Human babies steal your teeth but ghost babies steal your soul. That\u2019s how Auntie Zhou lost hers after her husband died from brain cancer. She has a nursery in the huge, empty master bedroom, fashioned with a crib and blankets where the dresser once stood. Several times a week, she reorients the furniture, optimizing feng shui with changes in the position of the sun and rotation of the earth. According to Ben, Auntie Zhou didn\u2019t even cry during delivery because she thought it\u2019d draw evil spirits. She swallowed her tears like ginger water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAren\u2019t ghost babies the same as evil spirits?\u201d I wonder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHow can it be evil when it\u2019s nourished by Auntie Zhou\u2019s soul?\u201d Ben asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We check up on Auntie Zhou once a week: wash her bed sheets, scrub down the bathtub, mow the lawn. Since losing her soul, she has been neglecting the chores she once did religiously. I have never been close with Auntie Zhou so her indifference doesn\u2019t bother me. Auntie Zhou rarely visited our parents\u2014not even when nai nai got a stroke in the middle of haggling down a fish head. We were all supposed to attend the funeral and put together money for ye ye\u2019s living expenses and discuss how he was going to move in with one of us. But the only person who had spare room in their house was Auntie Zhou who found out about nai nai\u2019s death two months later when nai nai\u2019s jewelry arrived from China in cardboard boxes. I think she and her husband had been on one of those cruises populated with rich, retired bird watchers at the time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The jewelry dad received from nai nai\u2019s inheritance is supposedly for when Ben and I both get married. We must be draped in gold, all the world\u2019s fortune glimmering on our bodies. We\u2019re not sure what Auntie Zhou did with her portion since she prefers modern jewelry, an \u201cavant-garde taste\u201d composed of asymmetrical patterns and sterling silver. Gold and yellow are stale colors, according to her. But now she doesn\u2019t even wear the silver bangle she claimed would suck out her body\u2019s toxins. She drifts around the house with her ghost baby, singing lullabies and rocking the baby like it\u2019s a basket of eggs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ben was there during the ghost baby\u2019s delivery. Auntie Zhou had always been closer to him than me. She liked to call me a \u201ccrow girl\u201d because I started wearing makeup and socializing with kids from families with Lamborghinis while Ben stayed holed up in his room playing video games. \u201cWhat do you have left if you don\u2019t stick to your true self?\u201d She accused me of being fake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy true self is a social butterfly,\u201d I said. I think she just didn\u2019t like how she stumbled through her words when confronted by strangers, stuttering and messing up tenses and pronouns while you couldn\u2019t tell English was my second language.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The baby flowed out of Auntie Zhou\u2019s body. \u201cLike the wind,\u201d Ben tells me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDid you catch it in a jar?\u201d I ask. If you don\u2019t catch the ghost, there\u2019s no hope in reclaiming your soul. The baby runs away with it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cShe wouldn\u2019t let me,\u201d Ben says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re not supposed to listen to her,\u201d I sigh. \u201cThat\u2019s how you end up with husk people.\u201d Auntie Zhou is already like a corn husk, her baby hollowing her out, drying her up. The only reason she hasn\u2019t turned full ghost is because ghost babies can\u2019t steal your physical form like human babies can. Auntie Zhou still has all her yellowing, gum-receded teeth and she can squat flat-footed by the garden for hours while clipping pea shoots. She can lift buckets of shower water and haul them into the backyard to water the plants. She can reach her elbow back and pull up the zipper of her shiny black Ann Taylor dress without anyone\u2019s assistance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019m not sure why Auntie Zhou wanted a ghost baby in the first place. Ghost babies are only liabilities from what I\u2019ve seen. If she wanted someone to keep her company now that she\u2019s a widow, she should\u2019ve had a physical baby. And everyone knows ghost babies vanish into the atmosphere if you\u2019re not careful, their form barely held together by the stolen souls of mothers, their bodies weak against the mass of already dissipated spirits lingering in the air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019m convinced Auntie Zhou\u2019s baby has already been torn apart, particles scattered across the sea, although it\u2019s not like Ben or I can tell. Only those who\u2019ve birthed ghost babies know where they are, if they\u2019ve left. People like us can only sense them during the split second they leave their mother\u2019s bodies, the feeling of your bones freezing, your stomach lurching. Ben was throwing up for three days after Auntie Zhou\u2019s delivery. I had to scrub away the vomit crusted on the upper sides of the toilet. Ben said he thought he\u2019d never be warm again. I thought he\u2019d been exaggerating.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I am sorting through Auntie Zhou\u2019s mail when the cold cuts through the summer humidity. Letters spill out of her mailbox\u2014mostly newspapers, the occasional flier to join the Chinese Christian Church, bank statements that get emailed anyway. I recycle most of it and place the remaining condolence letters on the counter. Only Auntie Zhou\u2019s white friends send her letters with pre-printed messages in fancy envelopes. Her Asian friends deliver crates of vegetables and tofu purchased in bulk from their grocery WeChat group. Even soulless, Auntie Zhou cooks the vegetables. She never reads her letters. \u201cAnyone who has anything important to say has my number or email and can message me there or fly to my house and chase me down. Easy enough to find my address these days online,\u201d she\u2019d say. But the envelopes look too fancy to recycle. If Auntie Zhou doesn\u2019t read them after a year, I\u2019m going to cut them up and use the fancy paper for wedding decorations.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As I flip through the letters, trying to count how many are from people I know, an icy, sharp breeze of air spreads through the room, heavy and dense, drowning me. When I open my mouth to breathe, the air seems to weigh my lungs down rather than provide oxygen. The cold presses over me. Auntie Zhou stands by the kitchen doorway, arms by her side, facial expression loose like she\u2019s letting her skin sag straight off her bones.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy baby left me,\u201d she says, looking past me at the windows opening to the backyard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou sure?\u201d I ask. \u201cI just felt it.\u201d Or what I think is it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThere are too many gaps in this house,\u201d she continues. \u201cToo many holes. Have we filled the keyholes in the doors? Replaced the vent covers with solid covers? And these windows\u2014we need to board them up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHow are you going to leave the house?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Auntie Zhou shifts her gaze to me. \u201cWho\u2019s leaving this house? We already lost two. This is why kids like you end up dead so early\u2014only thinking about meeting up with others, not considering family, and then poof\u2014drug overdose or drunk driving or gunman gets you. You think I don\u2019t read the news. I know what\u2019s going on in this country.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I try to change the conversation. \u201cWill you still take care of your garden?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou think I\u2019m a plant killer now, do you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo you\u2019ll leave the back door openable?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAh?\u201d Auntie Zhou says, her inflection rising. It\u2019s the incredulous, caustic \u201cah\u201d that she draws out, savoring each second of outrage. \u201cOf course I will.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNothing can escape through the back door?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe garden is part of this household. That\u2019s not an escape.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I don\u2019t follow her logic on how this is supposed to prevent a ghost baby from dissipating, but Auntie Zhou has already begun closing and locking the windows, leaving the cold air trapped here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe cold isn\u2019t good for aging knees,\u201d I tell her. Ben kept reminding me to make sure Auntie Zhou wasn\u2019t destroying her body. I figure with this, I\u2019ve honored his request. He should\u2019ve just come along if he cared so much, but he has an important gaming tournament right now and needs to be holed up in his room. I wonder if Auntie Zhou would think Ben was such a good kid if she knew he\u2019d bailed today. She\u2019d probably say it\u2019s good he\u2019s pursuing his hobbies unlike me, the hobbyless failure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou think I\u2019m trying to climb to the heavens? What do I need sturdy knees for?\u201d She continues slamming the windows shut. One of them is wide open and she reaches upward, unable to grasp the edge. I think Auntie Zhou has shrunk within the last year, but Ben thinks it\u2019s just because we\u2019ve grown taller, even though he\u2019s the only one who has gotten taller and me wider\u2014\u201ctoo much salt, ballooning like a sponge\u201d as Auntie Zhou likes to say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHelp me close this,\u201d she finally asks after brushing her fingers against the edge several times.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOnce a ghost baby is gone, it\u2019s gone,\u201d I say, not moving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhy do you always have so much to say? Just close this window.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I head over to where she stands, and as I walk, the cold seems to follow. I shut the window and turn around. \u201cNow what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy baby is here, here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBetter stick it in a jar before it escapes.\u201d Although I think the baby is better off escaping. Maybe it\u2019d at least have a chance to see the lake where I\u2019d go deep water soloing\u2014climb several feet up and then jump. I tried to drag Ben with me because springing from the stone feels like flying through the universe, but he thought he\u2019d die. Auntie Zhou thought the same when he accidentally told her where I often disappeared to. \u201cStupid risk-taking behavior,\u201d she called it. The baby wouldn\u2019t have much time to explore before it\u2019d irrevocably dissipate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhere are those jars?\u201d she mumbles. Auntie Zhou begins rummaging through the cabinets of takeout plastic containers she refused to throw away. The lids are punctured to let steam through, unable to contain leftover soup without leaking, never mind a ghost baby. I stand in front of the cabinet I know to contain the emptied and washed jars. They once held fermented tofu or rice or cabbage, but Auntie Zhou doesn\u2019t care about ingesting every form of healthy gut bacteria anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Auntie Zhou\u2019s motions grow more and more rushed and erratic, her eyebrows increasingly scrunched, her lips pursed. I don\u2019t budge from my position, guarding the glass jars.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTch,\u201d she tsks. It\u2019s the same sound she makes whenever someone does something wrong, like accidentally kicking water onto her pant cuff while they\u2019re running through a puddle, a tsk that hauls blame like a mountain onto a person\u2019s shoulders.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Auntie Zhou leaves the kitchen. I can hear her opening and closing doors of the closets and bathroom cabinets, her footsteps light as she treads into the basement to dig up tightly sealed jars. It sounds like she\u2019s gently tearing the house apart. As quietly as possible, I open the cabinet I\u2019m guarding and gather the ten glass jars and place them in one of those reusable fabric grocery bags that Auntie Zhou always forgets to bring to the store. I sneak out the back door which Auntie Zhou thinks she doesn\u2019t need to barricade, and shatter the glass on the sidewalk. I imagine setting ten ghost babies free.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lucy Zhang writes, codes, and watches anime. Her work has appeared in The Molotov Cocktail<\/em>, Interzone<\/em>, Hayden\u2019s Ferry Review<\/em>, and elsewhere. She is the author of the chapbooks Hollowed <\/em>(Thirty West Publishing, 2022) and Absorption <\/em>(Harbor Review, 2022). Find her at https:\/\/lucyzhang.tech<\/a> or on Twitter @Dango_Ramen.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" She drifts around the house with her ghost baby, singing lullabies and rocking the baby like it\u2019s a basket of eggs.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":1939,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[84],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1938"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1938"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1938\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/1939"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1938"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1938"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1938"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}