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The frown between her brows is deeper as she looks over to my place. I follow her gaze to my window; I’ve left the light on, and you can see everything in my room clearly. “You should go back inside where it’s warm. My company is not worth you falling ill.”
“I call bullshit on that. You’re worth everything. Besides, orcs don’t get sick like humans do.”
“What, exactly, are you?”she’d asked me a few days ago, and it had taken me a moment to realise that she didn’t know. She’d never seen an orc before. She hadn’t known non-humans existed until I showed up next door. She didn’t even realise that she wasn’t human. Her mouth had hung open as she’d tentatively lifted her hands to her ears, feeling the pointed tips.
“That… they were not like this, before.”
“Back when you…?”I hadn’t been able to finish the question, and she’d only nodded.
“Yes. Back then.”
I’d thought she was an elf, but now I’m not so sure. I’m about as non-magical as an orc gets — spell casting is not where my talents lie — but every now and then I feel like I can sense her magic, something more than just her being ghostly.
“I don’t like you freezing out here. It hurts my heart to know you’re injuring yourself to see me.”
“I am notinjuringmyself,” I laugh, just as a low rumbling sound starts up. It takes me a moment to register what it is — a heavy downpour coming this way. “Oh shit!” Without thinking I jump up the porch stairs, avoiding the holes in the wood, as fat raindrops hit my back. The wood under my feet creaks but holds, and I grin down at Rose’s shocked face. She’s a little less translucent today, which is a good sign. She tends to stick around for longer when she starts off like this.
The rain is still hitting my legs here, but the door to her house is open. I can barely see inside, and hesitate, glancing at her. “It’s probably warmer in there, right? Can I come in?”
She nods wordlessly.
“Mind if I keep my shoes on?”
“Please do. It’s a mess.”
I duck to fit through the doorway, shining the torchlight on my phone, thankful that the build of all of these old houses includes the extra high ceilings. It’s actually not as bad as I thought it would be; there’s dead bugs and what I’m going to assume are mice and rat droppings on the wooden floor, torn and chewed on wallpaper, curtains that have disintegrated, but there’s also furniture that remains standing. An old table that looks like it’s made of kauri wood, one of its matching chairs tipped on its side, and a huge wooden chest in the corner.
Rose waits behind me. “Is this how you remember it? Where the furniture is, I mean, and the wallpaper. Or is it newer than when you lived here?”
“This is how it was.”
“What year was it, for you, when you were last here?” When I talked to her about the Unravelling, I hadn’t mentioned specific dates, just that it’s been five years.
“I’m here right now.”
I nod. “Yeah, but —”
“When I was alive,” she begins, and hearing those words hurts more than I thought it would. I think she’s feeling the same, her sentence cutting off as she takes a deep breath.Is she evenbreathing?I wonder suddenly, observing the rise and fall of her chest. I guess it’s a habit; I’m pretty sure ghosts don’t need air.
“When I was alive,” she begins again, her voice a little shakier, “it was the Great War. 1915. That was when I was last here.”
We stare at each other for a long time, the only sound the noise of the pouring rain outside and the continuous dripping of a leak somewhere in the house.
“How did you die?” My voice is barely a whisper.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember being ill. I don’t remember anything terrible here. I used to wonder if perhaps the war had reached here, but then how would this house still be standing?”
I shake my head, suddenly finding a new use for my old research for that WWI play. “The war never reached New Zealand.”
“The last thing I remember was the back garden. My father had planted roses for me. I sat under the arbour where the pink climber grew — it was in bloom, and it smelled so beautiful. There were mushrooms in the grass. That is, as far as I know, the last time I was alive.”
“Mushrooms?”
“Yes. Pretty white ones, with big caps.”
Oh my god.“Did you eat one?” I ask, my voice serious. I saw a doco once, where a family ate poison mushrooms and their livers melted, and I couldn’t even stomach supermarket-bought mushrooms for years after that.
“No!” Rose replies, her nose scrunched up in disgust. “Do you think I’m a fool?”
