did he?” Mr. Moorish smiled at Alice.   

“You know she loves it,” Paul said earnestly. Alice’s face grew warm. Paul was so observant that sometimes it made Alice feel nearly transparent. She often imagined what life would be like if she was part of the Moorish clan and didn’t have to deal with Francine all day.   

Cory rounded the corner brushing the bark from his hands.   

“Hey, Al! Now that you’re here Paul can stop slacking off and help me and John bring more trees to the front.”  

“I can help bring trees in too,” Alice replied.   

“I don’t think so darlin’, these trees are twice as big as you,” Mr. Moorish explained.   

Alice opened her mouth to protest, citing her tremendous growth spurt last summer, but Mr. Moorish cut her off before she could begin.  

“I’ll put you to work soon enough, but right now I need this done.” Alice sighed and looked to Paul for help, but he was engaged in a WWE smackdown with Cory.    

“Come on boys, we’ve got plenty of trees to move before dark.”   Paul laughed and slapped Cory on the back as they lumbered into the field, while Alice moved to take her place next to Mrs. Moorish, pausing only to watch them disappear between the trees..