The Between

A submission for The Phantom Shelf Game

This is my official submission to

Asteria Geisterblum

‘s Phantom Shelf Game. It is a ghost story filled with romance, bittersweet emotion, and a splash of dark humor.

Trigger warnings: Death, Blood, Suicidal ideation/attempt

Photo by hello aesthe on Unsplash

The first thing I noticed when I awoke was that I couldn’t feel a thing.

Not the sheets underneath me, though I seemed to be lying down. Not the warmth of Arden’s body next to me, nor the cool breeze from the bedroom window we always left open on crisp fall nights. I could see nothing but formless white — no floor, no ceiling, no windows or doors.

The second thing I noticed was the teacup somehow levitating in front of me. Its cracked ceramic surface was interwoven with almost-lifelike white flowers. Steam rose from within, curling in tiny shimmering spirals. I swore I heard them whisper, a sound both soothing and ominous.

I reached out for it and gasped. My arm was completely translucent, as if composed of shiny cellophane. My limbs felt weightless, untethered by bone or muscle. Bringing my hand to my chest, I was shocked to find my heartbeat conspicuously absent. At least I thought it was. I couldn’t feel where my fingers rested over my chest. I couldn’t feel the way I used to at all—like my sense of touch had been muted, reduced to vague pressure.

“What’s going on?”

At least some of my senses worked. I sat up, realizing that there was no furniture in this place, so I had simply been floating in midair.

The murmuring from the teacup grew louder. The tendrils of steam interwove, a tall figure emerging in the fog. Slowly, I began to make out the shape of limbs. They were made of green vines, peppered with the same flowers that had been painted on the teacup. This botanical being held the cup in its spindly hands. Its eyes were two pearlescent blooms, its lips simply a tangle of stems.

“Who are you?” I asked. “Where am I?”

“You are in The Between, Emerson Faye Knowles,” The sound of the creature’s voice was omnipresent, like a soft wind coming from everywhere and nowhere. “I’m Daisy, your guide on your journey to The Beyond.”

“The Beyond?” I repeated, “How do you know my name? Why am I see-through? What happened to my heartbeat?”

“The first step in your journey is to drink this,” Daisy smiled a wide, Cheshire cat smile, extending the cup toward me. The warm liquid smelled like autumn, my favorite season. The crisp aroma of cloves, cinnamon, and ginger were so intoxicating that I could almost overlook how unsettling it was that I could identify the smell, but not feel my own body.

“What in the actual fuck?” This had to be a dream. Or I’d been abducted by weird flower aliens.

“There’s no need for profanity,” Daisy’s mossy brows knit together, “We’ve been over this.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve never seen you before!”

“They really need to work out this short-term memory loss kink,” Daisy muttered, “Please take a look at the screen—”

“You need to tell me what the hell is going on!” I snapped, attempting to stand and shove Daisy out of the way, before remembering there was no actual floor to stand on.

I floated right through the strange, sentient houseplant, flailing like a newborn giraffe. I drifted forward until involuntarily settling in front of what appeared to be a huge window. Like myself, it wasn’t solid, its surface like a wavering mirage. Still, the image was crystal clear, piercing like a blade through my nonexistent gut.

There was Arden, the love of my life, kneeling in a cemetery, surrounded by autumnal foliage. Her unruly black curls were tossed up in a messy bun, her face and frame gaunt. It looked as if she hadn’t changed or showered in days, tears staining her tawny cheeks. It took me a moment to register the name on the headstone.

My name.

“No,” I roared, “This can’t be. This is a mistake. A dream. Wake up, Emerson! Wake up!”

“You really have been a tricky one,” Daisy sighed, “Creative spirits always display such resistance.”

Ignoring the comment, I watched helplessly as Arden knelt over my grave, her slight frame wracked with sobs. I ached to run my fingers through her matted curls, to kiss her full lips. I attempted to reach through the ‘screen’, but my palm was met with an impenetrable force field.

Then I heard her, reciting the lines like a prayer:

You whispered sweet nothings 
Like a forbidden incantation
You put me under your spell
Hypnotized me with sensation

I knew it instantly. “Love Potion No. 1”. The last poem in my manuscript. It was giving me such a hard time. My ode to Arden, it had to be perfect. My publisher’s deadline was as tight as my chest felt that day. The day that I…

The memories of my last moments hit me faster than the scenes could flash across the screen. There I was, slumped over my desk, my auburn hair splayed over the typewriter. Then there was Arden, trying desperately to rouse me. And finally, her agonized cries as EMTs tried to bring me back. A sharp, phantom pain jolted through my chest.

“Heart attack, induced by stress,” Daisy’s voice was clinical, but solemn. She shook her leafy head. “Another spirit taken before her time.”

“No, no,” I gasped as the screen cycled back to Arden, showing a time lapse of her once vibrant self deteriorating after my death. She looked like a ghost herself, no longer teaching her yoga classes or playing the piano in the evenings in our living room. She wasn’t eating, barely leaving the bed or the couch. As I watched her wither, I could have sworn I felt a hot tear roll down my cheek.

“How long have I been dead?” I turned sharply to Daisy. “How long has she been like this?”

“Six weeks.”

“Six weeks?” I cried. “I have to go back. Arden needs me. She’s wasting away! I need to finish my poem for her, give her the manuscript I wrote for her, say a proper goodbye—”

“You can’t go back, Emerson,” Daisy said. “We’ve been over this forty-two times. I suppose you still aren’t ready to cross over. We’ll try again later. I have other spirits to attend to.”

She reached her vine-fingers toward me, the teacup still hovering in midair. I floated backward, shocked.

“What are you doing?”

Daisy lowered her vines with a look of both annoyance and pity. “Each time you refuse to move on, I have to put you to rest until our next appointment. Unfortunately, when you wake, your memory gets scrambled. We have our team working on that little bug.”

“Appointment?” I repeated, “What is this? A waiting room for dead people?”

“The Between,” Daisy began, sounding like an infomercial. “Is not a ‘dead people’s waiting room.’ It is a holding space created by The Powers That Be to contain wandering spirits until they decide to move on. Since its inception, hauntings of the living have decreased ninety-seven percent.”

“So, I’m in ghost jail?” I deadpanned.

“Call it whatever you like,” Daisy threw up her vines, her patience wearing thin. “You will remain here until you choose to drink from the cup.”

“Look, I don’t want to haunt Arden forever, I just want to say a proper goodbye. Surely you can make an exception. Put in a request with ‘The Powers’?”

“Not this again,” Daisy let out a sigh that rustled her foliage. “I’ll relay your request, but the answer is always the same.”

Before I had a chance to question her, Daisy crossed her spindly legs, bringing her hands together in prayer. She floated like a lotus on an invisible pond as her strange, ancient syllables reverberated across The Between like distant thunder. After what felt like an excruciatingly long time, Daisy snapped out of it.

“Unsurprisingly,” she declared blankly, “The Powers have denied your request. Now, you can either drink the tea, or I will come back later.”

“Daisy, surely you can see from this supernatural slideshow you have playing that Arden is wasting away!” I cried. “I need, like, two minutes to tell her I’m okay and say goodbye, so we can both move on.”

“Enough, Emerson!”

An oppressive quiet settled between us. I gestured to the screen. Arden laid in our bed midday, staring at nothing while her yoga mat gathered dust in the corner. The next slide showed her thin hands hovering over the piano keys, unable to play. A final, foreboding image displayed her standing at the open medicine cabinet, staring at a bottle of pills.

“That’s not my Arden,” I whispered, “She’s fading before her time. Please, Daisy.”

“I do see it,” Daisy sighed, “But the plights of living are out of my scope.”

“She won’t be living much longer at this rate!”

Daisy bristled, her voice barely audible as she uttered the words: “Then you’ll be together soon enough.”

Rage burned through me. “How dare you?” I seethed, “You think I want my wife to die? You don’t get it. I love her. I want her to live. I want her to be happy, even if I can’t be a part of it, because that’s what love is!”

As she absorbed my declaration, I caught a tear forming like a bead of dew on Daisy’s petaled lashes. She dabbed her eyes, composing herself.

“I apologize, Emerson. That was unprofessional of me,” Daisy pushed the teacup forward, not quite meeting my gaze.

“Drink it,” Her voice was small, concentrated. “It will numb your suffering so you may retire to the Beyond in eternal peace.”

Something wasn’t adding up here. I’d never been one to accept things at face value. I wasn’t about to start now.

“How am I supposed to drink the tea if I’m a ghost?” I asked pointedly.

“Well,” Daisy began, eyes darting to the side, the white petals blinking slowly. “You’ll be granted temporary form, just long enough to drink and be guided into The Beyond.”

“Temporary form…” I mused, an idea sparking. “That means you could theoretically send me back to speak to Arden, right?”

Daisy tilted her head, raising a brow. “This is a new one from you.”

“So, is it possible?”

“Possible, yes. Permitted, no,” she said, crossing her vines.

“Do this for me, Daisy, and I’ll move on,” I begged, “you won’t have to deal with me anymore. And, you could prevent another spirit from arriving here before her time.”

I extended my spectral hand to shake on it. Daisy started to reciprocate the gesture, then paused, her plant-brow knotted with indecision.

“The Powers don’t take kindly to protocol breaches.”

“This isn’t a protocol breach. It’s a rescue mission,” I urged.

Daisy glanced one more time at the screen, at Arden swigging bourbon by my headstone, her frame even more skeletal than in the earlier clips.

“If I do this,” Daisy said slowly, vines trembling, “And it doesn’t work, if you can’t convince her to keep living…” Her voice trailed off. Steeling herself, she continued. “Are you sure this is the right choice?”

“I’m sure that it’s better than doing nothing.”

“Fine,” she sighed, ”Just this once. Only because I have compassion for all spirits, living or dead. But you must follow my instructions to the letter.”

“Aye, Captain,” I attempted a salute, which failed miserably.

“First, I’ll be with you the whole time,” Daisy’s tone was all business. “Second, granting spirits form takes massive energy. If I attempt to sustain it for too long, the Powers will sense it and come looking. I’ll help you guide Arden to your unfinished manuscript as a ghost first, saving your corporal form for the final moments, to say goodbye. Then you must move on.”

“Okay,” I nodded, “So, how will I guide her?”

“You’ll manipulate objects by directing your aura. It can be unpredictable. You’ll have to stay focused to conserve energy. If you expend too much too quickly, you’ll risk alerting The Powers,” Daisy said gravely, “And if The Powers notice we’re missing, I’ll have to pull the plug, regardless of how far you get with the ‘mission’.” She paused solemnly. “Do you accept my terms, Emerson?”

Here we were, a fledgling specter and her plant-based spirit guide, standing at a metaphysical crossroads.

“I accept.”

She took my ghost-hand in her vines, a sensation of warmth creeping up my gossamer skin as she began murmuring in that strange, indiscriminate language. The undefined boundaries of the Between slowly spiraled inward, sucking us in like a funnel cloud. It felt as if we were going down, then up, then all directions simultaneously. The sensation was unsettling, yet fascinating. Colors and shapes whirred by in vibrant fashion, the kaleidoscope fabric of reality itself.

Finally, we stopped, Daisy and I hovering over a familiar scene: My kitchen.

The digital wall calendar I’d splurged on after my last publishing advance showed the date: October fifteenth. Dust motes floated in the beams of early evening light, bathing the kitchen sink in an amber glow. The herbs in the windowsill garden drooped, brown and withered. My favorite coffee mug still sat on the drying rack where I’d left it on my last morning, next to the sink now piled full of dishes. The hand-me-down table in the breakfast nook overflowed with vases of flowers, cards, and piles of bills.

Arden stood at the island, mechanically chopping carrots and celery. My grandmother’s old stockpot sat on the stove, the savory aroma of my favorite chicken soup filling the room. Arden’s shoulders shook as tears rolled down her face in rapid succession, leaving tiny, wet stains on the cutting board.

“I need to get her to the study. How do I do that?” I asked Daisy.

“Lights are the easiest to manipulate,” Daisy began, “You could—”

A sharp hiss and Arden’s startled curse interrupted us. She dropped the knife with a clank on the granite countertop, watching the blood bead on her finger from the cut.

“Em, you were always the one who chopped the veggies,” Arden muttered, staring at the wound. “Why am I even trying to do this without you? I’m falling apart. I can’t even make myself food anymore. What’s the point?”

Her puffy eyes darted back to the knife as crimson blood trailed down to her wrist. She laid her hand face up on the counter, shakily lifting the knife with her other hand. I watched in horror as she slowly brought the tip of the blade to the sallow skin.

“No!” I cried, “Arden, no!”

She couldn’t hear me. Everything around me faded. All I saw was my wife with a blade hovering over her wrist, contemplating the worst.

By pure instinct, energy barreled through me. My gaze bored into the knife block next to the cutting board, staring it down until it toppled off the island, the remaining seven blades clattering to the hardwood floor.

Arden jumped, dropping the knife. “Holy shit,” she murmured, grasping a kitchen towel to her bleeding digit, her breath coming in short gasps. She stumbled backward, nearly crashing into the stove.

“Flicker the lights,” Daisy instructed calmly.

“I scared her!”

“You protected her,” Daisy’s voice was gentle, but firm. “But you can’t afford too many big moves. Stay focused. The lights. Make them flicker. Use them to guide her to the study—subtly.”

“Okay…” Turning my attention to the switch, a steady thread of energy flowed to it as I focused on the faded faceplate. The kitchen lights flickered multiple times.

“What?” Arden mumbled to herself, staggering to the table and shuffling frantically through the stack of mail. “Crap! Did I forget to pay the electric bill?”

I flickered the lights again. Arden dropped the bloody kitchen towel, turning in my direction. Next, I flipped the hallway light switch.

“Em? Are you…here?” She moved toward my ghostly light show as if in a trance.

The sunset’s glimmers cast long shadows through the study’s massive window, the one I’d stare out of for hours when I had writer’s block. My desk lamp, a fixture modeled after an antique lantern, sat on the same side as my manuscript hidden in the false bottom of a drawer. Arden stood in the doorway, eyes darting around the room, body shaking. I willed the lantern to flicker. Just once.

Arden finally inched closer, to stand behind the desk. Fingers trembling, she brushed them over the unfinished poem on the page still loaded in my typewriter.

“Oh, Em,” she whispered, “You were so close, weren’t you, Babe?”

I gave the lantern another flicker.

Arden spooked, eyes wide. She turned, panicked, to the built-in shelves behind the desk. Reaching through my invisible body, she pulled down a bottle of Woodford Reserve and knocked back a heavy swig.

“I’m seeing things,” She sputtered, slumping against the shelves. “Knives flying, lights flashing. Em, please tell me this is you.”

“I need you to open the drawer, Arden!” I hissed, flickering the lantern again. But Arden didn’t notice.

“Open it yourself,” Daisy suggested.

So I did, pulling it open with a wooden scrape. Arden turned sharply, staring at the drawer as if it might attack her. Downing some more bourbon, she sheepishly shut it. I opened it again.

“What the fuck?” she breathed, reaching a shaky hand into the drawer, removing my old volume of Emerson essays. As she went to shut it again, I rattled the false bottom hard enough to shake the desk—in a subtle way.

She dropped the book, falling back into my ergonomic office chair, still clutching the Woodford. “Em, if this is you, it’s not funny!”

“Use the typewriter,” Daisy said, “Direct your aura to the keys. But keep it brief!”

Arden snapped her head toward the sound of the keys clacking, a hand over her mouth.

“Arden - It’s Em.”

“Jesus!” She gasped.

“Drawer. False Bottom. LIFT IT!”

Arden blinked hard, rubbing her eyes. “What? Em, I don’t—”

“Lift, NOW!”

She finally moved to the drawer, hands shaking as she felt around for the hidden latch. Her eyes widened as she lifted the manuscript, entitled “Poems for Arden”.

“You sneaky witch,” Arden breathed.

“Can I manifest now?” I asked Daisy.

“Type a warning,” She said, “So you don’t startle her.”

“I’m here. Turn around.”

As Arden read the words, tears staining the typewritten pages, Daisy’s vines wrapped around me. I solidified into something almost human again. Arden swiveled slowly in the chair, as if swimming through honey.

“Em? How?”

She stood, reaching to cup my face, ocean blue eyes searching mine earnestly. I got shivers, like I did the very first time she touched me.

“I can’t stay long, Love,” I said, placing my hand over hers. She was so warm. So beautiful. So alive. “I just came to show you the poems I wrote for you, though the last one I still need to finish.”

“H-h-how did you come back?” Arden stammered.

“We don’t have much time,” Daisy reminded, “Say what you need to say.”

“I don’t have time to explain, Arden. Just trust me.”

“Okay, okay, I trust you, Em,” she smiled at me through her tears.

“I’m here to finish the poem for you,” I said, “Can you type it for me?”

“Yes, yes,” Arden set down the bourbon and the manuscript, positioning herself in front of the typewriter. “I’m ready.”

Choking back my own tears, I recited the words that I never got a chance to type.

No hope for this romantic
Love struck at the local bar
I would be cursed to love you
Until death do us part

Forever your willing victim 
Love potion, I drank every drop
Even though we are worlds apart
The enchantment never stops 

My phantom heart will wait
For the day you join me beyond
Until then, let my words carry you,
Empowering you to face the dawn

Arden choked down a sob as I finished, pulling the sheet from the typewriter and clutching it to her breast.

“Do you like it?” I asked.

She stood to face me, cheeks flushed. “Yes, Em. It’s perfect.”

Wrapping my arms around her, I relished in the sensation as Arden buried her face into my chest. If I’d been truly alive, my heart would have been fluttering wildly against my ribs.

“It’s almost time, Emerson,” Daisy said, “Say your goodbyes.”

“I have to go, Love,” I whispered into her hair.

“No!” The anguish in Arden’s voice nearly broke me. “How am I supposed to keep living without you?”

“One day at a time,” I said softly, “When you feel sad, read my poems. Make sure you eat. Drink your water. Take walks. Sit by my grave and talk to me whenever you can.”

“Em, I don’t know if I can,” Arden pulled back, eyes glossy with tears.

“What did you always used to say to me when I was being a stubborn, hyper-independent ass?” I grinned, running a finger through her curls. “‘Don’t be afraid to ask for help’.”

“Okay, okay,” Arden let out a sound that was halfway between a chuckle and a sob. “Thank you for this. Even if it’s just a bourbon and sleep-deprivation fueled hallucination, I’m glad I get to say goodbye.”

“I’m really here, Arden, and I need you to hear this.” I leaned my forehead against hers. “Don’t just survive. Live. Teach your yoga classes. Play piano. Smile. Laugh. And if you meet someone who makes you happy—“

“Oh, Em, I could never forget you,” she whispered.

“I’m not asking you to forget me,” I smiled, pulling away to place my hand on her chest. “I’m asking you to find a way to be happy.”

“Okay,” she inhaled sharply, the corners of her mouth creeping upward.

Cupping the back of her neck, I whispered against her lips: “Promise me you’ll live.”

“I promise.”

“We need to leave, Emerson,” Daisy’s panicked voice sounded behind us.

Bittersweet emotion gripped me as I sensed myself fading in and out of form.

“Em, what’s happening?” Arden eyed me anxiously. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”

“I can’t.” My voice shook. “I love you. Forever and always.”

Arden let out a strangled cry. “I love you, too. Forever and always.”

“Emerson!” Daisy called urgently.

“One more kiss?” I mouthed to her over my shoulder.

Daisy’s eyes softened. Her own energy surged—a final gift from my spirit guide.

My body solidified. Pulling Arden in, I pressed my lips to hers for the last time. She tasted like salty tears, bourbon, and a love that transcends death. The kiss lasted an eternity, and no time at all.

We came apart tenderly, gazes locked as I backed toward the corner. Toward Daisy. Toward the Between, and Beyond.

Arden smiled, lifting her hands to her lips to blow me a kiss. I blew one back, catching the spark of life rekindling in her eyes. Soon, I would become nothing but air and light and memory to her. But I wasn’t scared. I knew she would be okay.

“Goodbye, my Love,” I whispered as my body faded into oblivion. “I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.”

---

Thank you for reading!

Light and Love,

Hallie