Niamh

From the moment I first met Hollie, I knew she was different. She was in the churchyard, standing with her back to me. I noticed her long dark hair, her pale skin as she turned around when a twig cracked under my foot.

I stared at her for a moment. In her thin white dress, she looked delicate, as though the wind could blow her away. “I’m Niamh.”

Her wide eyes darted around before settling on mine. “I’m Hollie.”

“I know.” Imagining Hollie as a ghost surrounded by the silent graves between us, I felt myself shiver. I was about to walk away, but curiosity got the better of me. “Are you OK?”

As she nodded, I saw loneliness in her eyes. The first raindrop fell on my skin. Then as more started to fall, I glanced up at the sky just as the heavens opened.

Hollie nodded toward the church. “Maybe we should go in.”

I nodded, following her toward the wooden door, which creaked open as she lifted the heavy latch. In the doorway watching the deluge, neither of us spoke for a moment.

“I like your dress.” My words were almost drowned out by the rain falling on the tiled roof as I gazed at her, her dress translucent where the rain had caught it.

She didn’t reply. Instead, I watched her shiver. “You can feel them, can’t you?” she asked, her arms tightly hugging herself. I could tell from the way her eyes roamed across the churchyard, she was talking about the souls of the dead.

I nodded, imagining the heartbreak of their families lingering in the air, wondering if after enough time passed, the rain washed it away.

“Do you ever think about all the people who’ve come here? The christenings, weddings, funerals...” Her words echoed through the church as she fell silent. “My mum died. I was ten. I wasn’t allowed to go to her funeral.” Her voice was small, choked with tears.

The crash of thunder overhead startled me. I thought of my father, spending another Sunday in a fug of red wine and temper; how my mother was never happy. Without thinking, my hand reached for hers.

At first, she didn’t respond. Then she muttered, “They think she killed herself.” Her eyes were blank as she stared outside at the rain. For the first time, she raised her head to look at me; then her eyes widened. “They’re wrong. I know they are. She wouldn’t have done that.” She sounded angry. “But no one believes me.” She broke off.

I didn’t know what to say. In the streak of lightning that lit the church, I saw the emotion flashing through her eyes. In those few minutes, I was under her spell, just as Dylan was.