Two Versions of a Visit

TW: Burning, Minor Wound

A Chronicle of Events

A young girl and an older man stand before the charred skeleton of a home. He wears a clean, dark coat, shoulders braced against the cold. The girl shakes continuously, her feet covered only in mismatched socks, her clothing hanging loosely.

The man points at the house and shakes his head, his mouth moving in words carried off by the wind. The trembling girl shakes her head and inches forward until at last the toe of her foot is through the doorframe, murmuring softly as she does.

She nudges the charred door that hangs from a single hinge. It creaks open. She pushes the dangling board behind her softly.

She steps into the living room space. Her eyes swivel about irregularly, then land on something to her left. She takes halting steps towards the corner and stops, glancing towards the door behind her. She stoops and lifts the object laying there.

It is a small cloth doll, buried beneath a pile of ash. She rubs her hand along the doll’s ruined face and clutches it to her chest, surveying the remainder of the room.

As she glances around, she walks deeper and deeper into the charred remains of the home. She breathes in short, quick gasps, reaching for some objects and staring long and hard at others, swaying on her feet whenever she concentrates.

She reaches a staircase seated at the center of the house, the stairs worn and charred. She pauses, staring straight ahead. At last, she makes her way up the creaking stairs, placing each foot with care.

She glances towards the front of the house midway up, and places her foot distractedly.

Her foot crashes through the stair, and she shrieks and flails for the banister. Gripping it with white knuckles, she pulls herself up slowly, holding herself aloft by her arms. The man at the front of the house yells, though she doesn’t look behind her.

She’s lost the doll. Her leg drips blood from the fall. She keeps walking.

She reaches the landing and continues forward, her steps soft but unfaltering. She doesn’t so much as glance at the blood staining her borrowed socks. She moves silently into the bedroom in the center of the hall.

She stops in the center of the room, her mouth hanging slightly open, her eyes darting wildly. Pieces of the walls had collapsed in. The window next to the bed was shattered.

She steps towards the bed and then turns her head towards the mirror, slowly, tentatively. She stops, frozen. She stares straight at it.

She screams.

She falls to the floor shaking and screeching. She grips her clothes, tugging them away from her body. Her eyes roll back as she collapses.

The man comes pounding up the stairs, coughing from the ash he’s sending into the air with each step, shouting for the girl. He kneels over her body, yelling into his phone. He grabs her arm to rouse her.

She winces but doesn’t stir.

Her skin burns his hand, leaving a mark on his palm.

 The Girl’s Story

“You can’t go in,” a man says. “It’s not structurally sound. Could collapse.” The man standing before me is a stranger, but a familiar one. I don’t ask him why he’s familiar. I don’t ask him anything.

“I need to.” My voice comes out in a near-whisper. I can’t stop shivering from the wind. I stare down at my feet. He’s silently typing on his phone, effectively ignoring me.

Something buried deep within me must recognize the opportunity his silence presents, because my legs push me forward before I realize I’m moving. In what feels like a year or a breath, I’m at the door.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I murmur, not turning around. “I just need to say goodbye.” I close the door behind me for privacy, a half-hearted attempt to keep him out. It dangles on a single hinge. Better than nothing.

I glance around what used to be the living room. Everything feels strangely silent. My brain, the house. I’m confused by the charred objects around me, their familiarity and strangeness leaving my mind spinning. I notice a small object in the corner, covered in ash.

My body pushes me forward but fights to stay rooted in place, though I don’t understand my hesitation. I glance at the door. Any minute the man could burst in and tell me to leave. He doesn’t, though. I squat to lift the object.

It’s a small cloth doll.

Kiera, my mind whispers, and seems to rebel against the name. I want to throw the doll. I want to hold it close and not let go. The second instinct wins out. I hold it gingerly to my chest, cradling it like a wounded animal. I hear faint laughter, then crying. I try to grasp the shreds of memory but can’t quite focus in on it.

I lied to the man in the coat. I didn’t come to say goodbye.

I came to remember.

Memories bombard me as I wander the house. I hear laughter when I look at a child’s messy drawing hung on the wall. I see what looks like a dog bed and glimpse a flash of tail wagging around the corner. I step forward and it disappears, a memory evaporating out of reach.

Frustrated, I follow the hallway to what seems to be the master bedroom. I scan the room for something, anything that leads to a solid memory.

My eyes trail over a deep red scarf draped over an armchair, and I feel a hand cupping my face. It’s warm, and soft, and kind. I smell rose. I reach to grab the hand, but feel only air. I leave the room.

I reach the stairs near the center of the house. They’re deteriorating. I climb anyway, the whispers in my head pushing me on.

I take each step with extreme care, testing each step with my foot as I move upwards.

Halfway up, I hear a creak from behind me. I remember the man standing outside the house. I glance over my shoulder.

In my distraction, I place my foot wrong.

The stair gives way.

I fall.

Shrieking, I flail for the banister, barely managing to grab the edge and pull myself up with white knuckles.

I lost the doll. I barely notice. The whispers of memories are stronger here.

As if on a string, I’m pulled to the room in the middle of the hallway.

The door creaks open. I hesitate only a moment before walking in.

I walk to the center of the room, not sure what my mind is looking for. I see movement in the corner and look instinctively.

It’s just a mirror. It’s just me.

But it’s not.

Two girls stand on either side of me, screaming. One holds the doll. They tear at the window in the reflection behind me, trying to escape the fire.

The fire.

Everything is on fire.

I smell smoke, strangling me, fighting its way into my mouth, my eyes, my throat. I feel flames that tug at my clothes, eating me alive. I hear screams too loud to be imagined.

No. Can’t. I can’t. It’s too hot in here.

I fall to the floor, screaming, clutching my burning clothing. I need it off, need it off, it’s eating me. Two thoughts grip hold of my consciousness before the heat and darkness pull me under.

I was the only one that escaped that night.

And, somehow,

this is all my fault.