The Doorway

by Lyn Murphy

  Lights come on at Brenda’s house, and the front door bursts open. Brenda comes running in response to her daughter’s cries. She scoops the child into her arms and holds Lily back, away from her body, so that she can look into her face. She seems to be plying the girl with questions. I can hear her voice but I can’t quite make out the words. I see Lily point in my direction and Brenda’s eyes scan the shadows that hide me from view.

  Will she come over here? What will I say if she does? I shouldn’t have touched the girl; shouldn’t have grabbed her like that. You just don’t go around grabbing hold of other people’s children unless you want to end up in court.

  It doesn’t matter that the child is driving me to distraction – threatening my sanity. All that anyone will see is that I grabbed her and frightened her and made her cry. The crazy neighbour who tried to commit suicide is now attacking children.

  But Brenda’s first consideration seems to be settling Lily and I see her shepherding the girl inside. I stay in my place of concealment until they have gone inside and closed the door.

  Chapter Eight

  The plan hasn’t worked. The handful of tablets I’ve taken has not sent me plummeting into a dreamless sleep at all; it has only made it harder to know where the dreams end and wakefulness begins.

  I actually believe that I’ve gotten out of bed, just as the sun is rising, and gone to make myself coffee. I can see the colours in the sky and I can hear the birds squabbling over the early morning smorgasbord of worms and grubs in my garden.

  But then I also see Lily; clambering over the fence again. I spill coffee down the front of my pyjamas and it burns my skin beneath the fabric. Yet the pain seems strangely distant – as if it’s happening in a dream. That’s it, I think to myself, feeling comforted by the knowledge. It’s just another stupid dream.

  And I’m not going to go running out there, trying to catch her again, trying to make her tell me about her doorway. I’m way too tired and the world is all fuzzy. I’m just going to crawl back into my bed and pull the covers up over my head, sinking back into the refuge of sleep. When I wake up it will be late enough to call Dr Morris for my appointment.

  But now, as I drag myself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, I notice two things. First of all the clock tells me it’s nearly nine o’clock. I don’t remember the last time I stayed in bed so late in the day. Secondly, the front of my pyjamas is stained with coffee and the skin underneath is scalded – red and sore.

  ‘The Dr is away on holidays,’ I’m told by the receptionist. ‘She won’t be back until next week, but I can fit you in with another one of the doctors if it’s urgent.’

  How can I see another Dr? It was hard enough for me to learn to trust Dr Morris – to get used to openly discussing the things that went on in my mind.

  I tell her I will take the first available appointment next week.

  I concentrate on showering and dressing, on putting my pyjamas in to soak and mopping up the spills from the dining room floor

  ‘Jillian? Hellooo? Can you come and open this gate please? Hellooo?

  It’s Brenda and I want to hide; pretending I’m not at home. But I can’t avoid this meeting. She will just keep coming back.

  I go outside to face the music, but I make no move to unlock the gate. Whatever she has to say to me can be said from the footpath.

  I see the way she looks at me. I saw myself in the mirror this morning and I know I look a wreck

  ‘So what happened last night?’ she demands, her eyes hard with anger ‘Lily says you grabbed her? She’s got a bruise on her arm.’

  ‘I told you I didn’t want her in my yard,’ I protest. ‘She climbed over the fence.’

  ‘Okay,’ Brenda concedes, nodding. ‘So she is being punished for that. But you had no right to put your hands on her. She’s just a little kid and I could have you up for assault you know?’

  ‘I’m sorry!’ I mutter. ‘I..’

  ‘So you should be sorry too,’ she tells me, cutting off whatever else I had to say. ‘And you’ll be even sorrier if you ever touch her again, you hear me? Keep your hands to yourself ‘

  I can’t seem to find a suitable response. I just stand there and look at her through the fog that clouds my world today. Eventually she huffs at me and turns on her heel to march back home.

  Tears sting my eyes. This is all too much. They’ll all know about this before long. Brenda seems the sort to share it around – the story of how I assaulted her child. They’ve always considered me a bit of a talking point. I often see them whispering – the looks they exchange when they think I’m not watching. Well they’ll have a ball with this one, won’t they?

  Chapter Nine

  I’m just so tired. I crawl back into bed for a while; just for a while.

  I must get up now; I keep telling myself each time I surface. Staying in bed all day is a sure sign of depression. And I can’t hide away like this forever.

  But the bedroom doesn’t have a view of the garden. I won’t see Lily from here if she decides to climb over my fence again.

  The phone is ringing loudly, dragging me up into wakefulness. I grope for the receiver on the bedside table.

  ‘Jillian?’ I recognise the voice. It’s Susan, from the Publishing House. ‘You sound dreadful? Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine’ I manage. ‘I was asleep – that’s all’

  She’s sorry to wake me, Susan says, but her tone adds

  ‘So what are you doing in bed at two in the afternoon for goodness sake?’

  She’s after the manuscript of course. I would normally have had it finished and back on her desk way before this. That’s why they continue to send so much work my way, because I’m quick and efficient and extremely reliable.

  But right now the thought of sitting down to read that novel has my stomach clenching in fear. I am struggling to stay in touch with reality and the very last thing I need is to be sidetracked by stories about the world of the paranormal. I have enough of the paranormal going on right here in my own backyard.

  ‘Jillian? Are you still there?’

  But there are just a few pages to go and then I can send it back. I really can’t afford to let this ‘thing’ with Lily cost me my job, and it will if I don’t pull myself together. I’ve been so fortunate to get this position, to be able to work from home the way I do instead of being stuck in an office for eight hours a day. This is just perfect for me – but I have to face the fact that there are plenty of people waiting in the wings to take over if I should fail to produce.

  So I tell Susan I will have the manuscript couriered back to the office first thing in the morning. I crawl out of bed and splash cold water on my face. I make myself a strong cup of coffee and settle down at the dining room table with the blinds firmly closed.

  I was on the right track. The ghost girl in the story had been murdered and she had chosen Sarah as an instrument of her desire for revenge. Such an ‘old hat’ kind of plot and yet so skilfully done. I feel a stab of envy for the talent of this writer as I tuck the completed manuscript into an addressed post bag. All of my grammatical corrects and suggested edits are either pencilled in the margins or typed up as attachments on cross linked sheets of paper. I will ring the courier tomorrow to arrange delivery.

  Actually I’m quite proud of myself. A few hours ago I really feared for my sanity. But now, when put to the test, I have pulled myself together and completed the task at hand. That’s a very positive sign.

  I’m even feeling hungry, but then it is after eight o’clock at night. I’m stiff and sore from sitting so long and I do some stretches to free up the muscles before I go to the kitchen to find something to eat.

  Scrambled eggs with cheese and parsley flakes! That is really about the limit of my culinary expertise. I take it to eat in the lounge room in front of the TV, flicking through the channels until I find a program about the Sumatran Tiger.

  But a short while later, I’m aroused from my peace
ful, relaxed state of mind when I realize that it’s Wednesday – which means tomorrow is the day for garbage collection.

  Now sometimes the truck doesn’t come until late morning – even early afternoon. But, other times, the driver is out there at 5.30 am, banging and clanging and waking up the neighbourhood. He just doesn’t follow a pattern and I always make a habit of getting the bins out the night before; just to be safe.

  I check the bedroom, the bathroom and kitchen for rubbish to add to the kitchen tidy. I wipe down the kitchen tidy bin and replace the liner. I wipe down the cupboard doors and scrub the plughole of the kitchen sink to remove the stains. I know I’m stalling. I don’t want to go outside.

  She is going to be out there, I just know it. I will open the door and find her lurking - either just about to leave to where ever it is she goes, or just in the act of returning. I wonder if she plans it that way? To make sure I will be around when she does her ‘thing’. To make sure I see it happen?

  But why would she do that? What would she have to gain from scaring me out of my mind? No! I’m being ridiculous now. Dr Morris always tells me to remember that it isn’t always ‘about me’. People have lives of their own, peculiarities of their own and the things they do often have nothing remotely to do with me. Knowing that should give me a certain sense of freedom, because it means I am free to control how I react to the actions of others.

  In other words I can just ignore her. If I go outside and Lily is there, then I can just pretend I don’t see her. I can go ahead with the task of putting out my bin for collection. I come back in inside and Lily can just do her ‘thing’ without an audience. Maybe that won’t work so well for her, but it will certainly work for me.

  Obviously I can’t stop her. The locks on the gates haven’t stopped her. Admonishments from me and from her mother haven’t stopped her. So, until I find a way of doing that, I should just avoid any further emotional distress for myself by ignoring her completely.

  Yet I just know I won’t be able to do that – to ignore her. Part of me still believes the impossible. Part of me still clings to the notion that this strange little girl has some kind of passport to overcome the barriers between this world and the next. And that same part of me is thinking that if she can do it, well maybe so can I.

  Chapter Ten

  You need to make friends, Dr Morris tells me constantly. Join a club, a social group of some kind; anything to get you out and involved with other people. It’s not healthy to spend all of your time on your own the way you do.

  I understand where she is coming from with her admonitions, I really do. Without social interaction – when you live inside your own head the way I do, then it is just too easy to wind up where I am right now; contemplating a lonely child’s fantasy as possible fact.

  But I am not good at this ‘making friends’ business. I’ve only ever had one real friend and that was back in primary school. Her name was Colleen and she was just like me, a loner with serious social interaction issues. For a time we were inseparable, kindred spirits clinging together in a hostile world of bullies for whom people like us provided the light entertainment.

  Then Colleen’s parents divorced and her mother dragged her off to live across the other side of the country. We tearfully promised that we would one day get back together again. When we were old enough to leave home we would get a flat together. We would travel the world; sharing the most amazing experiences.

  But Colleen made other friends at her new school, in her new life. Her letters grew further and further apart and finally dried up altogether. I never found anyone to replace her. Perhaps I never really tried.

  Even when it came to boys – Tom was the only one. Oh I had my share of crushes on the boys at school, but they were never reciprocated. I was one of those girls who seem to be invisible when it comes to being possible ‘date’ material.

  There has been no-one since Tom. How could I meet another man when I never go out socially; when the mere thought of going out socially brings me out in a sweat of panic?

  But right now I would give anything to have someone I could call; someone who could come and be with me and show me how utterly ridiculous it is to be standing here like this, terrified at the thought of taking my garbage bins out to the kerb.

  With my heart in my mouth, I open the side door and look out on an empty yard. But something tells me it might not stay that way for long.

  I rush to grab the bin and drag it behind me, almost breaking into a run as the prickles of fear start up and down my spine. She’s going to come around the corner. I know it with a certainty that freezes me in my tracks. I want to leave the stupid garbage bin where it is and run back inside. So what if my bin is full of smelly garbage for another week?

  But I can’t seem to move. I just stand there frozen to the spot; staring at the corner of the house. And then it is too late.

  Chapter Eleven

  I am standing directly in her path.

  She has also come to an abrupt halt, her back towards the light from the street lamp, so I can see her only as a silhouette. Yet I feel those washed out blue eyes on me and I feel her desperation.

  I experience a sense of understanding for her dilemma now. This is why she keeps coming back, in spite of all the efforts made to keep her away. Lily needs to do this. This is not some vindictive little girl playing pranks on a crazy neighbour. This strange child is truly driven to do whatever it is she does here.

  ‘Where do you go?’ I hear myself ask her in a croak. ‘Please tell me where you go.’

  ‘To see my Dad,’ she answers in her little girl’s voice.

  ‘Your Dad is dead,’ I say. The words are harsh. Not the sort of thing I would normally be saying to a child so recently bereft of her beloved parent. But this is no ordinary situation and this is no ordinary child.

  ‘Not to me,’ she tells me.

  The small voice of the remnant of my sanity is begging for attention. Walk away, it is telling me. Let her go. Just walk away while you are still able.

  ‘Is Jake there?’ I ask her and the small voice screams in protest. ‘My little boy, Jake? Is he there in this place you go to?’

  Lily doesn’t speak but I see her shoulders rise and fall in a shrug.

  ‘Can you show me how to go there, Lily?’ I plead with her. ‘Can you show me the doorway?’

  Lily moves like lightning, taking me by surprise. She heads off to one side of me, trying to get around me. I fling myself at her, desperate to catch her before she can disappear. She weaves and loses her balance, falling and crying out in pain as her hands and knees connect solidly with the ground.

  For one long moment we are frozen there, Lily on the ground, holding her injured knee and whimpering, while I stand over her, about to reach down, to offer assistance. Or maybe I am going to make the most of my advantage and grab her before she can run away again?

  She moves with the speed and agility that only the very young can muster, gone before the sound of my own cry of anguish has time to reach my ears

  I fold up like a rag doll, unable to support my own weight any more, falling heavily to a sitting position on the ground. I hear some one shouting, calling out my name and the rattle of my front gate. It’s Brenda, trying to get my attention, trying to get me to come and unlock the gate for her.

  I realize I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting here. My clothes feel cold and damp against my skin. My whole body is full of a dull and distant kind of pain; much like the pain I felt when I struggled back to consciousness after an appendectomy I had as a teenager.

  ‘What the hell are you doing out here?’ Brenda’s voice is asking me, and I realize she is standing right beside me. I suppose she has climbed over the fence to get to me. She’s in her dressing gown, but she still reeks of cigarette smoke. Does she really go to bed stinking of smoke? Can’t she smell it in her hair and on her clothes?

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you? Are you drunk or something?’

&
nbsp; I should pull myself together and try to answer her. And what would I say? Nothing that comes into my mind right now seems to make sense, even to me.

  ‘Oh for Christ’s sake’ she says. ‘Look I don’t have time to worry about you right now. Lily is missing, okay? I just went to check on her and she’s not in her bed. Has she been here tonight? Have you seen her?’

  The little voice inside finally gets my attention. Say no! Tell her no, you haven’t seen Lily tonight. Let her go away thinking you’re drunk, or drugged, or whatever she wants to believe at this moment, but just don’t point towards an empty space and tell her that her daughter has gone through her doorway into the spirit world.

  I find my voice although what comes out is no more than a whisper. I shake my head to give my reply in the negative some emphasis. Brenda holds my gaze for a moment and then she shakes her head too, leaning down to grab me under the arm.

  ‘Come on,’ she tells me, and easily lifts me to my feet. ‘Let’s get you inside okay? You may be some kind of crazy lady, but there’s no way I can just leave you sitting out here like this”

  She helps me inside – even takes me to my room and supervises me crawling into bed. She asks if she can call some one –‘a Dr’ maybe? But I shake my head. She sees the pill bottle beside my bed and asks if I should take some of those?

  I tip up the bottle and swallow how ever many pills fall into my hand. I would have meted out another dose as well, but Brenda restrains me, taking the bottle away from me.

  ‘No way, Jose,’ she tells me. ‘I’m sure you’re not supposed to take that many of the things, lady. That’s probably how you got yourself like this in the first place, eh? With all these pills? You’re probably some kind of prescription junkie, aren’t you? And you’ve got the gall to look at me like I’m a leper because I light up a smoke!’

  She talks about going off to search for Lily. She says she will come back to check on me later, once she finds the girl. And then she is gone and I am drifting away on the clouds.