Ghosts

  Ghosts

  First published in Australia in 2015 by Short Stop Press

  An imprint of A&A Book Publishing Pty Ltd.

  This EPUB edition:

  ISBN 9780994329448

  Copyright © Tess McLennan 2015

  Disclaimer:

  This book is copyright. Apart from any use permitted under the Copyright Act 1968 and subsequent amendments, no part may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means or process whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publishers.

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  For Sophie,

  Who has been there since the beginning.

  PART 1

  1

  IMOGENE

  2010

  Returning from a three-month stint overseas I immediately noticed something peculiar going on with my mother. Our house, which for the most part resembled a television cleaning commercial, had fallen into a state of putrid, and vile disarray. My mother, Marella, whose obsessive compulsive disorder pertained to the utter cleanliness of everything around her, never let a speck of dust or a wayward piece of clothing go astray in her house, which I often thought was too clean for our health.

  The bad dreams started again on the plane home. I rubbed my bleary eyes with the back of my hand, noticing the grass outside growing as high as the living room windows, as the cab driver pulled up the curb. He laughed and asked me if my family had jumped ship while I was away, or if their lawn mower was broken. It looked as though Marella and my sister Clementine had up and left in the night, which would have explained the untended front lawn. I laughed nervously, as I handed him a couple of notes as payment. His jokes were light-hearted, but I was anything but. Uncut grass always meant something. I opened the kitchen door, and quickly realised the devastation wasn’t just limited to the front yard. I covered my nose from the stench. Dishes were piled in the sink, the tiles had streaks of dirt and mud clinging to it, and I could see piles and piles of books, letters, and other objects thrown carelessly across the house. It would have made sense if they were gone, but they weren’t. The wall opposite the kitchen had something indecipherable smeared across it.

  Clementine, a tiny slip of a girl at the age of fifteen, came around the corner of the kitchen, and embraced me with a vivid excitement, not noticing the horror in my expression from the state of kitchen and the rest of the house. I was used to order, obsessive organisation, as structured as any army. This, on the other hand was domestic terrorism. Our dog Ruby rushed to greet me too, tail wagging and ears pricking up with unconditional animal love.

  “Immie, I’m so glad you’re home!” Clem exclaimed. Her clothes and her hair smelled of cigarette smoke, which I knew was completely intentional.

  I patted her back, as I looked around at the mess over her shoulder. Our home was barely recognizable.

  Marella came swanning around the corner after Clem, drink in her hand despite it being barely midday.

  “Darling,” she kissed me on the cheek primly, “I’m so glad you’re back.”

  I felt as though I’d just gone down to the shops to buy a carton of milk. She sloshed a little bit of her drink onto the floor. “I thought we could celebrate tonight!”

  “Well it looks like you got started without me,” I walked into the kitchen, not paying attention to her, as I surveyed the disaster. “What on earth is going on here? It stinks.” I crinkled up my nose to show my disgust.

  “She read a book.”

  “Yes, I read a book.”

  “A book?” I rolled my eyes. “What book?”

  “A Little Mess, No Fuss.” They parroted in unison. Clearly Marella had been chewing Clem’s ear off for the past three months about this ridiculous book.

  “And this book advocates living in a hovel?”

  “Imogene, don’t be so curt with your mother. It’s enlightening, you should read it.” Marella came over and hugged me again. The hug felt like one you would give to a barely familiar acquaintance. “Glad to have you back. I’ll make a roast tonight!” she called out, as she refilled her drink from a bottle on the counter.

  I started walking towards the cupboard where we kept the cleaning products, when Marella stepped in front of me, giving me an intimidating look, the one all mothers knew so well.

  “No. Lunch is ready now.”

  I soon found myself sitting around the dining room table, Clem opposite me, Marella at the head. Our conversation dried up as soon as it had started, and now Marella sat dangling a lit cigarette between her fingers, staring out the window at the cars passing by, occasionally running her free hand nervously through her wiry, dark brown hair. Clem drummed her fingers on the table, and I knew she was dying to get away. I sighed occasionally, wanting my dismay and irritation to be known. What a perfectly dysfunctional trio we made.

  “Mum… maybe you should tell Imogene about the UFO group that you’ve joined?” Clem suggested hopefully. Her expression then turned to regret, when she realised what she’d started.

  Marella shot me a look, waiting for my judgement, which came without delay.

  “Oh come on…” I snapped sarcastically.

  “Imogene, watch your mouth.”

  “How much money are these people taking from you this time?” I rolled my eyes and stood up from the table. I avoided eye contact with her by gathering the dirty dishes in my hands. “Seriously Marella… Clem has to eat. You have to eat.”

  “They’re not taking anything… Well, not much. There’s equipment, and membership fees… But it’s all very affordable. And don’t call me Marella, we’ve spoken about this…”

  “Do they make you wear tin foil hats too, Marella?” I smirked, ignoring her protestations. I knew I was being unnecessarily nasty, but I couldn’t help myself.

  Marella narrowed her eyes at me angrily. “Imogene…” She stubbed out her cigarette, and reached with shaking hands for the half-empty packet strewn on the dining room table. I knew I’d hit a nerve, but my mouth seemed to have gained a mind of its own.

  “Do the pictures look like Dorito chips in the sky Marella? How ever do you create those phony pictures? I’ve always wondered?” I turned my back and began to walk towards the kitchen. I teetered the dishes on the large pile already in the sink, and couldn’t resist turning back to the dining room for more.

  “Maybe you’ll end up in an X-Files revival…”

  Marella didn’t answer.

  “I’m not lending you money this time when you run out…”

  “Stop!” Marella suddenly shot up from her chair, and threw her hand hard across my face. Suddenly, we were mother and daughter again. She was in control, and I was the arrogant child who had overstepped the line. The cigarette landed on the table, and Clem jumped up to stop the embers burning through the tablecloth. Marella and I stood opposite each other, me clutching my face, Marella’s lips twisted with anger. I knew I’d gone too far.

  Marella opened her mouth to say something, before closing it again. She smoothed down her clothes and took a deep breath in an effort to compose herself. She then gathered up the cigarette pack and lighter and hurried out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  “Every time I bought some detergent or a scotch brit, she threw it away.”

  “You’re kidding me…”

  “Until I ran out of money, and then I didn’t know what to do.”

  Clem and I were often told how much we looked alike, despite our age gap. We always vehemently disagreed. We shared a love of old black and white movies – and one day, we decided she was
more of an Audrey Hepburn, while I was more of a Vivien Leigh. Clem, at fifteen, with soft, delicate and youthful features, and me at twenty, with a rounder, more severe looking face, one that could slice through a person with a single look. Still beautiful, Clem said, but in different ways. People always told Clem to stop smiling. People always told me I should smile more. Despite our differences, we both shared the same dark, curly hair that cascaded down our backs, and bright blue eyes that our town librarian and previous boyfriends had always commented on. The worst trait that Clem and I shared was that we knew we were beautiful. Although I knew wholeheartedly that we were both talented enough to get by with hard work alone, we used it to our advantage. Clem was more innocent than me in her flirtations – batting eyelashes to get a discount on dance shoes, or a soft touch on the arm to get a better seat at the ballet… my own flirtations were more adult in nature. If it got me what I wanted, I didn’t care what I had to do.

  I stole the keys to Marella’s car after we found her asleep in a drunken stupor, and as we flew down the highway, Clem held my hand tightly. I knew it was the escape she’d been waiting for since I’d left her three months before. I’d been dying for a cigarette since arriving home. January sun shone through the front window into our eyes. It was a beautiful afternoon to be back in Miller Creek.

  We stopped on the way to pick up Clem’s friend Anna, who had danced with her since they were kids. I was secretly jealous of Anna encroaching on my reunion with Clem, but when I saw the cuts on her wrists, I knew she probably needed a reprieve from her parents as much as we did. My face stung from where Marella had slapped me, and I thought I could see the vague outline of a handprint. Clem disagreed with me. I knew she felt responsible for starting the argument, and was trying to deny it had even happened, despite the appendage sized red marks that hung on my cheekbone.

  As we entered the supermarket, filling our trolley with detergents, scours, soap and other cleaning agents, I thought back to the time when we used to sit around the dinner table like a regular family, with friends like Anna and her parents. Before my father died, before I’d driven a wedge between Marella and I by becoming too independent for her liking. So opposed to everything she stood for. Marella didn’t like that I didn’t need her anymore – and truth was, I couldn’t think of a single thing she gave me, apart from a roof over my head when I wasn’t away studying. As time went on, I found myself becoming more and more distant towards her.

  And then sometimes, Marella simply disappeared. Sometimes for a day, sometimes for a few days at a time. Occasionally, there would be calls from the police, or a kindly townsperson saying Marella was asleep underneath their boat, or in her car. Sometimes she came back on her own. Meanwhile, the Miller Creek gossip wheel spun wildly with murmurs about our out-of-control mother and her antics.

  To Marella, a clean house was always paramount. It almost borderlined on an undiagnosed mental illness, the way she tracked specks of dust like that were out to plot our imminent deaths. I always thought it was dangerous how easily Marella was manipulated by riotous titles such as A Little Mess, No Fuss, or the allure of a new UFO fanatic group in town. It wasn’t the first time that Marella had done a complete 360 on her ideals in the last few years, or drastically changed what other people would consider to be deeply rooted life values. I barely even knew anymore what she truly believed in.

  One day, she woke up with a sudden devotedness to the word of God. Like someone who wakes up with the flu, Marella one day woke up religious. She began getting up early every Sunday, dressing in her best outfits and heading down to Miller Creek Anglican Church to partake in their services. It didn’t matter I had mentioned our family’s long history of being Catholic. My Grandparents attended Church every Sunday without fail, a Catholic Church, which I imagined was where Marella’s initial disdain for the practice of religion came from. I suspected there was a man involved, but she never let on. Secretly, the feminist in me was appalled that Marella would partake in something like religion just to solicit a man, but Marella being Marella, her mind could never be changed.

  Then there was the period of time where she believed she had acquired the gift of foresight. Marella spent what little money she earned on a set of crystals and tarot cards, and began giving readings to the people of Miller Creek. Her clientele were mostly housewives, wanting to know what to do about their wayward husbands, and teenagers looking for a bit of a laugh. Marella was fortunate that the residents of Miller Creek weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed, those who wouldn’t know a bogus psychic if it hit them in the face. Miller Creek also being a town of notorious gossips and bigots, Clem and I were often stared at as we walked down the street, harsh whispers behind our backs.

  Soon enough, Marella grew tired of scamming, as she always did, and searched for new ways to earn money with the little employability that she had. She told her clients that her ability had suddenly evaded her, and shut it down. I always secretly thought she’d got a warning from some higher authority about her fraudulent business ventures, but next to lying and cheating, Marella’s best skill was her ability to keep a secret.

  “Hey guys, let’s stop here,” I said on the way home, pointing out the water park on the side of the Miller Creek highway. I always took my camera with me, the same way a writer always took a notepad and pen. Inspiration could strike anywhere.

  We jumped out of the car, and I quickly lit a cigarette. I handed one to Clem, and she took a long drag, before passing it to Anna.

  “We need to stop this,” I said into a cloud of hazy smoke.

  “Yeah… Marella.”

  The insinuation that we were anything like our mother always hit harder than being called the usual slanderous words that siblings used on each other.

  “Okay…” I snubbed out my cigarette out with my shoe, and grabbed my camera. “Show me what you guys have been working on,” I instructed.

  “Crank the iPod,” Anna grinned.

  Kid Cudi’s Heart of a Lion blared through the speakers of my tiny Getz, rattling with every loud thud of the bass. I grabbed my camera and started shooting, as Clem and Anna broke into their breakdance routine in front of the bemused onlookers at the water park.

  Dancers always fascinated me. I envied their strength, their flexibility, their stamina, and their dedication. Clem had all of that and more – she had versatility. If you told Clem to be a ballerina, she’d be one. If you told Clem to create a hip-hop routine, she’d do it. No problem. And I enjoyed shooting her, no matter what style she was dancing. I was damn good at what I did, she was damn good at what she did, and we both knew it. The Fuller sisters together, we were an unstoppable force. The park-goers began to crowd around Clem and Anna as they began the downrock section of their routine. The crowd made for some good photographs later on, and they cheered and clapped enthusiastically, while I focussed and snapped some of their faces without their realising, a freshly lit cigarette hanging out of my mouth, Betty Draper-esque.

  On the way home, I dropped Clem and Anna back at her house. Nobody seemed to be home when I arrived back to the hovel, and I made my way to the kitchen. After finding no clean glasses in the kitchen, I uncovered some disposable cups, and poured myself a generous amount of wine. I gulped it down, and then poured a second cup. After throwing that down my throat, I laid down on the day bed in the dark hallway, my eyes heavy with sleep.

  “Hello?” I called out. I could see illumination coming from underneath the kitchen door, and I made my way towards it, using the one hand on the wall to guide me, holding a heavy bag full of cleaning equipment in the other.

  I grabbed the handle and pushed the kitchen door open.

  The room was filled with candles, on every surface there seemed to be a flickering ball of light. Surrounding the kitchen table were four figures, clad in long white robes, hoods covering their faces. They seemed to be chanting something unintelligible, moving around the table in sync, glasses of wine in their hands. I took a step back, hoping to leave the room
unnoticed. Suddenly one of the figures charged towards me, lifting her hood up. It was Marella.

  “Come join us Imogene, it’s for the sake of the family.” She pushed the glass of wine towards me. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin the pasty white colour of ill health.

  I stood where I was, frozen with fear. It was then, as one of the robe-clad people moved around the table, that I saw Ruby. Beautiful Ruby lying lifelessly on her back, on the table we ate all our meals. The Ruby I played with as a child, the Ruby I had looked forward to walking in the park the next morning.

  “Come join us Imogene, join our family.”

  “Join us, Imogene.”

  “For the sake of the family.”

  “The family, Imogene.”

  I awoke with a start, cold sweat running down the base of my spine.

  I leapt up and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I made it to the basin just in time, before throwing up violently. I slumped against the wall, my head pounding, I could feel beads of sweat dotting across my forehead.

  I knew I should have eaten something before the wine, the bile leaving a filmy, sour taste in my mouth. It was then that I suddenly felt a familiar wave of loneliness… I desperately wanted someone to hold my hand, like a child getting an injection at the doctor. It was the feeling you got after being alone at home that little too long, with nobody to talk to. Or being home on a Sunday afternoon, when everybody else made plans, the weekend almost over, with nothing on television and the feeling of being completely aimless. It was where loneliness gave way to depression, where all you felt like doing was lying and staring at a cracked ceiling. The images of the robed figures swam in front my eyes, calling out to me, leaning over my head, beckoning with wine and candles. I found my way in the darkness to my bed and pulled myself far under the covers. The robed figures began to dance again, as I shut my eyes and willed them to go away, to leave me alone, to not exist at all.