Tina

Seven months ago we moved in. It was exciting being in the new home, baby on the way. We had made it.

It was the perfect house for Hazel and me.

The ‘tragedy’ that put other buyers off didn’t bother us because we chose not to look into it until Tina first appeared. We were just delighted that the price was so good.

Too good, in retrospect.

We settled in quickly. There was very little we needed to update. We were happy. Our child was growing and we were in love.

Then Tina came.

The evening news was on and we were snuggled together on the couch not listening to the same politicians spouting the same empty promises. The ceiling light was off, the cozy lamps on. Hazel sat up and stared out at the patio.

“What?”

“You didn’t hear that?”

I pulled her back down into my embrace. I hadn’t heard anything.

For a moment we relaxed but Hazel sat bolt upright again.

“There.”

I levered myself up and Hazel rose from the sofa and went to the glass doors. She slid the left one open. I stood beside her.

“What is it?”

“Ssh!”

Then I heard the voice.

“Poppy?”

It was a child’s voice coming from the far end of the backyard, down where the lawn met the riverbank.

“Yes, I heard it,” I whispered when Hazel nudged me in the ribs.

We peered into the darkness as the voice came again.

“Poppy?”

Hazel grabbed my arm as she pointed out past the decking.

I leaned forward and concentrated. I saw her. A small, white smudge in the pitch black.

“It’s a child,” Hazel whispered.

I reached behind and flicked on the patio light, its beams flooding the lawn. We stepped out into the chill night air together and went to the edge of the decking.

“Hello?” Hazel called out but the child had disappeared.

We went down to where we had seen her but there was no sign of anyone.

She came back one month later. It is always on the first of the month, each time closer to the house. It became too much for Hazel seeing this little girl dressed in white appear each month calling out “Poppy”.

I said I would look into it but never found the time. Or the courage. So the girl kept returning.

Hazel got angry and we argued. She called me a ‘disappointment’. She asked what sort of man I was.

She sounded like my father. How often did that man remind me that I would amount to nothing, that I had nothing to give?

She apologized straight away when she saw the hurt I couldn’t keep from my face. I told her I agreed with her and she apologized more. She said she held as much responsibility as me. This made me smile. I took her in my arms and promised her I would sort it out, telling her she was bearing the greatest responsibility of our lives with our growing child.

As I held her I thought of nothing but how easily the snide remark about what sort of man I was had slipped from her mouth. Perhaps my father had been right all along.

I hit the internet like a madman, searching for similar cases. Sifting through the mass of deluded, fantastical stories, I did find a few that rang so true to the experience Hazel and I were having that I could not doubt the truth of the tellers. I contacted a couple of them and heard back almost instantly. Very keen to help in any way they could, my two contacts explained the ‘how’ and the ‘why’ of getting rid of our unwelcome visitor. I will be forever grateful to Amy from Wisconsin and Trevor from Arbroath.

It took some more determined searching but I found the story online. Amy and Trevor had advised me to find out all I could about who the girl might have been. From there I could work out how to help her find peace.

Tina was the ‘tragedy’ that put so many others off buying the house. The eight-year-old daughter of the previous family here, Tina drowned in that glittering river when she jumped into it following her dog, Poppy.

Aware of the story now, I remembered the box that had been left in the downstairs cupboard when Tina’s grieving family moved on. A cardboard box, forgotten behind a step ladder and some old paint tins. Inside the box I found cuddly toys, a blanket, a musical jewellery box. And a leash.

One of those, Amy and Trevor agreed, could be the answer.

They were both alarmed that Hazel was still in the house. Along with the million other things that can harm a developing baby, the supernatural can have devastating effects. They both insisted that Hazel move out until I could put their advice into action.

Hazel dismissed the notion of leaving me alone to deal with the apparition. I joked about being a ‘real man’ and was surprised at the lump in my throat that the phrase prompted. I had not realized how much my father’s sentiments and his brutal expression of them had been lodged so deeply within me.

As the month drew to a close I persuaded Hazel to stay a few nights with her sister. If this little girl, Tina, was a ghost, as we suspected and my internet contacts insisted, then banishing her would also banish the specter of my father’s disdain. If this did not work then there was nothing lost and nothing gained.

Hazel and I could go back to the drawing board. I was desperate that we wouldn’t have to. I was desperate to protect my family, desperate to be considered a ‘real man’.

***

No clouds in the sky and the moon full bright as I stare down the slope of the lawn to the glittering river beyond.

A shiver runs through me from the chill air and the thing I wait for.

My hand tightens around the leash I hold, hoping that this will bring it to an end. That this will bring Hazel back and we can continue our lives unmolested.

I can feel my heart thud in my chest. My throat is dry and my hands are clenched. I ignore the echoes of my father’s disdain in my head.

And there she is.

Tina, her black, wet hair clinging to her pale, round face, begins to walk up the lawn towards me.

I swallow, finding breathing difficult.

“Poppy?”

I lean forward in the chair, gripping the leash.

Slow step by slow step Tina comes up from the river, droplets of water rolling off her white, sodden dress.

I do not want to be here. I am terrified.

I want Hazel back.

Tina comes closer. I can see her staring at me through the dark circles around her eyes.

“Poppy?”

I hold the leash out in front of me. This is why they stay, isn’t it? Something they have lost or left behind. Isn’t reuniting them with whatever it is how you let them find rest?

Tina stops at the edge of the decking. She is six feet in front of me. I can smell the putrid stench of rot.

“Poppy?”

“Yes, Tina.”

I rise and force my stiff legs to move closer, the leash in front of me.

Poppy’s leash.

With two yards between us, I see fear in Tina’s face. I kneel to put her at ease and ignore the thudding of my heart in my neck. The urge to turn and run almost overwhelms me but I will show Hazel that I am not a failure of a man.

That my father was wrong.

The clip of the leash jingles in my shaking hands.

“Poppy?” Tina whispers.

“Yes, Tina,” I smile.

Tina’s pale hands rise dripping from her sides and she places them on the leash.

A chill spears into my hands and I let go. Tina smiles back at me holding the collar while the leash dangles.

Tina brings the collar to my neck and I cannot move.

Tina puts the collar around my neck and I cannot breathe.

Tina clips the collar closed and I feel changed.

My tongue lolls out of my mouth as I lean forward onto my hands and Tina pats my head.

“Poppy.”

I grunt and look up at Tina.

“Good boy.”

Tina leads me down the lawn and onto the river bank, me padding beside her on my four paws.

“Such a good boy,” Tina whispers as we enter the water and sink down below the surface.