Charlie slowed down as she approached the turn to her driveway. She’d taken her time driving home, in stark juxtaposition to how she’d left. It had been less than a week since she’d sped off towards Sydney, but it had felt much longer. That morning — the day after the funeral — had been blissfully normal. She’d slept until 8 a.m., woken by Tess with a cup of tea. They’d sat in bed together for almost an hour, scrolling through dumb Facebook reels. Then Tess had forced Charlie out of the house to drive her to some of Charlie’s favourite fabric shops. Her mask secured to her face, Charlie had spent hours browsing various fabrics, feeling the texture, taking photos of stock numbers, and purchasing enough to keep her busy for the rest of the year. It had been hard to leave, this time her turn to drive away as Tess waved at the gate.
She flicked her indicator on, even though she was the only one on the dusty country road. It was dark, and why take the chance when it was so easy to flick her wrist? As she started down her driveway, her house came into view. She gasped. It was lit up brilliantly, every light blazing. I didn’t leave the house like this, she thought, swallowing hard. She slowed down, approaching the house at a crawl, eyes peeled for any movement. She felt the electricity zinging in the air as she approached. “Every fucking light…” Charlie breathed shallowly as the car drew closer to the front of the house. The porch light was almost buzzing, it was blazing so brightly.
She unbuckled her seatbelt and cautiously stepped out of the car. She made the conscious decision to leave her bag and keys in the car in case she needed to make a quick escape. As she took a step towards the cottage, every hair on her arms stood up straight.
“Marie?” Charlie attempted to say confidently and calmly. Attempted was the key word. Her voice came out as an uncertain whisper. The porch light blazed brighter and the bulb burst spectacularly. Charlie threw her arm up to shield her face as glass shards exploded outwards. “It’s okay, Marie,” she said from behind her arms. “I’m back. I’m here now. You don’t have to be afraid.”
She remembered Maryanne’s warning: perhaps the reason the Grey was pursuing Marie was there was a chance Marie could become a Grey herself. Lam’s torment also replayed in her head: Marie. Is. Mine. Marie. Is. Lam’s. Charlie took a deep breath, trying to empty her head of emotions, especially fear, and willing the tension to ease from her body. When she closed her eyes, the bright light of her house still pierced her eyelids. Relax my face… Relax my neck… Relax my shoulders…
“Marie, it’s Charlie, I’m here now. There’s no need to be afraid,” she repeated. “It’s important you’re not afraid, sweetie. That’s what it wants.” She stepped onto the veranda, trying to feel for Marie’s spirit. It was so much easier in the Dream to just will herself to Marie’s side. Standing on the porch, Charlie saw that her front door was wide-open — that certainly wasn’t how she’d left it. She saw the door handle had twisted and was hanging loosely. Forced entry… She wondered if this might not be a supernatural force after all — or at least not fully — and if someone might be in the house. When she pulled her phone from her pocket to call Trent to warn him someone might have broken in, her phone showed no signal. No Wi-Fi. The satellite must be down. Of course it is, she thought angrily. She tried to stoke the anger, to keep the fear at bay.
“Marie, I’m coming in. Please don’t be afraid.” Slowly, Charlie pushed her front door open. It creaked loudly, the only other sound the buzzing of the lights inside the house and the door handle rattling as it swung. The house was chaos. Dining room chairs were stacked on top of one another in precise patterns, but all her living room furniture had been upended violently. Every door, every cupboard had been thrown open, so viciously that a couple of her kitchen cupboards were hanging from their hinges. Some of her crockery had been stacked in delicate towers, while others had been smashed across the kitchen floor and bench top. No corner was untouched. Papers had been tossed all over her desk, the desk chair upended, every drawer open. She was relieved to see her laptop looked to be in one piece.
Fear crept into the pit of Charlie’s stomach like a cold, wet worm and wound its way towards her chest. She took a deep shuddering breath, trying to push the fear back down. Fear was what the Grey wanted — it wanted her terror. “Marie,” Charlie said, more confidently. “Where are you, sweetie? I can’t see you right now, but I’m here. I’m with you. Show me where you are.”
I’m scared, she felt rather than heard Marie whisper, from just in front of her and to the right. From the kitchen. I didn’t mean to, Daddy. I’m sorry. Charlie tried to keep a level head, which was increasingly difficult with the hum of the lights and a sense of unease so strong it turned her stomach.
Be rational, Charlie, she thought. It’s not the kitchen — it’s Marie’s dining room. She’s hiding under the table again. She got down on her hands and knees, trying to remember the layout of the dining room in comparison to her kitchen. Slowly she crawled forward, trying to exude as much love and calm as she could towards where she expected Marie was cowering. “I’m here, sweetie,” she said over the hum. “Your Daddy loved you…loves you.” The correlation to her own mother stung, mixing with the sick feeling in her stomach and almost bringing a tear to her eye.
I didn’t mean to, Marie wept. I just wanted my own story…like the swaggie. I just wanted my own story. I just wanted to have an adventure. Charlie sent another wave of love towards where she felt Marie was speaking from. She glimpsed her very briefly, at least nine years old, the age she’d been when she passed, hunched in as small a ball as humanly possible. Hugging her knees, her chin between them. Swirls of blue and grey battled one another around her small form. Then she was gone — visibly at least. Charlie crawled the rest of the way to where she’d seen Marie, huddling in her own ball beside her.
“I’m going to help you,” Charlie said, stronger, more assured. Determination built, replacing the fear. The humming sound also built in intensity, Charlie’s long red hair now standing on end with the static. Although she put her hands over her ears to try to keep out the thrum, the vibrations coursed through her whole body.
He’s here! Marie screamed in Charlie’s mind, and then every light in the house exploded, the same way they had on the porch. She pulled herself even tighter into a ball as the house was plunged in darkness and showers of glass rained on top of her. Her hands still clasping the back of her head, Charlie looked up, staring through the gloom. Standing in the middle of the chaos of her living room was the Grey. His head scraped the ceiling, his shoulders heaving as though he were breathing heavily. His piercing white eyes glared at Charlie through the darkness, the skin over where his nostrils and mouth should be sucking in deeply. Water dripped from him, forming a puddle on the hardwood floor.
“You can’t have her!” Charlie yelled, still crouched in a ball. “You ca—” Her voice was stuck in her throat, the familiar sensation of paralysis locking her in place. Her mouth was open, partway through her shout. She tried to close her mouth, to force out the words, but she was frozen again. She sensed Marie beside her, tightening further, becoming even smaller.
No! Charlie screamed in her head, remembering Maryanne’s advice that while her words could be silenced, her voice couldn’t be. The Grey bellowed its deep, guttural noises, building from its stomach and roaring outwards. You can’t have her! You hear me? The Grey took a shuddering step towards them. Fuck…off, Charlie thought viciously towards it. You fuck off.
The Grey faltered, shimmered, moaned one last grunt, then vanished. As it did, Charlie could move again, collapsing back onto her heels. The unease in the room dissipated, and with it the build-up of energy — which must have been Marie’s. Both Marie and the Grey were gone.
After the ordeal, Charlie stayed in her house, despite its disarray. She pulled her mobile phone from her pocket, turned on the flashlight, and found the candles in the kitchen, lighting enough of them to illuminate the living room. Despite how raw the pain of losing her mother was, this rawness — this pain — she felt in her home was deeper. Her mother didn’t need her any longer, but Marie did.
Using her phone’s light, she discovered the satellite had been disconnected and went about fixing it. Next, she swept up the larger shards of broken glass and crockery, rearranging her furniture as she went. While pulling out her vacuum cleaner, she found a single spare light bulb, which she replaced and turned on in the kitchen. Not only did it help illuminate her work, but if this was Marie’s hiding place, Charlie wanted to ensure she had the light she obviously craved. It was 11:00 p.m. when she had finished cleaning the kitchen and living room as much as she could. With glass shards still sprayed over her bed, she decided it would be best to sleep on her couch. Closer to Marie and closer to the light. Before letting her heavy eyelids close, she messaged Tess to say, simply, I’m home safe. Sorry for the late message. Weird things happening in the cottage again. I’m okay. I’ll call you tomorrow night to update you.
She then messaged Trent. Can we catch up tomorrow afternoon? I’ll be in town after lunch. After placing her phone on the floor beside the couch, she closed her eyes in exhaustion, sending one last burst of love out to Marie: Don’t worry. I’m here. I’ll help you.
Charlie woke around eight the next morning, having slept better than she’d expected. She sat up, looking around her house now that daylight streamed through the window. She’d done a good job of tidying her living space. Some cupboard doors still swung on their broken hinges; she saw a few shards of glass glimmering on the floor, which she’d obviously missed; and her study space was still a mess. Otherwise it wasn’t too bad. The rest of the house, though, she had yet to investigate.
She was grateful to see her sewing room had been left in one piece, aside from the burst globe. The guest room and bathroom were also fine — again, except for the glass. It took Charlie the better part of an hour to remove all the burst globes, change the bedsheets, unscrew the damaged kitchen cupboard doors, and sweep up the rest of the glass — including the shards on her porch. By the time she’d finished tidying her desk and had a load of bedsheets tumbling in the washing machine, it was nearly time for her call with Maryanne. She made a cup of tea and sat patiently, waiting for the psychologist to connect.
“Hello, Charlotte,” Maryanne said in her familiar greeting. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother. How are you?”
“It sucks, but I’m actually doing okay, I think,” Charlie replied. “I will miss her terribly, but I’ve been missing her for a long time now. And I have a feeling she’s okay. She was calm towards the end.”
“I’d say you had something to do with that.” Fine smile lines creased Maryanne’s face, and Charlie wondered if perhaps Maryanne was ‘normal’ in her own life — beyond the screen. “It’s good you could be with her when she passed.”
“Yeah,” Charlie replied, then quickly shifted to the topic she most wanted to discuss. “Something happened at the cottage while I was away.” Maryanne’s interest piqued, Charlotte recounted what had happened the night before in as much detail as she could remember, drawing from her notebook as needed.
“It does sound like the theory that Marie could become either a Grey or a Blue is correct,” Maryanne said after a moment’s pause. “You did the right thing, Charlotte. I’m impressed with your progress.”
“So,” Charlie said, rearranging herself in her office chair, “what do you want to discuss in this session? What’s next?”
“Well, I haven’t exactly done things in order with you.”
“I know, and that’s my fault,” Charlie responded. “But I’m ready now, I promise. What’s next?”
Maryanne tapped the table in front of her with her pen. “I think it’s time I tell you what your role in all this will be.” Charlie’s nerves bubbled as she waited for Maryanne to continue. “You, Charlotte, are going to be a Keeper.”
Charlie was dumbfounded. She tried to reply but lost her words. “Wait…” she said, rubbing her temple. “What? Like the guy with the top hat?”
“That’s right,” Maryanne answered patiently. “That’s why, I expect, you have a connection with him.”
“But…” Charlie struggled for words again. “But… What? No, you said Keepers only existed in the Waiting Place. Not here.”
“I also said Keepers were once human,” Maryanne replied. “And I said you will become a Keeper. You’re not one yet.”
“I still don’t know what that means,” Charlie replied, the nerves turning to bile in her stomach.
“You will help keep the balance. You asked what the Keeper was doing with Jack? I think he was helping him move on. Not all spirits are trapped — some move on straight away, but others need a little push.”
“My Mum…?” Charlie asked tentatively.
“The same, I expect. You said she wasn’t ready to move on? And now you tell me you think she’s okay? I’d say the Keeper had a role there.” Maryanne took a deep breath. “I believe this is also why you have a connection with Marie. She’s not moved on, and she’s not even properly in her Waiting Place. Her balance is off. She needs help.” Charlie felt Maryanne’s words shower over her just as the glass had showered on her the night before.
“This is a lot to process…” Charlie trailed off.
“I know, which is why this is all I wanted to cover today.”
“Wait… Can I ask…how do you know? How do you know for sure?”
“It’s my purpose, Charlotte,” Maryanne replied. “I’ve helped guides find their way for more than thirty years. You may only be the second Keeper I’ve met in this life, but there’s no doubt in my mind. From the first moment I met you, I knew. I know.” Maryanne stared at Charlie for a while longer as they both sat in silence. “I’ll see you on Tuesday at 10:00 a.m., Charlotte. You’ll be okay.” The line disconnected.