I Am Dust

by Louise Beech

  But she had. She had.

  She had pushed.

  ‘Fuck.’ Yellow Teeth touched his right arm and then got up clumsily, groaning as he did. Shards of glass came away from his jeans, tinkling melodically as they fell. ‘What the—’

  His sidekick looked from Chloe to him and back again, the confusion on his face comical. ‘What the hell happened?’

  ‘She did,’ cried Yellow Teeth. He was angry but didn’t direct it at her; he hardly dared look at her. ‘I think you broke my fucking arm, you little freak.’

  ‘You came into our theatre,’ said Chloe calmly.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said the smaller man, heading for the door.

  ‘I should break her fucking face,’ cried Yellow Teeth, still cradling his arm. But he didn’t approach the stage. He followed his friend. When they were at the door, he finally dared to look back. ‘This isn’t over,’ he said.

  I think it is…

  ‘I think it is,’ said Chloe.

  They left, slamming the door after them.

  ‘Shit, Chloe, what did you do?’ Jess touched Chloe’s arm, looking as afraid as she was intrigued. ‘You scared the hell out of me! What was that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘It was like I pushed with my head instead of my hands. I don’t feel very good now though.’

  She didn’t. Her skull felt it was going to implode and she couldn’t stop shaking. She sank to the floor. Sat among the scattered letters – a T, I, W, H and C. She frowned. Moved them around. WITCH. She looked up at Jess.

  ‘You are,’ whispered her friend.

  Ryan still hadn’t spoken. He gazed at her with tired eyes, his face haggard.

  ‘I honestly don’t know how it happened.’ Chloe’s teeth chattered, and the words came out as small bullets. ‘I feel sick. I need to go home.’

  ‘No.’ Ryan found his voice at last. ‘We aren’t finished with Morgan. We want to know how to get the powers.’

  He began to arrange the letters in a circle. Chloe didn’t have the strength to stop him. She squeezed her aching temples.

  ‘We just need to get her back,’ he continued.

  Chloe had been desperate to talk to her earlier but now she needed to escape, get some air, cool down.

  ‘We don’t have a glass,’ said Jess, perhaps hoping this would stop him.

  He went back to the cupboard and when he didn’t find one, he went into the little room backstage, where Chloe knew there was a sink. He came back with a glass, put it in the centre of the letters and sat down.

  ‘I don’t know how you did that,’ he said to Chloe, ‘but you’re a fucking witch and that means we can get the powers.’

  ‘What if I don’t want them?’ Chloe staggered to her feet. The pain in her head was blinding now.

  ‘Of course you do. We all know what you want.’

  ‘Do we?’

  Jess looked uncomfortable.

  ‘You want her.’ Ryan motioned his head towards Jess. ‘I get it. It’s fine.’

  ‘I don’t,’ lied Chloe softly.

  ‘Why’d you kiss her then?’

  The question hung in the air with the dust fragments. Jess had told him. The scars from Chloe’s recent cutting session throbbed. She wanted to shed blood now. To let her hurt seep away with it. How could Jess have shared that with him? They were friends. Or were they? After all, she had stepped over that line.

  ‘I don’t care,’ said Ryan. ‘You’re welcome to her; you can both lezz it up all you want; I just want the powers.’

  Now Jess looked hurt. And Chloe couldn’t help but be glad.

  Then the glass moved.

  All three of them watched it, mouths open. It was no surprise now, but it never failed to remind Chloe that this was truly an extraordinary thing; that one day – if she remembered it by then – she might question if it had happened at all. She remembered what Jess’s newspaper had said earlier. That your brain unconsciously creates words when you ask the Ouija board questions; that the muscles in your hands move the pointer to the answers you unconsciously want to receive. Had they been doing that? But the glass was moving alone. How could the theory explain that?

  Jess joined Ryan on the floor, sitting opposite him as though to create distance. Chloe remained on her feet, desperate to leave. She looked at the door – then at the two words being spelled out.

  YOURE READY

  ‘Ready?’ asked Ryan. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s Morgan,’ said Jess.

  ‘Who then?’

  HI RYAN

  ‘Danny?’

  ‘Daniel Locke?’ asked Jess.

  Ryan nodded.

  YOURE READY

  ‘For what, Dan?’

  THE POWERS

  ‘I know. But how? Tell us how. Morgan Miller said we needed three of us and we just ask. Can we ask you?’

  Chloe couldn’t stay any longer. The room was spinning; the pews bent and warped as though they were a burning photograph in a house fire; Jess and Ryan’s words slowed down, sounding like an old-fashioned record played at the wrong speed. She was going to be sick. She raced for the door and made it into the corridor at the side of the theatre before throwing up all over the concrete.

  She was leaning against the wheelie bin at the back when Jess climbed out of the window and came to her.

  ‘It stopped,’ she said simply.

  For a moment Chloe wished they had never begun. That they could go back to a time before the Ouija board. That they had said no to Ryan’s idea, and instead spent their summer singing their favourite musical numbers and trying on clothes they would never buy and trying to get a tan in the back garden.

  ‘The glass stopped moving as soon as you left.’

  ‘Maybe it’s a sign we should stop,’ said Chloe.

  ‘No, it’s sign that you have some sort of gift.’

  Jess studied her. Despite Chloe’s hurt at the betrayal, at Jess having told Ryan about their kiss, Chloe still ached with love for this girl. If she did indeed have some sort of gift, why couldn’t she rid herself of the feelings? How simple life would be if she could. Which incantation might break the spell?

  ‘Ryan’s still trying to talk to Daniel,’ said Jess, taking a cigarette from the pack in her dungaree pocket and lighting it. ‘He’s obsessed with these powers.’

  ‘You said earlier that he walked around in his sleep.’ Chloe took a drag of the cigarette, hoping it would make her feel better. ‘That he said some weird stuff. Like what?’

  Blushing, Jess said, ‘It was at his house. His mum was away and we … well, I stayed over. Anyway, in the middle of the night I woke up and he was just standing in the corner, not even moving. I was totally freaked out. Then he started walking backwards. I couldn’t see his face in the darkness, and I don’t know why, but I was glad. He kept saying…’ Jess inhaled hard on the cigarette. ‘He kept saying “I can’t do that, I can’t do that, I can’t do that.”’

  ‘What do you think he meant?’

  ‘Dunno. It scared me though.’

  A sound in the passage then, and Ryan appeared.

  ‘We need to meet after the next rehearsal,’ he said, taking the rest of Jess’s cigarette without asking. ‘Finish this thing.’

  ‘I still feel crap,’ said Chloe. ‘I’m going home.’

  And she headed out to the front of the church. She looked up at the boarded-up, dome-shaped windows – most of them broken – and the turrets with ornate crosses, just as she had when Ryan first suggested the game. Then, a glossy, black bird had perched on one of the crosses, squawking; now there were three of them. A trio, all the same size, all quietly looking down at her.

  Jess rounded the corner. ‘I’m going home too,’ she said.

  Chloe looked back up. Now there were two birds. She smiled. ‘OK, let’s get the bus.’

  One arrived a minute later, and as they sat down inside, Chloe looked back and saw Ryan watching it leave. Despite everything, she felt desperately sad for hi
m. Poor Ryan with his single mum, yearning for more. He was such a brilliant actor – why couldn’t he see that and be happy?

  ‘What powers do you want?’ Chloe asked Jess. ‘Ryan thinks you want him, but it’s something else, isn’t it?’

  Jess shrugged. Then she turned it on Chloe. ‘What do you want?’

  Chloe ignored the question too. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What for? I should be sorry. I’ve been horrible. I shouldn’t have told Ryan about … you know. It just … came out. I was still processing it, I guess.’

  ‘No, I shouldn’t have kissed you.’ Chloe felt ashamed again. ‘I just … well, I like girls. I like … you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? We’re friends. Don’t we share everything?’

  You haven’t been, Chloe wanted to say.

  As though realising, Jess added, ‘I’ve let Ryan get between us, I know. And you’re right, he doesn’t treat me very well. But I can’t help how I feel about him.’ She fiddled with her dungaree strap. One of her purple nails was chipped. ‘I like boys, Chlo. I’m not saying I couldn’t get with a girl – and I did enjoy our kiss. I did. But I don’t think I’m gay.’ Quickly she added, ‘I don’t care that you are. I just don’t want anything more than friendship with you. You are mesmerising though.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘There really is something special about you.’ She paused. ‘I just don’t wanna fuck you.’

  Chloe laughed heartily, and it felt good, despite her headache. ‘Can we put it all to one side. Forget it all and just be the friends we are?’

  ‘Of course.’ After a moment, ‘Are we going to finish it?’

  Chloe was blank. ‘Finish what?’

  ‘The Ouija board. Do it one last time?’

  Chloe…

  She was so sure she heard her name being called that she turned and looked behind them. But the seats were all empty.

  ‘Chloe?’ It was just Jess.

  ‘I feel like … we should.’

  Then she remembered the theatre-mask charm in her pocket. They only had a few minutes until Jess’s stop, which was two before her own. She took out the small packet.

  ‘This is for you,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing heavy. Call it an early birthday gift if you like.’

  Jess laughed. ‘My birthday isn’t until February.’ She took it though; opened the tiny packet and smiled. ‘It’s gorgeous. I love it.’ When she held the silver charm up, Chloe was sure for a second that it winked at her. ‘Clip it on for me, would you?’

  Chloe attached it to the bracelet, next to the other trinket, the delicate witch hat with the frilled edge. She saw then – as clear as if it was actually there – a miniature ghost, also silver, shimmering in the weak bus lights.

  ‘Shit, my stop,’ cried Jess, jumping up and ringing the bell. The bus stopped with a violent heave. ‘Thanks, Chlo, I love this.’ She held up her arm, shaking her wrist, jingling the mask and hat together. ‘See you at rehearsals!’

  And she got off.

  *

  At home, Chloe opened her laptop and typed ‘Am I a witch?’ Thousands of sites came up. ‘Thirteen Signs You’re A Witch’. ‘How To Know You’re A White Witch’. ‘Why White Witches Rule’.

  She clicked on one and read the first paragraph:

  Powerful Signs that You Are a White Witch

  A white witch is someone who practises magic for the greatest good of all. A young white witch may be aware she sees and knows things and be afraid of this. But she shouldn’t be. It’s within her power to will things as long as it is with good intention. She is magic. She makes people nervous. She can move people. She can strike down a malicious person with the force of her rage too. She is dust.

  Chloe blinked. Read the last line again. But she had imagined it. The words were: ‘She is eternal.’

  Was she really a witch?

  She read again the line about ‘good intention’ and could hear Grandma Rosa as clear as though she was in the room. Never lash out in anger, only lash out in love. If she was a white witch, then she had failed. She had lashed out in anger. Both at others and at herself. Wasn’t self-harm the most brutal of lashing out?

  The urge to do it burned. But then, suddenly, Chloe was so exhausted she could barely reach for the dagger in the wooden box. Instead, she collapsed in her bed and passed out in seconds.

  And she didn’t leave it for almost two weeks.

  42

  The Dean Wilson Theatre

  August 2019

  Chloe carefully opens one of the doors and sneaks into the back of the auditorium. The swell of music is a physical thing that steals up the aisle steps and teases her with words she knows well. She smiles and whispers along.

  ‘Up here, or at your feet, wherever I am, I’m yours, wherever your heart beats…’

  The stage is ready for Dust and – with only two weeks until it opens – there is a tech rehearsal going on. Chloe first saw the completed set yesterday, but it was empty then, not lit, not boisterous with movement and sound. She spied on it from the wings, a beautiful, lifeless shell. Now it is alive with actors and wardrobe assistants and the stage manager and Edwin Roberts, red-faced and frantic. Now the air is hot with flood lights and the scent of sweat and conflicting perfumes. Now the LED lights subtly change the shade of white walls and flowers and curtains, signifying the emotions of the scene. Now Chevalier’s pretty summer garden moves gently in the breeze.

  Ginger is singing ‘Up Here’, the song before Esme jumps from the balcony and lands at Chevalier’s feet; the song that she hopes will win him over once and for all, before she ends her life for him. Her voice is the best Chloe has ever heard it; tenderly tremulous at times, soaring when the verse needs it. She must have practised and perfected, and practised and perfected.

  ‘I don’t fall, I fly, I don’t die, I’m free, wherever your heart beats…’

  As she watches from the shadows, Chloe realises there are tears on her cheeks. Tears of pride, and of absolute love. Despite her hurt at Ginger’s critical appraisal of her script, and despite her being so dismissive when they last parted, Chloe can’t help but be emotional. She knows what this must mean to Ginger; she can only imagine how it must feel. She sees the two of them as kids, singing this song, pretending Jess’s bed is the balcony and falling onto the floor.

  But this isn’t Jess now. It isn’t even Ginger.

  This is Esme Black.

  The transformation is complete. Despite this not being a dress rehearsal, she is in full costume. Still a housemaid, she wears a white smock and cap, muted make-up, her golden hair in a smooth bun. But as she jumps from the balcony – it’s positioned so her actual fall isn’t seen – a small change takes place, hinting at what is to come.

  The stage spins, revealing Esme on the ground, Chevalier leaning over. She lifts her head and the cap has fallen so her curls now cascade free. The lights change, adding angelic hues to the gold. The audience will know she has died. And Esme sings the final line of the song, before the stage fades to black, and it is the interval.

  ‘Wherever your heart beats…’

  ‘Let’s take a break,’ cries Edwin, clapping his hands.

  Ginger is helped up and disappears.

  Chloe realises it’s two weeks since they had that drink together and, in that time, they have only passed one another in the corridors twice. Chloe hasn’t been around as much. Since they started building the stage, there haven’t been any shows on; but today the ushers have been called in for a last meeting about the imminent Dust run. Chloe looks at her watch. It starts in one minute. She wants to find Ginger and tell her how wonderful she was – say that even if she doesn’t like her script, it doesn’t matter, that she thought she was incredible – but there isn’t time.

  Chloe leaves the auditorium and heads upstairs. The rehearsal space is now free again, and Cynthia is waiting for them, sitting on a chair in front of rows of others, folder on knee. The cue marks for the actors are still in place on
the floor. Chester, Nina, Paige, Beth and the other ushers are there, gossiping among themselves. Despite not needing the information this meeting will provide, Chester has come because it’s his final day on the rota and they’re going out for drinks later at Propaganda.

  Chloe takes a place on the end, next to Chester. She sneaks a look at Beth, hair bright purple today. She hasn’t stopped thinking about the earring; the single pearl that the press revealed was taken from Morgan’s dressing room that night. She has wanted to ask Beth again about the tiny item she took, but her brusque reaction to being questioned last time has deterred her. Today she feels buoyed by the glorious scene she just witnessed onstage and is determined to ask Beth again.

  But what if she won’t answer? Does Chloe tell someone else? Share her suspicions?

  ‘Right, this is it, folks.’ Cynthia interrupts Chloe’s thoughts. ‘In two weeks, we open. Two weeks! I’ve no idea where time has gone. It feels like days since the announcement. First, I want to thank you all.’ She doesn’t look at Chester. ‘You’ve all worked so hard and put up with a lot, especially with the film crew in your way, and endless journalists trying to get a story. Edwin Roberts wanted me to thank you too.’

  ‘Bet he didn’t,’ whispers Chester.