Claire

By the time I got out of the hospital, I was in full freak-out mode.

For most people, making a mistake is a normal part of life. It's unpleasant, but not panic-inducing. For us it's different: every time we fail to do something that we think we should have been able to do, a bell rings in our minds, asking: 'Is it just a mistake, or is it a sign of something far worse?'.

Is it the Disease?

Every wraith has a small ritual to test for the symptoms. These rituals are not always reliable, but it's better than nothing. My mom used to play the piano. I remember her playing to me every day, smiling, beautiful sounds of old music flowing through our small apartment and through me. Those moments were special to me, almost magical.

But I also remember her skill deteriorating, her melodies becoming slow and unsure, breaking, until one day all I could hear was the cacophony of mismatched notes. Her smile turning into confusion into terror. That was how we knew.

She taught me to play, too, but after she was gone I couldn't be close to a piano, let alone touch one. I invented my own ritual, as far away removed from hers as I could imagine. But it was a while since I felt the need to perform it.

I walked the streets looking for what I needed until I noticed a colorful sign above a glass door. The wind chimes rang when I came inside the toy store, and several customers, mostly women, gave me a glancing look. The thing I was looking for was easy to find: a simple Rubik's cube in a plastic cover. I bought it with the loose change from my pockets and hurried outside.

My feet took me to the lakeside, where grey water was freezing under a cloudy sky. I sat on a bench and unpacked the cube, nervous. My hands were shaking badly.

It took me a few minutes of breathing to calm down a little. I mixed the cube, trying not to pay attention to the feeling of dread rising in my chest. There are two ways to solve a Rubik's cube: one is improvisation, and the other one is memorization. The algorithms you need to memorize are not very hard, and if you practice long enough, your muscles will remember what to do. But I was very careful not to learn the algorithms. For me, solving a Rubik's cube was an exercise in three-dimensional thinking and creating mental abstractions. Which were some of the first things you lose when the Disease gets its claws into your mind.

So, maybe, If I can solve a Rubik's cube, I'm alright.

Finally, I sighed and started working. Cold sweat trickled down my spine. After a few minutes, though, the cube was done.

An old man was walking by. A waved at him and raised the toy.

'I'm sorry, mister. Did I miss any squares?'

He took a look.

'Doesn't look like it. Very good job, young man!'

The relief I felt was hard to describe.

'Thank you.'

I leaned back and took a big gulp of air. The world was crisp and fresh around me. Suddenly, I felt good. Really good. Everything felt amazing: the cold, the smell of coming snow, the cries of seagulls celebrating another day of flying and hunting, of being alive.

It's small things that make you happy.

'Wow. I've never seen anyone be so full of themselves after solving a kids toy.'

I looked up expecting to see the old man I asked for confirmation, but he was already twenty meters away. Instead, I saw the girl from this morning, the one whose smile distracted me during the test. In my great mood, she wasn't as average as I thought when seeing her the first time: she looked rather pretty.

Which threw me off even more than the shock of seeing her here in the first place.

'I know you.'

'No shit, Sherlock. You poured me the worst cup of coffee I've tasted since my mom bothered to turn on the coffee maker like four years ago.'

I sat straight, a little bit dumbfounded as to what to say. I might be a wraith, but pretty girls make a fool out of me just as they do out of human males.

'If you must now, my coffee is the best. And this is not a toy, it's a puzzle. Here, you try.'

I presented her with the cube, but she didn't take it.

'Maybe if I had a normal coffee this morning I would.'

She was wearing torn black jeans, a t-shirt with some metal band logo and a warm hoodie, unzipped despite the cold. She was looking rebellious and kickass, while I was looking like an idiot sitting on a bench with my hand outstretched.

'So is this like your thing, anyway? A bartender by night, a weirdo with a toy fetish by day?'

That smile again.

I put the Rubik's cube in my pocket.

'Yeah, exactly that. Shouldn't you be in class, by the way? Instead of bothering innocent perverts at the lakeside?'

I figured she was a university girl, and the campus was nearby, which could have explained how I've managed to bump into her twice in one day.

'Nah, I'm cutting classes today. It's your fault, I just couldn't concentrate on anything except for how awful that coffee was. But don't worry, I only go to the university as a backup plan. My true ambition is to make a career as a benevolent witch. Maybe start a cult.'

She sat on the bench and procured a cigarette pack from somewhere in her hoodie, looking as relaxed and comfortable with the world as a Buddhist monk meditating at the top of a mountain in the Himalayas.

'I'm Claire, by the way.'

I smiled despite myself.

'Nice to meet you, Claire. I'm zero six eleven.'

Only when I saw a shadow of confusion on her face did I realize that I used my PA number instead of my actual name. The smile froze on my face.

'That's my serial number. You see, bartending is just my side gig. I'm actually an alien robot sent to Earth to infiltrate the human race. Earthlings call me Matthew.'

'Wow, Matt. You're a shitty infiltrator, spilling your metal guts like that to a stranger.'

She lit a cigarette and looked at me with joyful sparks in her eyes.

'So tell me. What's your alien overlord's stand on entrepreneurial witches? Or amateur cult leaders?'