Walking

There’s something wrong with the house. It was fine at first.

The roof tiling cracked. We had it repaired, but it still leaks whenever the weather is bad. There’s mold growing near the front door that nobody ever uses. The floor creaks and shifts and the paint is peeling from the walls, from the roof. The carpet has been torn off the floor in my childhood bedroom and you can still see the sticky residue from where my old artwork was stuck on the walls.

When I lay in bed at night, I can hear the faint drip-drip-drip of the taps. My room is right next to the bathroom, but I close my eyes and that dripping sounds like it’s right beside me.

It’s all nothing, of course – it’s an old house, old houses always have personality, they always have quirks – I just don’t remember any of these things from when I was a kid.

I try not to think about being a kid. The more years that pass, the less and less I remember.

It sort of feels like I don’t exist, these last few weeks. My parents are barely home and we don’t talk much when they are. We never really have; I grew up lonely.

I spend my days wandering through the house and getting not much of anything done. Wandering around the streets of the little town I grew up in. This place has never changed. I used to hate that about it, when I was younger, but it’s oddly comforting now.

I spend most nights sitting out on the stairs of the porch, enjoying the lull of the waves crashing over the dunes. Listening to the cicadas sing and the way the leaves rustle with the summer breeze. And I hear wailing, too, but that’s just animals; we live in the country, there’s always a lot of wildlife out here. Sometimes it gives me this chill – it just sounds so human.

I know better, of course, I’ve always known better. I’m paranoid lately, and I haven’t been taking very good care of myself. I don’t remember the last time I ate, or the last time I slept through the night. I don’t even remember what month it is.

I remember the night I met her, though.

She looked so precious. Striking white blonde hair, wide blue eyes. Those pudgy, freckled cheeks. It was one of those nights out on the porch, and the sky just an endless black void. No stars, no moon, not a cloud in sight. This strange, icy wind blew from the north – I always forget about that wind, but that was the reason I looked in the first place –

But then I saw her.

A little girl. Not more than five years old, bare-footed and walking along the dirt track, wearing a little white sundress. The cold wind caught her fine hair and she stopped, looked over at me like she had seen a ghost.

I sort of felt like I had seen a ghost, too. I was that kind of kid – my parents were always too busy drinking with their friends to worry about where I had wandered off to this time, and everyone in our little town knew who I was, so they didn’t have to worry. I was always going off on my own, even at ridiculous hours after dark. My parents once found me wandering along the edge of the highway. They always tell it like it’s a funny story.

Hello, I called, because I felt as though I should.

Hello, she replied, as though this was nothing out of the ordinary.

She wandered to the fence, and I met her there.

What are you doing out so late? Do your parents know where you are? I asked gently, trying to appear approachable.

Yes, I’m just walking. I’ll go home soon, she told me, and tilted her head. Do your parents know where you are?

I frowned at her.

I’m grown up. I don’t need to tell them where I am.

She smiled a very small, secret smile, as though something about this was funny.

Okay. Will you walk with me? She asked, looking up at me with her hopeful little eyes.

I had looked around again, uncertain and somewhat hesitant. I could hear the faint sounds of laughter and music coming from somewhere nearby, so I figured – knowing my own upbringing – that everything was fine and her parents were probably not far away, having the time of their life.

And I walked with her. That was about three months ago.

The house seems to be deteriorating. Sometimes the water runs the colour of rust and murk, but I guess the ground here is always too wet because we’re so close to the beach. And there’s bush and mangroves everywhere, slowly creeping closer and closer to the houses and holding moisture in their roots. It wouldn’t surprise me if they’re starting to grow through the pipes in some places.

The mold seems to be spreading, too. And the cracks in the paint are getting wider, the damage is starting to show. I don’t know what to do about it, but my parents don’t seem too concerned. Not that they ever have.

The little girl visits me about once a week, now. It’s always of an evening, and I can always hear those parties playing on in the background, an eerily familiar backdrop.

She’s a strange girl to talk to. Very mature, very grown up for someone so young – speaks like an adult rather than a child. She talks a lot without telling me much at all. I know she’s five years old and that she’s always lived around here. I know that she always wears that little white sundress. It looks a little more ragged and worn every time I see her, so I think it must be her favorite. It reminds me of the one I had when I was a little girl; my mother could barely get me to change long enough to wash it. I like to think maybe her mother has the same problem.

I know there’s something off about this child, but she’s still just a little girl. And she reminds me so much of myself, I can’t bear to leave her alone. I hate letting her wander off into the night on her own. She’s just so small, so vulnerable, anything could happen to her. But she’s not mine to worry about.

The house is still getting worse. Something is definitely growing in the roof now. Mushrooms or moss, maybe, I can’t really tell. It’s dark up there, and I’m too worried about the water damage to try to explore and take a good look. And the pipes whine and creak like they’re going to burst whenever I turn the taps on of a night, like the pressure is getting built up with nowhere to go. I want to ask my parents to do something about it, but I haven’t seen them for a while. I keep forgetting.

Every time that little girl comes to see me now her hair is damp, like it’s just been wrung out after a shower. I worry about her, being out so late in just that sundress, never wearing shoes with her hair all wet – I’m scared she’ll catch a chill, so I usually let her borrow my sweater. She tells me she doesn’t really feel the cold, but she always looks like she feels so special to be wrapped up, her little hands bunched up in the too-big sleeves.  

I’ve been sleeping dreadfully. I keep having the most vivid dreams, and I toss and turn all night. I never remember the dreams when I wake up, but I’m always restless – it feels like I never get any sleep.

The last time I saw the little girl, I told her she can come and see me whenever she likes. I tried to suggest she comes over during the day, but she just giggled and told me, I only walk at night. We’ve been sitting on the porch together lately after we go on our little strolls, drawing and playing games together. She tells me all sorts of stories and does all sorts of drawings for me.

She drew this funny picture of the swamp, scribbles of green and brown and a little bit of red here and there. I stuck it up on my bedroom wall to cover the marks from where my own used to hang. I don’t like to think about when I was little. I don’t like that I can’t remember things.

It strikes me sometimes that she’s never told me her name. Well – I’m sure she has, but I always seem to forget by the time I wake up in the mornings. I think about her all the time, now, and I can imagine her life so vividly. It feels like I’ve lived it.

My nights are getting worse and worse. My days feel shorter. I tried to run myself a bath tonight and the water wouldn’t run clear. I didn’t mind having an old house at first, but all these little things are starting to frustrate me. I think the lack of sleep is starting to make me irritable, more emotional. I don’t feel that well.

I still love seeing her, though. I love our visits. She always seems so cheerful when she leaves, it makes me feel hopeful, a little happier. I think I can keep getting through these horrible times if I can just make her feel better, even for a few hours.

She came to see me again tonight. I don’t remember if I saw her last night or if it was the night before that – it’s getting trickier to keep track when I’m not sleeping properly. And I’ve been sleeping through some of the days, lately. I would tell my parents, but I don’t even remember the last time I saw them. Honestly, I don’t really think they’d do anything about it –

She came to see me, and something was wrong. All night, she kept coughing and rubbing at her eyes. They looked so red and irritated. I kept asking if she was alright, but she insisted she was. She wasn’t herself, though.

Something is wrong with this little girl. I’m worried about her.

I’m worried about myself, too. I’m just so tired all the time and my head feels so heavy. I keep waking up in places I don’t remember falling asleep. Sometimes I wonder if she’s even real.

Will you stay with me? I asked her the last time I saw her, and she just started to cry. I thought she was going to say no, but she wrapped her cold, clammy little arms around me and whispered that she loved me. I held her close and ran my fingers over her hair, tried not to think about the way she was trembling in my arms.

I don’t know how much time has passed, but I think she stays with me now. And it hurts – I’m scared all the time and sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe, like there’s something caught in my throat and I can’t get it out. My skin always feels a little damp and I can’t shake this chill, like it goes right down to my bones.

She still leaves, but I can feel her with me all the time. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I don’t know what this little girl is, but I think she might be a monster, I think she might be a ghost. I can feel her getting angrier.

I can’t blame her. She might be a monster, but she’s just a little girl. She never had the chance to learn how to control herself. I would be angry too, if I was stuck, stagnant. It makes her bitter.

I won’t ask her to leave, I could never – I love her like I’d love my own daughter. I love her the way I wish I had been loved. She scares me, but if I could just stop calling her a monster, what would she be?

I thought letting her stay with me would be enough, but she’s still so tired, so sad, so angry. She’s taking something from me, but she needs more than what I have. She doesn’t know how it hurts me to take it – but she loves me so much, I can feel it. And when we’re together, I just feel like she could be my whole life. I never want her to leave, I want to be able to give her whatever it is that will save her, but –

I just really wish I could get a good night’s sleep.

I woke up to her tapping on my bedroom door this morning, just before dusk. Sunlight was beginning to creep in through my open window – I don’t even remember last night, or how I got into bed. I felt like I hadn’t slept at all. She pulled the curtains closed and came to lay beside me, and she was gone by the time I woke up again.  

She looks so different, now. Her hair is always dripping on the floor – drip-drip-drip – and I don’t think it was ever the taps at all. There’s a film over her eyes and her white dress is stained with mud and swamp water. Sometimes she tries to talk and just can’t stop coughing. There’s algae and grass tangled through her hair most nights when she arrives. I always try to clean her up, but she comes back looking worse and worse every night.

She insists she’s fine, that everything is okay, but I can tell it isn’t. She’s more and more unsettled every time I see her, and tonight she started choking on something. I had to stick my fingers down her throat to get it out – chunks of weed and algae. It landed with a wet thud on my bedroom floor, and she ran out before I could make sure she was okay. I didn’t even have the energy to get up and run after her.

She is real. She has to be real. The chunks were gone when I woke up, but there were still teeth marks on my fingers from where she had accidentally bitten me. Her picture is still up on my wall. She’s drawn more, so many pictures of the swamps and the mangroves and those strange red scribbles. I think I’ve been having nightmares about them.

I was so tired and sore that I couldn’t even move today. And now my vision is getting worse. It’s never been good, but it feels like I’m trying to see through a haze. My eyes are open but it’s like I’m underwater. I feel like I’m dying, I feel so sick. And I sleep all the time, my dreams haunt me –

I remember them in bits and pieces now. I have strange dreams of floating in the swamp, leaving bloody red smears across the plants and in pools in the water. I can almost remember –

Suddenly, she’s sitting beside me on my bed. I don’t know what time it is, or what day. I don’t know when she got here. Was I asleep before she arrived? Why can’t I remember?

I have to show you something, she says to me, and her voice sounds mangled and far away. You have to get up. I need to show you.

What’s going on? I ask her.

Please, she chokes out, and looks up at me. There’s tears streaming from her murky white eyes, down her pallid cheeks. Please. We have to go now.

Okay, I say, and even though I don’t feel like I can, I get up.  

She takes my hand. I don’t even feel like I’m walking, but she takes me on the same walk we’ve gone on so many times. I’m starting to lose track of where we are. Something about this looks so different, something about this looks so familiar. The party I can always hear when she visits is getting louder –  I think we’re getting close to her home.

She stops, and I look up. We’re outside my house. I still feel like I’m looking through that haze, but things seem a little clearer somehow. The music is coming from my backyard. I can hear my father telling a story and my mother laughing.

This is my house, I tell her.

This is my house, she says, sounding defeated and heartbroken.

I love you, she whispers, and she walks in through the front gate and to the backyard. I lose track of her amongst the crowd of adults, and suddenly I’m alone. I try to call out to her, but I can’t. I can’t speak.

My head is spinning. I feel shaky and frail and I can’t breathe.

I know what’s about to happen. I manage to lift my head right as she walks past. A tall man with shadowy eyes is holding her hand, leading her away. Her parents don’t notice, because they’re too busy drinking with their friends. She looks like herself again, like the little girl I was that night – dazzling blue eyes, pudgy and pink-cheeked with that innocent, toothy grin.

No! I try to scream, but there’s nothing I can do.

We walk again.

And when we get to the swamp…

I’m too little to fight. He leaves my body there when it’s over. It takes a long time to drown, shrieking and gurgling as my tiny body convulses, blood pooling in the dirty water around me. There are so many weeds and algae in the swamp, in my mouth, in my throat, and eventually –

I don’t wake up.