Heaven's Diary

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Faithful Diary,

You are the only one I can turn to now. Ideally, I’d be able to tell my partner in life about the issue weighing most heavy on my soul, but I have tried that already.

Terra didn’t believe a single word.

Imagine how it feels to love someone as deeply as I love Terra, as richly as the earth loves the sun. Imagine anticipating warmth every time she walks in the room. You anticipate that warmth because you've felt it in the past. Every day, you would come home from work and she would smile the moment you walked through the door. She would cast her light upon you.

If you’ve grown accustomed to your lover’s sunlit smile, your world feels off when she grows distant. You expect the woman you love to listen to you and support you in times of need. I’ve been through a lot in my life, and Terra has always helped me navigate the tides.

But today?

And yesterday?

And last week?

And last month?

Every time I’ve turned to her, she has laughed about my fears.

You are my last resort, Faithful Diary. No human can help me now.

Terra thinks I’m hallucinating. She says I’m sleep-deprived from all these early morning shifts. But I’ve been working 5 A.M. shifts since long before Terra and I ever met. Even as a teenager, I didn’t sleep much.

If lack of sleep is to blame, why have I never seen a ghost before now?

I suppose that’s a roundabout way of arriving at my point: I’ve seen a ghost. I’ve sensed a ghost. I’ve touched and tasted and felt a ghost in my presence. In my bed. She is as real as the body inside my skin.

And yet Terra believes none of this. She has experienced nothing supernatural in our house, and she considers this to be proof there are no ghosts, there is no such thing as ghosts. Terra is the holder of all human knowledge, apparently.

Yes, I know how bitter I sound. I know how bitter I feel. Everything about Terra has gone bitter, now. Her kisses are bitter. I avoid her mouth. I avoid her... I avoid HER. How can I stand to be in the same room as a woman who denies the existence of the very force that is stealing my soul?

I believe my soul is this ghost’s goal. She wishes to possess me. I am fully certain this is possible. My mind is already preoccupied by thoughts of her. This is somewhat like being in love, except instead of love there is only fear. I think about my ghost all the time.

I am afraid.

There are nights I imagine getting up and going to work early. I would rather make a bed of the rubber mats on the shelter’s kitchen floor than attempt to sleep at home.

Home.

This is not a home to me.

This is hell.

I am Heaven and I live in hell.

Terra has asked, on many occasions, how I can say in all certainty that this ghost resides in our house and not solely in my mind. Until we moved here, I had never in my life experienced haunting activity. Not once. But the very night we moved in, when I went to bed early and Terra stayed up to unpack, I received a shock unlike anything I had ever experienced.

I came up here, to the bedroom, to complete my ablutions. Ours is the master suite, with a full bathroom connected by a short hallway. The hallway itself opens to a walk-in closet large enough to accommodate an entire menagerie. As we don’t have pets, we keep our clothes in there.

At least, I do.

Terra wears the same outfit mostly every day. She scarcely bathes anymore, and when she does, she uses the barely-functioning shower in the basement. She spends nearly all her time down there, now.

The basement is where Terra and Elle have set up their recording studio.

That’s where they spend their time.

Funny, don’t you think, that Terra actively avoids the most haunted space in our house? And yet she claims it isn’t haunted at all.

Since the haunted space is our bedroom, and yet she denies the haunting, this leaves me thinking only one thing: Terra is actively avoiding me.

Even Elle doesn’t spend much time on the top floor. Her room is just down the hall. I can’t help thinking she has experienced the same phenomena I have, and yet she denies this is the case. She sides with Terra every time. She laughs at me and tells me I’m losing my marbles.

This is my best friend we’re talking about.

At least, she used to be my best friend.

Before we moved here, Elle and I were like sisters. We transitioned together, in synch every step of the way. Her self-assurance gave me the courage to retain what I needed and walk away from all the rest. It made perfect sense to buy a house with my girlfriend and my best friend, the three of us together. We couldn’t afford to purchase a home on two incomes, especially when you consider that Terra’s only money comes from her music. And she doesn’t make much. At least Elle holds a steady job.

The three of us got on well before we moved to this house.

This house has destroyed us.

This house is destroying me.

That very first night we moved in, I came up here to get ready for bed while Terra unpacked dishes downstairs. Elle was out, working a night shift. My clothes were the first items I’d unpacked.

Since I only had one day off work, I stayed organized. I knew exactly where I’d stacked my pyjamas: in the middle cubby just inside the closet. I was hardly thinking when I opened the door to grab a pair.

My insouciance did not last long.

The moment I opened the closet door, I heard a distinct gasp.

I stopped short. My breath caught in my lungs. I could not move, could not speak. I could not hear, except for the high-pitched squeal resonating in my ears. I felt faint, as though all the blood had drained from my body.

Had I truly heard what I thought I’d heard? A gasp? A breath?

No, surely not. Surely that sound had emanated from the hinges as I’d opened the door. Not a gasp at all, but a faint creak. It only sounded human. Surely this was not the case.

And yet I could not move to investigate. My feet remained planted to the floor.

Though the light from the bedroom illuminated the hallway at my back, the closet remained so dark that no light crossed its threshold. I knew, in my mind, where to find the pull for the lightbulb that hung from the closet’s ceiling. I knew where it was, and yet I could not convince my arm to extend. I could not compel my hand to reach for it.

I stood, frozen, just inside the closet, waiting for my senses to return.

As the ringing in my ears subsided, I sensed motion in the corner of the closet. I could have sworn I heard the shifting of fabric—heavy fabric, something like taffeta. It’s a very distinct sound.

Still, I convinced myself this was merely a gust of air from an unseen draft. Surely this mysterious breeze had shifted one of the rarely-worn frocks I’d hung in the far corner of the closet. Surely there was nothing more sinister going on.

And then, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness of my surroundings, I noted a shape in the far corner. My mind attempted most desperately to make sense of what I was seeing. I knew that Elle had packed many of her belongings into black garbage bags for the move. I wondered if perhaps she had tossed a bag or two in our closet. Perhaps her own was insufficient.

And yet, as my eyes adjusted further to the space, I realized the form I beheld was not solely black. There seemed to be a portion that was silver, silvery-blue, much like a jacket Terra used to own. When it caught in the moonlight, its delicate, shimmering shade defied description.

I could have sworn Terra had discarded that jacket before the move. In fact, I’m certain she did. We’d both pared down our individual belongings in favour of building a life together in our new home.

And you see how that plan is working out.

In that moment, I wondered if perhaps Terra were crouching in the corner of the closet. Black is the colour of my true love’s hair, dark as the night and dense as the woods.

Yes, this could be Terra crouching in the corner.

But why?

Was she hiding to surprise me?

To frighten me?

Was this some sort of practical joke?

I’d never known Terra to play one...

But how could this shape possibly be Terra? I could hear her in the kitchen, the distinct clinking of teacups on saucers as she arranged the set her grandmother gave her. A housewarming gift for darling granddaughter and her transgender mates.

My senses returned enough that I was able to reach up and grasp hold of the silver chain dangling from the ceiling.

When the small bulb illuminated the space, there was nothing.

Nothing in the corner, no one in the closet. I was alone.

Dishes continued to clink downstairs, but upstairs there was only me.

I issued a self-conscious chuckle, for I felt silly to have become so wracked with fear. Whatever I had sensed must have been of my mind’s creation. I told myself so repeatedly.

I told myself so even as the lightbulb above my head dimmed.

Dimmed until there was nearly no light emanating from it.

Just as I reached up to pull the silver chain, the bulb grew brighter. Brighter still. Brighter than before.

The bulb above my head grew so bright I shaded my eyes from its glow. Good thing I did, because, at that very moment, the filament turned from white-hot to blue.

And then it exploded.

Unlikely as this sounds, the little lightbulb shattered into a thousand shards of fine and barely-visible glass. The small shards rocketed around the closet, landing on my trousers and jackets, my folded pyjamas, the carpet upon which I stood.

I found glass shards on my clothing for weeks after this event. Every time I discovered one such fragment, the fear from that day returned to my heart, full force. That white-blue filament burned fear into my brain. I am branded by fear.

An unknown force resides in this house. I am a wreck with the worry of what she will do next. She has done too much already. I have no doubt she possesses the power to do harm.

And yet Terra doesn’t believe a word of this.