How could this have happened?
I heard that a lot in the months after.
My mom whispered it as we watched the paramedics wade out of the water, stretcher carried between them. It was written in the newspaper, beneath the pictures of me and my friends, bold like an accusation. A question no-one could answer. Then once again, after the funeral, when Robbies dad slid to the floor in front of us all and just sat, head down, crying. I heard him say it as a couple of the other fathers helped him up and took him home, his broken voice fading into the distance. I remember the awkward silence that followed, nobody wanting to be first to speak until our old teacher Miss Miller said, “Christ almighty the man lost his son. What were you all expecting?”
How could this have happened?
We lived in one of the safest towns in the entire country, didn’t we? Whole population was hardly 2000 and I knew most by name, even at that age. The most heinous local crime had been perpetrated by my own blessed uncle, drunk-driving his new Chevy into parked cars on the high street.
Then everything changed in a single night.
When someone so young passes it takes a piece of those closest. If you’ve been through it you know. It makes a hole in their lives, a part of their days now waiting empty, a place in their future that can’t be filled. It makes you question yourself, question your life. If something like this could happen then maybe the world isn’t like you thought.
There is nothing quite so fragile as what we know.
*
I walked back here tonight through what remains of our town. Streets are always empty now, silent homes with dark windows. Fallen leaves clinging wet to every surface, mist so thick it soaks you through. Summers gone into autumn like wood gone to rot. I left Matthews house about an hour ago, took the hill road that winds down to the bay, moonlight filtering through the trees. You can see the whole valley on the first few turns.
The forest is reclaiming this place, branches looming over roads and abandoned homes, weeds taking back yards and driveways. Hurts to see it. I try telling myself it’s just something that happens. Towns fade away, folk leaving for a hundred different reasons. But this was our town. This was my home.
You understand?
I’m at my parents place now, if I can still call it that. They moved years ago and I’ve been trying and failing to sell it for them ever since. Not a soul is interested. Even the rare few who come to see it never call again. Whole town’s the same. People just don’t want to come back.
Phone was ringing when I came in the door. I had that sinking feeling in my stomach as I reached for it, knowing it would be Matts wife Celia and knowing why.
“He’s gone.” she said, voice more tired than anything. After a moment I’d started to say her name, to say I was sorry, when she hung up and left me with the tone. I don’t blame her.
She had read about what happened to us when we were boys. And she was smart enough to realize there was more to it, more that Matt would never tell her. Took it to his grave in the end. I think she hates me for being part of the secrets that hurt him so. Don’t blame her for that either.
I put the phone down and sat watching it, waiting for something else I don’t know what. Made a coffee and let it go cold. Took my jacket off and held it in my lap, breathing heavy like I’d run a race.
Matthew gone at 59. At least I saw him before the end. What the cancer left of him anyways.
I’d known Matt since kindergarten, when we looked so alike people thought we were brothers. I thought of the 3 of us together, me and Matt and Robbie, boys with their whole lives ahead of them. Then I had to stop because the tears were stinging my eyes. That’s when I started writing this, God knows why. I suppose I got a story to tell and no-one to tell it to. Honestly, I didn’t even know if I could do it. If I could finally speak about what happened, if the spell was broken. But here we are. Guess there’s no-one left to hide it from.
In the pale night outside the red and gold autumn has turned to gray and black, like the colors of day were just another dream. Leaves rush past on the wind, tiny dark shapes in the starlight. Town looks like a ghost of the place it was and that isn’t too far from the truth. Just me and those empty homes now, lying in the quiet between black hills and cold water. I must be the only person for miles but I’ll still lock the doors and keep the lights on. Still lie awake, listening.
Let me tell you why.
*
We’ve all had secrets, haven’t we? Even when we were only kids. Most secrets are stupid things at that age of course, things you look back on and laugh about. Mine though, that was stranger than most.
When I was 5 years old my imaginary friend saved my life.
I know I know, stupid. Just give me a minute here. She was the same age as myself, short dark hair and olive skin, bright eyes and a flash of a smile. She came to my bedroom window and would sit on the ledge swinging her feet. We whispered to each other so my parents didn’t hear, talking till the sun sank and air grew cold. I never saw her anywhere else and never even knew her name. In my head she was always just “the girl”. From my earliest memories of her I understood she wasn’t a person like me. I saw her vanish once after leaving through the window, disappearing before her feet touched the grass, and accepted this as only a young child can. That line between reality and fantasy hadn’t yet hardened with age.
How long had I known her? What did we talk about? I don’t honestly know. How much do you remember from that age? First time I can recall details of one of her visits? The fire in 68.
My parents were away for the night so I was staying with my aunt and uncle. They had no kids of their own so I got a sleeping bag in the spare room. The girls voice woke me in the dark of the night. I know I wasn’t scared, just a little surprised seeing her anywhere other than my room. But there she was, sat on the floor like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Get up Jamie,” she whispered, “quickly!”
I remember sitting, rubbing at my eyes. I coughed and realized there was a smell of smoke in the air.
“There is a fire downstairs. You need to get out.”
I heard the crackle of the flames, saw the light of the blaze shining onto the lawn outside.
“Quickly Jamie, the back door.”
I ran to the hall, started shouting my aunt and uncle and pushed open their bedroom door. Truth be told it’s all a blur after that. I recall seeing my aunt sit up in bed, heard my uncle shout, a crash from downstairs and all of us coughing, my eyes stinging and a blast of heat before rushing into chill night air.
The three of us made it alright but it was too late for the house, not even the arrival of the fire department could save it. I didn’t find out what caused the fire till years later. Seems my uncle had too much to drink, started cooking something then forgot about it and went to bed. Would be a lie to say it wasn’t like him.
My parents collected me in the morning and a colder atmosphere between family I have never felt. It was the final straw between my father and his brother, to my knowledge they never spoke again. His wife left him soon after and he disappeared from town. Heaven knows what ever happened to him.
Next night, back home, my friend visited again. I was lying wide awake wondering if she would.
“You saved lives last night.” she told me, “You’re a hero.”
Now I wasn’t sure of that, but I was a young boy and it made me feel good so I took it. I recall her leaning back out the window and looking up to the sky, half smile on her lips as always.
“Remember James,” she said, “I’ll always watch out for you but you have to keep me secret, okay? If you tell anyone about me I can’t ever come back.”
“I won’t tell anybody.”
“You promise?”
“Promise.”
“Swear?”
“Swear.”
She gave a little laugh, face lit up in the moonlight. Then she was gone.
*
Seasons went by, birthdays and Christmas, halloween and thanksgiving. Mom walking me to school on weekdays and dad driving us to church on Sundays. Three years passed in this routine, safe and familiar.
My closest friends in those years were Matt and Robbie. I already knew Matt when we started class together as his family only lived a street away. He had one sister, 2 black labradors and too many cats to count. He was confident and outgoing in all the ways I wasn’t, so we made a great team.
Robbie we first met in school. He was always the biggest kid in our class, could pass for a few years older and acted like it too. His family had only arrived in town at the start of term, moving into the old house by the lakeside. Robbies father was a strange one and no mistake. The man was nice as pie with other parents around but cold as ice otherwise. Half the time he treated his son like the boy didn’t exist, other half like a stranger. Robbies mother was nicer but spoke to us even less than her husband. She had a strong accent (turned out to be French) and a scar on her cheek she covered with too much makeup.
Matt, Robbie and I did everything together. Got so there was no point planning anything without planning for 3. I still treasure these memories, I do, but they’ve grown bittersweet. There is a touch of pain with every image, an ache kindled in bones that never quite goes out.
*
It was the next June when I saw the girl again.
My mom was watching tv downstairs, think my dad was out front working on the car. I was in my room reading, only the nightlight on beside my bed, drifting off in the summer night heat.
My memories of the girl had faded as the years went by. I’d begun to doubt myself. Had she been real? Had I dreamt her? 8 year old me looking at 5 year old me like it was a hundred years ago. I didn’t think I would ever see her again. Too old to believe in something like that, wasn’t I? But all of a sudden she was there, real as you or me.
“Hello Jamie. Do you remember me?”
I got the fright of my life, jumping up in bed and about to call for my dad when I recognised her. She had aged as I had, but not so much that I didn’t know those eyes. More than anything though it was the aura she brought that triggered my memory. How do I explain it? Being with her had a dreamlike quality, like being a little drunk and a little sleepy. The whole world felt further away except for her and her voice.
“I remember.” I replied, trying to sound surer than I was. I sat up and my book fell to the floor.
“Shhh,” she said with that smile, finger to her lips, “don’t let anyone know I’m here.”
She was real, I thought, not a dream or my imagination.
“I’ve come to help you again, James. I know when you are in danger, I can feel it. I can’t always tell exactly when or how but I know it’s close. Now you and your friends are in terrible danger.”
“Matt and Robbie? But how?” I was staring at her still amazed, in fact I’m sure my mouth was hanging open, likely looking a goddamn fool.
“I’ve kept you safe all these years.” she said, “You know that, don’t you? I’ll keep you safe this time too, but I need your help.”
“I don’t understand, what’s going to happen?”
“I can’t be sure, not yet. All I know is that you or your friends will be hurt, and only you can stop it.”
I heard the back door, my father coming in and heading upstairs. She swung her legs back out the window.
“Remember James, like before, keep me secret.”
“I … okay. I mean, I will.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
She laughed. “Swear?”
I smiled back, suddenly recalling our words from years before. “I swear.”
*
The rest of the summer was like any other. Hot still days, swatting flies as we hiked through forest, jumping in the lake and riding bikes till we could hardly see home.
Every day I found myself thinking about the girl. Should I should tell someone about her? What danger could we be in? In the end I chose to keep quiet. She’d saved me once before hadn’t she? Surely she deserved a little trust.
That was the same July Robbie ran away from home, off into the hills for a night until Officer McKinn found him, eating poprocks and trying to make a fire. We knew something was wrong with him the day before, muttering under his breath and cursing like his father. He never told us why he did it, never once even spoke about it.
It wasn’t long after that Matt brought up the three of us going camping again. The previous year we had stayed overnight on the small island out on the lake. It was only 50 yards from Robbies house on the shore, so it was just safe enough to get past our parents. Even at that age we could have waded it but we used our canoes as it felt more like an adventure. After a campfire and enough candy to make us all sick we shared a tent for the night. Robbies dad told our parents he would keep an eye on us, come over for regular checks and watch our campfire. He didn’t do any of that in reality but, because we didn’t want to cause trouble, we told our families he did.
August arrived, days growing shorter and nights colder. It was the last week that would be warm and dry enough to camp out, so we got the ok from our parents for that Saturday. The girl came to see me the night before, a hushed voice in the dark, her silhouette in the open window.
“It’s going to happen tomorrow night, James. On the island, I’m sure of it.”
“If we know that, can’t I just … stay away?”
“Whatever is going to happen I know only you can stop it. You’re still brave enough, aren’t you? If you don’t go it will be worse for your friends, I’m certain of it. Just do as I say when the time comes … and trust me. You can do it, James, I believe in you. Do you trust me?”
“I do. I swear.”
I lay awake half the night after she’d gone. I wanted to wake my parents, call Matt or Robbie. I wanted to tell someone, anyone, but even the thought of doing so made my throat tighten. What would they say? What would they think? What if I made things worse, like she said? Then whatever happened would be my fault and the girl would never visit again.
*
How do I describe that night? How do I put it into words? There are no doubt moments I’ve lost to time and what remains is far from clear. I’ll tell what I can.
I left for Robbies house after dinner, grabbing my rucksack and saying goodbye to my parents. When I reached the back door through the kitchen the girl was there, waiting for me.
“Jamie. Take a knife from the kitchen. A sharp one.”
“What? Why?” I was scared and not hiding it well, glancing back in case my parents heard.
“Jamie, you’re the only one who can save your friends. I need you to be brave. I don’t think you will need the knife but what if you do and don’t have it?”
I hesitated under the pressure of her gaze, then snatched a knife from the drawer and rushed out. I’ll put it back as soon as I’m home, I thought, maybe no-one will notice. I rode my bike down to the lake, sun low but still warm on my face. When I got there Matt and Robbie were standing by the canoes, looking impatient or angry with each other I wasn’t sure which. As for me, I couldn’t hide my nerves. I kept touching my pocket where the knife was no matter how I tried to stop.
We paddled across in silence, plastic oars cutting through the reflections of the sky. The sun sank between the hills, giant clouds moving overhead as if driven by the failing light. We pulled our canoes onto the shore, walked into the trees and picked a spot for our tent and campfire. Looked like the same spot as the year before but I couldn’t be sure. That’s when the girl spoke to me again, although she was nowhere to be seen.
“Jamie. Say you are going to collect firewood.”
I froze, looked at Matt and Robbie starting on the tent, but they gave no sign they had heard her. I mumbled something about going for wood and walked off. Neither of them answered. That dreamlike quality which came with her had returned but it was sharper somehow. The feeling of a thousand threads tightening.
Raised voices cut suddenly through it. Robbie and Matt. I dropped the sticks I had gathered and ran back.
They stood facing each other, a gun in Robbies hand. I remember how strange it looked, too big and awkward for his thin arm. We found out afterward he had stolen it from his mother.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my own voice wavering.
“Because of him.” Robbie was shaking, tears in his eyes, “Look! He’s got a knife, he was going to kill us!”
I looked down and saw the glint of a blade in Matts hand, his sleeve pulled down to cover the rest.
“I had to.” Matt glanced between us both, “He was going to hurt us Jamie. It’s him. I have to stop him.”
“No!” Robbie cried out, gesturing with the weapon, “ No he -”
The gun went off. I flinched from the sound, heart racing, chest tight. Matt fell. There was a ringing in my ears as I saw Robbie scramble for the gun where it had jerked out of his hand. Her voice brought me back. “Use the knife Jamie, he’s going to kill you.” I looked down at the blade I held. It was like an awful dream a moment before you wake. All I had to do was what she asked and I could wake up, be safe.
Robbies eyes were fixed on the body between us. I saw his face as he realized what he had done and realized it was forever. He hadn’t meant to fire. I knew him and I knew that.
“You have to stop him.” she hissed.
The knife felt strange in my hand, almost weightless. But I saw Matt and knew I didn’t have it in me to hurt anyone. No matter what I was told, no matter the consequences. I couldn’t do it. So I tossed the blade aside.
“James.” her voice was so sharp I recoiled as if I’d been struck, “What are you doing? Pick it up.”
“No.” my words faint and weak as I held back sobs. “I can’t.”
I heard Robbie then, pleading and desperate like me.
“I won’t do it.” he was saying, “He threw it away. He threw it away.”
Then it broke, the dreamlike state cracking and splitting and we were just two frightened boys in the dark.
“What a disappointment.” her voice had changed, the laugh was still there but tinged with malice. “Two cowards, failing me at the last. This could have been perfect. Well, we will just have to make do with what we have.”
Robbie stared at me, confusion showing through the panic. We both heard her, I realized. She wanted us to.
“You can hear her?” he said.
There were sounds from the opposite shore, raised voices. Robbie glanced away terrified, the gun hanging limp in his hand, barrel dragging my eyes along with it. I found I couldn’t answer him. I had frozen up with the shock, couldn’t even move.
The girl spoke again but not to me. “Matt is dead and you killed him, Robbie. What will your parents say? What will they do?”
“No … no I didn’t mean it, I didn’t …”
“But you did. You killed one friend and were going to kill another. Jamie saw it all.”
“But you …” his voice was desperate, frantic. “You said he was going to hurt us. You said I was the only one who could stop it.”
I heard more shouting, people splashing through the water, getting close.
“Did I?” her delighted voice had a poison edge. “Is that what I said? The girl in your imagination told you to kill Matt? What will his parents say to that? You killed their son. Is that your mother I hear? She loved you and all you do is let her down. Hurt her. What will she do now?”
“You said…” his voice trailed off, a soul as completely lost as any I have ever seen.
“You never stop hurting her.” she said. “Just like your father.”
Robbies eyes met mine a final time. His hands steadied and he raised the gun to his head. I heard more adults voices from the waters edge but I couldn’t turn away to look.
The gun fired.
Light flickered through the trees. I saw birds in the darkening sky. My feet were cold, I realized, and there were cold tears drying on my cheeks.
“Oh well,” her voice both playful and disappointed, “not perfect but it will do. The 3 of you were fun while you lasted. Sleep tight.” The sounds of approaching feet, people calling our names. I could see both bodies on the ground. Someone shaking me, shaking me but I couldn’t move or answer. Then a woman screaming, screaming until it all went dark and I remember nothing more but the girls laughter.
*
The months immediately after are filled with police, doctors and other strangers with worried or angry faces. Then a lonely, endless emptiness in the days and nights which followed. I tried to retreat from it all but I had nowhere to go.
Matt had survived which was the only bright spot. Still, it was a close thing and he spent until October in hospital.
I lost my voice for those first few weeks, only able to squeeze out the odd meaningless sound. I couldn’t even write, any attempt to form words became a senseless jumble in my mind. The family doctor said it was a side effect of trauma but I knew the truth. It was a warning, a reminder that I could not speak of her. I had sworn, hadn’t I? I had sworn and she would hold me to it.
My mom often sat with me in those times, holding my hand, talking to me about anything she could think of in the hope it would help. I can still see the look on her face, how it pained her to see me struggle. More than anything I wanted to speak to take that pain from her, but I couldn’t do it.
My father dealt with things in an entirely different way, withdrawing from us, taking long walks or sitting in his study for hours. I think he felt that he had failed me somehow, that he hadn’t been there to protect me when I needed him. I finally found my voice when waking from a nightmare. I called on my father without even thinking, just as I had when I was a little boy. Dad was the first word I’d ever spoken and here it was first again. I remember he ran to my room and pulled me into his arms and for a moment, one moment in all the pain and guilt and fear, it was as if things could really go back to the way they were.
*
I could speak again but, I discovered, still not about the girl no matter how I tried. I wanted to tell the truth no matter the consequences. But it was hopeless. My lips sealed tight everytime I thought of her. I tried again to write it down, or even circle the words I needed in books, but my hand froze as soon as I attempted it.
When Matt left hospital I found he had been rendered mute as I had, in fact he still hadn’t spoken a word. His parents took him to multiple doctors and child psychologists without change. He couldn’t break the spell.
“It’s okay.” I told him, the first time we were alone together, “I know.”
Our eyes met and he let out a long breath, face pale and tears forming. That was the moment we both understood, no need for words, that we would have this secret shared but unspoken. We couldn’t tell anyone even if we tried.
In time his enforced silence wore off as mine had, though the inability to discuss the girl never did. I was left to wonder how and when she had visited him. Did he know how she had lied to us? Did he still see her? I could never know for certain. All I could do was hope.
*
Robbies parents claimed the pistol had been locked in their safe. Said their son didn’t even know about the gun. I could make a guess at how he knew about it and how he knew the code to the safe. The girl told him, I was sure of it.
The town seemed split over how they felt about the couple, equal parts pity and anger. Lot of folk were feeling that way about each other.
His father fled town before the year was out, up and vanished without a trace. Then on Christmas eve his mom drove their car into the lake. Swerved to miss my uncles ex-wife of all people, who had taken to walking the lakeside all times of day or night. Sad as it was, his mothers death became lost under everything else that had happened. A woman all alone without her boy, who needed someone, anyone to reach out to her, was instead forgotten. She died in the cold dark water and it keeps me awake at night wondering how she felt at the end.
People spoke about that family like they brought this evil to our town, carried it here with them in their beat up station wagon. Bullshit. Even if it was true, what if they had? Wouldn’t have mattered if there hadn’t been a place for it.
*
I didn’t realize the truth until too late. You see, I’d always imagined we were the only ones she had preyed on. That it was a one off. Took me years to suspect any different. In my defense the incident caused my family to withdraw from the rest of the town. Or them from us, who can tell? No doubt it led to Matts parents decision to leave, moving away the year before we started high school. We kept in touch but I didn’t see him again until we were nearly 20. So I was really on my own.
2 years after Robbies death there was another murder. A group of teenagers on the other side of the valley were down by the lakeside, listening to music and sharing a stolen bottle of whisky. Before the sun had set one girl had her throat cut and 4 others had serious stab wounds. Despite everything the police and parents tried over the years no-one ever got the truth. None of the kids involved would speak a word about it. I’d seen them the day before at the football field, laughing and joking without a care in the world.
Following summer the Goldsmith family had cops and paramedics at their fathers house. They managed to keep the details quiet but every one of them moved away in the next year, leaving 3 empty homes. The children never went to school in that time. The adults left their jobs. Some kids I knew said they went to the door and saw Lilly Goldsmith, the 14 year old, with a livid red scar around her neck.
Our town always had a few odd stories but not like this. Folk seeing lights above the marshes, sure, or drunk fisherman claiming they heard voices on the water. Harmless campfire tales. Now the name of our town became synonymous with tragedy. And these were only the incidents we knew about.
When I was 16, the local mechanic Oliver Miller drowned his wife in their bathtub. His son caught him in the act and stabbed him clean through the heart. Was on the news for weeks. I walked past their empty house on the way to school.
Then it was Father Colby. One Sunday he locked the doors of the church and tried to set the place alight with his congregation inside. My dad and a couple of others managed to stop him but he died of a stroke before they got him to the hospital. “There’s a devil among us.” Colby had said, wild eyed and shaking, “I’ve seen her.”
She always did like fire, I thought.
*
I began to look at everyone differently. Wondering if she came smiling to their windows at night. How long had she been here? Were we even her first victims?
When I was 18 my dad pulled a gun on our neighbor, a man he’d been friends with for 30 years. My mom got between them and the gun went off. The shot was only inches from killing her.
She forgave my father immediately, like it was nothing. He would never hurt her, she said, he’d never hurt anyone. It was just a moment of madness. He hadn’t been himself. Yeah, I thought, been a lot of that in town.
My dad had hardly said a word since it happened, other than to beg them both for forgiveness. Between the three of them they decided not to involve the police but any friendship with our neighbor was clearly over. I don’t think they ever spoke again. I remember sitting with my father the next week, just the two of us in the yard. He’d grown pale and drawn in such a short time, thinner and hesitant. A gentle man broken by something he had almost done, shocked and ashamed of himself in equal measure. He was looking out at the forest, sighing then shaking his head as if struggling with something, trying to find the words.
“I .. I thought …” he spoke at last, so quiet I had to lean close to hear.
“What is it dad?”
“She told me …” then he froze, eyes wide staring over my shoulder.
I turned but there was nothing there, only a space between the trees.
“It’s nothing. I’m sorry.” he looked down, hiding his face and crying for the first time in my life. “I’m so sorry.”
He would never talk of it again, no matter how I forced it. More often than not my own voice failed me, lips sealing tight, head swimming whenever I tried to speak of the girl.
“We’re going to move,” my mom told me a few months later, “get away from here. It’s not like it was. Changed and not for the better. Used to think people here were our friends but I guess not. You find out what folk are really like when there’s trouble.”
*
As we prepared to leave each day grew increasingly difficult. I imagined her hand in every event, a curse with a voice, tightening her threads around us all.
Our town, our home, rotted from the inside. People I’d known all my life were changed, faces worn with tragedy, worlds frayed around the edges. One by one we cut ourselves off from the community, retreating to what we believed was safety in isolation.
I tried to stop it, as naive and hopeless as that was. Tried to speak to people, tell them I knew about her, break the spell. All I achieved was making myself look a fool, standing there in silence, unable to utter a word. Stupid. Whether anyone understood or not, we were long past saving.
*
I’m leaving again tonight and I won’t be back. She can have this place to herself, a ghost alone, laughing in the dark. Maybe that’s what she wanted all along.
I’ve often wondered if she still watches me, even now. Will I wake tonight and she will be at my window, smiling? Will I hear her laugh again before I open my eyes? Or has she left us behind, beginning again in a new town? If not me then who does she visit?
Have you seen her?