The Quiet Hours

ELEANOR - October 29th

Today, I had to remind myself how to breathe. Looking into the mirror, I can see the dark circles that rim my eyes. Exhaustion breathes its horrid, damp breath over every inch of my body and mind. No one knows how hard it is getting. I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, head in hands, wishing it would all just end. But how do you run from things that are inside your head? I know that my last breath will be a sigh of relief.

It’s mid-October, and my elation seems to only be fading further from my sight, or perhaps it is simply being masked by the dreadful shadow of Halloween. The yin to my yang, the black to my white. Halloween is made of sorrow and gloom. It is for those filled with ire and suffering. Halloween is for the Andersons, for James. Not for us, the Coopers. No, we would never welcome such darkness into our lives. Christmas is our chosen celebration: the snow, the ecstasy. There’s no greater day of the year. My parents believe in Christmas, in the hope and joy that Christmas can bring. They call me their snow angel, the human embodiment of Christmas.

James calls me a dissembler. I have no idea what it means, but he spits it with such venom that I know it must not be a compliment. Although I’m afraid that if James ever complimented anyone, he might spontaneously combust. Or I might, from shock. I’ve known him my entire life, and although I was raised to be pure-hearted, I hate the air he breathes, and I hate his heart that is filled with pride. People gather to hear him speak, pathetic in their cooing and their cheering, how they hang off his every word. I would be lying if I said I didn’t wish him an untimely demise.

Or am I just wishing I could be like you, James? That people would see me in the same rose-tinted light? No, that mustn’t be it, for why would I wish to be like you? I am nothing like you. I am a Cooper, and you are an Anderson. We are polar opposites: light and dark, sorrow and joy. The pull of darkness doesn’t touch me. The thrilling tug of adrenaline doesn’t tempt me. I am nothing like you, James. I do not relish a good scream. I do not laugh when they cry, and I sure as hell don’t like costumes. But then why do I lie awake each night thinking, instead of you, it should be me? Why does the darkness stroke at my soul? Why does your smile bring forth mine? No, I am a Cooper. I am light. I will never be like you.

JAMES - October 29th

Aren’t we all sinners? Aren’t we all evil? In some despicable way or another, we all have a devil on our shoulder, whispering terrible things into our heads. Because a thought is a hard thing to control, the devil is a hard thing to fight. We are constantly calling others out for their faults, their sins, but never ourselves. Why? Because evil is always identified as the other. It’s a word we use to criticize others’ actions, as if we are any better. It’s like they say, “We are all sinners, judging other sinners for sinning differently.” What a big bunch of hypocrites we are. But me? No, that devil and I get along just fine. For I am an Anderson. I am James Anderson, heir to my family’s legacy. Halloween is in my blood, the darkness in my soul, and I loathe the Coopers. I hate Eleanor. I hate her little white coat. I hate it when she runs through the snow with pink-frosted cheeks and a smile drawn so tight I fear it may snap. I hate her warming laugh. I hate Eleanor Cooper.

I should enjoy it. The scare of Halloween, the adrenaline of the fright—and I do, to a fault. I preach the holiday to the masses, and they crowd to hear me speak, but the words I crow are not my own. They are not truthful. I am living a lie, and so is she. I see how she looks on achingly during Halloween, how she fights the twisting of her mouth at my pranks, and how she laughs at the costumes when she thinks no one is looking. I watch her frolic in the snow, dancing with her parents. I see her reading her books through the windows. I abhor Eleanor and her Christmas. But secretly, I long to be there in the snow, with a hot chocolate warming my frozen hands and Eleanor by my side, bearing a smile just as wide as mine. I long for peace and quiet. I long for joy. She may be a dissembler, but so am I. However, I feel this endless pain of being, and the weight of life is drowning me. I fear my light-yearning heart may be too far tainted by the darkness.

ELEANOR - October 30th

The darkness I woke to was sightless and unbreakable, a blackness that hurts your ears with listening. The winds howled like wounded, raging beasts. The cold and silence carried the weight of a thousand thunderclaps. The rising sun was dull and weak as it moved unseen behind the storms haze. Life seemed disconnected from reality, unsupported in the frigid air, as if only sustained by my every fragile breath. And I thought to myself, in that fleeting moment, how astonishingly beautiful the quiet of the night is. That was until the knock.

It boomed like a cannon in the silence, despite being a mere tapping. A cautious sound at my window. The sound of pebbles thrown by an enigmatic stranger. I slipped from the false safety of my covers. Adrenaline and curiosity drove me forward. The window opened to fresh, frozen air. Adjusting to the limited light, my eyes searched for the figure. The mysterious tapper in the night. Movement below caught my eye. A flash of skin, a whisper of hair.

“James?” I called. His presence was unnerving and yet comforting. Better the devil you know.

He regarded me for a moment, words held precariously on the tip of his tongue. Finally, he called, “Eleanor?”

“Yes, James, what is it you are wanting?” I started to shiver as a second blast of cold tore through my open window. I could hardly make out his figure in the darkness, but his voice was recognizable, his movements familiar.

He took a long, tense pause before whispering in a ragged breath, “I need your help.” His voice was pained, strained with fear.

The sound threw me into the fear of the unknown, because if James was afraid, I sure as hell should be. So, I crawled from my window toward this frenemy of a boy, and I blame it now on that foolish rush of adrenaline, not the twinge on my heartstrings I had felt for the boy I do not love. No, James was not the one who pulled me from my bed that night, but my own foolish yearnings for the dark.

“What are you doing out here, James? Shouldn’t you be off scaring children or stealing their candy? It’s Halloween tomorrow. Why are you bothering me?” I held my arms tight, fighting against the violent shivers racking my body, induced either by the cold or the boy in front of me.

“We need to run away.” His voice was hushed, as he searched my eyes fervently for even the slightest glimpse of an answer.

I drew in a quick breath. “Why?” I breathed, but I knew, because I knew that he thinks the same thoughts as I do. The same wicked, ungrateful thoughts. The ones that have me peeking over the fence every Halloween, yearning to join James in all his fun. The thoughts that drive him to watch me through his window as I romp in the snow. The very ones that had me leaning forward in anticipation, ready to run with him just for that rush of adrenaline.

“Your parents will never let you have the dark, and mine never the light. I see you, Eleanor. I always have. We are dissemblers, both living a lie. Run with me, Eleanor, and we will never look back. Run and you can have all the darkness your heart desires. Come with me so we can both be free.” He took my hand, his fingers unusually warm in the winter air. “Please,” He begged.

Heat prickled behind my eyes, defying the frigid temperatures. “James…” I whispered. My heart panged in my chest. I looked into his eyes, blue like lightning and just as cold and frightening as the night. Coated in darkness, his entire soul called to mine, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t run away from my entire life. It’s all I had ever known.

“Eleanor. I envy the ground that gets to kiss your feet. The wind that caresses your hair and the sun that gets to dance upon your face. I envy the air that you breathe and the things on which your eyes settle. For I would give my soul for any and every inch of your attention and desire. To merely be regarded by you is a true fortune, one I will never take for granted… No, not ever again.” He took a deep breath, his beautiful eyes lining silver with an emotion that I never thought I’d see on his face. “The life you know is a lie. The person you pretend to be is a hoax. You are not happy. I know this to be true because I live the same hypocritical life. But together, far from here, we can be happy. For once, we can be ourselves, we can be free.”

I’ve always liked the small span between night and day. For in the dawn, there is no one to remind me who I am supposed to be, so it’s easier to remember who I am, and she’s magnificent. She would run away with James and take this opportunity to be happy. Because his tender words stuck true, driving a wedge in my heart. He cracked me open and revealed what we’ve both always known to be true. I love the dark and I love James Anderson. So, I whispered, giddy with excitement, “When? Where? And how?”

JAMES - October 31st

Oh, it’s true, Eleanor. I do not wish harm upon you. For since birth, we have been like mirror twins, both yearning for the other’s life. So, may God strike me down if I forsake you. May He punish me if I ever maltreat you. I will never forget how you showed me how to create art, how to dance in the rain, and how to laugh so hard you fear tearing in two. I know the love you showed me came from a pure and gentle heart, but how I long to help you taint your soul with Halloween, and how I yearn to lighten mine with Christmas.

I sat on the fence, shaking my legs with the building tension of tonight’s impending escape. The storm was brewing ahead, deep, murky clouds threatening to burst. It was officially Halloween, and people were milling about our newly haunted house. I suppose I should have been inside, scaring the customers, or helping with the stands or the decorations, anything but sitting on that fence, staring at Eleanor’s bedroom window, but if I hadn’t, I would never have seen it, never heard it, and I sure as hell would never have believed it. Not my Eleanor. No, she would never do such a thing, but then she has, hasn’t she?

I had sat there grinning ear to ear, dreaming of my life with her far from here. I would’ve built her a house. One with a big backyard and stained-glass windows. It would’ve been black and white. There would have been carved pumpkins out front and tinsel wrapping around the windowsills. We would have been balanced, and we would’ve been happy. The perfect yin and yang. That is, until I heard the wretched words that wilted away the dreams of our future and turned the image of her face rotten in my mind. My Eleanor whispered ghastly things into her phone that night.

“He asked me to run away…” My heart had skipped at first, the traitorous thing, not realizing the torment it would soon feel.

I could hardly make out her words, but I heard all I needed to hear: “No, he was being serious… No, I do not love him… I have never loved him, not ever, and I won’t start now…” I sank. Her words cutting, etching, and clawing. My soul was shattered and shredded. I almost fell from the fence in sorrow.

“No, I’m not going to… Don’t worry, I’ll be seeing you soon.” She’s not coming, she’s not coming, she’s not coming, my mind whirred. Chaos raged inside my skull, a deafening noise. My mind pulled me under its violent waves. I went tumbling, literally. I fell from that fence and continued falling until I found myself on my knees in our meeting place.

The clouds started to empty, the drops dancing their evil dance upon my head. I tipped my head back in solace. I let my tears mix with the sky. I closed my eyes against the downpour, grief wrapping me in a frigid embrace. I let its dark fingers caress my heart. I welcomed it to strip me of the last pieces of my humanity. I emptied my spirit there on that ground, weeping away my hope, washing away my amity. She wasn’t coming, and I was never going to stay.

ELEANOR - October 31st

The angels have blessed your soul, James. You were born of darkness and malice, Halloween and fright. Yet you rebel. Why? Does the light entice you? Does it call for you? Has its fingers stroked your soul? Tainted your mind? Has the purity of Christmas changed you like the wickedness of Halloween has changed me? The darkness pulls at me, not a simple hunger, but a taut, elastic thread, compelling me to run.

I sat in my room, packing my bags, fearing I might explode with anticipation. Never had I felt so giddy with excitement. Never had the future held so much promise. I was just placing my last pair of pants in my bag when I got the call. My friend asked me about James and my father. I was unable to keep my traitorous mouth from spilling our secrets. I told her about James’s and my plan. She asked me if I love my father. I told her the truth. My father is strict and blunt. Never has he shown me the warmth you would expect from a Christmas-loving man. She asked if I would stay. I had to sigh and tell her no. I’m not going to. She let me go with love in her heart

I was grateful she had let me be, for I would not have lasted much longer in that house. The truth is, I had been wasting away day by day. The weight of living a lie had been crushing me. James was my reprieve. Our escape would have saved me from the life I had never asked for. It would have saved me from myself, and from the torment I would have succumbed to there.

I remember I practically skipped to the cliff where I was to meet James. I was bounding through the thick woodland, crashing through the clearing, jumping onto the gray slate, falling, tumbling, screaming, throwing up.

I whimpered, “James?” His eyes were open, staring at the stars as if looking towards God. He wasn’t breathing. He didn’t move. His body was still warm, his blood still seeping from the wound in his chest, but his heart was frozen, paused mid-beat. His hand gripped the handle, rigid in the stiff state of death.

“James!” I tore at my hair, rocking back and forth in grief. The sky seemed to rage with me, echoing my every cry with a howl and boom of its own. I pulled James onto my lap, stroking his stark black hair. It was still soft under my fingertips. His skin was still smooth under the stroke of my knuckles. He looked so gentle and calm. A sense of peace shrouded him in death like it never had in life. Perhaps he was thinking of escape when he did it. Maybe he was dreaming of me when he took his life. I hope my face was in his mind when he took his last breath. I hope it was one of relief.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this without him. I stood and I walked, taking one last look at my love behind me. The boy who was supposed to save me. The boy who held my heart in his hand and took his own with that very limb. I walked steadily and resolutely. I would not live without him. I was to run with him far away. I guess this was as far as we could get.

There was no sound except the wind in the bare and ash-stricken trees. I stood alone, tottering on the edge in the cold and perilous dark, with my arms outstretched like a bird. The icy wind struck at my face again and again. The lashings stripped me from reality. Stripped me down till I was just a body rocking back and forth on the edge of certain death. It was freeing and terrifying. I could not see the edge of the cliff, but my toes could feel it. The sudden drop into nothingness. The fall that would take me from everything to nothing, from life to death. From this world to James’s.

The storm is full of ghosts tonight…