Book 1: A Ghostly Tale: Spellbound

Chapter 9: Flyin' Solo

A small boy, just approaching his thirteenth year, lay under the covers with a thick cloth over his sickly, pale forehead. A croaky, hoarse cough escaped from his blue lips , and beads of sweat dotted his temples. As he approached the archway, Stinkie's view of the boy grew larger - more gruesome. There were five other people in the room, sitting in silence, not one daring to move. Stinkie put a sympathetic hand on the shoulder of the man sitting in a small rocking chair with his fingers tightly clasped around the back of his neck, his rounded glasses hanging loosely off the tip of his nose.

"Brother," the man said, rising from his fatigue. He brought him in for a tight hug and a firm pat on the back. He beckoned Stinkie out into the hallway where the December snowflakes piled up against the hallway window.

"How's he holding up, J.T.?" He asked quietly. J.T. shook his head slowly and wiped his face with a sigh. He glanced at the boy through the doorway and lowered his voice.

"We'll be lucky if he makes it until Monday evening," he said closing his eyes.

"He was fine, just last week," Stinkie said.

J.T. nodded and adjusted his loosened tie. "Well, Dr. Peterson said the best thing we could do is to keep him comfortable." He didn't take his eyes off the boy lying in the bed, holding onto his last inch of life.

Stinkie looked in his hand at a small paper bag he'd been carrying. He walked slowly towards the boy, kneeling down gently next to him and giving him a smile.

"Uncle Joey...?" A vague smile flickered on the boy's face.

"Hey kid," he rubbed his forehead and moved a couple of stray, sweaty blonde hairs out f his eyes with his thumb. "How ya hangin' in there?"

The boy answered with a shriveled cough and a wheeze in pain. "My chest hurts." He looked over at the woman standing by his bedside, a rag in her hand and a bowl in the other. A solum but kind expression rested on her tired face. She looked down at the rag and squeezed it lightly.

"Your mama's taking good care o' you," Stinkie said, facing the woman.

She smiled and relaxed her shoulders. Even though her hair was pulled up a few strands were running astray, and her eyes were bloodshot.

"I know," the boy said, so faint it was barely audible. "That's what she does best." Stinkie looked over at the last two men sitting close to the boy's mother, and a shorter woman clutching one of them on the bicep tightly. He broke free of her grasp and stood. Gently, he reached forward to squeeze the tired woman's hand. He bent to kiss her lightly on the forehead, but said nothing, only looking at her son with a pained expression on his face. The other sat with his large hands hiding his mouth, fighting back tears.

He looked back at the boy. "Hey, um, short stack, I've got something for ya..." Stinkie reached into the bag and pulled out Boo, his teddy bear and oldest companion. "Now, Boo here is very special. Promise you'll take care a' 'im for me?" He handed the beat up stuffed animal to the sickly boy, who nodded slowly and reached out his hands. A shiver ran through the room as he exposed his darkened, dead looking fingertips. Stinkie flinched and closed his eyes, instantly regretting it as the boy began to cry softly.

"I'm scared, Mama, I'm so scared..."

His mother sat on the edge of the bed and pressed her lips to his forehead, whispering softly to him. "Shhh, it's okay to be scared, love. But everything is going to be okay." She gently wiped the sweat away with the cloth and smiled reassuringly.

Stinkie staggered away to the corner, still clutching the bag between his sweaty palms. He bit his lip in worry at her slightly forced expression.