I was in a dark room, the only illumination coming from a small candle in the middle of a table in front of me. The rest of the room was filled with the sort of darkness so thick it looked like it would be hard work to walk through; like it would try to suffocate you, smother you.
I walked towards the table — there was nowhere else to go — and stood in the small pool of light around it.
Nothing happened for a moment. I looked around with some curiosity, but for some reason I didn’t feel uneasy or scared. I felt like I should just wait, so I did.
There was no sound. The room, wherever it was, just was. It simply existed. I couldn’t hear any sounds from outside, nor any noise from in here. Even the slightly-flickering candle flame wasn’t making a sound.
Then, suddenly, I heard something. Footsteps? They were slow and tentative, and they sounded like bare feet on a tile floor. I looked down at my own feet, but the light from the candle wasn’t enough to tell what I was actually standing on. I tried to move my feet and make a sound with them, but I found I was rooted to the spot. I couldn’t move.
I still felt curious rather than scared or uneasy. This was happening and there was nothing I could do about it.
The footsteps were coming closer now. They sounded like they were slow; tired.
I knew who they would belong to before the shadowy figure emerged from the impenetrable darkness.
“Alice,” I said quietly, in a calm, emotionless voice. She looked up and continued walking towards me slowly but regularly; not quite stumbling, but looking like she had walked for a long time and just wanted to rest. Her eyes looked at me, but there was no spark behind them, no glimmer of recognition. She looked, to all intents and purposes, like she was–
As she stepped into the visible pool of light around the table, suddenly she vanished, her body seemingly shattering into a pale smoke. I watched it rise into the air and gradually disappear into the darkness–
–and then my eyes flicked open, and I was gazing at the ceiling of my room again. The familiar sounds of the middle of the night — the gurgling of the radiators, the occasional sound of a car driving past in the distance — were back once again.
I rubbed my face and sat up, groaning to myself. I glanced over at the clock. 2:30 again. What was it about this time?
I decided to go downstairs and get myself a glass of water, as my throat felt completely parched. I did so, the cool yet not-that-nice water from the tap washing down smoothly, feeling like it was filling me with life.
The details of the dream were fast fading from my mind, but I knew that Alice was involved in there somehow. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all. Perhaps it meant something, or perhaps it was just my unconscious mind struggling to make sense of what was, after all, an inexplicable series of events that had taken place over the last few days.
I began to wonder if Alice would be in her room again tonight. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if I saw her, but I felt a powerful urge to check in on her anyway. The prospect of seeing her again still caused my guts to tie themselves in knots and my heart to begin pounding, but tonight felt different somehow — like I was expecting, wanting it to happen. I walked quietly up the stairs and hesitated outside her room just as I had done several times before.
I pushed the door open slowly and it gave its usual little creak. Inside, it was dark; the moon was clouded over again, so there wasn’t much light coming in through the crack in the curtains. I could tell from the strange feeling I was getting that Alice would be in her bed, though.
I sat down on the side of it and reached out to touch her. She groaned a little and rolled over, then I heard her take a sharp breath.
“You’re here again,” she whispered. “Why?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I said in a low voice.
“I don’t have a clue either,” she said. “It’s weird. It’s like… I don’t know. One minute you’re here, the next you’re not. Or one minute I’m there, or the next I’m not. What’s going on?”
I paused in thought for a moment. Could it be–
“Wait,” I said. “Is something… strange happening to you?”
“Besides my dead brother creeping into my room in the middle of the night?” she hissed sarcastically. “No, things are just peachy.” She paused. “Yes, of course something strange is happening to me, you prick. I was hoping you’d be able to explain why you keep showing up like this.”
“I… was actually hoping the same thing,” I admit. “I don’t understand what’s going on. So far as I’m concerned, you’re…”
“Dead?” she said. Her bluntness stung a little. “No, I’m not dead. Look.”
I couldn’t see what she was doing in the darkness but I heard and felt her moving around in the bed. I figured it might be best that I didn’t see exactly what she was doing.
“Well, I’m… still here, too,” I said. I reached out my hand and touched where I assumed her arm was.
“Ew!” came the response. “Don’t be weird. Also, your hands are cold.”
Evidently that wasn’t her arm.
We both sat in silence for a moment. I cleared my throat a couple of times to let her know I was still there. It seemed that we were being allowed to stay together for a little longer than usual.
“You know,” she said after a while, “I know I give… gave, whatever… you shit all the time, but I am glad to know that you’re sort of alive somewhere.”
It was a clumsy sentiment, but it was a strange situation and there really wasn’t a better way for her to express it.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m glad too. I thought you were gone forever.”
There was no response, and I knew that we’d been torn apart once again.
*
The next morning, Laura showed up as usual, but when I opened the door she came in.
“You’re taking the day off,” she said. “You need rest. Lots of rest. And I’m going to make sure you get it.”
She said it in a tone that indicated there was to be no arguing with this arrangement. I knew that it was futile to resist.
“Fine,” I said. “But is it okay?”
“I called Gladwell,” she said. She was on good terms with our tutor. “He’d noticed you’d been a bit out of sorts recently, so I arranged it all with him. Don’t worry.”
I instantly found myself wondering exactly what she’d said to him.
“I said don’t worry!” she said, seeing my face. “I didn’t tell him anything specific. Not that I really know anything specific, either. Come on. Talk to me. Please?”
“I’ll try,” I said. “At least come in properly. Take your shoes off.”
She obliged. I closed the front door behind her and I led her into the lounge. I plopped myself down in one of the armchairs and she sprawled on the sofa.
“Make yourself at home,” I said sarcastically. I didn’t mind, really. I spent very little time in this room. There was no real reason to. When I was at home, I spent most of my time in my room, and when I wasn’t here, I was at college. This was what my life, such as it was, had become.
“So,” she said, sitting up and propping herself up on the sofa arm. “Let’s try and have this conversation again. Before you start, I know it’s tough. And I know it hurts. I also know you. I know you’re trying to be strong and carry all this on your own shoulders because you feel that you have to for some weird reason. But I’m telling you that you don’t have to. I’m here. I want to help.”
I sighed. Rationally speaking, I knew she was right; I was being an idiot, and that was probably what was leading to these tricks my brain was playing on me — assuming they were tricks — but it was difficult. I didn’t “do” opening up to people. I didn’t “do” talking. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. I couldn’t. Laura had been literally my only friend for a long time now, so I’d had very little practice at expressing myself properly.
It was a strange feeling. Often I could imagine the conversation I’d want to have with her, or at least the way I’d want to start it, but would end up choking on the words. Not literally. Well, not quite. But I would feel my throat tighten and become dry, and the words would be impossible to get out. I’d either end up just staring at a wall or making an excuse, and the things that probably needed to be said were left unsaid. This was starting to develop a strong risk of becoming one of those times.
“Laura, I–” I began, then paused. “Thank you,” I said simply. “You’ve always been there for me, and I don’t deserve it. I treat you like shit, but you’re still around.”
“That’s not true,” she said. “You know me well enough by now, surely. I wouldn’t stick around if I actually thought you were treating me like shit. I’d tell you off first, but yeah. If you kept it up, I’d be off.”
I smiled a little. Her words weren’t overly convincing. I did worry a little about her.
“Really,” she reassured me. “I promise. I would tell you if you were taking the piss.”
“All right,” I said.
I paused and contemplated what I should say next for a moment.
Then I released the safety catch on my mind, and started talking.
I explained about the previous evenings, how I’d been absolutely convinced that I’d seen my sister, alive and well, in her bedroom. I explained about the weird darkness I’d experienced at school. I even told her about the voice I’d heard in the classroom, and the weird figure in the mirror. I just kept going and going and going because I knew that if I stopped, I wouldn’t be able to start again. I had to get this all out of my head. I had to tell someone. I had to release this tension. I had to–
“Holy shit,” she said eventually. “I… I’m not quite sure how to respond to that.”
There was an awkward silence.
“You think I’ve actually gone insane, don’t you?” I said wearily. My tirade had taken all of my mental strength, and now I felt exhausted, despite the fact it was barely an hour since I’d got out of bed.
“Well, no…” said Laura. “I don’t know. No. You’re not insane. If you’d actually gone crazy I doubt you’d be able to talk about this right now. But something’s going on, and — don’t hate me for saying this, I know you don’t like it — you could probably do with some help.”
“You might be right,” I said, closing my eyes and leaning back in the chair. It was a moment before I spoke again. I sat up again and looked at her. “I honestly don’t know what to do. It happened again last night. I saw her, spoke to her, but then we were pulled apart again. And the weird thing is, the same thing seems to be happening to her. She seems to think that I’m the one who’s… you know.”
“That is strange,” said Laura. She swung her legs down off the sofa and stood up. Then she walked over to me, leaned over me and put her arms around me. “We’re going to get through this. You’re going to be fine.”
At that moment, I believed her.
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