by J. C. Burke
‘Alex?’
‘But remember it’s a lot to tell another girl who doesn’t really understand it, the way you and I do. She was dealt an unfair hand at birth. She craves normality.’
Victoria’s voice is muffled as she continues searching through the cupboard.
‘The true sceptics are easy to pick,’ she says. ‘They watch your every move, waiting to catch you out. Remove yourself from them, for they will suck your energy dry.’
Victoria takes an exercise book and a box wrapped in newspaper out of the cupboard. She puts the box on the table and passes Evie the exercise book.
‘Here, this can be your diary. I’m going to finish the washing up. I want you to write the list and then we’ll go through it.’
Evie flattens the first page and writes, Wednesday, April 10th. Antonia Cipri.
The day she will lug around forever.
She checks her diary for the other dates.
Friday, June 12th. Start working on Alex’s portraits.
Saturday, June 13th. Alex takes photos of me in her room (figure in the photos).
She flips through her diary, trying to find the exact date the first portrait changed.
Thursday, June 18th. (I think) first portrait changed.
‘How are you going?’ Victoria calls.
‘I can’t think of anything else,’ Evie says, looking at her pathetic list. ‘Hang on, I drew these shapes the other night when I was reading a poem. It was like the pencil had control over my hand. I saw them again today, on my way here.’
‘What sort of shapes?’
‘Cylinders and triangles. Weird.’
‘Note them down.’
Tuesday 27th June. My pencil drew three cylinders above four triangles.
Thursday 29th June. Saw the shapes at the bus stop.
Victoria studies the list for a few minutes. Evie sits there, thinking how weird this all is and yet how normal it seems, too.
‘What about your eye, Evangaline? You haven’t mentioned it.’
‘My eye?’ Evie’s hand cups her eye. ‘I hadn’t really thought of that.’
‘I mean, is this a condition you get or is it new?’
‘No, no,’ Evie answers. ‘I’ve never had it before. It just kind of started and it’s definitely got worse.’
‘When did it start? Look at your list,’ she taps the open page. ‘See if it prompts any memories.’
‘Victoria?’ Evie stares at the dates. ‘I think it started with the portraits of Alex.’
‘Jot it down, Evangaline.’
‘God.’ Evie wipes her hands on her cardigan and writes next to the June 12th entry – ‘eye starts to go blurry’.
‘Do you remember any dreams during this time?’
‘Actually I had a really weird dream about a girl trying to pull my cardigan off. She had long, dark reddish hair.’ Evie rubs the back of her head. ‘Her hair was all matted and –’ Her fingers touch the sticky knot in her own hair. ‘Oh, my god,’ she gasps.
‘What?’ asks Victoria. ‘Have you remembered something?’
‘My hair,’ she whispers. ‘I’ve had a knot. This sticky, matted – it’s almost like a dreadlock. It keeps getting bigger. That started about the same time as my eye, too.’
Victoria runs her hand over it. ‘Look, it could be a connection. Messages come in many different forms. Write it down and the dream.’
She feels Victoria watching her as she writes. She’s not sure if Victoria’s calm voice and businesslike manner are for real or whether she’s trying to hide the fact that she’s totally freaking out, too.
‘In the dream, was it the cardigan you’re wearing now?’
‘Well, it was in the beginning but then the buttons turned into these little blue teddies, like a cardigan I had as a kid. The girl said “that’s mine”, something like that.’
‘Is there anything special about this cardigan?’ Victoria leans over and feels the cuff. ‘What’s it made of?’
‘Cashmere. I’ve got a bit of a thing about vintage clothes. Dad got it in Adelaide.’
‘Have you had any other sensations with clothes?’
Evie tells Victoria about the shawl incident at the markets. ‘The actual shawl didn’t feel strange, I did. And these words just sort of blurted from my mouth like it was someone else talking. I couldn’t stop them. I was too freaked out to ask but I have a feeling I even spoke with an accent.’
‘Ah, that’s called psychometry. It’s sensing something through an object that once belonged to someone else. It’s like you feel their emotions. It’s a very powerful form of communication.’
Evie feels a shiver run from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. ‘Do you think –?’ She stops mid sentence. The idea is too great.
‘That the cardigan might have something to do with it?’ Victoria finishes her thought.
Evie’s mouth opens. No sound comes out.
‘Evangaline.’ Victoria takes her hand. ‘I’m not sure. There are always coincidences. However, your sketching is a powerful vehicle. That I’m sure of, and that is what you have to focus on. Write down or draw any pictures or words that come to you. Sometimes they’re just flashes and you need to catch them before they’re out of focus. Does that make sense? You have to approach this methodically, almost like a detective.’ Victoria holds up the diary. ‘It’s these signs that will lead you there. Don’t be afraid of them, it’s their only way of communicating. They’re not meant to frighten you. They’re meant to lead you. Remember this, Evangaline, if it is the only thing you do: follow the signs no matter how, how strange they may seem.’
‘God, I feel like I’m doing a crash course in psychic phenomena.’ Evie surprises herself by laughing.
‘Well, you are,’ agrees Victoria.
‘You know, sometimes I feel so scared and then there are times when I understand that maybe I’m just the same as Grandma and that helps for a while.’
‘You are, my dear, and she was very special, just like you.’
‘But it doesn’t feel special. It feels awful. My head has seriously been flipping out and the worst thing is it’s so exhausting trying to act – you know – normal.’
‘Well, rest assured, dear, it’s not you,’ she says. ‘Someone is trying to get you to take notice. Of what, I’m not sure. But it will let you know when it’s time. Just let your senses guide you. It may be a smell, a sound, a feeling; trust in your own intuition for it’s you that’s been given the gift.’
Victoria unwraps the newspaper and hands her a wooden box. Evie recognises it immediately.
‘Grandma’s ouija board!’
‘I’ve had it all this time and now I want to give it to you.’
Evie traces her fingers around the tiny Egyptian figures.
‘Wow,’ she gasps. ‘This is so special. Thank you. You know, I have a memory of this board.’
‘It’s a beautiful board. It’s from the 1940s.’
‘Vintage!’
‘Yes,’ chuckles Victoria. ‘One hundred per cent vintage.’
‘Now I’ve got two things of Grandma’s.’
‘What’s the other thing?’
‘Her silver bangle.’
‘Oh my god! The square one from St Petersburg?’
‘Yes. Do you know it?’
‘Anna never took it off. You must wear it. My god, if I know you’re wearing that I’ll sleep much better.’
‘Do you think I should do a séance?’
‘If you do, it is only to be with me. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘There are rules even with séances.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, let’s see. A clear night is preferable. Definitely not when there are any eclipses. When an entity speaks you must be silent and you have to get their permission to ask questions. The list goes on and on.’
‘How will I know if I need to do one?’
‘You will, Evangaline. Now, I want you to keep this somewhere safe. Not wan
ting to sound like a bad influence but do not let your mother know this ouija board is in the house. The consequences will seem massive and for a while they will be.’
‘I can imagine,’ Evie scoffs.
‘If you believe in yourself, even in your darkest moments, she will come to believe in you, too.’ Victoria nods. ‘Yes, she will.’
‘No way, you don’t understand. She hates anything to do with this, including me.’
‘She loves you, Evangaline, but she’s found all this very hard to accept and yet there are reasons she should be thankful to Anna.’
‘She wishes I was different. I know that. The one thing about being like this is that people are so, so transparent. Sometimes it’s like I can see straight through them.’
‘I know dear. It’s hard to make friends, being like this.’
Evie almost floats out of Victoria’s flat. Outside the sun warms her back and a voice whispers in her ear, ‘This is who you are. This is who you are.’
She nurses the ouija board, which is now in a black plastic bag. A part of her, the old part, plans a safe hiding spot. The other part absorbs an energy that is surrounding her body, peeling back her skin, allowing a new being to emerge and step forth, and that part isn’t scared.
When she gets off the bus, she checks her wallet. It’s crazy but it’s what she wants to do. She strolls up to the counter of the corner store and asks for a packet of ciggies and a box of matches. She peels off the plastic and reads the warning sign: SMOKING IS A HEALTH HAZARD.
‘So is having a mother like mine,’ she says to the packet.
She takes one out, lights it and inhales the deceit. ‘I’ll never forgive you,’ she whispers. ‘I’ll never forgive you for keeping from me who I really am.’
Evie puts the ouija board on the floor and drags the chair over to her bedroom cupboard. She leans into the top shelf. If she can shift the suitcases over a bit she’ll be able to slip the ouija board behind them. She tries to push the first suitcase over but there isn’t enough room for both hands. The phone starts to ring. The answering machine clicks over.
‘Hi, you’ve called the Simmons household.’ She hears her mother echo through the house. ‘We can’t get to the phone right now …’
Evie mimics her voice, ‘As I’m a little busy tampering with the truth. Please leave a message at your own risk.’
Alex interrupts her fun. ‘Are you there, Evie? It’s me? Pick up the phone.’
Evie runs into her parents’ room and grabs the receiver. ‘Alex!’
‘Why are you puffing?’
‘I just ran to the phone ’cause I heard your voice.’
‘Where were you?’
‘I was up the top of my cupboard.’
‘What? No, I mean today, where were you?’
‘Alex, you will not believe what’s happened. Today has been one of the most amazing days in my whole entire life. I promise, I am not exaggerating.’
‘What happened?’
‘Well, like at the moment I’m mucking around the top shelf of my cupboard so I can hide – get ready for it – my grandmother’s ouija board.’
‘What!’
‘It’s a long, long story. I wagged today –’
‘You wagged?’
‘Yep and it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.’
‘You’ve gone mad!’
‘No, I’ve gone unmad. I also bought a packet of ciggies.’
‘You don’t even smoke, you dag.’
‘Well, today I felt like one and I didn’t get the spins either.’
‘So what did you do all day?’
‘I went and saw a friend of my grandma’s.’
‘I didn’t think you knew any.’
‘I didn’t until yesterday.’
‘Evie, what are you crapping on about? Where did you get the, whatever it’s called, board?’
‘Al, can you meet me somewhere?’
‘Now?’
‘Yes, now.’
‘It’s nearly half past five and I’ve got to go to my dad’s for dinner. He’ll be here any minute. Mum’s already meditating in the garage.’
‘Can you ring me from your dad’s place?’
‘I’ll try. It depends if the dickhead girlfriend spends the entire time on the phone. She usually does when I’m there.’
‘Use your dad’s mobile.’
‘I said I’ll try. Powell asked where you were.’
‘That’s because my assignment was due today.’
‘I know. I told him your eye was still really bad. He looked mighty suss.’
‘Tough tits.’
Evie hears the key in the front door. ‘I better go. I think the liar from hell’s home.’
‘Who?’
‘Who do you reckon?’ Evie checks their bedside clock. ‘And she’s early, too.’
‘I’ll try and call you from Dad’s.’
‘Well, I mightn’t be able to talk now.’
‘I’ll try and ring anyway.’
‘Okay. See you.’
‘Are you sure you’re okay, Evie? You sound strange.’
Evie laughs. ‘You know what, Alex? For the first time I don’t feel it.’ She hears her mother coming up the stairs. ‘Better go. Bye.’
Robin comes in holding an armful of folders.
‘What are you doing in my room?’ she snaps.
‘I was on the phone,’ Evie snaps back.
She watches her mother’s nose sniff the air. She knows what’s coming next.
‘Have you been smoking, Evie?’
She can’t resist. ‘No, Mum,’ she answers innocently.
‘Are you lying to me?’
‘I don’t know, mother. Are you?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘So you should be.’
Evie walks out of her parents’ room. She is shaking. She knows she’s stepping into uncharted territory. As she opens the door to her bedroom, it feels like everything is about to change. Behind her she can hear her mother’s angry steps. They stop suddenly. The cupboard doors are open and the chair is still up against the drawers. Her mother is staring at something on the floor. Her forehead is wrinkling. Evie knows what she has seen. It sounds like a landslide crashing down a mountain. She grabs her cardigan and runs.
After nearly an hour of sitting in a park Evie goes home. Her dad is back from work. It’s early for him. She stands by his car and looks at the house. From the outside it looks like any other evening but she knows now it’s different in there. She can hear her mother yelling. Her dad is silent.
She nearly trips over a suitcase at the front door. The shouting stops.
‘Evie?’ she hears her dad call.
She walks into the kitchen. Her mother stands behind a chair. Her grip is tight, like the wood could snap at any moment. Her father sits at the table with his head in his hands. When he looks up his face is pale. Evie thinks how old he looks. The ouija board is on the table.
‘Where did you get this?’ Her mother almost spits through clenched teeth.
Evie looks at her mother. In the park she made a decision. She’s not going back. Why should the very essence of who she is be censored? She has denied, fought, hidden, and been petrified of herself. But today, just one day, has freed sixteen years of this incarceration. So Evie has decided she’s not going back, back to who she was, ever again.
‘Did you hear me?’ she shouts. ‘I said where did you get this bit of – witchcraft?’
‘Robin! Stop it.’
‘Well, what do you call it, Nick? Oh sorry, I forgot your mother called it a gift,’ she shrieks, pacing over to him. ‘Didn’t she?’
‘Don’t speak about my mother like that. She’s not here to defend herself.’
Robin’s anger envelops the room like the rumbling of distant thunder before it claps and explodes.
‘I can’t do this any more, Nick,’ her voice breaks. ‘I just can’t.’
She falls into the chair next to him and buries her head in hi
s lap. Her sobs are loud and deep. His hands don’t move from the table. It seems so much is lost between them. Evie looks at her crying, alone. Now she realises what the suitcase means. The massive consequences that Victoria predicted. She’s sorry for her dad. About herself, she feels numb.
She goes up to her room and lies on the bed, listening to the words that understand her. ‘Feel no shame for what you are, Feel no shame for what you are. Fall in light. Grow in light.’
The front door closes and a car pulls out of the driveway. The house is silent. She creeps down the stairs into the kitchen. It’s empty. She tiptoes from room to room. There is no one left at home.
Evie takes a long, hot shower, washing away remnants of the old skin, cleansing the new. Her body feels warm and safe like it finally belongs to her. The doona swaddles her, the sheets are crisp and a sleep more peaceful than she’s had in weeks welcomes her.
It’s 5 a.m. when footsteps wake her. Someone is walking around the house. From the top of the stairs she sees a light on in the kitchen.
Nick is standing by the stove, waiting for the milk to boil.
‘Dad?’
‘Evie. I’m sorry, did I wake you?’
‘She’s gone?’
He nods.
‘Where?’
‘To Canberra to stay with Paula. She needs a break. She’s a wreck.’
‘Will she be away long?’
Nick hands her a cup of hot chocolate and shrugs. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Dad, I have to explain what happened.’
‘Only if you want to.’
‘I do. Yesterday I wagged.’
‘You wagged?’
‘I went to see grandma’s friend, Victoria. That’s what I couldn’t explain.’
Nick puts down his mug, spilling the hot drink onto the table.
‘You see, she rang me.’
Evie tells him about the phone call and how she got the ouija board. He sits there quietly, nodding and frowning. It’s almost like he’s not surprised, just very tired. She knows it isn’t the right time to tell him everything.
