Free Brush With Death by E.J. Stevens

into the
soil of Mother Earth for other purposes.  An evil man has hidden his secrets in
the ground.”
    “So, I, like, need to dig a hole or something?” I asked.  I
bit my lip, feeling totally confused.  Why did my spirit guide always have to
speak in riddles?
    “The answers you seek are beneath the earth,” she
said.
    My spirit guide lifted her arms above her head in a series
of bizarre motions, as if she were directing a plane to land.  The wind picked
up and lifted dry sand and red dust into mini-tornados all around me.  I closed
my eyes and slapped a hand over my face to cover my nose and mouth.
    “Don’t forget child,” she said.  “The answers are
there for you to discover, if you take the time to look.”
    *****
     
    I woke with a gasp, returning to my body where it sat
sprawled over the small stool.  I sat upright and stretched, feeling stiff and
sore.  I shook the pins and needles sensation out of my foot and looked myself
over.  The front of my clothes felt damp, but it hadn’t rained while my spirit
was away.  Son of dung beetle, rain would have ruined my painting.
    I stood, checking for damage.  My painting sat safely on its
easel, but I couldn’t say the same for my clothes.
    Paint covered my chest where I’d slouched over the palette,
and more shone wetly across my lap.  Great, that’s never coming out.
    I grabbed a rag and wiped away some of the paint, but gave
up.  My clothes would just have to wait.  It was getting dark, fast.  I started
packing up my things, careful to secure my new painting on the back of the
bicycle where nothing would touch the drying paint.  I’d have to be careful
while riding home in the dim light.  One spill on my bike would totally destroy
the work I completed today.
    The sun was already setting, reminding me of the need to
leave and the fact that I had missed dinner.  My stomach growled its
displeasure.
    I searched quickly through my backpack and retrieved a bag
of trail mix, skittles, and bottled water.  I gulped water and ate a few
mouthfuls of trail mix.  The ghost continued to hover beside the rose bush,
making me suddenly feel guilty about not sharing my food.  But ghosts can’t
eat, right?
    Still it seemed rude not to share.
    I approached the ghost with a handful of trail mix, trying
to figure out where to leave the offering.  A sun bleached rock peeked out of
the ground beneath the rose bush, presenting an unlikely place to dine, but it
was better than placing the food in a patch of grass. 
    I knelt, not caring about my already ruined skirt, and
brushed off the rock with my hand.  Rain and wind had uncovered some of the
stone, but as I touched the dirt, clumps of soil and moss fell away in clumps.
    My spirit guide was right—there really was something buried beneath
the ground.
    And, unless it was just my imagination, this wasn’t a rock. 
I’d found a dead body.  I dropped the food to the ground, suddenly not feeling so
hungry.
    Oh em gees, I just touched a dead person.  I wiped my hand
down my skirt and tried to stifle a scream that rose up from my toes to my
mouth.  I swallowed the scream, but my stomach churned loudly.  I was seriously
regretting eating that trail mix.
    I squinted in the growing dark.  I’ve watched a lot of
horror movies and knew in my gut what I was looking at.  Oh yeah, that’s a human
skull alright.
    The twilit skull seemed to draw the final glow of light from
the fading day, casting the accusing eye sockets into shadow.  Even the
overhanging rose bush, which had looked so beautiful a few moments ago, now
seemed to reach its thorns ominously above my head. 
    I crawled backward, distancing myself from the ghoulish
find.  Strands of hair had fallen loose and now hit my shoulders as I shook my
head in denial. 
    “No, no, no,” I whispered.  “I didn’t just spend the day
with a dead body.”
    Ghosts are spooky enough, but some poor person’s skull?—that
was just plain freaky.  I need to get