Lavender Haze

It must have been the coldest winter of my life. The snow was enough to light up the night. When day faded, it was into the hazy, silent in-betweens of an alien planet. The sky never quite reached that regal blue - no matter the time, it hovered somewhere just shy of lavender. I still see that color everywhere. It’s in a translucent sheet that obscures my dark room even further, or it’s seeping from cracks in the corner of my eye.

I slept with the curtains wide open every night. Lavender spilled in through the window. I remember it making me shiver, and no matter how warm the room got I was cold, cold, cold. There are other images, too, all frozen in place - my hair, inky, and the glint of static on my pajamas while I shifted and curled up under the blanket. I was a small girl. Maybe that’s why I was so cold.

Michael told me later that it was witching hour when it happened. That’s the hour following three AM, not midnight. He said that’s when demons come out, and when his came out of the bathroom. He also said that I’d brought this upon myself and he laughed, because he couldn’t help me and he wanted to see what I would do.

All my memories from the coldest winter are stills except this one. This one is vivid with motion. It started with a chill crawling down the back of my neck. It fluttered like a mosquito, and despite the season my first instinct was to squirm and brush it away. I sat up straight, frowning. The pests of summer were dead. It was December.

And then it came back - a shudder, heavier, and all I could think of to do was swipe at it again. It disappeared just before my fingers reached my skin. Heart pounding, I rubbed my neck, sure that it was just a stray hair brushing against me. But my hair was on one shoulder and there was no breeze, nothing at all to move it.

I remember a lavender mass, darker and heavier than everything else, crawling around me so I could see. There was a face, obscured somewhere in the figure. Am I afraid? I shrank backward, slowly, not wanting to startle it. I wanted to reach out and swipe it away but that wouldn’t work - I knew this thing. It left when it wanted to. But it didn’t take this form, it was never like this. It was never lovely.

“Are you real?” I couldn’t quite determine who’d said that but it couldn’t have been me. I’d opened my mouth to breathe in a quiet gasp but I never felt those words leave my throat.

“Am I insane?” I don’t know who said that, either.

I’m afraid. I could hear my heart. If I’d looked down I could have seen it beating against the inside of my chest, skin rising and falling with the steady pace of someone who was most certainly

“Are you real?” That time, it wasn’t me. That voice sounded like it had traveled a thousand miles, fragmenting like wind and wrapping around English like it was unfamiliar. The thing was reaching for me, like touching was believing. I shook my head and drew further away. Don’t.

“Say something,” it added.

I won’t. I just stared, waiting for it to go away. It wasn’t the first time I’d been told to speak. Like I always did, I’d refuse until it went away. Mom told me to mind my own business, act like I hadn’t seen or didn’t care. Humans are supposed to mind their own business.

But it was too late for that, so all I could do was stay silent.

If it had been the first time I’d seen it, I might have cried. It only came closer, reaching forward with one shimmering, indistinct limb. Crossing my arms across my lap, I turned to the side like I’d get off the bed. Leave, I prayed, ripping my eyes away from the thing. That was my first mistake.

It screamed. There was nothing but blind, quaking fury in that shriek. Frantic by now, I realized I’d woken some rabid beast and there was no escape now. Once before, I’d tried to leave the room when it appeared. That hadn’t ended well. I was shaking when I turned around to look at it again.

“You’ll wake someone up,” I breathed, quietly as I could. It was the first time in years I’d spoken to it. There was a moment of thick silence while it dawned on the thing that I’d actually responded. I wanted to take it back right away but it was too late now.

And then it laughed. An airy, whispering laugh that felt a little bit like a warm breeze. I don’t know what came over me.

I laughed, too. Quietly.

“Come here,” it said, reaching out again. Its limb shook a little, like it was still recovering from laughing. The shimmer was thicker now, like maybe it was a person. Maybe it was human. Don’t, I told myself. I couldn’t go to it, and I could never consider that it was like me. I shook my head, not wanting to speak again. I shivered once more, but I was warmer, a bit. It cocked its head and I wondered what kind of expression it had. “You don’t want to see me?” I didn’t respond. I didn’t react in any way, I swear. Michael told me I must have. “You don’t know who I am.” It sounded incredulous, somehow, but it was more relaxed than it had been in a long time. I swallowed and sat up a bit straighter, hating that it was suddenly acting comfortable again. I thought I’d forced it into maintaining some boundaries a few years ago. “You don’t remember?”

The last thing I wanted to do was give it the satisfaction of knowing I’d recognized it right away. Slowly, I shook my head, wondering if it would be able to tell I was lying. For a long moment, it stared at me. Once again, I wanted to know what kind of expression was on its face. But there was nothing but that vague, lavender shimmer. I could only use my imagination.

“I hate you. Why do you do this?” it asked, wounded. I swallowed again, turning away to stare out the window. “My whole life is going to go by and you won’t even look at me.” Now it was bitter, accusing. The words bit a little, and a part of me knew it was right. Now I was sure I’d cry. I’d made it upset again.

I hadn’t wanted to do that. Back then, more than anything, I’d wanted to be left alone. I remember suddenly wanting a cigarette, but I’d tried to smoke in my room once and the smell clung to the walls.

The problem was that it was a familiar creature. Its old form was bizarre - a shadow that never left me alone. It followed me, gliding like a ghost. I remember speaking to it as a child when I was four or five and slowly starting to ignore it when I realized I was too old for imaginary friends. I remember it watching, hollow, while terrible things happened to me. I remember it appearing in sunlight, glittering and black, curious about what I was writing or drawing. The familiarity ran deeper than any other memory. Sometimes, over the years, it got like this. But it hadn’t been lovely, then. It was lovely now.

Suddenly, it felt like the first time I’d pushed it away, at seven or eight. I’d hated doing that. But I had, and every day since I’d steeled myself against the guilt until it only came by once in a while, meek and burdened with a precarious type of patience that threatened to spill into rage at any second. I supposed this was that rage - the one I’d pretty much been asking for.

“Tell me why you follow me,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “If you tell me now, I’ll stop ignoring you.” I couldn’t bring myself to look at it but I imagined it was staring at me.

“I…” Was it at a loss? “I don’t follow you,” it said flatly. Frowning, I turned to look.

“What?” I felt stupid, sure someone would hear me talking to myself.

“You think I’ve been following you.” Again, it was incredulous. “No, no. Are you kidding?” I didn’t know what to say. “You’re the one who keeps…” It trailed off. “Look, there’s some problem. I can see you sometimes. I don’t follow you.”

“What problem? The fact that you’ve been following me?” There was no way I’d accept that being haunted my whole life was my own fault. “I can see you sometimes, too. I figured you could always see me.”

“No. I can’t always see you. That’s why I was asking -- are you even real? Or am I insane? The other people can’t hear me. I thought I made you up.” My heart skipped several beats.

“You’re insane,” I answered, my voice shaking. “I’m not real.” Maybe it would go away if I could convince it I was the one who didn’t exist. It was quiet for another long moment. I think a solid minute went by.

“No,” it said again. “Everyone can hear you. No one can hear me. I’m… not real.” That miserable, quiet tone was back. I wanted to tell it it was real, but saying that might make it true. So I stood up, sure it wouldn’t stop me, and turned around. More comfortable now that we weren’t on the bed together, I reached out my hand it like it had reached out that strange limb before. It just stared.

“Look, we can find out.” Fifteen years and I’d always evaded its touch. Part of me was sure it would disappear forever the second we made contact and that would be that. A small part of me hoped that wouldn’t happen. I wondered what that strange shimmer would feel like. Nothing at all, I told myself.

I think it was a bit gingerly that it reached out, too, shaking. It stopped inches away from my fingertips.

“I don’t want to know,” it said, laughing dryly. I couldn’t resist a grin.

“Neither do I.” For another moment I tried to wipe that sheepish smile of my face and breathed, my skin suddenly crawling with goosebumps again. I wanted to get back under the blanket.

“What if you disappear?” it asked. My arm was getting tired from holding it out for so long and the cold was starting to annoy me even more.

“Then I disappear. At least you can stop wondering,” I told it. It stared again.

“I still remember the day you got cold,” it said. I hated those type of sentiments. As if it knew me better than I knew myself. Annoyed, I dropped my hand.

“Whatever,” I muttered, wandering over to the window. I suddenly wanted it to get off my bed. It was freezing.

“Don’t. I’m not him,” it hissed.

“Who?” I asked blithely, my back to it.

“You know who,” it answered. I glanced over my shoulder. It had stood up now. Thank God. Maybe that meant it was one step closer to leaving.

“Hm, no, I’m not sure who you mean.” Of course it meant Nick. My boyfriend.

“I have to ask -- you know he’s not your brother, right?” I bit my cheek, resisting a wicked grin.

“Of course he is. We’re supposed to rule side by side,” I quipped. The same thing I told everyone else. I felt myself slipping into that reflex to provoke.

“You’re supposed to rule side by side,” it repeated.

“Until one of us dies. And then the other has to die, too. We were betrothed when I was born.” I turned around, that practiced, even expression holding my features to perfect neutrality.

“When did you come up with that, anyway? I must have missed you that day.” There was something strange about the way it reacted. I knew it knew that Nick and I lied, but the way it went so still made me wonder what it knew that I didn’t.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “We just started saying it.”

It held out its hand again. Cold air came off the window, meeting the skin of my back. I shivered.

By that point, I think we’d exhausted conversation. That happens with us a lot. So, silent, I reached out as well. I don’t know what I expected when I finally let our fingertips brush together. Air? A different temperature? Something other than the physical sensation of making contact with another being?

Because that’s what happened. It was impossibly real and warm, warmer than the space heater in the corner, definitely. Michael told me this was my biggest mistake. It can’t touch you first, he’d said. But wow -- you just went for it, huh?

I didn’t even have a chance to blink. The shimmering flecks on its body fused together, forming what was unmistakably human. Rather, it looked human. It’s not, I told myself again, stunned. The same stunned expression was on its face. A sort of gaunt, tawny face - long like an alien’s, with cheekbones protruding against the skin. But there was a resemblance there, a sort of familiarity that felt suspiciously like validation for all the strange encounters we’d shared as children.

It looked just a bit like me. Somehow, underneath the strange angles of its face, were the slopes and curves I saw in my reflection every day. It cursed and drew its fingers away, struggling to look like it wasn’t afraid.

“What are you?” it demanded. “Your hair--”

I didn’t know what it meant. Stupidly, I stared.

“What are you?” I repeated, the same edge to my voice as before. I don’t know why I was cruel to it. It said something in a language I didn’t know. I wanted to see if its hair was as light as it looked. There was something light about every aspect of its new form.

I’m not sure how long we stood there, trying to wrap our minds around this new development. But eventually, I grew tired and cold. I wasn’t really dressed for those types of nights. Part of me assumed that if I was cold I’d fall asleep faster. It never worked but I always tried.

“I”m freezing,” I said finally, my voice still barely above a breath. It only continued to stare. “Look, I’m really tired. I’m probably seeing things, and you’re probably not--”

“Fuck you,” it interrupted. Biting my tongue, I let it continue. “I was expecting you to disappear. I can admit that you’re real now but you’re still acting like a bitch. Say I’m real.” Blinking, I wondered when it had decided it was okay to call me a bitch. It was the imaginary friend, not me.

“Move,” I said, pushing it aside. I didn’t listen to Nick when he got like that. I wasn’t about to listen to the thing. My whole life revolved around Nick back then. But when I tried to sweep past and get back to bed it occurred to me that I was pushing an actual mass. It was light, but it was there.

I stopped, jaw clenched. It was real. I didn’t want to consider that I’d just sucked a demon into my world (or been sucked into a demon’s world), so I couldn’t admit it out loud, but I was pretty damn certain at that point that there was a real being here. I couldn’t deny it forever. Eventually, it would make me admit it, but it didn’t happen that night.

“I just have to go to sleep, okay?” I tried. It was definitely pissed. When I realized it wasn’t going to respond, I continued. “What do you expect? I haven’t talked to you in ten years. And back then you were different. People don’t just change like that.”

“You changed, too,” it said. I could tell by its voice that it was barely resisting losing its temper again.

“No, you looked like something different. You’re probably a demon. Do you even have a name?” I could still hear the cruelty in my own voice. It said something, after a while, that I couldn’t really understand. It was that same language that I didn’t know, and my ears couldn’t make sense of it. The word sounded like Dhakh.

“Okay, well, I can’t pronounce that, and I have to go to sleep. Can I please go to sleep now? You used to let me sleep,” I added, impatient. I wanted to ask it to say its name again so I could learn to say it correctly but I couldn’t bring myself to be so mild.

Stiffly, it turned to the side and gestured to my bed. It wasn’t until I’d gotten under the covers and looked at it from a distance that I realized it wasn’t an it. It was a boy. All these years and I hadn’t known.

“Are you going to do what you used to do?” I asked, a bit less harshly this time.

“Stay, you mean?” he asked. That whispering voice didn’t change with his image.

“Yeah.” He wouldn’t look at me.

“No, I’ll go.” I wanted to tell him it was okay and that he could stay. As a kid I’d appreciated it. But, of course, I stayed silent and waited for him to leave. There was a glimmer and he’d disappeared through the window, once again part of the lavender haze.

I shivered. And then I cried.