Reading: "Machines of the Occultus" from the graft of shadows (A.Glass 2019)

“Hello?”. An elderly woman’s voice says.

“Hi, Ms Rubinstein, my name is Kyla Lillias. I am here...” Lillias pauses briefly looking around the entrance of the apartment, the streets are sparse with only the occasional car driving past. “...in regards to your spectra problem.”

“Sorry, could you please repeat that,” the woman replies.

Lillias inhales, breathing slowly she closes her eyes. “Your ghost.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you. I will buzz you in. I am on level two. Apartment number six.” The door unlocks as Lillias opens it, walking into the narrow entrance which opens up to a large area, with a single elevator and set of ascending stairs that are set against the left side of the lift. Lillias continues to walk towards the elevator, looking around at the décor, it appears to have remained in its original outfitting from the nineteen forties onward, little has changed. The light fittings and ornamental plaster work displayed, are indicative of a renovation which occurred over sixty years ago. The foyer within its archaic resonance portrays a snapshot in time. Lillias taps the lift button. Looking up at the yellow tinted hallway light shade, staring at it, reminding her of images of the Nineteen Twenties and Thirties. A time of elegance in architectural design. The elevator door open, she steps in, pushing the button for the second floor, the lift slowly ascends. Arriving at Ms Rubenstein's level, the lift door slowly slides open, as Lillias steps out onto the apartment hallway, seeing that there are only three apartments, two either side of the hallway and one other at the far end of the passageway. She looks at the numbers Four and Five of the two apartments either side of her, she then stares down towards the end of the common area. Walking towards the lone apartment at the far side of the hallway, as the numeral Six becomes visible. Lillias smells a dampness, old piping and drainage that has eroded over the years. She knocks on the door. It opens, standing in front of her is frail and elderly woman, Lillias smiles holding out her hand. “Kyla Lillias.”

The elderly woman also smiles, her gray hair neatly tied into a bun, a reflection of styles from yesteryear.

“Nancy Rubinstein, please come in Ms Lillias.” She replies, and in a graceful manner allowing Lillias to enter her home.

“Thank you,” Lillias says, as she walks into a large open area, filled with antique ceramic ornaments, with a fusion of Victorian and Art Décor furnishings. The interior of Ms Rubinstein's apartment is akin to the main foyer of the building.

“Please take a seat...” Ms Rubinstein says, as she walks in slow moments towards the kitchen. “...Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Lillias sits down onto a small Art Décor style couch, opposite a larger chair, she continues peering, in a discrete way at Ms Rubinstein's large apartment, noting the sizable window which overlooks West Twenty First Street. Ms Rubinstein returns, carrying two teacups in a precarious manner, as Lillias quickly stands, assisting her host, as she hands one of the elegantly designed teacup's to Lillias. Waiting for Ms Rubinstein to sit, as Lillias does the same. She sips from the tea, noting the old-fashioned silver coaster on a small coffee table in front of her and Ms Rubinstein, she places the cup down. Fuck, I didn't bring a notepad. Lillias thinks to herself whilst leaning forward. Knowing it would have be seen as more professional if she made some notes.

“So, thank you for contacting me in relation to your situation, as far as the apparition which you say, has been more activate than usual.”

“I didn't know who else to speak to about this, I only have a sister, who is five years older than me, she lives in a retirement home upstate. There is nobody else...”

“How long have you been alone? If you don't mind me asking.” Lillias asks, her tone conciliatory and calm.

“Oh...let me think, for nearly Twenty years...Or maybe longer. I can't remember.”

“That's ok...” Lillias looks quickly at some of the photos on her walls, she sees newspaper cuttings and a framed black and white image of a woman, who looks like in her twenties smiling sitting at a desk, with a type writer in front of her.

“I was once a journalist at the New York Times.”

Lillias heart skips a beat, she swallows. “Really?”

“Yes...” Ms Rubinstein points to a large framed newspaper print with an image of her self, standing with what looks like two other men in its right hand corner “...I covered political stories from the Thirties and Nineteen Forties.” She sips her tea.

“That's...amazing,” Lillias replies, her response stilted, not knowing if her choice of words, in relation to commending the retired journalist, was appropriate. Lillias feels a nervousness creep over her. A residual feeling that she has, as a slight resentment towards journalism. As she was never able to attain a qualification or work in the industry when she was younger. The feeling abates as she refocuses on the elderly woman that maybe her first client.

“I can't remember too much these days...Did I offer you a cup of tea?” Ms Rubinstein asks, as Lillias looks down at her cup in front of her.

“You did, thank you.”

Ms Rubinstein chuckles. “You see, my memory. Some confusion.”

“How long has this apparition...”

“Do you mean ghost?”

“...Yes, how long has it been here in this home?”

“As long as I can remember...” She replies, placing down her cup of tea onto its silver coaster.

“Why do you call him Alfred?” Lillias asks, as she looks up at the high ceilings of the woman's lounge room.

“That's his name.”

“Did it tell you that? And also Ms Rubinstein. What does he look like?”

“You can call me Nancy if you like. Well, I asked him, he was...” She points to where Lillias is sitting. “...Where you are now. He likes to sit there too...” She smiles looking off into the distance as though a stored memory is revealed. She then looks at Lillias. “...He is an elegantly dressed gentlemen, in his late Forties I would say. Very handsome.”

Come on Kyla hold this together Lillias thinks to herself. Knowing that she has not prepared for this inquiry and is unsure if a possible spontaneous graft is worth it. Not knowing how how to handle a job offered by an elderly woman, who, with all her sincerity of a claim in witnessing a ghost, may also have dementia.

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Reading:  "Machines of the Occultus" from The Graft of Shadows (A.Glass 2019)