The Girl Who Wasn't There

by Nick Clausen

  The lawn is wet with dew, and the bandages quickly soak through and turn icy cold. She doesn’t mind, though, as it actually sooths the pain from the wounds.

  Rebecca already chose the spot from the window. It’ll be behind the large bushes down in the farthest corner of the garden.

  She walks determined across the lawn, darting a look back for every ten steps. She halfway expects one of the windows to light up and the silhouette of the creature to appear. But the house remains dark. And once she limps around the bushes, she disappears from sight.

  There are a few yards between the bushes and the fence—more than enough room for Rebecca to work on. She places herself close to the fence and puts the shovel to the ground. It’s difficult to get it to sink in, because the ground is pretty hard. She tries to use her foot to press down the shovel, but it hurts too badly, so she simply leans on the shovel. With a little effort, it gradually goes in.

  But the task turns out a lot harder than she had imagined. It takes a lot of strength just getting the shovel into the ground, and the hole only grows very slowly deeper. With this speed, she won’t be out until sunup.

  Yet Rebecca is firmly determined to get away, so she bites down and keeps working. Sweat begins to run down her forehead. A couple of blisters form in her palms. But the hole grows deeper, and the ground becomes softer.

  I’ll make it, I’ll make it, she repeats to herself over and over. I’m getting away from here. I’ll make it.

  Once the hole is about two feet deep, the shovel meets something hard, giving off a sharp CLANG!

  Damnit, I must have hit a stone.

  She kneels down, brushes away the dirt and reveals something white. Feeling around the surface of the stone, she can tell it’s bigger than a softball and very smooth to the touch. Rebecca scoops it up and is about to put it aside, when she gets a closer look at it.

  That’s funny, she thinks to herself, turning the stone over. It looks almost like a—

  Rebecca screams as she sees the two large, empty eye sockets and the grinning mouth. She drops the skull and stumbles backwards, wiping her hands frantically on her pants.

  She breathes fast, wanting to run away, but forces herself to stay, as she stares at the skull grinning up at the stars.

  Questions race around her head.

  Is it a human skull? Why is it so small? Is it from a child, maybe? What is a child’s skull doing buried here? How did the child die? Was it killed? Did the creature kill it, then bury the body here? Was it—

  Rebecca’s thoughts are interrupted as she senses a movement out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head and gasps at the sight of the creature standing there. Once again, it has come sneaking up on her completely without a sound.

  “Alice,” it croaks.

  “I … I wasn’t trying to …” Rebecca fumbles for an excuse, but of course the creature has already gathered why she’s here; it’s staring at the hole. She ought to run away, she knows that, but there’s nowhere to run.

  “Alice,” the creature says again, still speaking very low, shaking its head like a disappointed parent would. It’s still looking at the hole and not at Rebecca. “Oh, Alice,” it says, the voice sad and almost whiney now, like a child about to cry.

  And then it suddenly hits her. The creature isn’t addressing her.

  “Who … who was that?” Rebecca says, hardly aware she’s speaking.

  The creature snaps its head around, and even in the darkness and even despite her still slightly blurry eyesight, Rebecca can see the black eyes lock on her.

  “Alice,” it says again.

  This time, the voice is thick with rage.

  The creature drags Rebecca back inside the house and up to her room. For the third time, it drips liquid into her eyes and burns her feet. But this time, it keeps going until Rebecca’s feet are completely covered in burn wounds and she is halfway unconscious from pain and fear, having screamed herself hoarse.

  Only then does the creature leave the room, leaving Rebecca alone in the silence. She produces a sound, not quite crying; she has no more strength left to cry. She can’t move, either. She just stares with her burning eyes into the watery darkness in front of her.

  There are no more emotions, no more thoughts. Only emptiness and pain.

  And then, in the silent space, a realization appears.

  Rebecca has just met Alice.

  DAY 10

  Several days pass before Rebecca is able to walk again.

  She spends those days lying in bed. Sometimes she sleeps, sometimes she’s awake. Days and night melt together. Now and then she hears the door open, as the creature brings her food. Every so often she will hear the melody playing downstairs, repeating over and over. Other times, the house is silent.

  The pain from her feet is really bad, but the creature only gives her disinfectant and gauze—no burn gel to help the pain. The best way to alleviate it is to sleep.

  The entire time Rebecca lies in bed she hopes the next time she wakes up, it will be to the sound of police cars approaching. More than once she dreams that Andy has come. Yet every time she wakes up to find she’s still alone.

  Her sight returns a little more with each day, but it doesn’t go all the way back to normal; everything still appears as though through a thin veil.

  As far as she can see, the burn wounds on her feet have healed over, but the slightest touch or movement makes them bleed again.

  Even after the pain has lessened considerably and the wounds are healed enough for her to stand up again, Rebecca stays in bed. She has realized escape is impossible. The creature has some supernatural sense, alerting it if she tries to run away. And the next time it will probably hurt her even more badly; perhaps even kill her.

  Now her only hope is to wait for rescue. And she plans on staying in bed until that happens. And of course it will happen. It just takes a little longer than she expected. The police apparently have had some trouble tracking her down. But they will. Missing persons always get found.

  Don’t they?

  DAY 11

  Suddenly, one afternoon, she hears a scraping at the door.

  Rebecca sits up in bed and listens. The scraping continues, very discretely. Is it the creature? If it wants in, why doesn’t it just open the door? Is it some sort of game?

  Then there’s a whimpering from the hallway.

  Rebecca gets up and limps to the door. She opens it, and the dog looks up at her with mild bemusement in its dark eyes, as though it wants to say: “How long are you going to stay in there?”

  Rebecca leans out and peers down the hallway. No sign of the creature. She’s not sure how, but she can somehow tell the creature is not in the house. It’s almost like the atmosphere is different.

  So, Rebecca decides to finally leave the room.

  She slips down the hallway and stops by the next door. It’s ajar, and she can make out an empty room. She steps inside and walks across the dusty carpet to the window. From here she can see the courtyard and the garage—the van isn’t there.

  Rebecca’s heart speeds up a little. The creature really isn’t home.

  She leaves the empty room again, almost stepping on the dog, who’s waiting for her just outside. She steps past it and limps over to the stairs, scaling them one painful step at a time, then heads straight for the scullery. She grabs the front door, but finds it locked. And it’s one of those old-fashioned ones where you need a key from both sides. She considers trying the dog hatch, but she can tell it’s too small.

  Instead, she heads for the living room and the terrace door—but that one is also locked.

  “Damnit,” she whispers and looks around for another way.

  She tries the living room windows, but they can only open a few inches due to short safety chains.

  She goes to the kitchen, but the windows here also have chains. She searches the entire ground floor—even the creature’s bedroom, where the smell is so bad, she has to hold her nose—and finds all windows i
mpossible to open.

  The dog follows her along wherever she goes, the tiny bell on its collar chiming softly, until finally, Rebecca goes back into the living room and sinks down on the couch with a sigh. Her feet are throbbing painfully, so she pulls them up to give them a rest.

  She looks around. There are no signs of anyone else living here besides the creature. The carpet has several big stains and is worn right down to the wood in more than one place. Every window is dusty and tarnished, making it hard to see through. From the ceiling hangs large cobwebs and the wall paintings are big, faded landscape portraits in heavy wooden frames. There are a few decorative items, like porcelain animals, embroidered pillows and brass candlesticks. There’s also a single photograph, standing on a tiny, dust-covered table next to the couch.

  Rebecca reaches over and takes the frame. Her eyesight is still blurry, but by holding it close, she can just make out the face in the picture. It’s a girl with platinum blond hair—just like Rebecca always wanted, but Rebecca’s hair is raven-black. The girl is wearing a yellow shirt and white pants, sitting on a chair, smiling nervously at the camera, almost like she has a secret with whoever took the picture.

  Something sniffs her knee. Rebecca looks down to see the dog.

  “You want up?” she asks.

  The dog is obviously no stranger to being on the couch, because it willingly lets her lift it up and immediately curls up next to her.

  “I never found out your name,” Rebecca says, searching with her fingers in the dog’s fur for the old collar. “Boris,” she reads. The dog’s ears move slightly. She smiles. “Hi, Boris. I’m Rebecca.”

  Boris looks up at her, friendly, but not particularly interested. Its pupils look cloudy, and Rebecca is pretty sure that means it’s almost blind; just like her.

  “Do you know who this is?” she asks Boris and shows him the photo. Boris just sighs and puts his head back down. “Nah, me neither,” she mutters and studies the blond girl and her shy smile. The picture could be very old. Maybe the girl is grown up by now. Maybe she’s very old, or even dead. Maybe—

  Suddenly, it hits home.

  Rebecca can’t explain why, but she knows for a fact that the girl in the picture is Alice, and she feels goose bumps come crawling all the way up her back. She quickly puts the photo back—all of a sudden, she doesn’t want to touch it; it feels wrong, somehow. Like it creates an unwelcome connection between her and the dead girl.

  Then she hears a faint rumble, like a car driving on gravel.

  Rebecca jumps to her feet and limps to the kitchen. Through the window over the sink she can see the courtyard and the rear-end of the yellow van as it drives into the garage.

  It’s back!

  Rebecca goes back to the living room, scoops up Boris and hurries out to the staircase. She’s not sure why, but she doesn’t want the creature to know she’s been snooping around the house. So she hurries up to the room and closes the door. She sits down on the bed and listens.

  A few minutes pass by.

  Then the stairs give off their unmistakable creaky sounds as the creature comes upstairs.

  The door is opened slowly. The tall, gangly figure towers in the opening. It’s too tall to look into the room unless it bends its neck slightly. The arms and legs are also long, unnaturally so, and the way it moves them sometimes makes it look like they each have an extra joint. Like a spider.

  The creature steps into the room, but doesn’t go more than a few steps. It just stands there, staring at her.

  Rebecca doesn’t want to look right at it, so she keeps her gaze at its feet. “What do you want?” she asks, her heart pounding in her throat, making her voice jumpy.

  The creature doesn’t answer, just stands there, breathing slowly.

  Boris grows restless in her arms and gives off a small bark. Rebecca realizes the creature isn’t looking at her, but at the dog. She doesn’t want to let Boris go, but she’s also afraid to keep him if the creature wants him, so she bends over and puts him on the floor. She expects the dog to run to its owner. But to her surprise, Boris sits down between her feet.

  She glances towards the creature. “I think … I think he wants to stay with me.”

  The creature just stands there for another long moment. Then, it turns around, leaves and closes the door behind it. She hears it walk downstairs again.

  Rebecca breathes out in relief. She bends over and pats Boris. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I’m glad you chose me. But we can’t become too friendly, you know. I’m not staying here for much longer.”

  Boris just sighs, as though he doesn’t really care, then makes himself comfortable between Rebecca’s banded-up feet.

  “I don’t care if you believe me,” Rebecca says. “They’ll come for me. Soon. You’ll see.”

  She’s not sure if she’s telling the dog or herself.

  DAY 18

  The days go by.

  Rebecca waits.

  No one comes for her.

  Gradually, she learns the routines of the creature. It eats the same three meals every day: scrambled eggs, ham sandwich and mashed potatoes with bacon bits. Every night, before it goes to bed, it sits down by the piano and plays the same melody over and over—that’s what Rebecca initially took for the radio. She knows the song, but she can’t quite place it at first.

  The worst part of the routine is the burning of her feet and the liquid it puts in her eyes. It does it every third day now. In the evening, before bedtime, it comes to her room, the lit cigar between its grey lips.

  Rebecca fights it every step of the way, even though it makes no real difference. She can’t help it, though; she can’t just let it harm her without offering resistance.

  The weird thing about it is, the creature doesn’t seem angry at her at all. It doesn’t make a sound during the procedure, and it doesn’t seem to derive any kind of pleasure from it. It’s almost like it simply needs to be done. Probably, Rebecca figures, to keep her from doing any more attempts of escaping. By keeping her halfway blind and unable to walk properly, Rebecca has a very bad chance of running away.

  The creature also changes its attitude towards her; it begins demanding things.

  First, it stops bringing her food. If she wants to eat, she has no other choice than joining it in the kitchen. Rebecca tries to avoid it by waiting until the creature is done, then sneaking down to the kitchen to find something to eat. But every time she does so, the creature appears, staring at her menacingly, causing Rebecca to slink away again.

  The third time it happens, she tells it, with as much defiance as she can muster: “I want something to eat.”

  The creature shakes its head and answers: “Not time for eating now, Alice.”

  Rebecca knows what will happen if she proceeds. She stares at the fridge for a few seconds, feeling her stomach rumble with hunger.

  Then she turns on her heel and leaves the kitchen, scoffing: “Fine. I wasn’t really hungry anyway.”

  But she was. And the next time a meal is served, Rebecca goes to the kitchen.

  She tries to take the plate and leave, but of course, the creature won’t let her: it gets up and grabs her with incredible speed, forcing her back down.

  Rebecca tries a few more times to find a way to eat alone, but the creature is relentless. She has even tried eating while the creature went out one day. She took two eggs from the fridge and fried them on the stove instead of scrambling them, as the creature would always serve them. Then she ate the eggs with great relish, happy with finally having outsmarted the creature.

  But as soon as it came home and found the two eggs missing from the fridge, the creature came up and burned her badly.

  So finally, Rebecca resolves to join it for those three meals a day, not look at it, not speak to it, just chow down the food, then go back up to her room. She can do that, even though she doesn’t like it. But it’s a matter of survival.

  The creature makes other demands, some of which are quite harder for Rebecca t
o come to terms with.

  For instance, she wakes up one morning to find her clothes and her shoes, which she always puts right next to her bed, missing. The creature must have been in here while she slept and taken it.

  She has been wearing the same outfit ever since she got here, and by now it is turning pretty smelly, since Rebecca hasn’t showered even once, so her first thought is that the creature took it to wash it.

  But that turns out to not be the case.

  Rebecca never sees her clothes again. Instead, she finds a bunch of clothes on the desk. It’s six identical outfits of yellow shirts and white linen pants; the exact same clothes as the girl in the photo down in the living room.

  Rebecca really doesn’t like the thought that some dead girl once wore the clothes, but she dislikes the thought of walking around in her underwear even less, so she has no real choice.

  DAY 20

  A few days later, Rebecca learns that the clothes were only a small sacrifice, as she wakes up to find a plastic bag on the floor next to the bed. She looks inside and finds a hair bleach kit.

  At first, Rebecca almost laughs at the idea that the creature apparently wants her to dye her hair. But then, the more she thinks about it, the fun of it evaporates.

  The girl in the photograph—Alice—has blond hair. And Rebecca is already wearing her clothes.

  “It can’t be serious,” she tells Boris. “I’m not going to dye my hair—no freaking way.”

  She throws the bag in the downstairs trash can.

  The next morning, it’s there again, next to her bed.

  Rebecca hides it away in the back of her closet.

  The next morning, it’s back again, and the creature is there, too, staring at her.

  Rebecca sits up with a jerk. Boris wakes up with a confused whimper.

  “Get out of here,” Rebecca tells the creature in a hoarse whisper.

  It just stares at her, holding out the plastic bag.