I Want To Sleep But I Hear Voices
Chapter One
Violet
It's funny how when you have all the time in the world, suddenly it all just blurs into one. The lines of one day blend into the next like melting water, and before you know it every day is the same day. I'd like to make every day a Saturday, but time holds no meaning for me any more.
A new family is being shown the house today. They've just arrived, and from my perch on the stairs I watch them. Marcy spews out the same old spiel – Tiffany fixtures, blah blah blah. Who really gives a damn about Tiffany fixtures anyway?
This family is different to the usual ones. I knew it as soon as they walked in. They didn't gush over the décor, grin at the price. They entered almost tentatively, like they had opened the wardrobe into Narnia. A middle-aged couple and their son and daughter, who both look to be about my age. Twins, I heard the mom mention. Finally, people my own age. The last two families had young kids. We didn't have to chase them out of the house because they never bought it once they heard the back story. The kids were scared enough by then; we would have given them nightmares for months if we'd had to chase them away. But this family is better, different, a good different. English, too, I could tell as soon as the parents opened their mouths to speak. That got Marcy all psyched, saying how much she loves England, how much they're going to love California, especially this house.
The parents follow Marcy into the front room, leaving the brother and sister loitering in the hallway. The boy is tall, scraping six foot. His hair is short and auburn, the same colour as his sister's. The girl has shoulder-length hair, poker straight with patterned feather extensions framing one side of her face. I notice she's wearing Converses, olive green with purple laces. I already feel less easy about chasing them away.
They both have their eyes trained on the ceiling like they're looking for mould. But their expressions are quizzical, almost as if they're listening for something. "You feel that?" the boy says.
"Yeah," the girl replies. They drop their heads and look at each other, speaking in hushed tones. "How many, do you think?"
The boy exhales, thinking. "I dunno. Ten? Maybe more?"
"That's so many," the girl exclaims. "What the hell happened here?"
Something clicks in my head, jammed cogs whirring back to life, as I realise what they're talking about. Us. The dead trapped in this house. But they can't be. I'm invisible, sat on these steps, and everyone else will be doing the same. Won't they?
The boy shakes his head. "No idea. But something bad."
"No shit Sherlock," the girl retorts, slapping her brother on the arm and lightening the mood.
"Dean! Effie!" A shout from the front room and, hearing their names, the twins disappear out of sight.
Then I hear those fateful words. "We'll take it."
Tate
I watch her watching them. Another day, another family. They're different, somehow, and I know Violet feels it too. Maybe this family could work out, maybe Violet won't be so alone any more. Maybe I-
That's if the Harmon's and Moira don't have their way. They always have their way.
This could change everything.
Effie
We're moving into our new house today. It's a new house, a new country, a new life. I can hear the removal men talking to each other in strained voices as they manoeuvre the sofa downstairs. It took so long for our furniture to be shipped over from England, but I made sure that my stuff was the first to be unpacked. I want to make this house feel like home as quickly as possible because, right now, it feels more like a graveyard.
I can feel their eyes on me, can hear their whispered conversations. They watch me when they think I'm not looking. But I'm always looking. I've been looking since I was seven.
The only thing that keeps me going is that I'm not alone. Dean, my twin. A different egg but we both have the same tie. It doesn't affect him like it does me. Dean can sleep at night. Nothing works for me. Mum and Dad say it's insomnia. They have it too, but they can knock themselves out with sleeping pills. I don't have insomnia. It's the fear that keeps me awake, the fear that one day my nightmares will bleed into the night and become reality.
The only problem is, that's already happened.
There's someone in my room with me. I continue to unpack a box like I don't know that something is wrong. My hands work mechanically, methodically, but my ears are trained on the slightest sound. I can hear the removal men downstairs, Mum directing them as to where the foot stool goes. Dad is in the kitchen, sorting out the appliances, and Dean is in the study setting up Dad's desk. So that only leaves one option.
I whip my head around, startling the girl more than myself. Her eyes are wide, her posture frozen. Her hair is long and a soft, dark blonde. She looks to be about my age. We stay like that for a second, eyes locked. I know I've had enough of this when the ghost is scared of me, rather than the other way around.
I turn back to the box I'm unpacking and say, "What do you want?" My voice is flat, unemotional. It's a comfort mechanism – make myself seem nonchalant to keep the fear at bay.
"Wait, you can see me?" the girl replies. The tone of her voice tells me that she hadn't made herself visible.
"Yep," I answer. "Doesn't make any difference to me whether you want to make yourself visible or not, I can see you either way."
"What?" I turn back to her and see her confused expression. She has one arm protectively wrapped over her waist. "But that's not possible."
I shrug. "Ghosts shouldn't be possible, but they are."
A thump from the corridor startles us both and Dad steps into the room. He can't see ghosts like Dean and I can. The girl remains where she is, watching my oblivious father. "Who were you talking to?" he asks.
The lie slips from my lips as easily as flowing water. "Myself," I say with a grin.
"First sign of madness," Dad jokes and points an accusing finger at me. "Where's your brother?"
"Here!" A voice pipes up and Dean steps into the door frame. His eyes flick from the girl, to me and back again. The girl, looking as confused as ever, turns to me with a turmoil of questions in her eyes. I nod my head slightly. Yes, Dean can see you too.
"Oh, good," Dad answers, turning to Dean. "Have you got my screwdriver? The good one?"
"Urm... yeah, it's in the study."
Dad trots off to the study, leaving the three of us alone. The girl is like piggy in the middle, trapped between two people who can see her whether she wants to be seen or not. "You can see me too?" she questions Dean, and he nods solemnly. The girl throws her hands up in defeat, shaking her head. She runs a hand through her hair and groans, "This is not happening."
Dean and I exchange a glance. I sympathise with the spirits. They go unnoticed for so long; they get used to being dead and then we turn up. "How can you see me?" she says, her voice high with disbelief. She opens her mouth to continue but no sound comes out.
"We can see all spirits," Dean explains, filling the gap for her. "We've been able too since we were seven. We don't know why."
Her breathing is laboured. She looks between the two of us. She tries to calm herself down and goes on, "You can see everyone in this house?"
Dean and I both nod. The girl takes a deep breath, and for a moment I think she's accepted it. Her expression hardens, but her eyes are still wild. "You need to leave."
"What?" I say.
"You need to leave," she continues, a little more desperate. "Look, this house isn't safe. There are people here who will hurt you. People who don't want you here. Especially not now. We were gonna make you leave, chase you out like we did with the others, but..." She falters and Dean snorts with derision.
"That would never have worked anyway," he says, amused. "Mum and Dad sleep like logs, then me and Effie know what to expect. Whatever it is, we can handle it."
Dean has always been too cocky for his own good. This time, I think he's wrong. I think we might just be in over our heads, because in that second another figure appears beside him in the doorway and says, "You think?"