by Louise Beech
It’s quiet backstage. Chloe can almost imagine she hears the sound of the dust settling on the costumes. As she passes the closed door to the Morgan Miller dressing room, she averts her eyes and hurries down the stone steps to the back fire exit.
Her fingers are on the cold bike chain when she hears it.
14
The Dean Wilson Theatre
February 2019
A door opens – the familiar click of handle, followed by slow, ominous creaking.
‘Is that you, Chester?’ Chloe calls, knowing full well he has long gone. Maybe there’s a stagehand still loitering. ‘Who’s there?’
No answer.
‘Beth? Is that you?’
No answer.
Chloe unchains her bike with shaking hands, eager to get away.
And then she hears her name. She is sure of it. But who said it? Was it just inside her head because she’s feeling tense? No. The voice is familiar – and yet she can’t place it.
Then again – her name, lyrical, teasing.
No. She isn’t going to listen. It’s just her imagination. Like the other night. She pushes the fire door, ready to escape, but it’s jammed shut. What? It can’t be. She and Beth checked it earlier. She pushes again, harder. Still jammed. Shit.
Chloe…
No, no, no.
One huge push and the door opens, smashing against the wall. Heart pounding, Chloe shoves her bike through it, jumps on, and pedals as fast as her trembling legs will let her, up the street, into the darkness, afraid if she looks back she’ll see Morgan Miller waving at her.
Once home, she puts her bike in the shed, nods at her flatmate James, who’s making pancakes in the kitchen, and hurries to her bedroom. She leans against the door and waits for her heart to resume its usual rhythm.
She imagined the voice; she must have done. But did she imagine the voice on the radio that time? Did she imagine the words on the mirror? The bird inside the theatre? Did she imagine that long-ago incident in the dressing room that she pushes away so hard?
Is her imagination really that good?
She laughs out loud.
If it’s that good, why isn’t she a successful writer?
She sits on the bed and takes the embarrassingly few pages of her She Haunts Me script from her wooden box. She ignores the knife. She needs to get rid of it once and for all. She will, she will. Soon. One day. But now, she needs to think about finishing her script. She needs to find the ending. She needs to get into it fully, to complete it, and then maybe she can send it out to theatres. Is that really what she wants?
No.
She wants to perform in it herself. Maybe even at the Dean Wilson Theatre. On the stage finally. No scars on show, only her acting ability.
When Chloe opens the script, something else flutters to the floor. A piece of paper. She frowns and retrieves it. Reads it but can’t understand what her eyes are seeing. The handwritten words there. Her own handwritten words.
YOU DIDNT SAY GOODBYE
Chloe drops it. She stares at it on the floor as though it might burst into flames, and then picks it up again. Where the hell did it come from? It stirs another memory. She wrote this; it’s her handwriting. But how is it here? She hasn’t seen it for a long time, she knows that much. The memory is becoming insistent; the youth theatre, Ryan, Jess, her. She can smell the dust, cheap perfume, a candle. She can feel the soft caress of a draught from somewhere. She can see red curtains, a sturdy glass, strange letters.
Chloe’s mobile phone buzzes.
She puts the script and the note in the box and takes her phone from her pocket. It’s a Facebook notification; a friend request.
From Ginger Swanson.
Jess.
Jess wants to connect. Why? Is it because she’s coming home and thought of her? Chloe clicks on her profile. She browses the few pictures: Jess on a beach holiday, hiding from the sun under a parasol, large sunglasses on; Jess with a gang of women, clearly in some musical together, all dressed as showgirls; Jess with a man – dark, leathery, his arm loosely about her shoulder. There’s a link to another profile, clearly the one Jess uses as a professional actress rather than to share personal snaps, where perfect pictures artfully depict her onstage.
There’s one picture there that makes Chloe want to cry. The light catches Jess’s eyes, making it appear that they shine with desire. Chloe pretends she’s looking at her, through the screen, through her, seducing her, inviting her in.
She hovers a finger over the ‘confirm’ button.
She’s going to have to learn to call her Ginger now.
She hovers a moment longer, and then accepts Ginger into her life.
15
The Game
2005
They studied the glass, expecting it to move again. Then they looked around at one another, eyes flickering like mischievous ideas in the candlelight; Jess, Ryan, and Chloe. The perfect three, and one apparently a witch. They looked again at Chloe’s words written on the paper.
YOU DIDNT SAY GOODBYE
‘Is that definitely what the glass spelled out?’ demanded Ryan.
‘You saw it!’ cried Chloe, defensive.
‘But we didn’t know anyone was here.’ Jess’s voice was a rasp.
‘Who didn’t say goodbye?’ whispered Chloe.
‘Let’s get back on it.’ Ryan sat back at the makeshift Ouija board and looked at them both, hair ruffled. ‘What are you waiting for? This is what we came to do – and it fucking worked!’
‘I don’t know.’ Jess looked unsure. ‘I didn’t expect…’
Chloe wanted to stroke her hair, comfort her, calm her fears.
‘Chloe,’ said Ryan, looking intensely at her. ‘I think you want to.’
Did she? It had worked with just her in the room. Terrifying as that was, didn’t she feel a tiny bit powerful? A tiny bit magic? She could almost hear Grandma Rosa whispering, You’re a magic girl. Maybe she was a witch? A named one, unlike the role she would soon undertake on this very stage. Maybe she could weave a spell and captivate Jess? Wouldn’t that be something
She sat next to Ryan. ‘Come on, Jess,’ she urged gently. ‘I’ll only do it if you stay too.’
Did she mean that?
When Jess walked past her to sit down, Chloe imagined for a moment pulling on her ankle, toppling her down, into her lap, and kissing her. But would that ruin their six-year friendship? Would Jess be repelled? Never speak to her again? No one knew Chloe liked girls – or at least agirl. When Jess talked about boys she liked – including Ryan – and what she’d like to do with them all, Chloe just went along with it.
‘I don’t like how dark it’s getting,’ said Jess, hugging her knees. ‘Soon one candle won’t be enough. Are there any more? Can we put the big light back on?’
‘It went out earlier when you two had gone,’ said Chloe, glancing towards the door. ‘Not sure if the fuse went.’
‘For fuck’s sake.’ Ryan got up, went backstage and rummaged around. Eventually he came back with another two candles and lit them. They all shivered in perfect unison, as though it was a dance they had rehearsed over and over. The hypnotic glow made Chloe feel safe, like she belonged here, with the spirits.
‘Let’s just put our fingers on the glass,’ said Ryan.
‘If it can move by itself, why bother?’ asked Jess.
Ryan looked unsure. ‘I reckon we need to control it,’ he said after a beat.
Or it might control us. Chloe wasn’t sure where the thought came from.
Ryan placed his fingertip on the base of the glass. Jess followed. Chloe held back. She knew that this was her final chance to not follow. To get up and leave the room. But then it occurred to her that she wasn’t following. Chloe had never so much as led a chorus. Never played the lead. She always went along with others. But tonight, she suddenly felt like she was the one who had really suggested they play this game. She put her finger on the glass.
‘OK.’ Ryan looked at them. ‘Re
ady?
Jess looked afraid.
Chloe nodded.
‘Is there anyone here…?’ he asked the room ‘…who said goodbye to us earlier?’
Nothing. Just dying sunlight. Flickering candles. Held breath. Dust.
‘We saw you move the glass. Someone is here with us. Tell us your name.’
Did Chloe feel something pulse along her finger?
‘Tell us who you are.’
A movement. Jess gasped. The glass moved, just a fraction. Ryan’s face glowed with excitement.
‘Please tell us your name,’ he begged.
The glass moved again. Chloe touched the pen to the paper, waiting for whatever story the glass created. Slowly, with a whisper of a scrape, it went towards ‘Hello’.
‘Hello,’ whispered Jess, and then covered her mouth with her free hand.
‘Shit,’ whispered Ryan.
Chloe didn’t write it down; no need.
The glass continued its slow journey.
‘Are you moving that?’ Jess hissed at Ryan.
‘No!’
‘You?’ She directed the question at Chloe.
‘No!’
The glass arrived at the letter I. Chloe wrote it down. Then it moved slowly from one letter to the next, to the next, their eyes not leaving it. Chloe recorded the words, seeing each one as a complete thing and knowing when to leave a gap; at the same time Ryan whispered them aloud.
I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE
‘Who are you?’ asked Ryan.
Again, the glass moved, and Chloe wrote, and Ryan whispered it aloud, and Jess gawped.
ALWAYS HERE
‘But who are you?’ asked Ryan. ‘Are you … dead?’
‘Ryan,’ hissed Jess. ‘Of course they are!’
‘Tell us your name,’ he said.
NEAR YOU
‘I don’t like it,’ whispered Jess, looking around them.
‘How near are you?’ asked Ryan, grinning.
‘No,’ cried Chloe.
‘Tell us your name,’ repeated Ryan.
The glass moved; Chloe scribbled; Ryan spoke. The three candles continued their dance, dust spiralling above the flames. The scent of burning air merged with wafts of Jess’s perfume, making Chloe dizzy. She shivered with both fear and excitement.
I SEE YOU I SEE YOU I SEE YOU
‘They’re just playing with us,’ said Ryan.
‘See if there’s anyone else,’ begged Jess, voice small.
‘Aren’t we supposed to make them say goodbye first?’ Chloe whispered.
‘Not until the end,’ said Ryan. ‘OK: Is there anyone else here with us?’
All the candles went out at once.
Blackness swallowed them whole.
‘Shit, shit, shit.’ That was Ryan. Chloe heard him fumbling for the matches.
‘I don’t like this!’ Jess now. ‘I’m fucking going home.’
A scratch of match against box and in the flame’s flash Chloe saw Ryan light the first of the candles with a trembling hand. For a split second, she saw it. Behind him. A shadow; a person. Someone with them. Her finger left the glass as she jumped up and backed away. The shadow raised a hand as though to point. At what? No.
At her.
‘The connection!’ cried Ryan.
‘Fuck the connection! There’s someone right there!’
‘Where?’ cried Jess.
Chloe blinked; rubbed her eyes. It had gone.
‘It was there,’ she insisted. ‘It was.’
Ryan lit the other candles. ‘Sit down,’ he ordered.
In shock, Chloe fell back into her place. Jess was frozen; even her face didn’t move.
‘Your finger,’ ordered Ryan. And Chloe placed it back on the glass.
Did she simply do it because Ryan told her to? Was it so she could stay with Jess? Or was it her own will? She couldn’t be sure. But she stayed. She played.
‘Who blew out the candles?’ Ryan asked the board.
The glass shot across the floor to ‘Goodbye’. A pause. Then it touched ‘Hello’.
‘Hello,’ they all whispered.
‘Who are you?’ asked Ryan.
YOU KNOW ME
‘Do we?’ he asked. ‘Tell us your name then.’
YOU KNOW IT
‘Spell it out,’ he said.
YOU WONT STAY
Chloe shivered despite the oppressive heat. She continued to write it all down while Ryan whispered the answers aloud as they appeared. Jess was as white as the paper Chloe wrote on.
‘Tell us your name,’ repeated Ryan.
I WAS ONE OF THE ONES
‘One of what ones?’
THE OTHER THREE
‘What other three?’
ETERNAL THREE LIKE YOU
‘Tell us your name.’
TELL ME YOURS
‘Don’t,’ said Chloe.
‘Why?’ asked Ryan.
‘I don’t know.’ She didn’t. Then she remembered Ryan had said they should never share them. ‘He already knows it,’ she added, shocked at her words. Where had they come from?
‘Do you know my name?’ asked Ryan.
Jess still hadn’t spoken; still looked ashen.
I DO
‘So what’s yours then?’
COME BACK TOMORROW
‘They’re playing a game,’ said Chloe. ‘Are either of you exhausted?’ She realised that she felt like she had just run twenty miles. Her whole body ached. Her head felt thick with fatigue.
‘Yes!’ Jess found her voice finally. ‘I feel awful. And sick. Like I could throw up. Can we say goodbye now?’
‘No!’ cried Ryan, eyes wild. ‘I’m just getting started!’
‘I think we need a break,’ said Chloe gently.
‘One more question,’ he begged.
‘One more then.’
‘Before we end for now,’ he said, ‘tell us how you died.’
‘No!’ cried Jess. ‘I don’t want to know!’
‘OK, OK. If we come back tomorrow night, will you be here?’
WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET AGAIN
‘Yes?’ asked Ryan.
IN THUNDER LIGHTNING OR IN RAIN
‘What does that mean?’
Chloe lifted the pen off the paper at the last letter. She read it softly back. Didn’t she know these lines? Hadn’t she learned them by heart?
‘Don’t you recognise it?’ she asked him.
She saw the realisation stain his cheeks with colour. Jess gasped too.
‘Macbeth,’ whispered Jess. ‘Shit … I mean … the Scottish play…’
‘The witches,’ said Ryan.
‘They know us.’ Jess looked like she might cry.
‘Let’s say goodbye,’ insisted Chloe.
‘Push the glass towards “Goodbye” then,’ sighed Ryan.
They did. Did Chloe feel it resist? Maybe it was one of the others; maybe Ryan still wanting to play. Once it was there, they all inhaled. The candles danced. And they let go of the glass, one after the other. Waited. Like something might happen. Chloe could almost see it. See the glass smashing into a thousand pieces and blinding them all. What a dark thought. Was it really hers?
The tension died.
‘Is that it?’ she asked.
‘I guess so.’ Ryan exhaled sharply.
‘That was … intense.’ Jess sounded about ten years old.
‘Are you OK?’ Chloe asked her, concerned.
Jess nodded, still looking pale.
‘What do we do now?’ said Chloe. ‘Should we cleanse ourselves or something?’
‘Nah, we just make sure it’s all packed away safely.’ Ryan gathered the letters up in a pile and put them in the shoe box.
Jess suddenly jumped up, ran down the stage stairs and along the aisle to the light switch by the door, which she flicked on. The room flooded with warmth, but with the death of the shadows, Chloe felt uneasy; because that meant someone had flicked the switch off earlier.
Ryan blew the cand
les out and put them in the box too.
‘Seriously, were you moving the glass?’ Jess asked him, loitering by the door still, forehead shiny, clothes creased.
‘Do you really think I could have made all that up?’
Jess shrugged. Chloe knew he hadn’t; couldn’t.
It had been too … detailed.
‘You’re forgetting one thing.’ He banged the lid onto the box. ‘Were my fingers on it when it moved by itself?’
‘It’s just so freaky,’ said Jess. ‘Who do you think that person was?’
‘Shouldn’t we talk about who those three might be?’ said Chloe. Surely the others were thinking of Daniel Locke and his friends like she was.
‘We’ll come back tomorrow to find out,’ said Ryan.
‘Shit, I’m not sure.’ Jess stayed by the door like she longed to escape.
‘It’s not you we need. It’s Chloe.’
‘Thanks.’ Jess looked hurt.
‘If Jess doesn’t want to come, then I won’t either.’ Chloe wanted to defend her friend.
Your love, you mean.
Ryan gave her a look charged with something she couldn’t identify and then changed tactic. He put the box away in the cupboard behind the curtain, gave Chloe a meaningful look, and went down the stage stairs, blowing his blond fringe out of his eyes, swaggering, cocky. Chloe watched as he joined Jess by the door; watched as he leaned in, twirled her hair around the finger he had placed on the glass and said something in her ear; watched as she responded – giggled, melted, surrendered.