Opening it made my worst nightmare come true. Inside of it was a Polaroid picture. A picture of me. A picture of me standing in front of the Apple store that Friday, September 21st. The photograph was taken by someone behind me. The most shocking part was that the picture was snapped in exactly the same moment I spotted Rose; I could tell because there was a look of complete horror on my face. On the back of the Polaroid was written with a black pen:
you take it, NOW
I dropped the picture and started crying like a little baby. I am a grown man, and I sobbed like an infant that just entered this cold world. When Trish walked into our room, I was in a fetal position with my shirt and pillow soaked with tears of horror. She immediately assumed someone in my family had died, since she had never seen me cry before.
“Oh god… babe. Babe, what’s the matter? Is it someone from back home?” she asked, giving me the strongest hug I ever got from her.
I couldn’t bring myself to speak for another ten minutes or so. Trish just sat next to me, hugging me and waiting to hear what it was that brought her boyfriend to such tears. When I finally calmed down, I sat up, grabbed her hand, and started as gently as I could.
“Babe, what you’re about to hear… I can’t really explain it. But I need you to trust me.”
“Of course I will.”
And just like that, everything got a little better. Not much, but just a little. Sure, my life and possibly hers was about to go to shit, but man, finally someone was ready to believe me. And I was sure having seen me absolutely devastated a minute ago would lend credibility to my story. I spent the next few minutes telling the story, leaving most of the details out as I just wanted her to get an idea of what I’d been going through. She just sat there, saying nothing, looking at me with utmost fascination.
“…and that’s basically it,” I finished, looking into her eyes, hoping I wouldn’t see that “I’m dating a lunatic” look. But she didn’t say anything. She kept looking at me with her jaw hanging a little, presumably out of shock.
“Babe, I know it’s a lot to handle, but please believe me…” I pleaded with her.
“That woman…” she murmured finally.
“Rose, yes,” I answered.
“Did she… did she offer you an orange?”
FIVE
Trish's Story
My girlfriend was born in Kenya, Africa, but her family moved to Canada when she was three. Trish is Indian, if that matters at all. I met her exactly two years ago in a Cape Cod town called Provincetown. She was a flight attendant for Air Canada at the time, and had come to visit the place with a few friends at the same time I was spending my summer there.
There was only one real club to go out to in the whole town, and after it closed at 2am, people would gather on benches in front of it and just hang out. I was on the street with my brother and best friend, and we were just standing and chatting. At one point, we were approached by an older gentleman who appeared to be intoxicated. Things became hilarious when he started openly hitting on me. Even after I’d told him multiple times that I was not interested in his increasingly forward offers, he became even pushier. Just as I was about to leave and go home, letting this man ruin my so far perfect night, I heard a female voice from the benches.
“Hey, baby, what’re you doing?”
I turned around and saw Trish. She was sitting on the bench with two other people. I’ve never met her before, so I wasn’t sure if she was actually talking to me.
“Well, are you going to sit with me or what?” she asked, looking straight into my eyes. I realized that she was trying to save me from the man.
“Excuse me,” I said, walking towards Trish, “my fiancé is calling me.”
The man wouldn’t buy the story, and he came after me. I sat next to Trish.
“Is he really your fiancé?” the man asked.
“Yep,” she answered with confidence.
“Prove it.”
That was the first time Trish and I kissed. The man left us alone shortly after that. Trish and I have been together ever since, and I still owe her for saving me that day.
There are so many things that are fascinating about Trish’s life, but none more so than the fact that she knew about Rose.
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“Did she offer me an orange? How the hell did you know?” I asked, feeling ill from this second shock of the day.
“She - I saw her before,” was all Trish managed to say before she broke down crying.
Trish held on tight to me, and we spent the next hour or so in complete silence. I knew that we were both emotionally drained, but I just had to find out how she knew about Rose.
“Rose… How’d you know about her?”
“I didn’t know her name was Rose… but I have met her a few times.”
This is Trish’s story.
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The first encounter with Rose that my girlfriend remembers was on a plane. Trish was working one of those short-distance flights. She remembers noticing Rose before even interacting with her. Trish says that she saw this woman, attractive but extremely pale, sitting in the economy class and grinning as wide as she could. She had no earphones nor any other devices or books that could make her smile, so it was a strange thing to do, but Trish brushed it off. When she came up to Rose to offer her a drink and complimentary peanuts, the damn woman only widened her smile, not answering.
“Excuse me, ma’am, do you speak English? Français?”
“I have something for you,” Rose answered in perfect English. What was troubling, though, was that she spoke with a voice that seemed like it belonged to a young girl rather than an adult woman.
Now, Trish has seen some shit during her flying career. She’s dealt with them all: flirters, complainers, troublemakers, love makers, you name it. Hearing a woman speak with a childish voice was strange, but not any stranger than a man from the week before who started screaming mid-flight about someone standing on the wing of a plane. Trish’s strategy was to always play along and entertain such people to the extent of her powers and comfort.
“Oh yeah? And what would that be?” she responded to Rose with a smile on her face.
“Don’t patronize me, you little bitch,” Rose fired back. She spoke very quickly, without her jaw ever opening, and somehow maintained that fucking smile on her face the entire time.
This was a red flag for Trish, who always walked away from confrontations with aggressive passengers unless actual physical contact took place, in which case the rest of the crew and Air Marshal would take over.
“Alright, well, you have a wonderful rest of the flight, ma’am, ok?” Trish responded, forcing herself to smile.
“I have this for you,” Rose said, pulling out an orange from behind her back. Again, she never opened her mouth, yet she managed to speak clearly. Oddly, her voice still sounded like that of a little girl.
“No, thanks,” said Trish, deciding to call it a day with the crazy lady.
“Oh, but you should. You really should.”
“No,” Trish said firmly, walking away.
“One day, then,” Rose whispered.
And that’s that. Trish gave her a “fuck off” look and stayed away from Rose’s section for the rest of the flight. When they landed, Trish made sure she was nowhere near the exit while people left so she wouldn’t have to deal with this strange woman.
My girlfriend went home that night. When her mom asked her how the flight went, Trish responded, “Good, other than one crazy lady. Why can’t I ever get a normal flight?”
“What crazy lady?” asked her mom.
So, Trish started telling her about Rose. By the time she mentioned the orange, her mom started crying. Needless to say, it was story time.
Apparently, when Trish was just a baby in Kenya, she would often wake her parents up by crying loudly. When her mom and dad would come into the room, there would be an orange in Trish’s crib. The
problem was, all the doors and windows were always locked. Her dad searched the house every time an incident like this happened, but he could never find any evidence of a break-in. When the orange incidents started becoming more scary than mysterious, Trish’s parents installed security cameras in their house. This seemed to eliminate the issue almost instantly.
However, on Trish’s third birthday, the final incident happened. When her parents walked into her room that morning, they saw an orange lying on her chest. Naturally, they went to check the security cameras, and sure enough, Rose was there. They could clearly see Rose walking in the house, as if she owned the key to it. She then proceeded to walk to Trish’s room. Her mom said that, even though it was dark inside the house, you could see how pale the woman was. She was smiling. When Rose walked into the baby’s room, she gently placed the orange on Trish’s chest and just stood there. For a good hour. Just stood there, rocking back and forth and looking at the baby, with her head tilted to the left. When Trish’s dad got up to go to the bathroom around 4am, Rose stopped the staring and rocking thing and simply walked away. She didn’t appear to be at all worried that she’d be caught.
The first thing Trish’s family did was call the police, but knowing the effectiveness of the Kenyan police, they hardly felt comforted. Although the officers promised to do an extensive investigation on these break-ins, Trish’s dad knew he had to do something else. Hiring 24/7 security wasn’t an option because of their financial situation at the time. Trish’s mother’s side of the family already lived in Canada and had been pressuring her parents to move there, so these events were the final push for them.
Trish was devastated by her mom’s story. Lost and scared, she spent the next few days in her room, thinking about what could possibly be the reason for this woman to stalk her. Her parents had absolutely no idea why these things were happening.
But by a few days later, Trish had made herself believe that it was all some sort of fucked up coincidence. She felt safe at home, and nothing further happened, so she decided to leave this absurdity behind and move on with her life. She lived in peace for two years, until she met Rose again.
Trish was, and still is, an avid surfer. Surfing and flying are her two main passions in life. In 2010, she decided to take a vacation and go to Nicaragua, where she’d spend the summer riding waves. This trip had been her dream ever since she got her first surfboard.
She spent most of the summer having the time of her life. She was surrounded by great friends, she’d spend days surfing and tanning, you know, she lived the good life. And just when she started wondering if she had come close to perfect happiness, Rose came back.
Once a week, Trish and her friends would throw a nighttime beach party that involved drinking, grilling, and of course, surfing. It was her favorite part of the summer; they would all sit around the fire, drink whatever liquor or beer they had, and cook some good food. Then, they’d jump on their boards and ride the ocean for an hour or two. This particular night, when everyone was ready to jump in the water, Trish felt ill. She assumed that she either ate something bad or that the cheap vodka was finally getting to her. She told everyone to go ahead and that she’d join soon.
Lying by the fire in the soft, comfortable sand, Trish started dozing off. When the fire started dying down, she sat up and saw a man sitting next to her. Many people would often join these parties, so that wasn’t strange. What was strange was that the man wore a suit. He sat very close to Trish, causing her to immediately sober up. She noticed he didn’t wear any shoes and that his whole outfit, except for the white dress shirt, was black. He even wore one of those old-school top hats. The entire outfit was completely inappropriate for both the beach and the entire climate of tropical Nicaragua.
“Did you sleep well, Trish?” he asked her, smiling and looking at the dying fire.
“Yes… Do I know you?”
“Oh, no, I don’t believe you do, Trish,” the man responded, turning towards her. She noticed that he looked extremely old and young at the same time, as strange as that sounds. His face had clearly been through decades and decades of life, but his eyes… his eyes seemed as young as an infant’s, with an unnatural shine and energy hiding in them.
“Then how do you know my name?” she asked, slowly moving away from the man.
“You know, Trish,” the man said, brushing off the sand from his coat sleeves, “you should really take it.”
Trish froze instantly. Not only was there a strange man in a black suit sitting next to her on the beach, but he also knew her name… and it seemed that he knew more than that.
“Take… take it?” Trish managed to whisper, not wanting to hear the answer.
“Yes, take it,” the man responded, pointing to a spot in the distance ahead. Trish looked to where he pointed and a wave of shivers ran down her spine. Out of the dark in front of them emerged Rose. She walked slowly, almost mechanically. She was smiling and tilting her head to the left, and in her hand was an orange.
“You’re ready,” said the man, standing up and brushing the remaining sand off of his suit, “you really are. Transfer will be complete.” Rose walked up to him and they just stood there, looking at a stunned Trish.
She always has tremendous trouble talking about this event because this was the first time she felt truly unsafe. The first time she had encountered Rose, she was a baby and she didn’t remember anything. The second time, well, she was on a plane surrounded by people. This time, she was sitting on a beach alone, and Rose now had someone else with her. With her extremities paralyzed in fear, Trish did the only thing she could. She screamed.
The second she opened her mouth, Rose lost her smile and snapped her head back into a normal position. Seconds later, voices could be heard. Her friends were coming to see what was happening.
“Take it,” said Rose, stretching her hand towards Trish, “just take it.” Her voice sounded childish once again.
“Enough,” said the man, grabbing Rose’s hand.
At that moment, two of Trish’s male friends came over. Rose and the man both immediately adopted friendly, normal-looking smiles.
“Is everything all right?” one of the guys asked.
“They, they…” Trish struggled to speak. “They…”
“Oh, we’re lost as can be!” said the man with a British accent. He hadn’t spoken like that when he talked to Trish. “We were just asking this young lady for directions to our hotel.”
“No!” Trish screamed. “No! They wanted me to take that fucking orange and-” She was cut off by the man’s laughter.
“You kids need to take it easy with all that alcohol,” he said, looking at the stack of empty bottles by the fire.
“No, I saw this woman before and…”
“Hey, Trish, take it easy,” said one of her friends, putting the blanket around her. “You probably just had a nightmare or something.”
“No, you don’t understand-”
“All right, well, we better get going,” said the man, taking Rose’s hand.
“Sorry about this,” Trish’s friend said, smiling. “Looks like she had a bit too much to drink.”
And just like that, Rose and the man left. Trish spent the night crying out of fear and frustration, and got on a plane home the next day.
The last time Trish encountered Rose was one month before we met in Provincetown.
It’d been a year since the last horror with the orange, and Trish had found a way to move on after some time. She often flew on trans-Atlantic flights. Pay was good, but traveling and seeing different places was even better. After one of those flights, Hong Kong to Toronto, I believe, Trish and the rest of the crew headed to the hotel Air Canada had provided for them. She loved that part of her job the most, staying in luxury hotels and having the room to herself.
That night, she brought some alcohol from the plane and just laid in bed, drinking. She probably had one too many because she passed out with the TV on, something she never does. At about 5am
, she heard a quiet knock on her door. Still drunk, she ignored it, but there was another knock. And another.
“Go away!” Trish yelled, hoping that the maid, or whoever it was, would go away.
She heard the knock again.
“God fucking damn it,” Trish said, rolling out of the bed, “someone better be dead.”
When she opened the door, she realized that the news about someone close to her dying would’ve been better. In front of her stood Rose.
You know how when you’re drunk and then something shocking happens, you sometimes sober up immediately? That’s what happened to Trish. The influence of five small Smirnoffs faded away instantly.
Rose stood there, smiling widely and rocking back and forth.
“What… what do you want from me?” Trish cried.
“Take it. Now. He will, too. And then it will all be complete. Transfer will, at least,” Rose said, still rocking. Trish could sense some excitement in Rose’s oddly young voice.
I’m not sure if it was just a defense mechanism or a moment of pure madness, but Trish grabbed the orange out of the woman’s hand and threw it down the hallway.
“Get the fuck out of my life, you freak!” Trish screamed at her.
All this aggression did to Rose was make her lose her smile. She didn’t even flinch.
“I’ll see you two soon,” she said calmly in an adult voice. It was the first time either of us heard her speak like a normal person (when it was just the two of us). Trish remembers being terrified by it because her voice sounded so serious, even threatening. Of course, at the time, Trish and I didn’t know each other, and she had no idea who “you two” were in Rose’s mind.
The Story of Her Holding an Orange Page 3