Drawtober 2023: Ghostly Ballroom

TW: death of a parent

The day and night pass in a haze. I hear the denizens of the House cavorting below, but I don’t go down. I don’t need to.

The House has a Keeper. And it isn’t me.

My comforter is back on my bed, and I bury myself beneath it. I’m reminded of ghosts parading about in sheets, and a hysterical sort of giggle leaves my mouth at the image of myself haunting the House in my tartan comforter. I suppose, in some ways, that’s what I’ve been doing.

Memories come back slowly. I remember my apprentice arriving on All Hallows Eve five years ago. Red-hair and freckles, with a mouth pulled taught with pain. I’d let him in, given him a cup of tea, just like Jack had done for me. And I’d asked him his name.

“Liam,” was all he said. I’d never pressed for more.

Remembering Liam was easier than remembering what came after. I’d been slowing down for years as my all-too-mortal body gave way to time. But I couldn’t stave off death forever. In the end, I was just like Jack. I’d laid down one night and not woken up.

Unlike Jack, though, I didn’t leave. I couldn’t. The House was my first—my only—home. And I didn’t know how I would ever be able to give it up.

#

The story of Before the House is one I’ve told no one, not even Jack. My whole life before I’d come here was spent sitting in the cracked leather passenger seat of my mother’s 1955 Chevy Bel Air. Sometimes there were motel rooms or friend’s couches, brief stretches with central heating or air conditioning. But most of the time we were on the road, bouncing from place to place as my mother searched for the luck that was always two steps ahead of her.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this next town,” she’d say, bundling me up into the car again. “Just one more stop.” And I’d watch out the passenger window as the small comfort of starting to know a place disappeared behind us again and again and again.

That last night had been a bad one. We’d fought. I’d threatened—as I’d started to do of late—to leave. And she’d pointed out I had nowhere to go.

We’d driven in sullen silence as the wind picked up, a storm rolling in from the east. At some point, she’d reached across the center console to take my hand.

“Margery,” she started, but I pulled away. I was angry, I didn’t want to talk to her. “Margie, I’m s—”

When I think back on it now, I can’t remember whether she’d veered into the other lane or the other car had. All I know is that the driver’s side completely crumpled in, taking my mother with it. I’d held her hand, begging her to wake up even when I knew she wasn’t going to.

I don’t know how long I walked looking for help before I realized I wasn’t going to find any. My mother had been right—I didn’t have anywhere to go. I thought I might be walking down that road until my feet gave out and I finally collapsed.

And then I’d rounded the corner.

And there was the House, warm orange light spilling from its window, untidy garden climbing the walls.

I’d walked up the porch steps, knocked on the door, and never looked back.

#

When the knock comes, I am not surprised.

“Margie? Are you in there?”

The voice is muffled by the heavy wood, but I recognize it now.

“Margie?” Liam calls again. “Can I come in?”

Slowly, I rise and cross to the door. The new Keeper must have taken a different room, because this one is still my own. Bookshelves pushed against the walls, a skylight over my unmade bed, tartan comforter tangled with my other sheets. I wonder how long Liam has been lurking elsewhere in the House. I wonder if the House has been protecting him.

Liam stands just outside my door. His flame-red hair is dulled to copper in the dim light of the hallway. Freckles scatter across a pale face. He wears a dress shirt and pants, both too rumpled. I never could get him to use the iron.

He smiles hesitantly at me. “Hi.”

I stare at him. Memories of this young man have come back to me, but he still feels something like a stranger.

Finally, I clear my throat. “How long?”

“Six months,” he says after a pause. Then, “I’m sorry.”

Six months. “What happened?”

He rubs at his right shoulder, a gesture so familiar and yet so foreign. “It’s…look, can I come in? I don’t really want to just stand in the hallway talking about it.”

I hesitate a moment. Letting him in means I’m admitting that I’m not Keeper anymore. That this is no longer my place. But I can’t keep holding onto it, especially if I don’t understand what happened.

I open my door wider and let him in.

Liam peers around curiously before sinking into one of my reading chairs. He looks so young, so fragile. I wonder if I ever looked so breakable. His gaze lands on my comforter, and he winces.

“Sorry I took that. I know you don’t like anyone coming into your bedroom, but I thought—”

“Why didn’t I remember anything?” I interrupt. “The other spirits remember their lives. Why did I forget a part of mine?”

Liam runs a hand through his hair. “Honestly? I don’t know. You told me the last Keeper—Jack Grim—never came back as a ghost. So I didn’t think you would. But two days after we buried you, I found you in the kitchen, starting a big pot of oatmeal. You—you didn’t recognize me.” His voice sounds so hurt as he speaks, and I realize I’m not the only who’s been haunting this House.

“The first few times, I tried to tell you what had happened. But it never stuck. So, after awhile, I decided to just let you go on as usual. I did my best to stay out of your way, and I told everyone else to let it lie. I thought that if you could accept it on your own, you might be able to move on.”

“I can’t leave,” I say desperately, not sure I can make him understand. The House has been my home since I was fifteen. I know its halls better than I know my own skin. The thought of ever, ever leaving it—

“Hey, no, I didn’t mean like that.” He crosses and sinks onto the bed with me. “I don’t give a shit about you walking the crossroads. I like have you around, Margie, I just don’t like…I don’t like that you couldn’t remember me.”

I shut my eyes. “The Keeper has to be mortal.”

“Sure,” he says. “But where’s it written that there has to be only one?”

The floor beneath us trembles as, in the ballroom below, the orchestra begins tuning up. Liam gives me a smile.

“We don’t have to figure this out tonight. The ball is beginning soon, though. It would be good for everyone to see both of their Keepers.” He stands, extending a hand. “Will you come?”

I glance to his hand. A part of me is terrified to take it. The same part that wants to forget the past few weeks and go back to pretending that none of this happened. But it did happen, as it was always going to. I need to accept it at some point.

I stand. Years of a Keeper’s training rush back onto me, the bright and certain knowledge that the Keeper of the crossroads will always appear at the All Hallows Eve Ball. I brush my dress off. “Give me a minute to change, and I’ll be right down.”

#

The ballroom is the largest room of the House. It takes up the entire eastern wing and spans the first two floors. I spent the past week polishing crystal chandeliers and wiping down the large windows that overlook the gardens beyond. Now that I think about it, however, it occurs to me that Liam was probably cleaning, too. Things were always done faster than they had been in the past.

The stairs leading down onto the ballroom floor are ablaze with ghostly light when I arrive. Strains of orchestral music float up the staircase, a dark waltz that mixes with the sounds of laughter and the beating of wings. From where I stand on the stairs, I see imps flitting through the air, chasing pixies and witches on their brooms. On the dance floor, ghostly couples swirl together. Mircalla, who’s dancing with a dapper zombie, gives me a toothy smile as she swirls past. A few meters away, a cavalcade of ghosts and fairies chatter and laugh near the long buffet tables that are laid with roasted quails and sugar pumpkin cookies, bubbling pots of cider and fountains of dark red wine. Rumblewrit, a book in his hands and a grin on his face, stands beside the orchestra conversing with Dusthollow, who’s exchanged her sooty apron for a slightly cleaner one.

The sound of footsteps makes me turn as Liam descends the stairs. “Argus is watching the door for me,” he says. “I had to remind him not to scare the shit out of the trick-or-treaters, if we get any.”

“We’ll get a few. There are always a handful of kids who wander onto the crossroads. We just need to be sure to send them home.”

“We will.” Liam nods toward the ballroom. “Party going well?”

“As far as I can tell.” I glance over the room again. “You did a good job on this, Liam. All Hallows Eve is always hard your first year.”

“Well, I didn’t have to do it alone.”

I smile but don’t reply immediately. What would it have been like, I wonder, if Jack had stuck around? If I’d had someone to hold onto a little longer? I’d learned a lot of things on my own, but Liam doesn’t have to. I could stay for a while, help him keep things in good order. Be the person for him that I’d always needed.

“Come on,” I say. “The asrai always set up apple bobbing the backyard and try and drown people while they’re at it. It’s best to check in throughout the night.”

“Drown people? Really?”

“Oh yes. You can’t imagine the number of disgruntled ghouls I had to deal with my first year here. It was dreadful.”

Liam follows me as we weave through the dancing ghosts toward the back door. The moon rides high in the sky, starlight sparkling down over the House and the gardens. Beyond that, the crossroads sit, waiting for travelers from the realms to walk them. I will walk them one day myself. I know that now. But not yet. Not tonight.

Tonight, I will celebrate, and know that I’m home for a little while longer.