The door opened to a smiling, middle-aged woman who introduced herself as “Sandra from the email”. Stepping back to let me in, she told me that it was nice to finally meet me. Asked how my trip up had been, were there any problems finding the house. I murmured something polite and noncommittal as I stepped inside and looked around with a hammering heart.
The house was isolated, but both outside and inside it seemed perfectly mundane. Pleasant even. The same could be said for Sandra. She’d been nice during our brief email conversation, and she was the same in person: laid-back, friendly, and slightly self-effacing as she led me into the living room and offered me a snack or drink.
There was that unspoken thing hanging in the air between us, of course. The only reason I was there was because she’d called in a favor with Dr. Perkins—her old friend and my faculty advisor. I was told without it being said explicitly that helping him out with this favor (that he didn’t want to undertake himself for some reason) would lead to my barely passing GPA becoming a safely passing one. The other, less savory, implication was that refusing to come up here might tip things the other way.
Still, I had no way of knowing if Sandra knew any of this. More than likely, she’d asked Perkins for help and he’d foisted it off on a grad student without her input or consent. More than likely, she was just as uncomfortable as I was, even if she was a bit less in the dark.
“So…um…Sandra. I know we talked about me coming up here and documenting something—talking to you and recording anything “noteworthy” that happened while I’m up here. But I don’t know what that means.” I gave her an awkward smile that she returned. “I mean…I’m glad to try and help, but I’m an anthropology student, not a doctor or something more psychological or…” I blushed. “I’m not trying to say you’re crazy or something, God, I just…”
Sandra laughed and raised her hand. “Take a breath, honey. It’s okay. You’re not going to offend me. And I know you got roped into this by Jasper because he didn’t want to take the time to come up here. I get that. I haven’t seen the man in twenty years, so it’s understandable. And regardless of what you do or don’t do, even if you walk out in five minutes, I’ll give you a glowing report, rest assured.” She paused and watched me for a second. “Deal?”
I swallowed and nodded gratefully. “I…yeah. I appreciate it. But I’m happy to stay and help. If I can.” I went to grab my tablet to start taking notes when I realized I hadn’t brought it in. “Shit, I mean…shoot, I need to go get my stuff in so I can write stuff down.” I started to get up, but she was already waving me back to my seat.
“Don’t worry about that yet. Let’s just talk a bit, get you better acclimated to what’s going on, and then we can go from there. Sound good?”
Settling back into my chair, I nodded. “Um, yeah, sure.” I glanced around the living room. It was strange. I liked the room a lot. It had a cozy, comfortable look to it that…
“You remember from my email that I said I wanted you to help me document a ‘phenomena’ that has been occurring for a number of years, right?” Sandra chuckled. “I guess that made it sound to you like I thought my house was haunted or something.”
I gave her a nervous grin. “Yeah, kinda.” Not wanting to offend her, I went on. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m not here to pass judgment on your beliefs or whatever.”
She gave a short, laughing snort and shook her head. “Jesus, kid. Really, it’s okay. And no, it’s not ghosts or something. Well, it is something, but not ghosts.” Her expression darkened slightly. “I don’t know what to call it really, even after all this time. But the easiest way for me to explain what’s happening is by telling you what has happened.” Sandra gave me a small smile. “With your permission, of course.”
I nodded, and she began.
When I was younger, not much older than you, in fact, I worked as a caretaker for a man in my hometown. He was old and set for money (if not quite rich), and he paid and treated me well-enough. Most days I would spend four hours with him, though occasionally it would be more if his nurses needed a break. At first we didn’t talk much at all. He spent most of his time reading or watching t.v., and I busied myself with cleaning and laundry or occasionally getting him things he wanted from town.
Still, over the four years I worked for him, we became friends. He really was a nice man—his liver was failing him, but his mind was still sharp and he was…well, he was very funny. Had a really dry, sarcastic sense of humor that I think a lot of people took as him being an asshole, but…no, he was a good man overall. As I grew to care for him…well, care about him, it made me sad that he was so alone. Sure, he had me and the rotation of nurses, but no friends ever came to visit, no family ever called or came by. One of the day nurses, I called her Lottie, she said he had family up north, but they hadn’t come to see him in the five years she’d been knowing him.
I was the only one there when he died. And sadly, I was just about the only one that went to his funeral. All those men and women I’d seen come and go over the years, even Lottie that had known him the longest of them all, couldn’t be bothered to stop by and pay their respects. It made me angry and sad and lonely in a way I can’t quite describe.
The service was short and perfunctory—the funeral home director said some generic platitudes, read a couple of Bible verses, and asked if anyone wished to say anything. I thought it was kind of a sick joke to even ask the question since I was the only there, but something in the way the man had looked over the room made me turn around in my chair. Sitting in the back row was an old man. But not just an old man.
He looked like the same man we were burying that day.
Neither of us went up to speak, and after a final moment of silence, the ceremony was done. I barely noticed. All I could think about was how was any of this possible. If it was some trick or if I was in a dream. But no. Logically, I knew the man was dead. I had been there when he died, after all. So that meant this man must be a relative—maybe even a twin brother.
I turned back, half expecting the man to be gone, but he was still sitting there on the back row, meeting my gaze calmly and giving me a slight nod. Taking it as an invitation, I stood up and went back to sit next to him.
“Hello there. Were you…are you his brother? You look just like him.”
The man watched me for several seconds before pulling out a small envelope from his coat pocket. “You should read this. It’ll explain things better than I could. I’m assuming you can recognize his handwriting?”
I nodded as I took the envelope. “Yeah, I think so.” I glanced up at him. “So you want me to read this here or…?”
He chuckled. “No time like the present.”
I didn’t like him watching me the way he was, or sitting this close to him. He was like the man I’d known, but different. Up close I could feel the subtleties of that, and him looking so much like the person I’d known and cared for made the dissonance that much harder to bear. But I didn’t want to be rude by moving away, and I also didn’t want to wait to read what my friend had written to me. So doing my best to ignore him, I opened the envelope.
I realized that Sandra was holding out a small envelope to me now, yellowed with age and well-worn with use, I knew what it was even before she asked me to read it. The letter inside was smeared in places by some old stain, but otherwise was perfectly legible, each word written in trembling but well-formed letters that leaned forward as though rushing to get to the end of it all. This is what it said:
I’m writing you this because I’m a coward. I should have had the decency to tell you this in person before I passed, but I wanted to spare myself that pain. I also didn’t want to risk you leaving before it was all done.
The person that gave you this letter…Well, it’s not a person at all. I don’t know what it is, honestly, as we don’t really talk frequently despite our constant companionship, and to the extent that we do, it has never given me a clear answer on its nature or origin. I know how it came to me, of course. I worked for a man in my thirties that passed it to me before hanging himself in his office one night.
No doubt you think I’m crazy at this point. Or this is some kind of macabre posthumous practical joke. Neither is true, though time and your own experience will convince you of that far better than I ever could. The point for now isn’t to make you believe, but just to have you understand. To give you some reference point for how your life has just changed in the hopes that it makes the transition easier and less painful.
I don’t know what it is, but I know what it does. It haunts you. Not like a ghost, you understand. And while it can look like a variety of people when it wants, other people can’t see it or hear it—only the person it imprints on even knows its there. Imprints on. I just realized that’s how I’ve thought about it for years. Like it’s a baby duck or something. So absurd. But no less accurate in its absurdity. And don’t mistake me, it’s not actively malign as far as I can tell.
Not actively.
It isn’t a ghost, and though I know only a little about such things, I don’t think it’s a demon either, if demons exist. It doesn’t ever possess you, not exactly. As far as I can tell, it just stays with you in one of two states: Separate or joined.
Separate is how it always begins I think. It just stays around, in the corner of your view, rarely talking aside from when you catch its eye. When you do, most of the time it says the same phrase.
”I accept you.”
This is, of course, terrifying and confusing at first, especially when you have no warning or explanation of what’s going on. My predecessor didn’t even leave a suicide note, much less any instructions for how I should deal with my new burden. I spent months thinking I was crazy or cursed, and there was more than once that I was close to killing myself as well. Pulling myself back from that edge took time, and a large part of that came from acceptance of my situation. I stopped telling people about it—it only drove them away. I stopped trying to find answers as to what it was or why this was all happening to me. In truth, if I didn’t have a means to stop it, what did any of that really matter anyway?
I tried talking to it, but it would only rarely respond. In all honesty, it seemed as confused and unhappy as I was. I think when its separate, it’s lessened somehow. Its memory is strange and fluctuant, its sense of place and purpose waste away. And I developed the sense that its attachment to me wasn’t by choice, but something in its nature. It was as though we were two inmates, trapped in a cell made out of each other.
So I decided to try the one thing I hadn’t. The next time it said it accepted me, I responded in kind.
In truth, very little changed. I could feel it in a way I couldn’t before, but to my surprise I found its presence comforting. I could tell it felt the same. And since that day when I was thirty-seven, I’ve gone on to have a wife, a family, a fulfilling career, a very good life. You can too. That’s the real point of all this. Don’t feel like it’s a punishment. If anything, it’s a blessing. So many people feel alone, and you never will. It will never hurt you, and it can be a true friend in its own, strange way.
I’ll leave you with this. Thank you for all you did for me. For your care and friendship. I’m sorry to burden you with this, but it has to go to someone, and I can think of no one I trust more. While it is ultimately your decision, I ask you to trust me in this one, last thing.
When it says it accepts you, just accept it back.
With love and respect,
Jasper
I looked up with a frown. “Jasper? Jasper like Dr. Perkins?”
Sandra smiled at me sadly. “Yes, if you like. Honey, there is no Dr. Perkins. I mean, Jasper was a professor, but he’s been dead for twenty years.”
I glanced back at the letter before putting it on the coffee table in front of me. I suddenly didn’t want to touch it any more. “I don’t understand.”
The other woman nodded. “I know you don’t. And that’s my fault. I’ve let you stew in this confusion and pain for all these years, watched you get worse, watched you suffer. Not that I haven’t had a hard time too, I have, Lord knows. But I’ve come to realize how right Jasper was. I’m ready to join with you now.”
I stood up, my throat suddenly tight as I tried to breathe. “No…I…you’re crazy…I…”
Sandra stood up. “Sweetie, do you remember your life before coming here today? Do you even remember how you got here before knocking on the front door?”
I wanted to argue, to cite evidence of my memory, of my life, of who I was as a person. But everything was muddled and murky. Why couldn’t I remember? All I could remember was being in school and…”Dr. Perkins! No, I remember Dr. Perkins sent me here. We talked through email and then I talked to you through email.”
The woman sighed. “I shouldn’t have let this go on so long. Being separated all these years, I’ve seen you slip more and more into these periods of confusion. You were so close to Jasper for so long you almost always use him as the basis for some fake memory, some placeholder identity.” Sandra began crying. “I’m so sorry. I’ve watched you suffer and rot like this and I could have stopped it sooner. But no more. I accept you, you hear me? I accept you.”
I’d started backing away, but something in her tone stopped me. What she was saying was impossible, wasn’t it? Sensing my uncertainty, Sandra took a step forward.
“I know this is a lot to take. A lot to believe. But either I’m crazy or I’m right, right? So just say the words with me. If it doesn’t work, if you’re not what I say you are, then you can just go afterward. But if I’m right…I’m trying to save you, honey. Trying to make up for all the years I’ve done you wrong.” Her shining eyes locked onto mine as she said the phrase again. “I accept you.”
I spoke in a gasp, like the last breath of a dying woman. “I accept you.” I didn’t really feel any different after saying the words, so maybe…
I let out a scream as something moved on my leg. It was my phone, vibrating over and over in my pocket. A lump of ice began to form in my stomach as I dug it out, its implications already beginning to pierce the fog that was slowly lifting in my brain.
Four missed messages
Dr. Perkins: Clara, your assistance today won’t be necessary. Please cancel your plans to visit Sandra Newbourne. You will still receive the extra credit as we discussed.
Dr. Perkins: Clara, if you would, please confirm that you received my earlier message. I repeat, do not go up to that house. Thank you.
Dr. Perkins: It’s past time you were supposed to be there. If you are inside already, get out right now. Do not listen to that thing. It is very dangerous. It destroyed my father and it’s haunted me for twenty years. I was wrong to make a deal with it. But it’s not too late. That woman, or whoever answers the door at that house, is not human. I am not joking or insane. Please get away and let me know you are safe.
Dr. Perkins: I just felt it pass from me. I’m so sorry.
I looked up, trembling, to see Sandra standing over me, a wide, toothy smile open like a wound above two glittering eyes. Backpedaling, I started trying to head for the door. “I don’t accept, I don’t accept you…I don’t…”
She cut in with a sing-song voice that sounded like a hundred voices at once.
”Tooooo laaaate.”
With that, she began to unfurl her true face.
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