All these people were seriously starting to tick me off. They never shut up. It was a constant chatter that formed the soundtrack to my pointless, miserable life.
Just one minute alone, that was all I needed. If I could have that minute I would be able to breathe. I could take a deep breath and be still for a moment. It wasn’t much to ask but it seemed the likelihood of getting my wish was practically non-existent.
“What do you think she’s doing?”
“What does it look like she’s doing? She’s reading a damn book. Put your glasses on already.”
“I don’t need glasses. I can see her perfectly well.”
“Sure you can. You’ve been telling me that story for years now.”
I called those two the happy young couple. Even though they weren’t happy, nor were they young. Old, bitter, and annoying were the three words that described them perfectly. But that wouldn’t be polite, would it?
If they didn’t shut up soon I was going to run for the edge of the cliff and throw myself over. That’s what I had wanted to do for almost a year now. So far, I managed to refrain but I feared that day would arrive soon.
Very soon.
Especially if they didn’t shut up. “Be quiet. Everyone, can you please just be quiet?”
“She’s trying to read, y’all.”
“What’s so good about a book anyway? Can a book hug you goodnight?”
“A book opens the mind, it expands the conscious.”
“For what? A lobotomy?” Chuckles filtered through the crowd.
“She should be going into the city, that’s what she should be doing.”
“There’s nothing there for her anymore.”
“She’s happy here, with us.”
“Does she look happy?”
“I don’t think she’s happy.”
Well that worked well.
Apparently, instead of shushing them, I had given the group a new topic of conversation. Everyone, all forty-three of them, seemed to have an opinion about what I should and shouldn’t do. I knew from experience they could go on for hours debating the merits of how I chose to live my life.
I desperately tried to concentrate on my book. It was the only way I could drown them out. If the book was good enough, I could escape for at least twenty minutes before they started creeping in again.
“We should get her out of the house. A seventeen year old girl should not be cooped up inside with all of us.”
“She doesn’t want to go out. We can’t force her.”
“We can encourage her.”
“She’s old enough to make her own decisions, leave the poor girl alone.”
“We should play cards. Who’s up for some poker?”
“Poker, yeah right. No way.”
“Someone needs to watch Everly and make sure she’s okay.”
I snapped the book closed, today was not going to be the day for reading. Clearly, my housemates had other plans. “Seriously, you should all go and play cards. I need some peace and quiet.”
They all looked at me, all forty-three of them. If I ever wanted an audience I wouldn’t have to go far. Pity I wasn’t a precocious, spoiled brat, I probably would have enjoyed it.
“I just need some time alone. Please?” I begged them. I would have crawled down on my hands and knees if I thought that would help.
But it wouldn’t.
It never did.
“She wants some quiet time.”
“Apparently we annoy her.”
“It was you, Bill, with your big mouth.”
“I don’t have a big mouth.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Who says?”
A wind whipped up and knocked on the door, a big banging sound that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. I opened my book and leaned back in my chair. There was no way I was going to answer the door.
Not today and not any other day.
“Someone’s at the door.”
“You should answer it, Everly.”
“You can’t ignore it.”
“Come on, he came all this way.”
“Hurry or he’ll leave.”
“He might not come around next time.”
I sat back up again. “I’m not answering it. Now shush.”
Agatha, one of the few voices of reason amongst them, stood by the arm of my chair. “Everly, honey, you really need to answer the door.”
“I can’t. If it’s him, he’ll go away again. He always does… eventually.” It wasn’t a topic open for discussion. Oliver and I always played the same game. He would trudge all the way up the hill to stand at my door and I would ignore him.
It’s how we rolled.
“Maybe today you should speak with him.” Her eyes were caring as they looked at me gently.
“Today is no different than all the other days.”
“But it is and you know it,” Agatha argued with me. She was right but I didn’t want to admit it. “It’s time to talk to him.”
I really didn’t want it to be the time that I spoke with Oliver. The general consensus amongst everyone was that I should. But they said that every time he came to the door.
The only person I listened to was Agatha because I was certain she was the only sane one in the house. And that included me, too. She gave me a slow nod, patting my arm silently to tell me I needed to do it.
“Fine, if it will shut everyone up,” I grumbled as I placed my book on the table and stood. They made a pathway for me to get through so I could make it to the door. They were all nosy enough to stick around and listen to every word we said.
My hand hovered on the doorknob as the person on the other side made my heart race. He called out my name and I knew without a doubt it was indeed Oliver. I should have known, nobody else ever came to visit me. Even the mailman had long since stopped his rounds.
“Go on, open it.”
“Hurry up.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“The girl’s mute all of a sudden.”
“She’s not going to do it.”
“She has to do it.”
Opening the door was probably less painful than listening to them by that stage. I twisted the knob and pulled the door open slowly, like I was scared about what was going to confront me when I did.
Oliver’s face lit up when he saw me. His intense green eyes opened wide with the surprise that I had actually opened the door. His mouth crooked into a wide grin, flashing all his teeth and making his cheeks dimple. He smoothed his black hair away from his eyes as he recovered. “Everly. I didn’t think you’d answer.”
“Neither did I,” I made an attempt at a joke. Oliver gave a nervous laugh in response. At least someone could still laugh after everything.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
I didn’t know what to say, so I lied. I made the same pleasantries that the world expected of one another. “I’m fine. How are you?”
“Worried, actually. About you, about the city, about everything, really. Everyone needs your help.”
I moved to close the door. That was the exact reason why I had never spoken to him during his visits before. “I can’t help. Thanks for coming.”
Quickly, he shoved his foot in the doorway so I couldn’t close it. There was no way I could hurt him. He was quicker than me, that had been my mistake. I wouldn’t do it again. Next time, I would ignore his presence and all the people inside my house.
“Come on, Ev. You can’t stay up here forever.”
“Why not? There’s nothing left for me in the city anymore. It’s all gone, remember? Everything has been destroyed.”
“Not everything.”
“Enough.” I shrugged.
He looked down at the ground, like he didn’t know what else to say. My heart broke watching him. We used to be so close and now we couldn’t even have a full conversation. Just another reason why I didn’t open the door when he visited.
Finally, Oliver looked back up at me. “I’m still there.”
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“And I’m here.” Once, I would never have spoken to him like that. I would have instantly wanted to take him into my arms and kiss away all those horrible thoughts. I would have tried to make everything right.
But that was before.
This was now.
“Come on, Ev. Just come into the city and listen to what they have to say. It won’t hurt, I’ll be with you the entire time.” His eyes were so sincere as they silently pleaded with me. That look would have got a lot further than any words he spoke if I still had a heart.
I was empty now.
Bereft of emotion.
“Please just go, Oliver. I’m not leaving.”
“You can’t stay up here by yourself all the time. You’re not going to survive.”
How did I even begin to explain that I wasn’t alone? It wasn’t like Oliver could see any of the forty-three people currently living in my house, talking to me non-stop, unable to leave me alone.
He wouldn’t understand.
Nobody would.
I was the only one who could see them.
Because they were all dead.
About the Author
Jamie Campbell grew up in the New South Wales town of Port Macquarie as the youngest of six children. She now resides on the Gold Coast in Queensland, Australia.
Writing since she could hold a pencil, Jamie’s passion for storytelling and wild imagination were often a cause for concern with her school teachers. Now that imagination is used for good instead of mischief.
Visit www.jamiecampbell.com.aunow for exclusive website only content.
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