As far as he could remember, Ray could see ghosts. Susan, Michelle, and now Marcus - they were always here, in the woods his family loved, dressed in their neatly-pressed navy uniforms with matching hats. How long had it been since he saw them alive?
He had just turned 9 - his collar smeared with the cake his siblings (mainly his youngest brothers) had aimed at him - when he saw the first ghost he had never met before in his life. Tuning out his sister yelling at him to make a wish (“If you don’t shut up, I’m wishing for you to go away, Emma” “Ray!”), he screwed his eyes shut, asking for the same thing he had wished for every year since he had turned 6 (“I wish for my family to grow up”). And when he opened his eyes, he saw her, wild red hair darting between her shoulders, facing away from him, solid-looking and yet a silhouette, one he was sure only he could see - another ghost.
For the rest of the night, Ray kept his eyes trained towards the forest, looking for the achingly familiar young woman. Rejecting Gilda’s offers for more cake, narrowly avoiding the platter Thoma and Lanni had tried to throw at him, and pulling himself away from a Norman and Emma concealing a poorly-wrapped present behind their backs, he stepped out into the crisp winter air, sweater hastily wrapped around him. He treaded carefully towards the woods and when he blinked, he saw her again, a shimmering shadow rooted amongst the trees.
He had never talked to a ghost before. Mostly, he let them be, figments of his cursed imagination. This one, however, seemed to haunt him, for some reason he could not explain. As he drew closer and closer, he realized three things: 1) Her clothes weren’t from here 2) The string of numbers was missing from her neck 3) He knew her, somehow. Now right behind her, he cleared his throat, quite unsure of what to do. Startled, she faced him.
“Emma?” He choked, his voice barely a whisper. And yet somehow, this wasn’t his Emma. No starch-white uniform, numbers or infuriatingly bright smile. Instead, she wore a parka, a golden chain hanging from her neck, and strangely dull green eyes, and best (or worst) of all, she was older - more than any of the children he had grown up with, but younger than his mother. “I’m sorry, where are we?” she asked, as if she hadn’t realized her otherworldly presence. “The house, Emma,” replied Ray, half-torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry. She had grown up - had the others grown up too? Were they away from this wretched place?
The girl (Emma?), however, stared at him blankly. “The house” he repeated, “What’s gotten into you?” he demanded.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, her apology somehow irritating him more, “I don’t think I’ve ever been here.”
“What are you - of course you’ve - why are you here?” he spluttered.
She frowned, “Why are you here?”
“I asked first.” Her frown deepened.
“I don’t know. I went out to hunt and now I’ve lost track of Alex’s cabin.”
Alex? Hunt? Cabin? What was she - “Your ear’s gone!” he realized suddenly, as she moved aside the single side-braid from her face.
She chucked, “Was it ever there?” but when Ray continued to look perplexed she shook her head quickly.
“Stop apologizing, you sound stupid.”
“I’m sorry - sorry - are you lost too? Did you say you were looking for someone? Emma?”
She sounded the name out as if she’d never heard it. “No,” he said, his voice hoarse, “I live here. You’re Emma.”
Shaking her head, she looked at him, as if not really seeing him, “I don’t know any Emmas. And I don’t think I know you either.”
Seizing her upper arm, the highest part of her he could reach, he gave a frustrated shout, “It’s me, Ray! Are you that old that you can’t remember me anymore?”
He couldn’t shake the feeling that they had met, that once, she too had grown up here, ignorant and loud and wanting nothing more but to celebrate his 9th birthday.
“I…don’t remember much of anything, really,” she replied, her voice breaking, and hearing the quiet panic in her tone, Ray felt bad.
“How old are you?” He asked, more hushed now, wanting to make up for his outburst.
“9, I turned 9 today,” he said, adding quickly, “My name’s Ray, by the way.”
If this really wasn’t Emma, then getting to know his only link beyond this house couldn’t hurt. She smiled softly, “Happy birthday Ray.”
“So…you really haven’t been here before?”
“No, I’ve never really been anywhere past Alex’s cabin.”
“My…foster dad. He took me in 2 years ago.”
His jaw dropped. “You’ve been adopted?!” Is that why she had grown? Did she not get shipped? Had she escaped? Had Norman escaped too? What about-
“Yes? No? Not really, no. He found me near his house and I’ve been living with him ever since.”
Found her? “Where did you live before?,” he asked, still strangely sure of her identity.
“I don’t remember. I can’t remember anything before Alex took me in.”
And suddenly, pieces of a wayward puzzle begin to fit into his mind. Somehow, Emma, if this girl was even her, had gotten away from the house, alive, as a ghost, or something else entirely. Somewhere along the way, she lost her memories - and now, she was here, whether by coincidence, fate or destiny at Ray’s house.
What was she? He wondered. A memory? Were they in the same time? How were they talking otherwise? Was she really a ghost? Had she died? Was Ray a ghost? What if-
“What about you? You said you live here?” she asked.
He nodded, “I grew up here. We all did”
“This is an orphanage?” She asked, catching on quickly.
He hesitated, and then settled on the truth - lying to a ghost felt pointless. “No.”
“I see,” she said, choosing not to probe further, much to his relief.
“And who is this Emma you mentioned?”
“My sister. She looks just like you, but she’s 8. She doesn’t know this isn’t an orphanage. None of them do.”
“That must be wonderful.”
“It’s not”, he said earnestly. “Sometimes I want to forget.”
“No. But I don’t want to remember everything about this place either.”
She said wistfully, “I’d give anything to remember my family, if I had one.”
“How did you lose your memories?”
“2048. Is it not the same here?”
He shook his head, “We don’t know what year it is here, we never have. My best guess was 2030, but Mama probably gave us outdated books on purpose.”
“Never mind,” he said quickly. And suddenly, an epiphany struck him.
“Show me your left arm,” he insisted.
Confused, but obliging, she pulled back her parka sleeve, and sure enough, at the edge of her forearm was the birthmark - same as the one marked on Mama’s file for Emma.
The ghost must have realized what he was trying to do too because she asked, “is it my mark?”
He nodded, feeling elated and confused and miserable all at once. “Emma has the same one.”
They seemed to have reached the same conclusion.
“I see. So I used to live here?”
“And you were - are - my brother?”
“Yes, I’m a little older than you, normally.”
A smile curved at her lips. “I wish I could still remember you, Ray.”
“I’m sorry you lost your memories. I hope it’s not because of this place.”
“Don’t apologize, you sound stupid.”
“Sorr - right,” he conceded, grinning.
“I hope I’ll see you somewhere in my world, Ray,” said Emma who was not Emma.
He felt the lump in his throat grow higher - he would never see what she could. The boy who could remember everything would burn in this house, while the girl who could remember nothing, borne of his ashes, would escape. That’s the way he had always meant for it to be. But Norman…
“I don’t think you’ll see me. But there’s someone else in our family who’s out there too. If he remembers this place, then I know he’s looking for you. You’re not alone.”
“Thank you,” she said, giving him her first bright smile, making her seem, for just an instant, like Emma.
And suddenly, her smile grew brighter, and every inch of her was blinding, and he knew their time was almost up.
There was more he wanted to ask - what happened to her number? What was her new name? Did she still like giraffes? Had she ever come across a white-haired, blue-eyed boy whose smile was as soft as the stars? But he settled for the easiest one, the one which would keep him far away from the world he wouldn’t see.
“Are you happy?” He asked.
“Very. I have Alex and now…I have you,” and as she spoke, he noticed something glistening in her eye.
Brushing furiously at his own eyes, he spoke, “Good - that’s - that’s great.” I’m sorry I made you leave this place. I’m sorry you aren’t with our family. Thank you for everything.
“And you, Ray?” she asked, her voice breaking too.
He was never going to grow up, see Norman and Emma grow up, never have more than 12 birthdays. But…
“I am. You made my life here better - I’m glad you’re alive,” he said, smiling thickly.
Perhaps she understood some part of what he said because she asked, her silhouette now so transparent he could see through her, “What would you like for your birthday? Consider it an overdue present from your sister.”
He didn’t have to think this time. The answer rose almost automatically to his mind.
“See the Sagrada Familia for me!”
She smiled, which he took to be an affirmation. “Thank you for being with me in this world!” she spoke as infuriatingly cheerful as Emma, much to Ray’s mingled relief and sorrow.
And with that, she disappeared, no hint of her presence left behind.
Slowly, he trudged back towards the House.
At the top of the hill, he saw his two best friends, his family, run towards him, no longer bothering to hide their present.
“Where were you?” Asked Norman breathlessly.
Looking less winded, Emma launched a blow at his shoulder.
“If you don’t stop being mean, I’m not giving you your gift. “
She didn’t understand. Neither of them understood what he had seen, what was going to happen to her and maybe Norman too. Would they ever remember any of this or Ray again?
“What, I-“ and it occurred to him that they had ripped off the wrapping paper. In Norman’s hands sat a wooden model of the Sagrada Familia.
“Isn’t it awesome? Mama let us break apart an old clock for the parts - Norman almost broke his finger but it’s okay because I could hold the hammer better-”
“-we added lights on the inside, and there’s a switch at the back, so you can look at it at night too. And I programmed the bells inside to ring right when the real thing does - we saw it in your book.”
“we don’t know if we got all the details right though, that book looked pretty old but-“
They were both cut off, because suddenly, Ray had launched himself at both of them, an arm wrapped around each one.
“Shut up,” he said, not even bothering to wipe at his eyes, “I love it. Thank you.”
He tried to put a lot of unsaid things into his embrace. Thank you for being here, for remembering. Thank you for escaping, thank you for meeting me at the forest, Emma. Thank you both for being around this long. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I’m sorry.
Laughing, Norman patted him on the back. “No problem, dummy.”
“If you don’t stop crying, we’re going to cry too!” exclaimed Emma, laughing as well.
“I’m not crying,” he sniffled as they pulled away.
Smirking as they walked back to the house, Norman muttered under his breath, “sure you weren’t - hey!”
Ray had launched a kick at him.
Whacking him again, Emma asked brightly, “So…did you have a good birthday?”
He thought of the ghost, of the grown-up Emma who couldn’t remember her family. He thought of how she had never met Norman, how he, Ray, would never see them both. He thought of La Sagrada Familia, the one they had made, and the one his sister had promised him.
Later that night, neither Norman or Emma would understand why Ray insisted they ought to improve their memory (they had the best scores in the House, after all.) They wouldn’t understand why he asked them to show him their numbers, why he demanded they write down their wishes onto small scraps of paper (an activity Emma would rope the rest of their family into). They wouldn’t understand, at least not Ray’s reasons, for pulling them both into one last hug, or why he apologized after (“you sound dumb when you apologize, Ray”).
But they did it anyway. For the same reason Ray played tag with them, drew bright red string through their two paper cups, picked sunflowers and carnations respectively on their birthdays, cut his finger carving their Christmas present, and stuffed a can of lighter fuel underneath his floorboards.
Ray and the Ghost would both go to bed that night, each one promising to remember the other. And when they woke up that morning, both would blissfully have forgotten, by the works of the one neither would know.
Severed strings cannot be sown together, after all.
