Don't Let Her Know You're Awake

Well within the woods, dappled in deep forest shadow the teahouse crouched, waiting for her. A sense of wary superstition was undercut by the inner skeptic’s eye roll, “Of course they’d use location and atmosphere. When relying on placebo, location and atmosphere are all you’ve got.” Claudia politely knocked on the door and was surprised by the girl who opened it. She’d expected someone dressed in kimono, someone aged. This girl looked barely out of her teen years, blue eyes shining with enthusiasm. She wore a pink woolen jumper, which was the most mystifying thing yet; it was far too hot. “I guess, we’re not even going to get a good placebo.”

“Hi, I’m Claudia, I have a 2 o’clock appointment?” The girl nodded and gestured her in. The room held an oak coffee table and several blue cushions for seats.

“I’m Hazel, I’ll be conducting the exorcism.” She intoned the word with humour and wiggled her fingers in mock spooky fashion. “Come, sit.” Hazel grabbed a tray holding a tea set and plopped into a cushion. Claudia sat cautiously, unsure of what social protocol to obey in this scenario.

“So, Claudia, what brings you to my teahouse?”

“Well, your website says you can get rid of ghosts.”

“It does. What’s your ghost like?”

“Hang on, can I just ask. Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Well, I do run a teahouse that takes care of hauntings.” Hazel shrugged, and then seeing Claudia’s discomfort, continued. “It’s hard not to believe when you’ve been through it. I just think that ghosts are widely misunderstood.”

Claudia peered into the coffee table’s wooden veins. “I don’t really believe in ghosts. This is probably sleep deprivation or something.” She went silent, but when Hazel didn’t fill the silence Claudia said, “I keep seeing a silhouette, in my doorway. When I try to sleep. Gives me quite a surprise sometimes.” She undercut her words with a small laugh. “This is insane”.

“What emotion does it carry?”

Claudia thought for a second. “I’m scared of it… but I don’t know if it has a particular emotion. I guess, ‘ambivalent’ seems like a good starting point.”

“What does it do?”

“It just stands there for the most part. It watches me sleep. Other times, it looks into my room and continues past. Creepy right?”

“Very.” Hazel seemed positively delighted. “Still, it can’t be good for your sleep. Do you know who or what the ghost is?” She started setting green-glazed clay cups upon the table, gentle tink-tinks­ of clay on wood settling into the room like guests.

“It’s always a woman.” Hazel, hands moving in delicate, almost reverent fashion, pours steamy tea into one cup. She grabs another kettle and Claudia finds herself transfixed on the stream of liquid filling the second cup. One with a green tint, the other with orange.

Hazel looked off to the side.

When she refocused on Claudia she said, “So, it’s your mother then.” Claudia recoiled. She then glanced at the spot where Hazel had been staring off to her right. Sudden superstitious emotions flooded the area with dark spiritual miasma, which was quickly dispelled by Hazel’s chuckle. “Don’t worry, I don’t see her there. It’s just, you told me that someone was watching over you when you sleep; that is something a parent does. You told me it was a woman, ergo, I’m guessing the ghost is connected to your mum? Nothing supernatural here.” The exorcist smiled kindly. “So, what’s your mum like?”

Claudia reached for the tea, seeking some warmth to ward off the sudden chill. She had flash backs of a chicken coop that her Mum would stare dazedly at for hours. Her mother locked in her room reading through the library’s entire romance collection. What really defined her mother in her head though, was year six. She came home from school one day and there were adults whose words were weighted with gravity.

“My mum. She went insane.”

Claudia remembered their concern when they told her that her mum was in the mental ward. She vividly remembered her own relief.

Hazel gestured to the cup with its green tea. “This is the bitter tea. It should be cool enough to drink.” Claudia lifted the cup to her nose and took in the pungent smell. It was earthy and deep with a sharp aroma. She took a sip and remembered it then. The reason she’d been relieved.

“Every night for six months before being committed, mum would walk the house. Often, she would settle in my doorway, watching.” Lack of sleep was a typical sign of bi-polar. “During the day she would stalk me through the house and tell me how she wanted to kill my dad.”

As her mother’s behaviour became increasingly erratic, she had become increasingly scared at night. Perhaps her mother’s anger would set its eyes on a closer target? She had started staying awake, in case. Claudia did not want to be that vulnerable child again. The one who had undone the flyscreen and kept the bedside window open. She refocused her attention on the warmth of the cup, which she realized she’d finished.

“I can’t sleep. I hallucinate a ghost. I don’t want to be like her.”

“This ghost, you’re afraid it means you’re insane, not just sleep deprived?” Hazel stared to the side again. “I guess it’s time for the second cup.”

Claudia felt the warm smooth clay, and this time the orange tea’s aroma summoned the feeling of flower fields. She took a sip of the sweet elixir. Hazel said, “Tell me about your mother. The good, this time.”

Another memory, buried deeper than the last, arose. She was even younger, pretending to be asleep. Her mother’s silhouette was in the doorway, watching her sleep. Protecting her, being attentive. “It’s strange. I remember my mum watching me sleep. In grade six, I was scared she would kill me while I slept. But when I was younger, I had felt comforted… Loved, perhaps.”

“You’re more hesitant to admit her love than her insanity. Isn’t that strange?”

Hazel looked into the teapot and stirred the leaves absently with a small spoon. “What we try to bury will crawl its way to the surface, somehow. Many find themselves stuck in addiction. Some find themselves haunted. Perhaps you’re not insane, you’re simply burying something.”

“So, I’m repressing her love?”

She took a sip of tea and saw those nights in grade six in a new light. Perhaps, even in her psychotic, fear-filled state, her mum had been standing at the door not to kill her. Perhaps she’d been there to protect her.

Claudia left the tearoom, her ghost no longer feeling so mysterious or weighty, her fears of insanity retreating as her understanding advanced. When going out the door she called one last question over her shoulder,

“Hey, Hazel, what does the tea do?”

“Well, it is steeped in tradition and holds a wealth of symbolic power. The ceremony typically represents purification. But.” She wagged her finger with a smile, “I mainly use it because I like tea.”