Her house is dark but she can still see the strange man as he moves through it.
She almost sighs. More intruders to deal with. Will they ever leave her alone?
But then she sees the woman following close behind the man. She wonders how she didn’t see her before, because the woman seems so vibrant in the darkness of the house that she could almost be glowing.
The man throws a bag onto the empty floor and begins unfolding it, spreading it out like a doctor preparing his tools to perform surgery.
Leah wants to yell at him not to damage the wood flooring, but she is distracted when the woman calls out to her. She looks up and sees the woman has moved closer, standing between Leah and the man, taking her whole attention and leaving room for nothing else.
She has kind eyes, Leah thinks. The woman is the first person in a long time that Leah hasn’t minded being in her house.
I’m sorry, the woman says.
Leah blinks. She must have lost track of time again. A common occurrence these days, but she didn’t expect it to happen while there were people in the house again. She tries to focus on the woman’s face.
For what?
The woman reaches for her, the touch of their hands like the lightest of breezes. The man continues to walk around behind the woman. He’s holding a torch in one hand and a strange device in another. She thinks it might be a radio from the static she can occasionally hear.
It’s never easy to hear it. Or to tell it. It’s not something I really enjoy doing.
Leah looks at the woman. Part of her wants to ignore her, to leave her and continue doing… whatever it was she had been doing before the two strangers had shown up in her home. But she feels that would be impolite so she simply continues to stare, hoping the confusion she feels will show on her face.
You already know what I’m going to say.
No, I really don’t, Leah replies. But even as she says the words there is a bloom of understanding and it is like she has always known.
But I still have to say it or you’ll forget again, the woman continues.
The man, who seems to be calling out in a muffled voice, has moved away from them, disappearing down a hallway. It’s hard for Leah to concentrate on anything right now. The woman looks over to where the man had been and nods her head as if he had said something to her. His voice slowly fades away to nothing, and then they are alone in the room.
Do you think you’re ready?
No, Leah answers. Her voice trembles. But tell me anyway.
The woman smiles sadly, but it fades quickly and all Leah can see is the sadness in her eyes. She runs gentle fingers over the back of Leah’s hand.
I’m so sorry, she says. But you died.
Leah remembers. She had been sick, but at the time she had thought it was just the flu. There had been no one to take care of her, so she had tried to sleep it off. Each day it got worse, and by the time she knew it was something bad, she couldn’t even get out of bed.
And then: the cold and the dark.
After the end, she had felt so alone, so lost. Part of her was drawn to leave her home, into go to the vast unknown and whatever she would find there. But she hadn’t left. This was her home, the place where she had finally become her own person, the one place where she had never been defined by her relationship to anyone else. Here she was not a daughter, sister, wife, possession; instead, she was Leah. Leaving it would have felt like leaving herself behind.
So she had stayed. It had only been for a little while.
Hadn’t it?
She remembers the first time she saw others in the house. They had felt like invaders, vermin taking up residence in her home and polluting it, changing it, defiling it. She had been scared, too. She remembers someone screaming—a child? And then she was alone again.
It happened again soon after. Two or three times. Different people, but invaders all the same. At least she knew how to scare them away. She didn’t want to hurt them, only to get them to leave her alone.
But still: it had only been a little while. Weeks, maybe. Not months or years, surely.
Not decades?
She wants to cry. She wants to curl up and hide again, and let the dark and the cold be her friends in the vast and empty quiet.
Only now, with the woman holding her hand, does Leah realise how insubstantial they both are. She can at once see their arms, their hands, their clothes, but also the dark wood floors through them. It’s as if she’s looking at a photograph that’s been exposed to light twice, the overlapping effect making her a little dizzy.
Leah looks up into the woman’s face.
You too?
She nods. For a while now.
I think it’s time, Leah says.
That’s up to you, but I think you’re right.
What about you?
The woman doesn’t move, but Leah senses her attention shift to the man behind them.
I still have some things to do first. Helping people like you.
There’s a flicker of light, and then Leah can see smoke wafting on the still air.
What’s he doing?
He thinks he’s cleansing the place, helping whoever is here to move on. She looks at Leah. That would be you.
He’s a little late, don’t you think?
His heart’s in the right place.
For a moment, lost in thought, they both watch the man.
Why does he do it? Leah asks. It’s not like he knew me.
Leah senses a slight hesitation before the woman speaks.
There was a death. Someone close to him. He couldn’t accept that was the end, and so he became a ghost hunter.
Leah thinks her face must have betrayed her thoughts, because the woman laughs softly.
I know, I know.
Has he found any yet?
Ghosts? He thinks he’s had a few close calls. He keeps at it though. Determined and stubborn as ever.
Why does he do it?
The woman looks at Leah. Her face is curiously blank, and she doesn’t say anything. Leah isn’t sure what’s happened. She thought the question was quite tame and inoffensive. The woman keeps staring at her, and for the first time Leah feels uncomfortable. It’s as if the woman is waiting for her to say something else, but Leah can’t think of what she could say.
But then it comes to her. The realisation, followed by the right question.
Who was he to you?
The woman looks at the man. He finishes packing up his bag and takes one last look around the house before he turns and leaves through the front door. His face betrays no emotion—Leah can barely see it in the darkness—but she senses something from him. An echo, like a whisper in a great hall, one that speaks of longing and disappointment; an unanswered call out into the void. The grief she feels in that moment is not her own.
He was everything, the woman says.
She drops Leah’s hand follows him out into the night.
Leah is alone once more. But her hand still tingles from where the woman had held on to her.
She looks around and sees the house as it must have sat for many years now: empty and barren except for the dust that has settled over everything, and a few cobwebs in the corners.
It’s time at last.
Then, she is standing in front of the door. She can almost smell the old wood scent of it. A moment, a breath, and she grabs on to the handle. Gathering her courage, she stands up taller, ready to face the end. She opens the door, still unsure of what she will face.
For a moment, all is dark, and a part of her wavers at the thought of the void.
But then…
Oh, she thinks, her breath catching. The stars.
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