THE GATEKEEPER

April 2020

​

I do not live alone. 

For a while, I thought I did. But I have come to notice things that don’t make very much sense, things that shouldn’t happen. Moved objects that I never touched, mostly.

I often wake up to sunlight streaming through my open window, despite the fact that I always make sure to close the blinds at night. Sometimes, after I do the dishes, I come back a few hours later to find a second glass drying beside mine. Several times, I’ve come downstairs to find Misty, my collie, happily devouring one of her treats. But I keep the box of treats in one of the highest kitchen cabinets.

It’s strange, having a roommate I have never seen. I try to be friendly. I don’t mind that my conversations are one-sided.

“Good morning,” I say as I make breakfast. “How are you today? Thank you for opening the blinds again. I love waking up to sunshine.”

I cross over to the table with my eggs and toast, picking my usual chair—the one with its back facing the wall. There are freshly picked daisies in a vase on the table. “Did you pick these? They’re very pretty. I didn’t know we had daisies near here.”

My days are filled with moments like this. I pass my time in the garden. I paint landscapes and write poetry, bake cookies and watch birds. No matter what I do, I try to speak out loud.

“I didn’t like it here at first,” I admit one day as I’m painting a view of the forest outside. “I was lonely, because my house is so far away from everyone I know. But I don’t feel so lonely with you here. Thank you,” I add, “for being here.”

“I wish I knew your name,” I say the next evening as I get ready for bed. There’s a bouquet in the bathroom now, roses and little white flowers with petals shaped like hearts. “You do so many lovely things for me and I don’t even know who you are. Misty loves you, by the way,” I add, glancing across the hall at her, curled up on the edge of my bed. “I’m sure she would love to thank you for the cookies.”

* * * 

​

A grey sky and rain greets me instead of sunlight when I wake up the next morning. It’s funny, I can’t remember the last time it rained here. I stretch and climb out of bed, making my way to the kitchen for breakfast. 

I pause in the hallway. 

A little girl is standing at the dining room table, carefully pouring out two glasses of orange juice, her tongue sticking out slightly as she concentrates. I watch her for a moment, then take a few steps into the room.

“Hello?” I ask, a little cautiously. 

She looks up, and immediately her face brightens. “Hi!” she exclaims. “I made you breakfast!” She dashes across the room and grabs my hand, pulling me towards the table, and I realize there are two plates set out. 

“I don’t know how to make eggs, but I made toast!”

The girl helps me sit down, then scrambles to sit in the chair opposite to me. She watches me eagerly, so I take a bite of the toast. It’s a little butter-heavy, but perfectly toasted, so I can’t help but smile. 

“It’s delicious,” I say. “Thank you.”

She looks very proud as she bites into her own toast and takes a sip of her orange juice. I watch her as I quietly chew my own breakfast. 

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” I say after a few moments, “but who are you? Why have you been picking flowers for me? And opening my blinds in the morning?” 

“I’m Allison,” she says. “I picked the flowers because I thought you would like them. And I opened your blinds so it wouldn’t be dark when you woke up. You could get confused and think that it’s still night and fall back asleep.” The way she explains this is so matter-of-factly, like it could not be more obvious. 

“It’s good to finally meet you, Allison. I’m Elise.”

She nods enthusiastically, taking another sip of juice. 

“Are you lost?” I ask gently. 

“Nope. I know exactly where I am.”

“Oh. Is this your house, then?” Maybe she’s a ghost. 

She makes a face. “No. This is your house, you live here.”

“Don’t you also live here?”

This makes her pause. “I guess so,” she says thoughtfully. “Maybe this is my house.” Then she looks at me, a touch of concern on her face. “Is that okay with you?”

“Of course it is.” I say it without thinking, but it’s true. 

* * *

​

I quickly decide that being able to talk with Allison is far better than having one-sided conversations with an open room. I set up a second bedroom down the hall from mine, and she follows me around all day. I worry at first that she’ll get bored, but she always manages to fill the day with lively chatter, bright ideas, and thoughtful gestures. 

One day, while walking in the woods around the house, she tugs at my sleeve. “Ooh, you should do a painting of me when we get home!” she says. 

I laugh. “I don’t know about that. I’m not really that artistic. I don’t know how to paint.”

“Oh. Okay. Are you sure?” 

“I can see if I have any paint tucked away somewhere, if you really want.”

She turns to me and grabs my hand. “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

* * * 

​

The next evening, we’re sitting outside in the grassy field beside the house, watching the sun set. Allison stares at the sky silently, as if lost in thought.

When she thinks I’m not looking, she glances at me. 

I don’t understand why she looks so sad. 

“Are you okay, Allison?” I finally ask. 

She seems surprised. “Of course I am. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know, you just seem… sad.”

She smiles. “Oh, Elise. You’re so kind.” She gets to her feet. “Most people… aren’t as kind as you. You’re very special, did you know that?” 

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not going anywhere. But you? It’s time for you to move on.”

My forehead wrinkles. “Move on? Move on from what?”

“Elise,” she says gently. “You’ve noticed that things don’t make sense here.”

My heart feels like it’s twisting in my chest and a shiver goes down my spine. I try to laugh. “Why do you say that? Of course they do.”

“This was a forest before.”

“...What?”

“This field.” She gestures around us. “It was a forest a few days ago. But today you said you wanted to take a walk in the field, and suddenly…” She drops her hands to her sides. 

I try to think back, but I can feel a headache starting. “Allison…”

“Do you remember all the landscapes you painted?” she asks. “They’re yours.”

Are they? No, that’s… that can’t be right.

My head is pounding now. 

Allison takes my hands and looks directly in my eyes. “It’s okay, Elise,” she says softly. “You created this, that’s all. You created all of it—Misty, and the forest, and the sunshine every morning.” 

“I—I didn’t… you don’t…” 

“It’s okay.”

I look around us, tears suddenly spilling down my cheeks. I don’t understand. I don’t… I don’t understand what’s going on. The house is gone. Misty is gone. The grass is dry and scratchy, which reminds me that it was raining this morning, but that doesn’t make sense. How is that possible?

I look back at Allison, wearing a sad smile on her face. “I don’t understand,” I whisper. “Why is this happening? Where am I?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“But you said you knew exactly where you were!”

“I do.” She pulls me closer and wraps me in a tight hug. “I’m here with you.”

I can’t help it. I cry as she presses her face into my shoulder. “You were so kind to me.”

“No, Elise. You were kind to me. You gave me a dog to give treats to, a room to sleep in, a garden to pick flowers from, and… and a friend to spend time with.” She grins as she pulls away. “You found yourself in the loneliest place in the universe and still found a way to put others above yourself.” Then Allison squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to do that anymore, Elise. You can rest now.” 

I laugh weakly as I lay down in the grass, tears still slipping down my face and clinging to my chin. “Am I dead?”

“Maybe.” She weaves strands of grass loosely around my body, like she’s tucking me into bed. There’s an unexplainable comfort I feel, like the feeling of curling up after being on your feet all day. 

“Have you done this before?”

“Yes.”

She stands, brushes grass off her dress, and smiles at me one more time. “I have to say goodbye now, but I promise you—you’ll be okay.”

I watch as she lifts her hand towards the sky, and the warm colours of sunset darken until it’s the purple of twilight, slowly fading to black.

“Allison?” I call. 

“Yes?”

“Will you open the blinds in the morning?”

She gives a soft laugh. “Not anymore. But I can do the next best thing.”

​

With another wave of her hand, hundreds of thousands of stars appear above me.  

“Oh,” I breathe. 

Allison presses a soft kiss to my forehead as I close my eyes, already slipping into a deep, peaceful sleep.

“Goodnight, Elise.”

And then she’s gone.