Wrong Place, J. Mackenzie

by H.D. Hunter

I. 

The funeral was nice enough. Jeremy Mackenzie sat in the front pew, next to his mother, though she couldn’t see him. She lifted her veil and wiped her eyes no fewer than two hundred times. Pastor Franklin said a lot of nice things about ‘Mack’—more than he’d ever heard the good pastor say while he was alive. The floors in the funeral home creaked, and dust caked the windowsills. Of the only two in town, this was the one his family could afford. Fortunately, from the decorations, to the music, to the assortment of flowers around his unvarnished pine casket, Mack figured everything was as good as it could be. 

Truth be told, Mack didn’t care all that much. He knew it would mean a lot to his mother that his memorial service had gone well. His aunts and uncles came in from out of town. A few kids from his school surprised him with their attendance.  The corners of Mack’s mouth turned up in the sanctuary, watching people cry over him. It felt nice to be missed. To be mourned. To be whatever he had become in their eyes, even if only for a little while. 

Secretly, or maybe not so much, Mack was excited to have died. It’s not like he planned it or anything. But he certainly wasn’t complaining. He’d had enough of the bullying from his family, the mistreatment from his classmates. And even worse—the days he was invisible to everyone. 

Mack knew things would be different in the afterlife. He’d finally get to meet his great grandfather, uncles, and distant cousins he’d only seen in the pictures. Distinguished men in military outfits. Honorable. Not like the family he was leaving behind. 

Nobody could explain to Mack why or when the Mackenzies had lost their dignity. Poverty, drug addiction, crime—that’s all anyone knew them for these days. Mack yearned to break free of that shame. As soon as he was in the ground, he could explore the area around where he was laid to rest. He’d find the other Mackenzies buried there, the good Mackenzies. Every Mackenzie man had his plot reserved in the same cemetery from the time they were born. He’d find his regal ancestors, the ones with special messages engraved on their headstones right above the family motto: resurgemus ad occasionem. 

It’s never too late, he thought. They’ll help me make something of myself. 

Mack slogged out of the funeral home. His new airy body felt too light for every pace he made forward to feel so heavy. Maybe his ancestors would teach him how to move better. Figuring out this spectral stuff was already harder than he’d bargained for. After the graveside service, and the burial, and the real burial where a few blue collar guys filled his grave up with dirt and ice and slush, the sun had all but disappeared beneath the horizon. Everything took longer than expected because of the snow. One of the guys worked the backhoe while the others smoothed out his work with spades. As soon as they finished, Mack explored the area around his plot for any other Mackenzies. He didn’t find any. 

In fact, he couldn’t find anyone. 

There was a lot Mack didn’t know about being a new ghost. Could he dig? Could he swipe sleet and ice away from the ground? He didn’t see any upright headstones, so he reckoned his cemetery probably used the ones that lie flat on the ground.  Seems like he remembered some upright headstones from his previous visits, though. At any rate, Mack lumbered around the snowy terrain, contemplating yelling out, or stomping on the ground as hard as he could to try to draw the attention of another spirit. His nerves got the better of him and he decided against it. Do ghosts sleep at night? Or during the day? 

Mack wasn’t sure. He thought about it for a while and figured he’d feel less guilty if he awakened another ghost after sunrise. He could always fall back on the fact that he had just become a ghost and didn’t know any better. Mack hated when Ma would wake him up during the night to run and get her a pack of cigarettes, or clean the kitchen, or watch after his little brother while he left to do God-knows-what. So he decided to let his new neighbors rest. And he closed his own eyes, too. 

II.        

Sleeping felt way different as a ghost. So did waking up. 

But being startled felt exactly the same. 

“Ahhh!” Mack hollered. He lay flat on his back atop his own grave plot, looking straight up at the gray sky. A circle of faces stared down at him, each with a slightly different but equally curious gaze. Mack scrambled to his feet and whipped around, his eyes darting nonstop from one unfamiliar spirit to the next. There were older ghosts, and younger ones. Men and women. Some finely dressed in their church attire. Some fitted for school, others still like they just rolled out of bed. An old man with a patchy beard and a bowler hat spoke to him first. “What you doin’ ‘round here, son?” 

“W-what do you mean?” Mack stammered. “I’m dead. This is a cemetery right? Evergreen Cemetery?” 

“Yeah, it’s Evergreen alright,” said a middle aged woman in a floral dress. “But that don’t explain what you’re doing here.” 

Mack shook his head, still confused.

 “Who are y’all?” he asked. Some of the spirits scoffed. A couple left the circle. A man with sideburns and glasses and thick curly hair stepped closer to Mack. He looked like he could have been one of Mack’s teachers. His voice reminded Mack of rollicking waves, powerful and calm. 

“Young man.What is your name?” 

“Jeremy. Jeremy Mackenzie.” Several of the ghosts began to whisper among themselves. The teacher man narrowed his eyes. 

“Are you from this town?” 

“Of course I am,” said Mack. He scratched behind his ear. “I grew up right off of Main and Eastern. Well, as much growing as I got a chance to do.” 

“I see,” the teacher replied. “Is your mother named Lola by chance? Ms. Lola Mackenzie?” He paused when Mack’s expression failed to ignite. “Do you know that name?” 

Mack knit his brow and shook his head again. “No. No, my ma’s name is Fannie. Fannie Lightfoot, actually. My daddy’s people—them the Mackenzies. Wait a minute, who are y’all? Where are your graves? Why are there no headstones around here?”

“Our graves are all around,” said one woman. “Over here, over there. In the back, back there. You see that pavement? There’s some of us under that asphalt where they rolled over. Far as from right here to over where the woods start, we buried. And probably some more a ways beyond them trees, too. But we don’t too much trouble that area. We let them rest.” 

Mack turned to where the lady pointed and saw nothing but land. A blanket of snow and a small parking lot flanked by forest. He pressed his fingers to his temples and started to pace, muttering to himself. Mack couldn’t feel his heartbeat anymore, or sweat prickling the back of his neck, but somehow, he still felt anxious, scared. A balmy sensation, filtering through his wispy body. The most intense emotions of the human experience transcend even death. 

“If all of you are buried here, why are there no headstones?” Mack asked again. “Tuh!” An older man in suspenders spoke up. “Headstones? I wish. Maybe for them new money types. But then again, if they make enough to afford that, they probably wouldn’t be here. Now us? We been here a long time. Some of Evergreen’s originals. And I don’t know how many places like this you ever been to…” he eyed Mack for a second. “Not many I would reckon. But they don’t hardly ever put headstones in—” 

“Walter—” the teacher man cut in. “Hold off a second, will you?” He turned to Mack. “This might sound like a strange question, young man. But your father. Would he happen to be…a Black man?” 

In Mack’s stillness as he processed the shock of the question, a tightness constricted the center of Mack’s form. He tried to take a deep breath to steady himself. That’s how he discovered his ghostly body had no use for air or the breathing of it. The tightness persisted and Mack stared at the teacher man until he realized he was staring, then averted his gaze. Everyone in the circle leaned in, waiting for Mack’s response.

“D-do I look like my daddy is Black?”

“No. No, you don’t. That’s why I’m asking,” said the teacher man. 

Mack shook his head. “Not as far as I know. Only Black folks I know is some of the ones from school. But we don’t keep company with ‘em. No offense.”

 “None taken,” said the teacher man. He sighed. “I said one last question, but I lied. This next one is very important. Have you ever heard of Aberdeen Cemetery?”

 Mack shook his head. “No. Where’s that?” 

“I’m pretty sure it’s where you’re meant to be. I think there’s been a mixup. You see, all of us been here for a long, long time. Seen the world around this place change. But nothing changes about Evergreen. Out of all the things I might not understand, there’s one thing I know for sure.” 

“Evergreen is a Blacks only cemetery. You’re not supposed to be here.” 

III. 

Mack’s mouth hung slack. His head hinged side to side in disbelief. “This can’t be right. It has to be some kind of mistake,” he said. 

“Oh, there’s been a mistake alright!” called Walter. 

A hand on Mack’s shoulder jolted him. His eyes grew wide at the teacher man. 

“Relax son,” he said. “It’s okay. We’re going to help you figure this out.” 

“You can touch me?” 

“Yes,” said the teacher man. “We can all feel one another on this side. But I can’t hurt you. And I wouldn’t. I know this takes some getting used to. Just trying to calm you down.” Mack felt woozy, his entire being swirling within. He searched for a headstone to lean up against, but there were none around. He plopped down into the snow and crossed his legs. 

“How did I get here? How did this happen,” he thought out loud. 

“We have a hunch,” said a woman in a church hat with a slow drawl. “My name is Terri, since you ain’t ask. The only thing I can see happen is them folks down at the funeral home got you mixed up with Jay Mackenzie. If your folks stay to this side of town, ain’t no wonder they could have got confused.” 

“What? Who’s Jay Mackenzie?” 

“Sound like it’s you!” said Walter. Mack shook his head. 

“Nobody calls me Jay. Or Jeremy. Just Mack. I never heard of no Jay Mackenzie.” 

“Jeremy Mackenzie. He’s a good kid,” said the teacher man. He bit his bottom lip. “Was a good kid. About your age. He crossed over recently, just like you. And he’s probably lost right now. Confused. Just like you.” 

Mack gasped as the thought sprouted. 

“He’s probably in Aberdeen Cemetery. Where I’m supposed to be! Let’s just go get him and bring him here. Which way is it?” 

“Well, that might be harder—” started the teacher man. 

Mack scrambled up to his feet and looked toward the main road. He took a few swift strides toward the cemetery exit, but the farther he went, the heavier his legs felt;like dragging sandbags through a pool. He didn’t make it halfway to the exit before he collapsed into the snow, subdued by an excruciating fatigue. 

“What’s wrong with me?” he whimpered. 

“You ain’t got your spirit legs yet,” said Terri. 

“Spirit legs?” 

“Mhm. You a new spirit. Most new spirits can’t travel too far away from their body. Not without practice. Or a little help.” 

“What?! I thought…I mean, I’m a ghost, right? I thought I could do anything. Fly around, disappear, talk to my family. Why are there so many rules?” 

“The line that divides the worlds of the living and the dead is thin, my friend,” said the teacher man. “But it’s bold. First things first, don’t be going around calling yourself no ghost. You’re a spirit. A disembodied soul. But you still got everything inside that makes you, you. A ghost ain’t nothing but a shadow. A whisper of something that folks used to say out loud. You’re more than that. Much more.” 

Mack eyes fell to the snow. His brain couldn’t tell him why his heart felt ashamed.

The teacher man continued. “Terri will work with you on strengthening your spirit legs. Listen to her and stay focused. You may not get it down today, but don’t give up. All things in good time. The rest of us have some work to do.” 

“What kinda work?” asked Mack. 

“We have to find Jay Mackenzie,” he replied. 

“How are you gonna do that? You gonna head over to Aberdeen? Maybe you could tell my family—” 

“Not exactly,” the teacher man stopped him short. “It takes a lot of energy for a spirit to travel so far away from their body. The farther you go, the tougher it gets, as you just learned. So, before we go anywhere, we need to see if we can call him.” 

“Call him? How?” 

“This boy don’t know nothin’!” Walter smacked his teeth. The teacher man waved him off and kept going. 

“Through the spirit mind It’s similar to telepathy. But everybody is there all at once. It’s noisy. Another thing it takes time to learn. We’ll see if we can find Jay out there. Then, we’ll let him know what’s going on and get him to come to us.” 

“Okay…” Mack pondered with his tongue rubbing against his cheek. “But I don’t understand. If talking on the spirit mind and traveling far from your body are so difficult, and Jay is a new spirit just like me, how’s he going to be able to do it?” 

The teacher man’s smile stretched from earlobe to earlobe. 

“It’s clear you ain’t never met Jay Mackenzie. He’s one of a kind.” 

IV. 

Jay Mackenzie never liked hide and seek. 

There was something unsettling about being so alone. Folding yourself away from the world, listening to your heartbeat and your breath, waiting for the worst to happen. It has always been Jay’s least favorite game, but he got real good at it. Mostly because Jamal and Jarrod, his older brothers, loved to play. When they found him, it didn’t feel like the worst had happened at all. His brothers spotted him, their eyes rounding and smiles curling before giving chase, was the very best part of the game. The honor of being seen. The freedom of being found. Now, Jay’s elite hide and seek skills were all he had to protect him. 

Jay Mackenzie remembered dying. He’d watched the scatter of red and blue move toward him, blurry like light through water, as the sirens sounded. He felt the beat of his heart slow to a stop. Relaxed as his brain filed fleeting thoughts away for the final time. He closed his eyes, and floated away. Yes, Jay Mackenzie remembered every second of death frame by frame. So, he wasn’t surprised when he had awakened in a cemetery. A little disappointed, for sure, that his afterlife hadn’t began in time for him to attend his own funeral. Never mind it now. He’d start communing with his ancestors and the family he had left behind, and they’d tell him all about it. Luckily, Jay remembered everything about how to make contact: the white candles, the crystals, the postures, and the prayers. But when he reawakened, an unsettling tempest roared inside him.

Jay had visited the graves of his grandparents, great grandparents, great great grandparents (and so on) many times. Not all of them had headstones, so he’d learned to walk the paths by memory. He could do it with his eyes closed. As soon as he noticed the ornate adornments for grave plots in Aberdeen, his incorporeal form flashed hot. Jay didn’t know why, and he didn’t know how, but he knew he’d ended up in the wrong place. 

Jay knew what to do. His Great Aunt Florence had shown him long ago. Whenever a spirit is lost, they just have to focus. Meditate. Enter the spirit mind and find their kin and community. As long as you’ve been practicing your spiritual connection, there will always be someone available to guide you home. But halfway through Jay Mackenzie’s second night as a spirit, he was still too scared to achieve the level of focus he needed to establish the connection. He didn’t want to travel too far from his body for too long and get lagged. He would end up even more lost than he already was. 

As the sun set, and the countdown for the twisted game of hide and seek began, Jay shuffled off to one of the corners of Aberdeen Cemetery and tucked himself away, hoping the same spirits that had tormented him the night before would struggle to find him. 

“Yoo-hooooo, come on out here, boy! We know you ain’t gone far. We ain’t gon’ hurt you,” a voice called. A jagged cackle followed. A surreptitious murmur after that, like bees around a hive. Jay closed his eyes and squeezed himself into an even tighter ball. Long ago, his uncle Milton had taught him all about how Love could transcend the physical form. Hope. Pain. 

But nobody had ever told him about Fear. 

“Bring yourself out here, boy! We not going to tell you again!” another voice called. “You don’t belong here!” 

“Leave or we’ll make you leave!” 

Jay pressed his palms to his ears as hard as he could. But hearing as a spirit wasn’t the same as a living person. Ears were mostly just decoration in the afterlife. If a spirit spoke aloud anywhere near you, you’d hear it. At a high volume. Inside what used to be your mind. There was no escaping. 

A pressure behind Jay’s eyes begged him to cry. If spirits possessed tear ducts, he would have. Instead of listening to the threats of his new neighbors, he tried to fill his consciousness with memories of Jamal and Jerrod. He wanted to keep their voices close, to remember their tone and timbre until he had a chance to hear them again. Don’t cry, baby brother. You’ll be okay. We got you. We’ll always be here. 

Jay recalled as many comforting words as he could and played them on a loop in his mind. Things got a little easier. And the spirits of Aberdeen didn’t seem any closer to finding his hiding spot. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow, he’d make a plan. 

Tonight, he only needed to survive. 

V. 

“Is he picking up?” said Mack, fidgeting side to side next to Walter. 

“It ain’t exactly like making a phone call,” the elder said through gritted teeth. “Terri, please come get his boy and do something with him so I can focus.” 

“Come on over here, Mack. Let Walter have some peace and quiet.” Terri brought Mack over by the hand. “Walter is the eldest of us here. He’s got the most experience with the spirit 

mind. It can be tricky, you know? It’s like coming into a dark room and calling out for somebody. There’s a lot of folks that might answer, but you can’t really see to tell who’s who. You have to be able to single out who you’re looking for and focus on them real good.” 

“Sounds hard,” said Mack. 

Terri adjusted her hat. “Yeah, well, nothing worth doing ever came easy. It’s best for one of us to try at a time. If Walter strikes out trying to reach Jay, I’ll give it a go. Sooner or later, something will work out.” 

“But how can you be so sure?” asked Mack. 

Terri shrugged. “I guess it ain’t really about being sure,” she said. “It’s about not giving up until you get there. Now, come on. You’ve rested long enough. Let’s do some more spirit walking practice so you can move around a lil bit.” 

Terry kept showing Mack the ropes. Turns out there is a way you can breathe as a spirit. Well, it ain’t really breathing, but rather a form of manipulating how the spectral energy flows through your form. Balancing it makes it a bit easier to travel. Mack practiced distancing himself from his grave plot. First, just a few steps at a time. Then, a few more. No stranger to hard work, he learned quickly. Mack had almost made it to the woods at the back of the cemetery when he heard a long, sharp whistle. He looked toward the front gates of Evergreen. And that’s when he saw him for the first time. 

He couldn’t make him out all that well from far away, but it didn’t matter. Jay Mackenzie had a kind of glow to him. Not like some angel with a halo. A soft, blue-green aura that enveloped the whole of him and pulsed gently as he moved. Mack couldn’t hardly tell if it was a real glow or something he imagined. Maybe our saviors always come to us bathed in light. 

How else would we recognize them? 

Mack hustled over to where the Evergreen spirits had crowded around the newcomer. Hearty laughs and warm welcomes spread among the group. Mack saw Jay’s eyes flit to him as he entered the circle, but only for a second. What with all the conversation the elder spirits wanted to make with Jay, it would have been impolite for him to derail the discussion. “I’m so happy you’re here, Jay,” said the teacher man. 

Jay smiled. “Thanks, Pastor Mike. I’m really grateful for your help. There’s no way I could have made it all the way here without you and Mr. Walter. It’s good to see the rest of you, too. Wish it was under different circumstances.” 

The group gave an appropriately somber moment to Jay’s confession. Most of them had been dead for so long, and tended to get so excited about new visitors, they sometimes forgot that most of the spirits in Evergreen weren’t exactly jazzed to arrive there. 

“You made it,” said Mack, breaking the silence. “You really made it. All that way, on your own, too. I’m so happy. Now, I can finally get to where I belong.” 

Jay raised an eyebrow, twisted his lips. “Who are you?” 

“The guilty party!” said Walter. “This whole thing is his fault.” 

“Hush, Walter,” said Pastor Mike. 

“This ain’t gonna be the easiest or most fun thing to explain. And we don’t have much time. But this young man here...this is the other Jeremy Mackenzie. He’s in your spot. And you’re in his. And until we figure out how to make it right, you won’t be able to stay here.” 

Jay’s mouth fell open. He looked Mack up and down, then put his gaze back on Pastor Mike. The preacher man shrugged, smiled nervously. Mack stuck his hand out and grinned. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

V. 

It didn’t take long for Jay to warm up to Mack. But honestly, that said more about Ms. Lola’s boy than it did his ill-fated counterpart. 

Jay was just a kind-hearted person. 

Mack on the other hand, couldn’t seem to enjoy the company of his new acquaintances. Every few minutes, no matter where the conversation veered, he yanked it back aggressively with a so what are we going to do? How do you think we’ll be able to fix this? Does anybody have any ideas? 

“Boy, won’t you shut up?!” scolded Walter. “Rome wasn’t built in a day. I don’t know how you Aberdeeners welcome souls to your land, but we like to have some pleasantries with spirits. We spent a good while talking to you when you arrived, didn’t we? Let us talk to Jay! He’s the one who’s supposed to be here.” 

“I’m not an Aberdeener!” said Mack. “And I’m just trying to get home! Y’all said yourselves that Jay can’t stay here that long. It’ll be night time soon. Why are we wasting time talking about everything except the most important thing? I don’t wanna be here any more than y’all want me here. Seems like y’all would be trying harder to help me.” 

“Boy! You ungrateful—” Walter started. 

“Walter, now that’s enough,” said Terri. She gently grabbed his wrist. 

Walter snatched himself out of her grip. “No! It’s not enough, is it?” He looked directly at Mack. “It’s never enough. Not for you or the others like you. Maybe you ain’t never been to Aberdeen. But yous as much of an Aberdeener as I’ve ever met. Don’t you know some of us spend our whole lives following up behind white folks. For jobs. For school. For safety. Doing whatever they say we gotta do just to make a decent damn life.” 

Walter’s voice cracked with emotion. 

“We die and maybe have our only shot at getting some peace, and here you come. Been a spirit for two seconds and already see fit to boss us around. You don’t have no respect. You should be ashamed to be named Jeremy Mackenzie when there’s another one right here so much better than you. Leave it up to me, I don’t care if you ever get to where you supposed to go. If I could bring Jay home and leave you to the fates, I would.” Walter turned and looked at all the Evergreen spirits gathered around. “And don’t none of y’all go judging me about it neither, because he would do the exact same thing to Jay if he had any kind of power to.” 

Many of the faces in the circle fixed their stares on Mack. He felt what tasted like guilt sizzling in his mouth. Of course he wouldn’t just strand Jay if he could head over to Aberdeen...or would he? I mean, Jay would be fine, right? He already knew how to spirit walk and commune. If Mack had a chance to get free, wouldn’t it be right to take it? Jay had an entire community of people invested in helping him get home. What did Mack have? His only option was to fend for himself. Something like anger coursed through his arms and legs, hot and prickly. He decided nobody could make him feel bad about doing what he needed to do to survive.

 “That’s too much, Walter,” said Pastor Mike. “I think you oughta rest.” 

Walter grunted and walked off toward his plot. When he reached it, he closed his eyes and disappeared into the icy mist of dusk. Jay was the next to speak up. 

“I understand what Mr. Walter was saying,” he started. “But I think Mack has a point. What can we actually do? I don’t want to stay in Aberdeen. But as long as my body is there...what options do I have? I’m already scared to go back. Those spirits over there terrorize me every night.” 

“Terrorize?” said Mack? “What do you mean?”

“They chase me. They call me names and try to find me when I hide. They tell me I don’t belong and that I need to leave. I just been running and hiding. I don’t know what they’ll do if they catch me.” 

“But Pastor Mike said spirits can’t hurt other spirits. Right?” said Mack. Both boys turned toward the pastor. 

He nodded. “That’s right, Jay. They’re just trying to scare you. That don’t make it any better. But they can’t hurt you. I would say stand up to ‘em. Forever is a long time to run from a bully. But I know that’ easier said than done.” 

Guilt filtered through Mack’s misty body. But why? He hadn’t done anything wrong. He thought back to his arrival in Evergreen. All of the spirits there had been so welcoming, even though he didn’t belong. They’d calmed him down when he was scared. They helped him figure out the problem and even work on some solutions. They taught him new things. He’d never even considered that they could have rejected him, or worse—tormented him the way the spirits in Aberdeen had done to Jay. Mack regretted what he had said to Mr. Walter, now. His spirit sank, heavy. A chill snaked from the base of his neck all the way down to his toes.

The spirits in Evergreen didn’t want him gone. They cared about him, even though he wasn’t one of their own. And all he cared about was hurrying over to a place where spirits menaced other spirits. What if they did the same to him? Because he was poor, or because he was late, or because they knew he’d come from Evergreen. What would all his enthusiasm about getting to Aberdeen be worth then? 

“I’m sorry,” Mack mumbled. “I know Mr. Walter can’t hear me right now, but I’m sorry. I’ve been acting like a real jerk. Y’all have been so kind to me since I showed up here. Pastor Mike, I never even asked your name. I been treating Evergreen like a pit stop, and 

y’all have been treating me like a guest in your home. It’s a lot of stuff my mama ain’t teach me, I reckon. She ain’t have all that much time. But she taught me much better than this. I’m really sorry.” 

Pastor Mike smiled. So did Terri. And many of the other spirits gathered. 

“Thanks for saying that, Mack,” said Pastor Mike. “Maybe you can tell Walter later. Being a new spirit isn’t easy — for anybody. But you’re learning a lot, and fast.” 

“Fast as all get out,” said Terri. “And remember what I said about not giving up. We put all our heads together and I’m sure we can figure something out. You’re smart as a whip and Jay can spirit travel like he’s been dead 100 years,” she laughed. 

“That’s it!” Mack’s eyes rounded and elation, inspiration, and epiphany scattered through his form, carrying him high like a bubble in the wind. He floated, bobbing up and down.  

“I know how we can get our bodies to the right places,” he said, looking directly at Jay. “You’re gonna haunt ‘em. You’re gonna haunt ‘em good.” 

VII. 

“It’s just like playing pranks on your brothers,” Mack said. He paced back and forth, narrating with his hands. “Or...maybe like something like those mean spirits tried to do to you over in Aberdeen. You can use your spirit travel talents to visit the funeral director. You can haunt him into realizing he made a mistake!” 

Jay shifted side to side. The sunset glow shone through him. Some of the Evergreen spirits seemed to think Mack’s idea was a pretty good one. 

“It’s just...I don’t know the first thing about haunting,” said Jay. He looked at the ground. “And the thought of treating somebody they treated me at Aberdeen...I don’t know if I could do it.” 

“It’ll be easy!” replied Mack. “Just think of it as payback. This is all the funeral director’s fault. Not yours. Not mine. We won’t hurt anybody. Just a little nudge to get them to do the right thing.” 

Pastor Mike rubbed his chin. “Mack, that’s a pretty good idea. I like it in theory, but there’s a big problem.” 

“Huh? What’s that?” 

“It ain’t gonna work,” he said, stone-faced. 

“What?! How come?” 

The pastor sighed. “Jay wouldn’t be the first, nor the last, ghost to try to haunt some folks on your side of town. Fact of the matter is, a lot of people don’t understand the dead. I didn’t, until I was one of ‘em. They look at spirits as a thing of the past. And that’s if they look at ‘em at all. Some people just convince themselves that who they’re seeing is all in their heads.” 

Mack felt a rumbling in his core. “But Pastor Mike, there’s gotta be some way for it to work. Spirits been haunting people for, like, millions of years. I’m sure somebody has figured out some tricks to make it more successful.” 

“There’s a few.” Terri cut in. “Mike is always so shy on the hard topics. We know some ways to make it undeniable to a living person that they’re being visited by a spirit.” 

“Great!” Mack felt excitement swelling in him once more.

“But there’s still a problem.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“Ain’t no white folks yo side of town gonna listen to no Black ghost.” 

Mack froze. He eyed the crowd, hacked out a chuckle, then another. A full-on laugh tried to fight its way out, but when no one else stirred, Mack swallowed it down. He respirated his energy to balance and focused on Ms. Terri. 

“Why not?” Mack asked softly. 

“Well, I reckon it ain’t much different than when we’re living. Think about it. It’s a lot of times we can’t be convincing enough in the flesh to sway ‘em. They don’t respect us. Now, we’re dead, can’t force a change, can only make threats. A Black ghost ain’t a reckoning for a living white person. It’s a minor inconvenience.” 

“There are folks living in former plantation houses, working in prisons, full of Black ghosts. As we speak,” said Pastor Mike. “They don’t care, Mack.” 

Mack felt light, like the mist of his form was evaporating. Discouragement, maybe? Hopelessness. He looked around at the Evergreen spirits and wondered how often many of them had felt the exact same way, even before they died. He wondered how they’d made it through their lives carrying such a heavy burden. 

“I’m sorry,” said Mack. “About all this.” 

“Yeah,” said Pastor Mike, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Me too.” 

“I hate to be suggestive, but, it does seem like there’s another way,” said Jay. “You could do the haunting yourself. That solves every problem.” 

A swirl of temperatures and sensations came over Mack. He couldn’t separate them from one another and couldn’t begin to discern what they all meant stacked on top of each other. He noticed everyone standing around looking at him. He chuckled again and wrung his hands. 

“Oh. Oh, no. I mean. I would, but I’m not ready.” 

“We ain’t got nothing but time,” said Jay. 

Could Mack do it? Could he haunt the funeral director instead? Maybe a white ghost would be more persuasive. In Mack’s two days as a spirit, this dilemma had grown from finding his rightful resting place into making sure Jay could get reunited with his people. Trying to end his suffering for something that wasn’t his fault. Mack didn’t have the spirit travel skills like Jay. Who knew how long it would take him to get strong enough to leave the cemetery and head into town? To conjure up a haunt. And to sustain the effort until it paid off. He might be working on this project for months. Maybe even years. 

Was it worth it? 

“I...I don’t think I can,” said Mack. “I mean, I’m not strong enough. You’re a much better traveler than me. It’ll take me ages to figure out how to pull this off.” 

“But you’re the best person for the job,” said Pastor Mike. “Your body is here. As long as that’s true, you’ll be safe in Evergreen. And welcome. If you don’t want to help Jay, that’s your choice. But the rest of us are committed to figuring out how he can get to a safer, more welcoming place, too. I want you to think about it, Mack. This isn’t the same life you lived before. You can be different. Make something new of yourself.” 

“I know you’re scared, Mack,” said Terri. “But that’s because this is scary. It’s supposed to be hard. But that doesn’t make it any less important. Any less necessary. You’ve got a choice to make and maybe it feels like one of the hardest ones you’ve ever made. Are you going to stay comfy and let the hard work pass you by? Or are you going to rise to the occasion?” 

Thoughts tumbled through Mack. He looked at Jay’s encouraging smile. Terri clasped her hands in anticipation. Pastor Mike gave him an nod. And in the distance, Walter had resurfaced, leaning against his headstone. He tipped his cap.

“I only have one question,” said Mack. 

“What’s that, young man?” said Pastor Mike. 

“I just want to ask for your permission — all of you — to stay here in Evergreen and learn. You’ve already taught me so much. And I know none of you signed up for this. I can’t be sure how long it’ll take me to figure this stuff out. But I want to do it. I know with your help, I can get strong enough and clever enough to haunt the funeral director and get Jay back where he belongs. With your blessing, I’d like to stay here and give it my all.” 

Pastor Mike nodded with a smile in his eye. “As long as you need, young man. As long as you need.” The rest of the spirits in Evergreen burst into applause, with whistles and shouts of jubilee. Mack’s spirit warmed again, without the sticky feeling from before. This time everything around him felt soft. Strong. Loving. Like a hug.

Mack smiled and shook his hand. He turned and offered the same hand to Jay. “We’re gonna figure this out and bring you home,” he said. 

“I know we will.” Jay smiled. “But speaking of getting home, it’s mighty dark out and I’m feeling a little woozy. I think I should probably head back to Aberdeen for the night. Maybe I can come by tomorrow and we can practice some more. Keep making the plan.” Mack nodded. “I would like that.” 

“Come on, Jay,” said Pastor Mike. “I’ll go with—” 

“Pastor Mike,” Mack interjected. 

“Huh?” 

“You think maybe I could walk with Jay? It’ll be a good ending to my exercise for the day. And I can probably help him with those spirits over there, too. Distract ‘em at least.”

“That’s kind of you, Mack, but I don’t know if you’re ready.” 

Mack looked at Terri. She raised an eyebrow and smiled without teeth.

“He can do it,” she called. “Fastest learner I’ve seen since you, Mike. If he goes straight there and back, he’ll be just fine. But if you take too long, Mack, we’re coming to get you.” 

“Yes, ma’am. There and back. I got it.” 

The pastor smiled and put his arm around Terri. All the spirits of Evergreen watched as both Jeremy Mackenzies shuffled around the grave plots, careful not to walk over any Evergreeners still resting. They reached the gate, then the sidewalk, turned and were out of sight shortly after. The sun went to sleep, and the shadow of a nightjar cut across the face of the moon. 

Hugh “H.D.” Hunter is  from Atlanta, Georgia. He’s the author of Torment: A Novella and Something Like Right, which won the 2025 Children and Youth Literary award for a debut novel. You can find his short fiction online in Porter House Review.

Hugh authored the Futureland series, including Battle for the Park, which was named a Georgia Center for the Book 2023 Book All Young Georgians Should Read and the 2023-2024  VAReads Chapter Book of the Year. Battle for the Park is also a 2024 selection for the CORE Excellence in Children’s Science Fiction Notable list and the 2025 Read Across America selection for the state of Georgia.

Hugh is an alum of the inaugural Tin House Young Adult Fiction Workshop. He’s served as both a moderator and panelist at FIYAHCON. He’s a “cocoa” founder of the Voodoonauts Summer Fellowship for Black speculative fiction writers, and his teaching credits include Tin House, PocketMFA, Clarion West Online, Catapult, and a Writer-in-Residence position with the PEN/Faulkner Foundation