The Sleepy Valley

She didn’t call it a tragedy. Perhaps she was trying to soften it. Didn’t want to summon some evil spirit from the past? She called it the incident — so light, so simple. Just an incident.

She asked, ‘Is that why you never come back here?’

I look into her eyes — the same grey eyes, only somehow asleep now, looking at me from far away — and say nothing. Yes. I don’t come back because of that ‘incident’. But what’s the point of talking about it?

We’re standing on the riverbank, the water as dark and steely as her gaze beneath an equally steely sky, and we’re both well into our forties now, with grey in our hair. We both have wrinkles — two vertical lines rising from the bridge of the nose, and little horizontal lines radiating from the corners of our eyes. We know how to frown now. And how to laugh.

‘Why so quiet?’ she presses.

‘What is there to say?’ I shrug. ‘Adult life. Too much to do.’

‘We’re the only ones left,’ she mutters after a pause.

Why say that? Does she think I don’t know?

‘You could come sometimes, at least…’ she almost whispers. She shivers, turns away.

‘Yes. I could come.’

‘You might have seen Mum while she was still alive. She waited for you so long… Instead, you only come back for funerals.’

The last words are an accusation.

‘Maybe I might have...’

I don’t want to continue. I sigh. You think everything will always be the same — the same garden gate, the same path through the orchard, the same table beneath the apple tree. Mum with her pies.

And then you come back to see a coffin.

I can’t stand it any longer.

‘Maybe it’s time you got out of here too?’

‘And the garden? The house?’ She looks genuinely bewildered.

‘Sis.’ I give her the look a teacher gives a pupil who has just said something monumentally stupid. ‘The garden and the house are rotting old wrecks. Sell them and start living in another world.’

She seems not to hear me. She stares at the water.

‘Before she died, she saw the lights too… In that place…’ she whispers.

‘Why did she even go there?’ I try to keep my voice down, though I want to shout.

‘I don’t know… To say goodbye… Remember Liam…’

‘Why the lights?’

‘Because there are fireflies and things… And rot. Something’s always rotting in a swamp. Could be peat smouldering underground.’

Silence again.

‘You don’t go there, do you?’ I ask, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

‘I do…’ Barely a whisper, after a long silence.

I’m stunned. I don’t even know what to say. At last I sigh and force the words out.

‘You shouldn’t.’

‘No.’ Suddenly there’s passion in her voice, as though she’s trying to prove something. ‘No, I should. There’s something there… Something… They all saw the lights.’

‘Who’s “they all”?’

‘Liam… Will, my… We almost got married… Dad… Mum… And then…’

‘Then what?’

‘They died…’

She says it so quietly, as though her lips have frozen and can barely move.

‘Then don’t go there. Don’t look. And you’ll live for ever.’ I say the last words almost under my breath.

‘Looks like you’re the one who’s decided to live for ever.’ There’s bitterness in her voice. Almost an accusation. Cruel. Nasty.

I say nothing for a long time. Then I can’t hold it back.

‘Live for ever? Is that how you see it?’

Now she’s the one who goes quiet. Stubborn. Angry.

‘I died that day, do you understand? That day!’

She looks up at me, bewildered. Her lips part.

‘That “incident”, as you call it…’ I don’t even know how to go on.

‘When Liam died?’ she whispers.

‘For you, it was burying your brother. That happens.’ I speak slowly, as though I have to live through every word before I can say it. ‘We’re all mortal. We bury relatives. Sometimes. But for me…’

‘What about you? What makes you so special?’ she spits, pain and venom in her voice.

No. She doesn’t understand.

‘I’m not special. But your own identical twin in a coffin… That’s different. That’s you.’ I fight to keep the tremor out of my voice. ‘I wasn’t burying him that day. I was burying myself. Everyone else was saying goodbye to a relative, and I… I looked into the coffin and saw my own face. Have you ever buried yourself?’

I turn towards her and stare straight at her.

She looks away. She didn’t expect that. But perhaps she’s beginning to understand.

‘So why did you go there? To see the lights too?’

‘People say… They show you your fate.’

‘They predict death.’

‘That too…’ she whispers, almost inaudibly.

‘Are you afraid of that? Or is that what you want?’

She says nothing. Arms wrapped tightly around herself against the cold, she stares at the water. Does she even see what she’s looking at?

I can’t take it any more.

‘You people live here like you’re asleep. I’m the only one who woke up and got the hell out of this cursed place. And all you do is wait to see the lights and die.’

‘To be at peace,’ she says. ‘We want to be at peace. So much fuss, so many things to do, and then you see the lights and there’s nothing left to worry about.’

‘Right. Relax. They’re already coming for you.’

‘We want to be at peace. So much fuss…’

‘Can you even hear yourself? You’re like zombies.’

She whispers something in reply. Her lips are moving, but I can’t hear a word.

Then, aloud:

‘That incident… Is that why you never come back here?’

I don’t answer. But a chill crawls up my spine.

‘Why so quiet?’ she insists.

‘I’m not quiet.’

‘We’re the only ones left,’ she mumbles, barely audibly. ‘You could come sometimes, at least… You might have seen Mum while she was still alive. She waited for you so long… Instead, you only come back for…’

Her lips are moving, but I can’t hear anything now.

There’s a ringing in my ears, and the icy chill has reached the back of my neck.

I take a step backwards.

There’s no going back now.

* * *

‘Who’s that bloke over there?’

‘Where?’

‘There, on the bank. Is he mental or something?’

‘Why?’

‘His lips are moving. He’s waving his hands about. Like he’s talking to someone.’

‘Oh… Some junkie, probably. Chatting to ghosts.’

‘Nah, he looks normal enough. Oh! He’s off. Running, even.’

‘Running from his imaginary mates, probably. Hey, you should’ve seen what I saw in the swamp yesterday! These lights flying about. Creepy as hell. Like fireflies, only bigger.’

‘No way. Don’t go there. They say it’s bad luck.’

‘Oh, come on. Bollocks. It was brilliant. They come right up to you — you could almost touch them. Come on, we’ll get a video. Easy thousand views.’

‘Nah. Sod that. They say it’s dangerous.’

‘What, you scared?’

‘No. Just…’

‘Come on!’

‘All right. Fine.’

‘Just don’t tell anyone.’

‘Course I won’t.’

‘Oi! Look. That nutter just ran into the house.’

‘Yeah. That’s where they had the funeral yesterday.’

‘Yeah. Oh, look! He’s coming out again. Got a bag.’

‘Off somewhere, then. Everyone leaves.’

‘Look! Smoke! Something’s burning in there.’

‘Bloody hell! Look at it go! Film it! Film it! We’ll stick it online — people’ll go mental.’

‘And tomorrow — the swamp!’