Guests
I hear a noise, there, eyes open, wide awake, I hear it again. I’m certain I heard someone in the hall. I know my house pretty well I know all the groans and moans and creaks the wind causes. This is different and familiar at the same time. I come full awake and I know now what it is. It is her. She is a small wraithlike woman pacing the hall. I lie in bed and listen some more. She shares this house with me and has for many many years. Truthfully though, I haven’t actually seen her in a very long time, but I know she is around. She is elusive in nature. I have walked into a closet and smelled a lingering trace of her. I listen some more and wonder at the reason for her walk tonight. I think I know what brought her out, but I’m curious. Still, we have an awkward relationship. We are not friends and we are not family. I am listening and quiet. My heart beat a steady surety in the dark. We came to an understanding, years ago. It took some time to work out and we have each respected our places since that final meeting. She hasn’t been able to come in my room since that time. While I needn’t worry, I am still and listening. She has left me alone but she tends to toy with anything I leave lying about. I will find it mangled and there is a smell, it is a subtle scent but so distasteful, nonetheless. It clings to anything she is near. Back in the day she would scare me in the night and I would scrub and wash for days and still that nastiness hung about me.
More than once I’ve had to throw something away, its usefulness gone since she had been at it.
I imagine that it is with twisted glee that she finds my things in her part of the house. I have sometimes thought of her as my own personal monster. But she is no monster, she is only true to her nature and this is her way.
I had people in the house last night; we all stayed up very late, and drank too much coffee and talked away the hours sharing tales and truths with each other. It was a lovely evening. One of those that brings a smile from time to time just remembering. I was sleepy when I put the house to bed. Perhaps she is perusing what I may have left out in the lateness of the hour. I hear that creak again and wait, two more steps, wait, yes, there will be another one, yes, there it is. I smile at her predictability. She has been this way in my entire memory. So I continue to listen, but not as interested now. She will turn any second and open the door to the closet. In her disappointment she will give a deep sigh. She will have found nothing and I will know she is there in the closet waiting for another time. I hear the doorknob turn and surprisingly, the wind flies through the house. Silence, then more silence. It happens before I can really understand, she is gone. In my time, she has never left the house. She is as steady here as the light in the refrigerator. To be gone now, is incomprehensible.
Exciting and disturbing at the same time, deep down inside me, I know she is gone. I rise and walk to the picture window. I see her on the walk. She is slumped over, a broken old woman. She drags her feet along with great effort. For a moment she stops, her head turns, we see each other. There is sure understanding between us that she will not return. We nod acknowledgement in our silent farewell. I mouth the words goodbye; she turns back to her chosen path.
I remember her name. She didn’t let me know it for years and then one day I just knew it. It was a gift to me know her name, it was my tool for keeping her out of my things all these years. She is called Shame. -Donnelly 2009