It was a perfect day; a perfect day for a new beginning. Sunshine streamed through the windows; it's rays, softened by net curtains, danced with dust mots floating on invisible currents of air. The stairs creaked happily under Jenny's sneakers. She glanced over her shoulder at me and her eyes sparkled with delight. A foot of blonde hair bounced in a no-nonsense ponytail, my sweatshirt hung like a tent on her tiny frame and her jeans were smeared with grime. I'd never seen a more beautiful woman in my life. She took my breath away. I couldn't believe we were moving in together.
She reached
the top landing and paused to adjust her grip on the box before bumping the
door with her bum. It swung open and revealed a garret apartment any struggling
writer would be delighted to call home. Our few possessions made a meagre mound
inside the door. After all, this was the first time either of us had lived
anywhere but with our parents. Now we had a spacious
living-room-come-dining-room, a bathroom, with a gloriously deep roll top bath
and most importantly, our very own bedroom. As I followed her inside and
healed the door closed, I knew which room I was going to explore first.
***
We had been
there a week when we got our first knock on the door. It was Friday evening and
we were both off work for the weekend. Jenny was busy in the kitchen and I was
picking out songs on iTunes. We glanced at each other and I guess we
simultaneously realised it was our door so nobody else was going to answer it.
She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head in a way that said, Well? I
unfolded my legs and jogged the few feet to the door. Whatever I had expected
to find, it wasn't an elderly man in a polka dot cravat, cradling an expensive
looking bottle of red wine.
“Hello,"
I said, in greeting and query.
"Greetings
neighbor and welcome to the palace," the man said rather theatrically,
waving his hand in an all-encompassing ark. I had to bite down on the giggle
trying to escape my throat but I felt my smile spreading considerably.
"It's
lovely to be here," I said honestly and rested my shoulder against the
door-frame.
"For
you," he said, offering the bottle of wine, which I accepted and admired.
The label was double Dutch to me, I was more your pint of larger kind of lad.
"Thank
you so much, you shouldn't have," I said, but deep inside I felt very grown
up.
The man
offered his hand and said, "Trevor," in a serious tone.
"Sean," I replied, mimicking his tone, and shaking has hand in a very
manly way.
"I
hope you're not those, party-all-weekend kind of people, Sean," he said
seriously.
"God,
no," I stammered, worrying that I'd gotten the wrong measure of the man in
front of me.
"Good, good," he said, letting a few seconds pass before smiling wickedly and saying, "That's my department in this building, Dearie," before winking and turning back toward his own open apartment. He had only taken a step when Jenny cried out, "Who is it?"
"It's
Trevor from across the hall, he brought us a bottle of wine," I shouted
back.
"Bring
him in. Does he eat pasta?"
I didn't
get to answer that because Trevor mumbled, "Do I what?" as he brushed past
me with hips rolling and lips pouted for an air kiss. It looked like it would
be dinner for three tonight.
***
We had been
at 14 Astor Street for about a month when something strange happened. Our
little flat was cosy but not the most well insulated. When we would cook, or
when we had a bath, nearly all the windows would fog up. On this particular
night, we were just sitting down to dinner when Jenny pointed to the big
feature window and said, "I wish you wouldn't do that."
"Do
what?" I asked, while taking a large forkful of spinach.
"Put
marks on the glass," she said, tilting her head in the direction of the
window. She was right, there were two very clear hand marks.
"That wasn't me."
"Oh,
come on?"
"No, it couldn't be, look." I walked over and held up my hands beside the marks. They were clearly made by much smaller hands that mine.
"I'm waiting," I said.
"For
what?" she asked, grumpily.
"A
sorry of course.It must have been you not me."
"I
never did that, and look how low down they are. Don't you think I would have
remembered if I had."
"Well,
it wasn't me, who else could it have been."
The silence was deafening. Her glare sent shivers up my back, an atmosphere that lasted for the rest of the night. I think we'd just had our first fight.
The next morning I
woke up to find Jenny's side of the bed empty. When I went into the
living room I found her scrubbing the windows. I snuck up behind her and
wrapped my arms around her waist, nusling her neck.
"I'm
sorry honey," I said.
"For
pawing the windows?" she asked without conviction.
"For
everything. Have I told you today that I don't deserve you?"
"Now
you mention it, you haven't." she said with a giggle, swiveling in my
embrace to face me.
"Well,
I don't. How about coming back to bed and letting me set the record
straight."
My Dad used
to say that the best part of arguing with Mom was the making up. I can
definitely say, that he is right, not that I want to think about it
again...like ever.
***
Funny
thing, a week later the hand prints reappeared.
"Look
at that." I said, pointing them out.
"How
can that be?" Jenny said, going over and wiping her hand across the prints
streaking them into nonexistence.
"We
might be doing it subconsciously, or sleepwalking or something."
"Whatever
it is it's giving me the creeps," she said, going to the kitchen and returning with window
spray and a cloth. When the glass was spotless,
she pushed the coffee table in front of the window so we wouldn't be able to
mark the window accidentally.
The next
evening, we were sitting watching TV while a pot of rice bubbled on the cooker.
My eye drifted to the window and noticed the beginnings of water-droplets
forming on the cold glass, but no hand marks. I couldn't help it, my eye kept
flicking to that same spot again and again. Then it started to happen.
"Jenny,"
I said quietly, not taking my eyes off the glass.
"Humm?"
she mumbled.
"Look,"
I whispered, although I don't know why I was whispering.
"Oh
God," she gasped and both hands flew to her mouth, her eyes widening. On
the window, very faintly, the outlines of fingers were starting to appear, where
moments ago there was nothing. As the seconds ticked by the outline became
clearer and clearer. Jenny jumped off the couch and hurried to the door.
"Where
are you going?" I called, feeling like running right out after her.
"To
get Trevor and make sure we are not imaging things."
Trevor
listened to our story without saying anything. He was far more grave than
normal, no funny quips, no over-the-top camping. When it had all been told, he asked,
"And you actually saw them appear?"
"Totally,
there was nothing there, I had checked only seconds before and then...well...it
started to appear."
"Are
they always in the same place?"
"Yes,
I think so," said Jenny. Trevor walked over to the window and pulled back
the coffee table, then like Jenny had done he wiped his hand across the
imprints and smeared them out. He crouched there for a few minutes, not doing
anything, not saying anything. Finally, Jenny asked, "What do you
think?"
"Could
be lots of reasons for it, a fault in the glass making the moisture gather in a
particular way, some form of grease that cleaning is not taking off. Anything
really. But I know a man who might be able to help. Do you think it would be OK
to bring him over tomorrow."
"If
you think he can tell us what is going on, sure," I said.
"And
what will we do in the meantime?" asked Jenny, clearly frightened.
"Well,
I don't think anything dangerous is happening so I guess just carry on as
normal."
"But
it's creepy," she said.
"That it
is," agreed Trevor, sagely. "That it is."
***
The next
evening Trevor appeared with a man just like he promised. Brian Gardener was
his name and he was much younger than I'd expected. Late twenties at the most
but his skin had a very pail touch. Perhaps he spent all his time studying.
His eyes were heavily bagged and had dark circles underneath them. We started to tell him our
story but rather than listen he walked straight to the window without being
told which one we were talking about.
"Perhaps
we should just show him," said Trevor, pointing at the cooker. Jenny turned
on kettle to boil and put several pans of water on the hob. Soon, the apartment was full
of steam and all the windows were fogging up. No sign of the hand prints. The
minutes ticked by and we all held our breath. Still nothing. Trevor, Jenny and
myself were standing as a group in the middle of the room, Brian was down on
his haunches a few inches from the windows. Then it
happened. The hand prints didn't slowly appear like before, they exploded into
existence, so suddenly, I saw the glass vibrate. Two, three, four,
five...the prints kept coming. Brian fell backward, his jaw hung slack and whatever colour had tinged his skin, vanished. Shaking hands slowly reached for the glass but his fingers hovered a fraction from making contact. I was about to say something when he suddenly began to cry. Not tears of fear or suprise: huge heartbreaking sobs.
"What's going on?" I asked, turning to Trevor. He drew us outside to the landing, leaving the crying man alone in the apartment.
"Brian
and his wife Susan used to live in your apartment. They had a little boy, Ben, he was. One night, nobody knows why, but Ben just stopped breathing
in his cot. I can tell you, I still have nightmares. Susan's screams..." Trevor's voice just trailed off, lost in the memory of it. After a few moments, he said, "They stayed on for a little while afterward, but everything reminded
them of Ben. All the trouble he caused, all the hours of laughter. He loved
drawing squiggles on the windows, it drove Susan mad cleaning them off them. Brian and Susan loved each other, like really loved, but loosing Ben broke them to the core. A year ago, they moved out and went in separate directions. Susan moved to New
Zealand but I kept in touch with Brian. I knew the minute I saw those hand
prints what was happening but I had to be sure."
At that moment Brian appeared at the door. "It's him, Trevor, its Ben," he said, tears still running down his cheeks. Trevor just nodded and smiled.
"I have to be with him, I just have to," Brian said.
Trevor
frowned, "Are you sure that's wise?"
"He's
there, Trevor. Just there," he cried, pointing at the window and the all-too-clear hand marks. The atmosphere inside the
apartment, and outside on the landing, was charged with expectation.
Jenny and I
looked at each other, no idea what we should do. It was our flat but to be
honest, I didn't really feel good about the place anymore and I knew by looking
at Jenny she was scared too. It was Trevor that broached the subject for us
all. "What about Jenny and Sean, they live here. It’s their home."
"Here,"
Brian said frantically digging in his pockets and pulling out a set of keys.
"I have a place not far from here. Its small but it’s nice. Take it. Stay
as long as you want. Rent free. I'll take over your lease and straighten it out
with the landlord but I can’t lose my boy again. Please." He pushed the
keys into my hand and stood there with his hands clasped in front of him.
I was
shocked, by this, by everything. I turned to Jenny and it only took her a
second to answer everything. "I'm not sleeping in there one more
night."
We quickly
packed a few things and Trevor was going to drive us over to Brian's house. As
we were leaving, Brian was sitting on the floor in front of the window, pans
still bubbled on the cooker. He turned and said, "Thank you for finding my
boy." I didn't say anything, what could I say. It's not like we did
anything. But over his shoulder I saw the fog on the window shift as the shape
of two tiny lips, pursed in a kiss, marked the window. I didn't know if it was
for us or for Brian but right then I knew nobody should stand between a man and
his baby, in this life or the next. I closed the door on our little flat and
looked at the world around me in a whole new way, a way I never expected to
believe.
