Unwanted Visitor

That wasn’t the first time I’ve seen her pale face. She has haunted my dreams like a storm surging on to an unsuspecting, still night. Her ceramic-white face appeared like lightning, cutting through the apocalyptic sky. Her long black hair loomed on my face like torrential rain. Her melancholic cries for help came in like the howling wind, pounding the dormitory until it’s cracks and hinges wept. Her eyes. Her bloodshot eyes glared at me relentlessly, countless times. And that night she called my name for the very first time. Her voice sounded like thin bells, calling me from the depths of a lonely well. The calling was like a spell, it conjured me. She called. I followed.  

The following day was an overcast Saturday, the roaring wind came along with the clopping of horse hooves that kept getting louder and louder as it approached the dormitory. It’s Peter.   

I ran towards the kitchen and saw him carrying bags of potatoes.   

‘Peter,’ I whispered.  

Peter looked around before he gently dropped the bags on the floor.  He worried about being caught by Mr. Jameson, worse by Ms. Middleton. 

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said. 

‘Peter. It’s important. I’ve been having really bad nightmares,’ I said. 

He sighed.   

‘Victoria, everyone gets nightmares. It’s normal.’    

‘But Peter, I’ve been seeing the same scary girl in my dreams, floating on top of me. And what’s worse,’ I stopped when we heard footsteps. Mr. Jameson and his dirty apron came in. A mixture of onion and garlic smell filled the air. 

‘Ms. Williams, aren’t you supposed to be in the embroidery class?’ he said without looking at me. His voice raspy, his tone patient and fatherly.  

‘Just five minutes Mr. Jameson, I need Peter to send an important message to my mother.’    

He shrugged and walked away. 

‘Worse, I started sleepwalking,’ I continued.  

It was the previous night when I first walked during my sleep. I have seen that pale-faced girl in my dreams for so many times but that night, she called me and I followed her outside and into the hallway.   

I woke up with the startling voice of Mrs. Middleton and found myself standing in the middle of the dimly lit hallway. I turned around and found our Head Mistress in her white nightgown, staring at me while holding a lamp in her right hand. Her hair was all rolled up in curlers, which made her head look like broccoli. 

‘And what might Little Miss Victoria Williams be doing in the hallway at midnight?’ Her voice was as always, loud and velvety. Then I told her about the girl in my dream, that she called me and I followed her, all the while I thought everything was a dream until Ms. Middleton called and woke me up. 

The very next day, she called Reverend Wilson to bless the dormitory. He walked in and out of each room, uttered prayers, and sprayed holy water.   

‘This place must be hunted,’ Peter whispered. His face turned pale.    

Mr. Jameson came back and made fake coughing sounds.    

‘Bye, Mr. Jameson. I’ll see you next week.’ Peter hurriedly walked out. I followed him.   

‘What do I do,’ I asked as we walked to the main door.  

‘I also don’t know Victoria. Maybe, you should pray more. That’s the only thing you can do. I’ll let your mother know about this.’ He stopped and pulled out something from his shirt pocket.    

‘Here’ he said, handing me a small red velvet heart stuffed with bits of fabric inside, that can fit into my slightly clenched fist. ‘Grannie gave this to me when I was five. I had a lot of nightmares and I was so scared of thunder. She told me to hold and squeeze it whenever I feel scared. I bring it everywhere with me. You can have it.’   

I held it in both my palms and thanked Peter.    

‘I mean, it doesn’t make the nightmares go away but it reminds me of Grannie and it gives me comfort.’  

‘Well, take care of yourself here. I have to go before the rain pours.’ I watched him run away and rode his horse-drawn potato wagon. I wished I have gone with him that day. And I really should have.   

I held on to Peter’s red velvet heart every night as I sleep. My bad dreams didn’t go away as he said but it gave me warmth and comfort nevertheless. 

My nightmares and sleepwalking became frequent. She kept calling me. I kept following her. Sometimes I would wake up in the morning, lying on the deep blue carpet of the hallway, my bare feet full of grime.    

The worse came and one night I woke up in the arms of the crying Ms. Middleton. Both of us were sitting on the floor.   

“I am sorry, I didn’t lie to you,’ was all she said over and over again in between shivering sobs. All the other girls and Ms. Byrne and Mr. Jameson stood around us. Their faces, petrified.   

I did not remember what happened that night. All I know was I followed that girl’s calling again and woke up in Ms. Middleton’s arms. My mother came and Ms. Byrne, the Assistant Head Mistress told us the whole story.  

She said Sophie, my roommate, was frantically running and screaming in the hallway and roused everyone up from their beds. They all went out of their rooms to see the ruckus. And to their horror, I was crawling the ceiling and walls like a spider, hissing like a cat, glaring at them like a madwoman. And when I saw Ms. Middleton, I jumped on her and then I growled, ‘You lied to me mother! You lied to me!’   

The horrified Ms. Middleton was able to utter in a very low voice, ‘Amelia, is that you?’   

She said I screamed and howled until I ran out of breath and fainted in Ms. Middleton’s arms.   

‘And who’s Amelia?’ asked mother.   

Ms. Byrne’s gaze turned towards the floor.   

‘Nobody knew that Ms. Middleton’s daughter, Amelia, died here eight years ago.’ Her operatic voice that I thought could always open the gates to heaven, quivered as she spoke.   

‘She was too strict to her and kept her in the dungeon for two days as a punishment for being naughty. When she opened the dungeon, Amelia was found lifeless.’   

Mother took me with her that day from the dormitory and we never came back. We rode Peter’s wagon in the same way we came, that one sunless morning when I first saw the dormitory, standing tall on top of the hill, apathetic to the flashing neon lights splitting the sky, and the storm brewing behind it.    

Mother firmly believed that sending me to Queensby dormitory would forever change our lives for the better, that I would turn from a farm girl into a refined woman who would be able to read and write and get a decent job. But the changes that occurred was far, far beyond her expectations.    

Amelia still hunts me to this day; she is an unwanted visitor to my dreams from time to time especially on stormy nights. 

For years, I tried to overcome my fear of her visits, her ceramic-white face, her bloodshot eyes, her deep cries, and calls. But I couldn’t.   

And I realized that she is like a terminal illness, there will be no remedy for her, and that I have to live with her visits until my last breath.   

On my restless nights, when the storm rages and the wind howls, the fear of an unwanted visit creeps over me, I find comfort not by holding on to the red velvet heart anymore.   

For Peter’s embrace gives warmth to my shivering body. The gentle stare of his deep brown eyes keeps me guarded. His freckled face is like a universe with a million stars, shining on me in the dark of the night. His presence is like sunshine on cold rainy days. He could bring spring any time of the year and turn a barren moor into an emerald meadow filled with poppies, marigolds, and dandelions.   

And even if Amelia drags me deep down under, I’ll fight our battle head-on for I know that Peter’s light will shine on me until the very end.