The Ordinary Haunting

25. The Upwards Hike

New stretched out his fingers, pulling them this way and that and apparently marvelling at how steady and relaxed they were. I straightened up from adjusting my socks higher on my ankles and tucked my hands into my jacket armpits.

"Alright," I said. New nodded and resumed leading me along the trail. I watched my feet carefully on the uneven rocks as we ascended a thin shelf alongside a flowing stream. We'd only been hiking for about fifteen minutes and already the mountain was leaning back against us with a challenge. The frothy rushing of the water carried with it a coolness I knew I should appreciate while I had the chance; the map at the entrance of the trail had indicated that we'd soon leave the side of the water and dip into the dense fullness of the trees and barely carved-through shrubbery, where even on this early winter day it was bound to be sticky on the lungs.

I let my eyes wander into the white top waters a bit too long and my sneaker slipped on a smooth crop of stone. My left palm caught my weight just fine, but I didn't miss the pivot of New's own sneakers, which had lowered into the top of my vision as I was picking myself up. By the time I'd got to my feet again he had already disappeared into the brush ahead. I wiped at my running nose and pushed after him.

On the next slight clearing I found New crouching at the edge of the trail holding his hand out to feel some of the spray from the stream. I paused behind him and took the chance to loosen my joints a little more. As the world sat suspended there around us, all greens, browns and greys bathed in a dull white sunshine that had been masked by a shallow layer of cloud since yesterday afternoon, a bird called from somewhere above. We both glanced up at the same time, and then New wrestled a piece of crumpled paper from the pocket of the jacket around his waist. I took out my own paper and checked the list, quickly finding the exact clue I knew would match that flute-like, warbling cry.

"You got it?" New asked.

"Yeah," I replied. "We don't have to take a picture for this one, do we?"

"No, we just have to name it."

I turned and headed for the continuing path ahead. There was a definite second of silence before I heard New's footsteps pick up behind me. I gripped my bag tight against my back and took each breath carefully. As expected, we were starting to be directed to the left, away from the stream. Its static fuzz of sound slowly bled out, and at the exact moment that the last of it seeped into the background, the stone trail ended and was replaced by enormous, wooden steps. New's father had mentioned that these steps had been built by locals, as the only way to scale the oncoming rock face.

"It doesn't get too high off the ground, it just follows it."

I jumped and almost looked back at New. Usually, seeing his face would help me realise that I was getting away from myself in whatever I was doing at the time -- there was nothing like his sardonic, impatient grin to contrast my more chaotic moments -- but I knew that if I did manage to get his eyes to spare me a second today, I wouldn't see anything there that would relax me. And he certainly wouldn't be grinning at me.

"I'll be fine," I muttered, aware that he probably hadn't intended to try to comfort me with that comment, but I'd be damned if I didn't make him think he had. (Sorry, Mum.)

"I know," he returned, not letting me get the last word even here.

I huffed a stretching leaf out of my face and started the climb up the stairs. I couldn't be sure if it was surprisingly easy because of the time I'd spent mucking around on the weight machines during New's gym sessions, or because I was a ghost (or if ghost muscles could even be trained, and/or were supposed to be stronger than human ones), but whatever the reason, I found myself making quick work into the rambling heights of the mountain. I was sure there were birds cawing to each other above our heads, and small animals scrambling away as they left little puffs of dust in the dirt in the gaps beneath us, and all kinds of species of tree and plant chasing after the weak sun with a rustling unfurling of their leaves, but the only sound my ears were interested in was that of New's deep, slightly staccato breaths close on my tail. If they hiccupped the tiniest bit my limbs would slow of their own accord, until he found a rhythm again and then I'd continue on, never glancing back, pretending as if my whole body wasn't tuned to his airwaves.