Seven and Meet You in Heaven (2023)

2nd Runner Up in Swinburne Creative Writing Competition

Seven and Meet You in Heaven

(Written by Jasmine Tan Sze Min)

If I squint my eyes a little harder, I can see the trace of her in the rainbow. This hopeful feeling at what is beyond a human touch is the only thing to keep me afloat in my house’s grimness. They say I have been ‘out’ lately. When everybody mourns the loss of my twin sister, I keep holding onto the living presence of her—the repeat of her songs in my playlist, the charm bracelet of her newest heartbreaking album I have worn to her concert, the same lilac perfume on my jacket… I can imagine her walking to this bridge with me now, writing her lyrics and joking about the silly rhymes, passing through the days like normal.

She isn’t gone yet, not completely.

On some days, it’s almost as if I am subconsciously becoming her to fill the absence. I wear our matching pair of funny socks, turn all things into metaphors and play the same acoustic chords of songs. We also look the same. Maybe that is why my father would flinch at seeing me walking down our stairs, or how sometimes a friend would turn pale as a ghost until they realized who I am. When we were all a black sea giving condolences before a grave, I was the only one with a clean face and unforced smiles. I was the only one to say “I’m fine” and mean it.

Raindrops slide off my cheeks to be the tears I do not have. My twin sister is still here with me in the form of memories, just like the letter in my pocket. I take it out, remembering her words.

They said if you drop a letter by the abandoned bridge shrouded by new grown mosses, it will reach Heaven's messenger. Then return to the bridge again the next day at seven, and you can meet your person in Heaven. I know it sounds silly, but what if I could reach him? What if I could see Shawn again?

I know what the people in the media say about her. “She couldn’t take the loss of him, so she followed.” I think they are half right about that.

So I drop the letter down the river, sealed with a plastic wrap to prevent its disintegration. The current takes my words further and further away from me until it becomes a tiny dot and disappears into the shadows of the trees.

She put her words out to the world. I take mine to her.

Tonight, I return home and place the house keys back without my parents giving a single glance at me. I am sure they whisper their concerns over me in their lit room at midnight, though I do not try to eavesdrop. I tuck myself in bed like usual, imagining my sister’s ghost curling in beside me. Few minutes later, my dreamland takes me.

The next day I return to the bridge, counting the time precisely with each step. Nobody comes to this bridge because for one, it is abandoned. Two, a forest has grown behind and it gets creepy as the night falls. Three, the path to come here is a hassle because nobody takes care of the place anymore, leaving twigs and littered trash in its wake.

My heart spooks at the sight of a hooded figure standing by the bridge.

Is this someone who knows about the tale?

And as I have mentioned, I have a stubborn, delusional hope: Could this be my sister?

Before I can hide anywhere, the person turns his head to me. Darkness meets his face, as if the hood swallows all light. I freeze on my spot, an unblinking doe awaiting signs of a disaster. Then I saw the crinkled paper in his gloved hand, the edges soaked and inked alphabets tearing apart like strings. My gut goes aflame, drawing my feet towards the person.

“Why are you taking my letter?” I reproach, the way I would at my sister’s troublemaker fans. I kick a crushed can to the side, attempting to scare. Other than feeling intruded on my privacy, this person has the gall to hold a ruination of my letter. It is like having someone else hold onto a decomposing body of a loved one when the only deserving hands are yours. “Give it back to me.”

I stop a few feet away from him, ignoring the creeps that crawl my skin like ivy. Even up close, the face is indistinguishable. If anything happens, I hope my pocket knife buys me enough time.

The person does not respond.

“Give. It. Back. To. Me.”

The air drags cool fingers down my arms and rustles the forest behind him. Suddenly, my stomach is cold lead, instincts blaring red alarms in my head. Dusk is quickly falling into night. I stare harder at this hooded stranger, demanding silently for my property even as the first thing I want to do is to run. Something strange is happening and I should not pry, but I need that letter back, my silly little attempted Heaven gateway key.

Are you sure you want to see your sister? An uncanny voice whispers into my ears.

My eyes dart around for signs of other lives, hand in my pocket for the only weapon I have. The air is getting obnoxiously chilling and my courage is faltering. The hooded stranger turns his back onto me and walks to the forest.

“Hey! Hey, I said give me back the letter!” I lunge for him, a hard determination steeling my last courage. My feet have gone beyond the bridge, reaching the forest ground. There is no returning back until-

He whips around as an invisible force pushes me down onto the ground. My heart goes up my throat. I cannot move my hands or any part of my body. It is as if someone has casted a massive boulder atop, punishing me for my idiotic mistakes.

I turn my eyes upwards to meet the stranger.

You wrote to me. I am answering you now. That voice again. It is seven, so make your choice. You have only one short chance to see your sister. Do not attempt to overstay. If you are not ready, go home.

I am losing breath from the crushing of weight. Doubts start to plague my mind. One short chance? How short? Can I not come again on another night? What if I say the wrong things now and I can never get the answers to my questions for my sister?

I remember the way my mother checks in on me every night when she thinks I am asleep; the way my father is sealing the boxes faster than before, handing my sister’s belongings to someone else. They are erasing more and more of her away, turning her spot in our bedroom into an emptiness that feels more of a stranger each day.

I want to know the truth. I want to hear from her mouth that she is not coming back so I can stop my blind hope and my habit of keeping her things with me like she is still alive somewhere. I manage to get the words out. “L-let me… see her.”

There is a church in the woods. Find it and you will find your sister, but remember to get back here before the sky is completely dark. Do not linger. It will poison your mind and bring you with them.

The stranger walks back to the forest, vanishing back into its shrouded darkness like a mystery. Then the weight is off my body and I choke for breaths, heart palpitating. The only brightness of the sky is draining. I get up quickly.

I may regret sending that letter. I may regret coming here at seven. But I cannot turn back so I keep moving forward, running into the embrace of the forest and spooks. The path is broken and marred, but it is not difficult to get to the rusted gates of the abandoned church. It almost feels like the forest wants me to find it.

I climb over the gate and reach to its front door, gulping breaths. Paint has peeled off the wall, leaving signs of mortar and mosses to any beholders. Like any living thing, it is beautiful until it becomes lifeless and rots. A forgotten history.

Without hesitation, I push the door open with slimy hands and step into the church, making my way down the altar carefully. If I listen closely, I can hear a pin drop. I can hear my rasped breaths. The hooded figure is nowhere to be seen.

The door slams shut behind me. Candles light up at the sides as if commemorating those who have passed away. I am shivering in my jacket, arms wrapping around my sides. This place is not only haunted but also freezing like a fridge.

I fiddle with the charm bracelet on my wrist, muttering, “Grace, if you are here, please answer me. It’s me, Harper.”

Almost instantly, her melodic voice answers me, “Harper?”

I whirl in a circle, finding her on one of the dusty benches. I gasp. There she is, my beautiful, talented twin sister who knows me the best in just a flicker of expression. She is still in the cardigan she last wore, hands clasped on her lap like she is trying to hold the world together after losing her partner. Her face is more serene, but worry still gnaws at her knitted eyebrows. She rises from the bench, having the same shock as I do.

I run up and hug her, only to simply go through her body. Even if she is not here here, I can imagine the lilac perfume on her cardigan as she throws her arms around me too. My hands fall slowly in midair, my eyes meeting hers in sadness. “I went to the bridge.”

“No way, Harper,” she laughed, a mix of humour and horror.

“I want to know what happened. The police found a body by the bridge and called off the search but I know you did not-”

Her face falls.

“You did not…” I cannot say the word, but I know there is something else I must confirm. “You followed him here into this church, didn’t you?”

Silence. Then, she said, “Harper, I’m sorry.”

Abandonment is the cousin of betrayal, especially when it comes to picking sides. At another time, I would have screamed at her for being selfish and leaving us behind, but I have seen the looks she had exchanged with Shawn. They were meant to be—a destined pair who always had each other’s back onstage and backstage. After he was gone, Grace was not Grace. I watched the brightest sunshine become the darkest midnight. It almost seems delusional to chase after the shadows and what’s left of him instead of moving on.

But who am I to say when I chased after Grace into the afterlife too?

Grace continues gently, “Promise me you will get out here before night falls, please.”

And if I stay? She must have read my thought, because she persists, “Harper, you have so much with you. Don’t let me take that away-”

“Didn’t you too?” I shoot back. There is a bit of satisfaction from seeing her hurt. If she stayed, maybe they could stop looking at me with pity and concern. Maybe our parents could still celebrate their yearly anniversary without bemoaning the loss of a daughter. Maybe the media could be quieter without having to declare its grief to Grace every once in a while.

How did her mind slip in the darkest moments and follow Shawn’s ghost? How long did she stay until she realised she can never come back again?

But I know better than to keep hurting someone who barely held herself together when singing songs about him. “I’m sorry.” I sigh helplessly. “It’s just hard being in the house and school these days.”

Grace’s features soften. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have left everyone like that.”

I shake my head and meet her eyes steadily. “I just want to know if you’re doing okay.” In my parallel vision, the sky is dimming to orange strings.

Grace places a hand on mine. “We walk on the same sky now, no longer separated. I no longer walk the earth feeling like I lost half of myself and will never be whole again. This place is heavenly, Harper. I am at peace.”

She smiles, and I never thought I would miss seeing it so much. My vision blurs with warmth, salt rolling off my cheeks until I can taste the reality of things. Ironic, because none of this is truly real, but she is really really gone now. I scoff internally to myself as the tears roll down my cheeks. Maybe they are right about delayed grief.

Somewhere in this empty space, whispers float in the air. An uncalled audience teases the lick of flames as they tell me to stay, stay, stay. Grace wakes from the sibling moment, hurrying me. “Harper, you need to go now. I chose this path and I’m content with it. I know it is selfish, but I am content.” Again, she smiles reassuringly, “Know that I love you no matter where you go.”

“I love you too, Grace. This’ll be the last we see each other, but I’m glad I came. I’m glad you’re doing better here,” I sniffle. The voices are getting stronger, moulding into words until I can eventually form a sentence. The ghosts are hungry and they want a body. They are like me, just unalive, having things unfulfilled.

She looks around me as if she can see the ghosts of the growing voices. “Go, Harper. You don’t have much time left here, but you have more out there. Tell mom and dad I love them too and I’m grateful for everything they’ve done for me.”

With one last look of my dearest sister, I nod and break into a full sprint out of the church.

I do not look back until I reach over the bridge and the voices fade from an orchestra to a buzz in my ear. A glance over my shoulder and no hooded stranger or ghosts are chasing me.

The last thread of orange hangs in the sky, until eventually, like all things do, disappear from sight.

Seven has passed. I walk back home and curl myself in the bed. That night, my mother checks in again and sees me shaking in sobs. She brings me in her arms and I hug her like the last person alive on earth. She tells me I have a thing for holding on. She is right. I am holding onto this moment too because I know some things just do not last.

(2477 words)