Hunter's Redemption. Eleni P Sianis
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contact those loved ones with an apologetic message.
“Can you help me? I can’t rest unless you help me,” a twentysomething-year-old man says.
“I don’t do that. You have the wrong Hunter. Stop following me.”
“But, you can help me.”
“It doesn’t matter! I don’t care!” Mason shouts as he stops in his tracks and turns to yell at the ghost, “Go away!”
Just then, Mr. Hamel opens his creaky screen door and stands on his porch looking at Mason with arms folded across his chest. Mason looks at him, and Mr. Hamel just shakes his head in a disapproving manner. Mrs. Hamel steps outside, and Mason can see the husband whispering to his wife about the “crazy Hunter kid.”
Great, more gossip, Mason thinks as he picks up his pace. What an idiot he was to speak to a ghost in public like that. When he is out of the Hamels’ sight, Mason quickly looks around to make sure no one is watching, and he kicks a garbage can on the side of the road, knocking it over and spilling trash everywhere. It feels good to make a mess for someone else to deal with.
Finally, he is almost home. This time of year, the path that leads to the Hunters’ front door is lined with beautiful cabbages and mums in deep oranges and yellows interwoven with overgrown kale plants. Although it is mid-October, ferns still hang in a neat row along the porch ceiling. Wide wooden planks stained gray and laid across the long porch are peeling and in need of repair.
Mason’s mother, Hannah Hunter, follows the Feng Shui philosophy that red at the entrance of one’s home brings good fortune and so refinished their front door with a bright-red wood stain. She transformed the family room of their historic home into her own personal workplace several years ago. From the outside, it seems that people come and go as they might in any shop. However, Mason’s mother isn’t a shopkeeper selling unique home goods or souvenirs like other businesses in Peaks Island.
Upon pushing down on the large, golden latch to open the creaky front door, a cold autumn wind blows leaves into the foyer. Mason can already hear faint chatter and chairs slowly scratching the kitchen floor as several people move trancelike into a standing position. He knows they must be in shock having just finished a session communicating with a deceased relative. Absolute absorption and a profound intensity begin to build in his head. He knows what comes next. The ghosts sense another medium and are trying to reach Mason. Swarms of different colors cloud his mind and charge at Mason with an intense energy that makes him feel light-headed as he angrily swats them away like hornets attacking. Mason slams the door behind him.
A voice from another room shouts, “Mason, you’re home!”
Hannah appears in the foyer with her usual wool shawl (which Mason despises because it makes her look like a gypsy fortune-teller) draped over her shoulders. Mason continues to wave his arms in the air. Seeing his frustration during this supernatural experience, Hannah whispers in his ear, “It’s a gift, Mason. Don’t fight it, embrace it.” In a normal tone, she asks, “How was school?”
“It’s not a gift, it’s a curse. I don’t want to see ghosts. Everyone thinks we’re weird.”
“Mason, not now.” Turning to her guests as they enter the foyer to join them, Hannah says, “Mason is going through a confusing time right now. Teenagers, you know?”
Mason rolls his eyes in response. He wants to say more but knows it’s useless.
“I beat Jack again.” Mason always shares his winning games with Hannah. What Mason doesn’t share is how he wins. The memory of today’s game flashes back to him.
Mason is sitting across from Sarah, who is all confidence. Her straight black hair frames big, round, brown eyes. Two girls stand beside her and motion to more friends to come over and watch the game. A couple of guys, including Trent, come over and gather around the chess set on the lunch table. Trent looks at Mason and makes ghostly gestures. He adds a ghostly “boooohhh” and laughs.
“Sarah, why are you playing with this loser?” Trent asks.
“It’s for chess club, Trent. If I beat Mason Hunter, I can play in the championship next semester, and you know how top tier schools like that,” Sarah says while examining the chessboard. She doesn’t even look at Mason; it’s like he isn’t there at all.
Mason is there. He is there even if his classmates treat him like he is invisible. He wishes he could beat Sarah fair and square, but he knows he can’t, and right now there are others standing next to Mason who really are invisible. People only Mason can see, and this is his secret weapon.
“Line up your rook to protect the queen,” an old man only Mason can see says. Step-by-step, the old man guides Mason through the game until he makes a final move next to Sarah’s king, and Mason says, “Checkmate.”
Sarah’s jaw drops. The crowd dissipates without saying a word. Only Mrs. Janet, the chess club coach, smiles wide and congratulates Mason. Mason shakes Mrs. Janet’s hand and thanks her but can’t seem to make eye contact, knowing he didn’t win fairly.
Mason stormed out of the lunchroom and decided to cut class for the rest of the day. He kept thinking about Trent’s obnoxious laugh and Sarah’s indifference toward him. As much as he enjoyed seeing the shock on her face when he won, he couldn’t revel in his win, knowing he cheated. If only senior year would end and he could leave this place. He hoped that he never saw any of them again. He spent the rest of his day at the port to watch the ferries before returning home.
Back at the Hunters’ home, Hannah says, “I knew you would win.” She turns over her shoulder to look at her guests and says, “Mason is brilliant at chess. He has what it takes to become a grandmaster like Bobby Fischer!”
“Who?” asks one of the guests.
“Bobby Fischer. He became the youngest grandmaster in the 1950s or ’60s when he was only fifteen years old. Eventually, he became the World Chess Champion,” Mason replies.
“Hmm,” one woman replies with feigned interest.
In truth, Mason was not interested in pursuing a lifelong chess career like Bobby Fischer did because of the game itself. After all, Bobby Fischer was a paranoid eccentric who ended up living a reclusive life in Iceland. Some thought he was schizophrenic. Mason imagines a more exciting life for himself and knows that chess could be the means to the fame and fortune he longs for. He yearns for a life where he doesn’t have to deal with people like Trent. The title of grandmaster is a title he wants to attain not because he loves chess but because of all the people he could impress with it. At the very least, it would be a bonus on a college application and good for bragging rights at some future cocktail party or other event.
The two middle-aged women standing in the foyer smile at Mason and then sheepishly hug Hannah. “Thank you. We will call you to set up the next, uh, session,” one of them says.
They close the door, and Hannah says, “Let me clean up a bit. Apple slices? Or popcorn?”
“Both.”
In the kitchen, Mason sits at the kitchen table and watches his mother add two tablespoons of ghee to a medium-sized pot and turn on the stove. She adds the popcorn kernels, closes the lid, and begins washing and peeling an apple. In a few minutes, the popcorn kernels start popping.
“Did Ms. Garrett sign the detention form?” Hannah asks as she walks toward the table with a plate of apple slices and a bowl of popcorn. She bends over and kisses Mason on the cheek, which he wipes off. He feels guilty for doing so, but ever since he was about twelve years old, physical affection from his mother suddenly felt repulsive. It’s embarrassing and diminishes his perception of himself as a man. He was about to apologize, but Hannah pats Mason on the head before sitting down beside him. That made it so much worse.
The detention form for day 5 of detention was signed, and he had only three more days before being allowed regular lunch break. It had been six days since Mason was called into Principal Taylor’s office and warned, “These kinds of physical outbursts will not be