Just A Memory

Sally grimaces as the wall comes crashing down, the edges of the room disappearing in a thick cloud of dust. There’s no turning back now. The old house needs a lot of work and she would have to roll her sleeves up and do some of it herself if she was going to have it finished before winter. Beggars can’t be choosers. She tucks a strand of short red hair behind her ear and begins to shift the rubble.

“Hello? Anybody home?” comes a voice from the front passageway.

“Back here!” Sally calls.

The shape of a tall, stocky figure appears in the kitchen doorway. She squints at his silhouette through the dust and feels a flicker of dismay. I must look a right state.

“Hello, can I help you?”

“Hi! I’m Mike, I live next door, I just thought I should pop in and say hi to my new neighbours!” He said, raising one hand in a half wave from across the room.

Sally gets a better view as he moves closer and she notices the crisp black and white uniform of the local police force. His dark hair was swept back roughly, and he stood with one hand tucked into his belt loop with an intrigued smile on his face.

“Hi I’m Sally”

“Great to meet you, it looks like you’re making yourself right at home! Is your husband not helping out with this kind of thing?”

“Ah well, I'm divorced so now it’s just me and my trusty sledge hammer,” Sally smiled.

“I’m sorry, that was dumb of me.”

Mike shifts from one foot to another, stuffing his hands deep into his trouser pockets.

“Have you lived here long?” Sally breaks the silence.

“Oh I’ve lived here all my life, my parents still live just at the other end of the village. I moved in next door when I became a PC, longer ago than I would like to admit!” Mike’s eyes smiled warmly. “What brings you out to this neck of the woods? Do you know the village?”

“Oh I'm not from around here. I bought this place at auction a few weeks ago, just looking for a fresh start really. I loved the look of the village and this was all that was in my price range. Good thing I'm not afraid of a challenge!”

Mike chuckled. “Well you’ll certainly have one of those with this place! It’s been empty for a few years since old Mr Mackenzie moved into Cedar View. I don’t think he had done any work on the place in my lifetime.”

“Yeah I'm getting that impression,” Sally said, eyeing the crumbling section of stud wall now strewn about the kitchen floor. “I might have bitten off more than I can chew, there’s so much to do before the builders come!”

“Well I’m just next door if you ever need anything,” Mike coughs and swats at the dust in front of his face.

“Thanks Mike, I guess I’ll see you around.”

Mike picks his way carefully back into the passageway and disappears from sight. It took Sally a moment to realise she was still standing in the same spot, a goofy smile on her face, and she shook herself out of it and picked up the sledge hammer.

By that evening Sally was exhausted, every muscle in her body ached as she hoisted herself up the stairs and into the small decrepit bedroom overlooking the back garden. The house had two larger bedrooms, but this one was in the best state for now. At least the floorboards were intact and the windows closed properly. She undressed and climbed into the sleeping bag on the narrow camp bed, ready for her first night in the new house. Sleep came in an instant.

A flash of white catches Sally’s eye, and she follows it up the stairs to the top floor of the house, hands feeling her way along the dark uneven stairway. Pushing open the attic door she sees a young woman shrouded in white gazing down into the garden, her profile illuminated by the pale moon. Her face is partially hidden by her long red hair, it catches the light as she stands transfixed by the view of the garden, her face unreadable. Sally starts as she hears a woman’s voice fill her head. I am here. The woman turns from the window and moves noiselessly towards the far side of the attic, navigating the stacks of boxes and broken furniture, her white nightgown shrouding her feet and ankles making her seem as if she were floating. She comes to a standstill in front of a large dust-sheet and her piercing eyes meet Sally’s expectantly. Sally is transfixed by the woman’s ashen complexion, the deep-set green eyes envelop Sally in their melancholy. The woman points with one alabaster hand to the shape beneath the sheet and Sally lifts it for her, unspeaking. The woman runs her hand slowly along the surface of the desk, making no imprint in the dust. Her hand continues along the ornately carved oak leaves at the desk’s corner, and then pauses. With a barely perceptible click, the oak leaves part as a concealed drawer slides forward. As the woman reaches in, Sally again hears the voice fill her head. I am here.

Sally wakes with a jolt. Her eyes comb the unfamiliar room until she is satisfied that she is alone. She flops back onto the pillow with a sigh, tugging the sleeping bag back under her chin and closing her eyes. A few moments pass. “Nope!” she calls out, heaving her aching body out of bed and fumbling on the floor for the torch she heads for the attic. She pauses in front of the draped sheet, the light from the torch casting strange shadows as she pulls the sheet aside. She feels herself holding her breath.

The carving makes Sally’s heart quicken as she traces her fingers over the oak leaves and acorns. She doesn’t react at the quiet click from the drawer. A small leather-bound book is all that Sally can see inside, and she removes it carefully. As she opens the front cover the torch begins to flicker and die and she carries the book downstairs to the back bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Sally is still wide awake at five a.m. the diary sprawled open in her lap. She is fixated on passages, turning them over in her mind, ‘I’ve lost all sense of time’... ‘Listening to the sounds of Annie playing down below’... ‘Refuses to let me see her’...  and the phrase that Sally can’t stop repeating to herself ‘no-one knows I’m here.’ Halfway through the book, the entries stop. Sally flicks through the blank pages, hoping to reveal some kind of answer and finally lets the book fall shut.

“Hi, I'm sorry to bother you,” Sally smiles as Mike opens the door, squinting into the daylight.

“What time is it?”

“Oh, gosh i’m sorry, it’s not even eight o’clock yet, I didn’t realise, I’ll come back another time,” Sally cringes, turning to go.

“No, wait, please. Is everything okay?”

Sally pauses, unsure where to start. “This might sound like an odd question, but did you know the people who used to live in my house?”

“Um, no not really, they kept themselves to themselves. There used to be a lot of gossip about the Mackenzies but it was all idle stuff really.”

“What do you mean?”

Mike swallows. “Well there was a missing persons case at the time, I remember my Mum telling me about it. Mrs Mackenzie ran off one day and never came back. Everyone knew that old Mr Mackenzie was a bit of a bully, probably knocked her about a bit, it wasn’t really talked about back in those days. And then one day she and the girl were just gone.”

“What girl?”

“The Mackenzie’s had a daughter, I don’t really remember her much. She was about ten years old when she left. Mr Mackenzie reported it to the police but nothing ever came of it. He sort of withdrew after that, nobody saw much of him.”

“Annie,” Sally breathed.

“What was that?”

“The little girl - is her name Annie?”

“Err, yeah, how do you know that?” Mike looks at her quizzically.

“I need to show you something,” said Sally, holding out the diary.

Mike closes the diary gently, and takes a sip of his now-cold coffee. Sally feels hoarse, having recounted her dream and finding the diary. 

“The whole thing was bizarre, the dream was so vivid it was as if it were really happening. When I woke up I was freaked out, but I had this urge to go and look for myself, I just couldn’t ignore it.”

“What do you think it all means?”

“I don’t know. I just can’t get her out of my head. What kind of life did they have? What was going on in that house?  And how did she bring up her little girl like that? The diary isn’t really that long, how much time do you think it covers?”

“It’s not clear,” Mike sighed, “it’s all written in the same ink, the handwriting doesn’t change much, but there are no clues in the entries on what date they were written. What do you want to do with it?”

“What can I do with it? I guess this explains why she left, and what kind of life she had with old Mr Mackenzie, but what good will that do to share it? Most people won’t remember her. She’s just a figment of history now.”

“Maybe you could send it in to one of the newspapers, they might do a feature on it? Maybe she’s still around and might read it?”

“Yeah that might not be a bad idea. I’ll think about it. I haven’t cleared out the stuff  in the attic yet, there might be something up there that will tell us more.”

“Us?” Mike locks eyes with her over his coffee.

“Well, I only mean that…” Sally trails off, “You seem just as interested in this stuff as I do. Anyway, I need to be getting on, I’m behind on the demolition work,” Sally stands to go, fumbling over her coffee cup, the diary and nearly dropping both.

“Let me know what you find. Here is my number in case you need anything,” Mike holds on to the slip of paper as he meets her gaze, “Why don’t you swing by again tomorrow?”

Back in the kitchen Sally tries to continue where she left off but can’t stop thinking about the diary. The image of the woman in white, shut up in the house while life goes on below makes her stomach turn. She wonders how old Annie would be now, and if she remembers the house, wonders what her mother told her about their life here. Sally lets the sledgehammer fall, and trudges back up to the attic. She combs through the boxes, suitcases and looks under all the dust sheets, moving methodically from one end to another. As night falls, she comes to a stop at the oak desk and places the few things she has found gently on its surface. Some children’s books and toys, a gilt edged hand mirror, cracked and worn. And a blanket, well used and frayed at the edges, the blood-stain clearly visible within its knitted folds. Sally switches off the attic light, and goes to bed.

“No!” She screams. Sally feels herself being dragged downstairs, strong arms crushing the breath from her as she kicks and squirms. A rush of freezing air hits her bare skin as she is bundled through the kitchen door. Her kitchen door. She is silenced by the force of a fist making contact with her abdomen. Her view is clearer as she is hauled across the garden, a hand covering her mouth now. Her white flowing nightgown sticks to her as the rain lashes her skin. The stable door crashes open as she is manhandled inside, into the recesses of the stable. Her breath catches as the figure carrying her pauses, and she begins to scream again. She screams louder as she feels herself falling.

Sally sits bolt upright in bed, her body drenched in sweat and struggling to catch her breath. Throwing off the sleeping bag she jumps out of bed and grabs the torch. She takes the stairs two at a time and throws open the back door. Casting the torch across the garden she reaches the door to the stable and drags it open, straining against the force of the years of weeds, damp and decay. The dark stable is empty apart from the large workbench in the far corner. Sally circles the bench, scanning the torch beam over the uneven floor until she sees it. The trapdoor is partly concealed by one end of the bench and it takes her a few minutes to shift the weight of it until the brass handle comes into view. It takes all of her strength to lift the stone cover. The smell of damp earth and something putrid hits Sally as she shines the torch down into the void. The well is at least fifteen feet deep, the bottom barely visible. Sally lays down on the floor and extends the torch at arms length, the light now catching the reflection of the water at its base. Two skeletons lay partially submerged, their limbs entwined. The smaller one, clutched in her mother’s arms. Sally closes her eyes. “I’m here,” she sobs.

“Come quick,” Sally blurts into the phone, “I’ve found them, they were here all along.”