Illustration by Andy Paciorek
WINNER, Fall 2022
The Ghost Story Supernatural Fiction Award
BY HEIDI MARJAMÄKI
DAY 1
Rachel pulls the plywood panel aside and reveals a small alcove with a desk and a chair, the space tight with shelves crawling up the walls.
The motion dislodges a cloud of dust, and I cough as its dry taste creeps down my throat.
I look around: there are cardboard boxes everywhere: jammed into the shelves, piled high next to the desk.
“So, this is you.” She switches on a light bulb dangling from the ceiling and it sputters to life, spreading a warm, yellow pool of light over the desk and the ancient desktop computer crouching on it.
The bulb flickers.
“Toilet is along the corridor that way.” Rachel gestures behind us. I turn to look, past the maze of metal filing cabinets, but the back of the basement disappears into shadows and I can’t, truthfully, spot where she points.
“There’s no kitchen down here but you can help yourself to tea and coffee from the kitchen behind the reception.”
I try to smile, but I seem to have forgotten how. Discrete lines from the ad run through my mind: private office . . . research module credits . . . payment: £9.50 per hour.
“Here, wait until you see this.” Rachel picks up a canvas bag off the side of the chair and upends it on the desk. “This is for you.”
A plastic rectangle tumbles out. It’s yellow and scuffed and looks like a prop from an old episode of Star Trek. On the side, there’s a four-letter word in raised silver letters: SONY.
“You won’t believe the chaos when we found these tapes and realised we had no way of listening to them,” Rachel says with a little laugh. “Lucky for us, a lecturer in the mechanical engineering department found her kids’ old Walkman in her attic.”
I pick up the device, surprised at the heft of it in my hand.
“Here’s your username and password for the computer.” Rachel points at a post-it note stuck to the screen. “You just listen to the tapes and transcribe them. Use the naming conventions and guidelines in this doc.” She shows me a piece of paper and rests it against the computer. “And don’t forget to add the metadata into the spreadsheet so that we get a catalogue of all the tapes and can track progress. I did a few weeks down here already so you have a couple of examples to work from.”
She turns to go, but stops. “Almost forgot.” She digs in her pocket, then pours a handful of AA batteries on the desk. “Happy transcribing.”
“Wait,” I say, grabbing for her sleeve.
Rachel looks down at my hand and I let go.
“I—sorry, I just wanted to ask. The lady at the front desk—she said Professor Lennox isn’t available to sign this off against credits for her research class?”
Rachel shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She looks over her shoulder, eager to leave, probably. But then she shakes her head. “Yeah, I’m sorry, that sucks. Lennox hasn’t been around since—well, since May, I think. Since a little after we found all this.” I look at the cramped, dusty nook, the boxes and boxes of tapes. “But look—your job is still safe. We got the funding so we’ll be able to keep you on for the whole summer. And after the summer? Maybe Lennox is back to assign you the credits. Or someone else will. But for now you’ve still got your job.”
Rachel gives me a sympathetic smile but then gestures vaguely at the lit doorway on the far side of the basement. “I really should get going now—”
“Oh yes, of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you. Thank you. For showing me around. And all.” I stick out my hand, but either Rachel doesn’t see it or she does and decides to ignore it. Instead, she claps me on the shoulder, a gesture that makes me feel very young, and slips out of the alcove. “Have fun.”
Once Rachel’s disappeared up the stairs, the bright white light panels in the ceiling begin to buzz and flicker and then, one by one, they go out. They must be on a timer, I realise as I peer into the darkness. Soon, the only light that remains is the yellow glow over the old computer.
“Well, nothing to it but get up and do it.” I thought hearing my own voice would make me feel a bit more at ease, the statement something my dad used to say, but the stuffy space eats up the noise and I suddenly feel self-conscious, as if I’ve spoken out loud in a library and had people hush at me.
I sit down in front of the computer and switch it on. After some minutes, it finally flickers on and I log in using the details Rachel left for me.
I enter a new line in the spreadsheet Rachel’s notes reference and add today’s date. Then I skim through the guidelines doc.
From the corner of my eye I can see the unrelenting darkness of the basement, the suggestion of blacker shapes where the boxes and cabinets create narrow pathways. There could be anything out there, anyone, I think.
Jesus.
Get a grip.
I get up and pull the panel closed. There: that’s better. Now my corner—I refuse to call it an office—feels like a golden oasis in the middle of a dark night.
I grab the box nearest on the shelf and wipe the label clean of dust.
University of Aberdeen
Department of Psychology
Archives of Parapsychology
January 1987 – March 1987
I peer around at the boxes on the higher shelves. The dates seem to go back to the early ’80s, at least.
I pick off the lid and cough as a cloud of dust puffs up into the air. The box is full of small plastic cases. I grab one, peer at the scribbled label.
Session owner: Dr. Cameron Alexander
Date: January 19, 1987
Subject: “Nicola”
“Okeydoke, let’s go,” I say to myself, but quietly, this time.
MALE VOICE: This is Doctor Cameron Alexander, professor of parapsychology at the University of Aberdeen. It is the 19th of January, 1987, and it’s a Monday. A beautiful, sunny day. With me I have Nicola. Nicola, say hello for the tape.
FEMALE VOICE: Hi.
Dr. A.: For the recording, let’s share right at the beginning that Nicola is not your real name, is it?
Nicola: No.
Dr. A.: But you wanted to use a different name, is that right?
Nicola: Yes.
Dr. A.: And why was that?
Nicola: I—I don’t want them to know.
Dr. A.: Who is them?
[Long pause]
Dr. A.: Okay, that’s fine. We don’t have to talk about that yet.
Nicola: Thank you. [very quiet]
Dr. A.: But you did want to
I pause the tape, lift the headphones off my ears.
I listen intently; I could have sworn there was a noise that wasn’t coming through the tape, some kind of low, dense humming. As if everything around me was vibrating, but on such a low frequency that I could only sense it with my skin, the little hairs along my arms.
I breathe lightly through my mouth, listening.
There’s nothing.
I loop the headphones back over my ears and press play.
Dr. A.: share what had happened to you, is that right?
[Long pause]
Nicola: I’m scared. [very quiet]
Dr. A.: There’s nothing to be scared about. Everything is okay now.
Nicola:
I stop, rewind the tape and listen again but I can’t make out Nicola’s words: she’s whispering. I turn the volume up, and up, all the way up, to try to make out the words but they’re soft and sibilant, the moist movement of her mouth tactile in my ear—
Dr. A.: Nicolaaaaaa
I scream; I can’t help it. The doctor’s voice bursts into my ears like the sudden wail of an alarm. I fling the headphones off, pause the tape.
I press a hand against my chest: my heart slams against my ribcage so hard I imagine it knocking itself right through.
As my breathing eases I decide to leave off the tape for a moment; instead, I’ll catalogue each of the tapes in the box in the spreadsheet. Tomorrow I can spend all day listening to them.
Yes. Good plan.
DAY 2
I knock on the side of the open door. “Hey.”
“Oh hey,” Rachel says, plucking out in-ear headphones. “How are you getting on?”
I pause. “Good. All good, yeah.”
Rachel smiles at me until the silence continues a few seconds too long and I see her expression waver. “Did you need something?”
“I—I just wanted—” as I try to find the words to explain my fright the day before I think I see the corners of Rachel’s eyes tighten. I begin to feel silly; childish, even. “Just here to say good morning. Good morning, and I’m here!” I retreat towards the door.
“Oh, right. Good morning,” Rachel says, still smiling, but I can see I have worn out what little patience she has.
“I’m just heading down now. See you later,” I call out over my shoulder as I turn and leave her office.
I stand at the top of the stairs and peer into the darkness below.
Turning on the lights, I begin to descend the steps. The bulbs above me spit and buzz but the wide panels in the ceiling in the basement proper are bright and white with humming light.
I inch my way through the maze of shelves towards the corner where my desk sits alone behind its panel.
I don’t want to admit—can’t afford to, really—that the doctor’s screech had continued to reverberate in the bowl of my skull long after I left work, all the way home on the bus, and went on after I switched off my night lamp and tried to go to sleep.
At least now I’m better prepared. I pull the plywood panel aside and switch on the light bulb before the timer turns off the halogen lights behind me.
And I still need the job. So that’s all there is. I draw the panel shut.
As I sit down and insert the next tape into the Walkman I hear the electric crackling which forebodes the imminent darkness and then, under the edge of the door panel, I see the basement plunged into darkness.
I press play.
Dr. A.: We are back with Nicola here today, and it is the 21st of January. It’s Wednesday morning, 9:25 a.m. and we’re just here having a nice cup of tea.
[Long pause]
Dr. A.: How are you feeling today, Nicola?
Nicola: I’m good.
Dr. A.: Did you have something you wanted to talk about today?
Nicola: I—yes.
Dr. A.: And what was it you wanted to talk about?
Nicola: I—I’m not so sure anymore.
Dr. A.: You’re not sure? Or you don’t want to say?
[Long pause]
Nicola: The latter. I think.
Dr. A.: Yes, okay, great. It’s great that we are talking about this, right? We spoke about it before we pressed the button here, to say it’s good we are putting it into words because then we can identify it. And once we’ve identified it we can begin to address it.
[Long pause]
Dr. A.: Isn’t that right?
Nicola: Yes.
Dr. A.: So, would you like to repeat for the tape what you wrote down for me yesterday?
[Long pause]
Dr. A.: Or would you like to start at the beginning?
Nicola: At the beginning.
I pause the tape and lift one headphone off my ear. I could’ve sworn there was a noise again, some disturbance in the air, although that’s not exactly right.
Rather, it feels as if someone just asked me a question and is now waiting for me to answer.
I turn around slowly, the sense of some other presence so strong I’ve convinced myself I’ll catch the shape of a stranger standing right behind my chair. There’s no one.
Dr. A.: How old were you, when all of this started, Nicola?
Nicola: Six. Almost seven, actually. I remember my seventh birthday was the first time I—first time I saw them.
Dr. A.: All right. We’ll talk about that in a moment. Could you tell me how you first became aware of them?
Nicola: I—I used to share a room with my sister.
Dr. A.: Younger or older?
Nicola: Older. She was nine.
Dr. A.: Okay. Please, carry on.
Nicola: I—there was a night when. I sleepwalked? Or that’s what we thought at the time.
Dr. A.: And what did you do when you walked in your sleep?
[Long pause]
Dr. A.: Nicola, I want you to remember that no one is mad at you. You are here because we want to help you. All right? And I believe you. Okay? I believe you.
Nicola: Okay, yes. I, I went into the kitchen.
Dr. A.: And what did you do in the kitchen?
[Long pause]
Nicola: I boiled the kettle.
Dr. A.: Why did you boil the kettle?
Nicola: I—I think I did it because they told me to.
Dr. A.: Okay. All right, it’s all right. Do you want some more tea?
Nicola: No. I—it’s okay. I’m okay.
Dr. A.: Okay. Very good. You’re doing very well, Nicola. I know this is hard for you. So would you tell me what you did with the kettle?
[Long pause]
Nicola: I took it to our bedroom. [very quiet]
Dr. A.: You’re doing very well Nicola. You’re being very brave.
[Long pause. There is the sound of sniffling.]
Dr. A.: Are you okay to keep going?
Nicola: Yes, I think so.
Dr. A.: So you boiled the kettle in the kitchen. And then you picked it up and you walked through the dark house into the bedroom you shared with your sister.
Nicola: Yes.
Dr. A.: And were you not frightened?
Nicola: No, I—I didn’t really feel like I was there. So I, I guess there was nothing for me to be frightened of.
Dr. A.: How do you mean?
Nicola: It was like watching a TV show. I wasn’t in control.
I pause the recording again; this time I’m sure of it. I’ve heard the noise again. If anything, it feels like it’s drawn closer.
I swivel around in the chair, quickly so I don’t have time to think about what I’m doing, but there’s no one behind me and the space is too small for anyone to hide in.
The next thought that arrives makes me shiver: what if there’s someone in the basement, standing behind the flimsy little panel?
I turn my head to look at the panel, then I swallow, squint at the bottom edge of it, imagine the shape of two feet, waiting.
I take a deep breath, then remove the headphones and get up from my chair. I move softly as a cat, rest my hands on the panel for a moment. I yank it open.
There’s no one there. My heart seems to drop somewhere deep in my belly, leaving a hollowness in my chest. I begin to feel light-headed, a clamminess beading on my forehead.
Slowly I pull the panel shut, then rest my head against it, just breathing.
Nicola: There was someone else there with me. In me.
Dr. A.: Why do you say that?
Nicola: I could feel them. In here.
Something touches my foot.
Someone’s hand.
The image arrives fully formed, of someone, some man, flat on the floor with his hand reaching out to my ankle.
A split second later I scream, push the chair back and scramble away from the desk. The Walkman clatters to the floor and a piece of yellow plastic casing chips off.
I look under the desk but I can see nothing. Then I hear it:
scritch scratch
The noise seems to come from behind the boxes piled up against the wall. I peer in the corner behind them, grab my phone and raise the flashlight. A dark, liquid form slicks across the grimy floor.
A mouse? A fucking mouse?
I take a deep breath, feel some of the adrenalin boil down. Disgusting? Yes, absolutely. Worth the absolute meltdown I just had? Definitely not.
I’m just tired. I’m being stupid.
I pick up the Walkman, then sit myself down in front of the computer again. I rewind the tape.
Dr. A.: Why do you say that?
Nicola: I could feel them. In here.
Dr. A.: Okay. So what did you do next?
Nicola: I lifted my sister’s eyelids and I poured the water in.
DAY 3
“Knock knock.” I tap the side of Rachel’s open door.
She looks up from her screen. I see the mechanical way she produces the friendly smile on her face and the process is so transparent I feel naive having thought she was actually nice when we first met a few days ago.
“How are you this morning?” She sounds formal.
“Good, I just wanted to—I think there are mice in the basement,” I say, and then, inspired: “Maybe even rats.”
Rachel regards me a moment longer. The smile stays put. “Well, it’s a very old building. I’d be surprised if there were no mice at all.”
“I know, but I just—I was thinking maybe they’ll get into the boxes and ruin the tapes.” I feel my face flush as blood rushes into my cheeks, and a second later I realise Rachel thinks I’m being ridiculous.
She looks back at her screen.
“Well, considering those tapes have been there for a couple of decades already, I imagine you might be a little late trying to rescue them.”
“Actually, I was thinking that maybe I could—” I chew on my lip, try to remember the words I practised at home in the morning as I was getting ready to come to work. “I was wondering if it would be okay that I brought my laptop from home and maybe transcribed the tapes up here. With you.” I can’t help but glance at the two empty desks on the other side of the office. “Or even in the library, if you’re busy up here.”
At last, Rachel looks at me again. “I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible. This office is for PhD students only, and—” she nods at the empty desks, and I take in the dead plant on the corner of one, the fine layer of dust on the screen of the other, “—my colleagues are in and out of here at random times so it wouldn’t be practical. Besides, it’s against IT regulations to use personal devices for university business.”
I swallow. “Okay.” I turn away.
“Hey, Katie?” Rachel calls after me. “Shut the door, will you?”
Dr. A.: I know this is hard for you, Nicola. Take your time.
Nicola: I-I’m not sure why they chose me. My sister didn’t do anything to them. It could have been been her. It could have been her with the kettle. They-they just decided. They decided it would be me.
Dr. A.: And what happened next?
Nicola: My sister woke up. Screaming. The water—it damaged her eyes. There were burns on her face. She
[Long pause]
Dr. A.: Did she die?
Nicola: No, no no no. They’re not killers. No no no no.
Dr. A.: Okay, okay, it’s okay. They’re not killers. Then how would you describe them?
Nicola: They’re—they’re students.
Dr. A.: Students? How do you mean?
Nicola: They’re curious.
Dr. A.: What do you mean when you say they’re curious? Curious as to what?
Nicola: They want to see what happens when they do certain things.
Dr. A.: What kind of things, Nicola?
[Long pause]
Dr. A.: Nicola? Nicola, what are you doing?
[There is a lot of noise, some kind of commotion]
Dr. A.: Nicola, listen to me. You have to put that down. You have to put that down right now. Okay? Can you do that Nicola? Nicola—stop, now
I pause the tape when Dr. Alexander’s screaming climbs to a pitch that hurts my ears and I lean back in my chair.
I have a headache; a migraine that’s contracting the sides of my head, above my ears. I loop the headphones around my neck, then I squeeze my thumbs across the bulbs of my eyeballs under my closed lids and don’t stop until yellow and orange fireworks fill the darkness beneath them.
DAY 4
Nicola: You know this is what happens. You know this is how it goes and you still put us in this situation. Why? Why? Why why why?
[There’s a rhythmic thumping noise]
Dr. A.: Nicola—please, I know you think you need to do this but you really don’t—Nicola, Nicola please, put that down now
Nicola: Time for you to come along with us, doctor.
[There is a squelching sound, then a gargle that goes on for some time]
Nicola: And you, Katie. Time for you to come along, too.
i stand in the kitchenette behind the reception. i can’t remember making my way up the stairs and along the hallway, but here i am so i must have done it
i hear the whistle of the kettle, see the steam billow out of its snout
did i come to make tea? maybe, although i hadn’t done it the past few days so funny that i am doing that now
i grab the kettle and my arm dips with its weight
it’s full of boiling water
i look around for a mug with a teabag in it but i can’t find one
maybe i’ll go see if Rachel has one
Yes, a whisper slides across my brain, up the stairs and right. Where Rachel sits.
i walk down the corridor and to the stairs where the receptionist sits at her desk with her back to me, and i wonder for a moment what does cooked human flesh look like, probably pink with bubbles of blisters and threads of blood but then i blink and the thought disappears and i am up the steps and behind rachel’s door
i can hear her voice leaking out from behind it, and wonder if one of the other PhDs might be in the office with her
but, no, probably not, the silky thought that’s in me but is not mine reassures as i reach out and turn the handle of the door
rachel looks up she has her phone in her hand
i stand back in the corridor outside her office, the kettle in my hand hidden behind the frame of the door
“Hi,” she says, but i know she doesn’t mean hi she means bye why are you even here get out you little maggot, and the thought has such force of truth i feel my cheeks stiffen and i think how i tried to be friendly to her and how excited i was about my little summer job with the psychology department and how i don’t think i can now ever become what i wanted to become
We wonder—i hear the words echo in my head—we wonder what would happen if we poured some of this water down her throat?
i don’t know why i would want to know but
We will find out
Originally from Finland, Heidi Marjamäki studied English at the University of Aberdeen in Scotland and then worked in Oxford and London before moving to Berlin, where most recently she’s worked at technology start-ups in product management roles. The opening pages to her novel-in-progress were longlisted for the 2022 First Pages Prize, and her gothic short story was a 2021 San Francisco Writers’ Conference fiction finalist.