Fourteen Days (7 page)

T
he noise of the front door slamming shut woke Richard. Yet another almost sleepless night. He lay on the bed for a few minutes, trying to gather himself before climbing out. He sat on the edge of bed exhausted, his elbows pressed against his bare thighs, his palms rubbing his eye sockets. Groaning, he got to his feet, slipped on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, and left the bedroom.

Walking downstairs, he noticed the smoke detector.
Stay bloody quiet
, he thought, and carried on down into the kitchen. He poured himself a bowl of corn flakes and contemplated whether or not to sit at the table. Even though the dreaded chair was empty, he couldn’t get the woman’s image out of his head. So he took his breakfast into the living room and sat on the couch instead.

Flicking through the channels, he thought about what Karen had told him on Saturday about asking the spirit to leave. The idea seemed ludicrous to him.
Why would a ghost listen to anything I have to say? Why would she even give a shit? If she used to live in this house she would have no intentions of leaving just because I said so. I know I wouldn’t be in a hurry to leave if I was dead, just because some new owner got a bit scared. Forget that
.

Stop it, Rich
.
She’s not real. This is all coincidence. There’s no one in your house
. He sighed.
Real or not, she
’s got to go. This is getting ridiculous. This is my house and I’m taking it back!

With that, he got up and marched back into the kitchen. “Excuse me,” he said, trying to be firm yet polite. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re still here, and I’m sure you don’t mean me any harm, but you’re scaring the living shit out of me, so could you please leave, and we’ll say no more about it. Okay? Thank you.”

Waiting for some kind of response, he scanned the room, praying that his request wouldn’t prompt her to appear on the dreaded chair again.

After several minutes of silence, he nodded and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

Satisfied, he left the room.

Feeling better about his newfound crisis, Richard decided to have a workout. He hadn’t done anything energetic for months that didn’t involve sitting behind a desk, so he told himself that that was all going to change from now on. The doctor had already recommended that he should hit the gym. Nothing too strenuous. Not right now anyway. Just enough to keep things ticking over.

A new me. A fitter and healthier me. No more lazy-ass. No more couch-potato.

He hauled Nicky’s exercise bike from out of the garage, dusted it down, and set it up in the living room. He figured that if he could watch TV while training, he would be more likely to stick with it. Putting on one of his
South Park
DVDs, he mounted the bike saddle and started to pedal. After one episode he had had enough. He climbed off, dragged the bike to the far corner of the living room, trying not to scrape the wooden floor, and collapsed onto the sofa chair with sheer exhaustion.
That’s enough for today. I’ll do better tomorrow. Best to start slow. No point rushing it.

Pulling out one of the blankets from the sideboard, he spread it over the floor. He got on his back and proceeded to do sit-ups, followed by several push-ups. Shattered, feeling his cheeks turn bright red, he crawled over to the couch and climbed on. He lay there for almost an hour, comatose, staring at the TV screen, before mustering the strength to take a shower.

Exiting the living room, he clambered up the stairs, his thighs aching, heading for the bedroom. Inside, he grabbed a clean set of underwear and made his way over to the bathroom, switching on the shower straightaway. As he waited for the water to heat up, he removed a fresh towel from the cupboard and hooked it next to the shower. Placing his hand in first to check the temperature, he felt the heat against his skin. Satisfied, he hopped into the glass-covered shower, closing the doors behind him.

As he lathered his body, enjoying the pressured water as it massaged his neck and shoulders, he thought of work. He couldn’t help it. And then it occurred to him—he hadn’t thought about it in a while. Had the idea of having a haunted house been more important to him than running TSH Computers? Or was it his mind pushing it to one side for the sake of his health? For the sake of his sanity? Either way he felt proud of himself for being able to forget about Leah and the cursed website from Hell, and focus on something else. However, finding himself scared witless every time his wife left for work, or when he set foot in the kitchen, was in no way a healthy substitute, regardless of how much it shut out his other problems.

He wondered if Leah had managed to complete the staff payroll on time without any help, or made sure that Janet had put through last week’s salaries, including overtime. And how successful had the launch of the new website been? Had it crashed on the first day? Had David managed to eliminate all the little bugs? Or had he just crawled under his desk, sobbing, praying that Richard would return soon to sort everything out—yet again.

Or what if David had permanently replaced him?

Or worse still, what if Leah had realized that she didn’t need Richard’s help at all?

Countless scenarios filled his head as he washed his body. Scrubbing his face, he closed his eyes as he faced up toward the showerhead. He could feel the hot water blast against his forehead, over his eyes and mouth, as he continued to agonize over work issues.
A few more days to go. Not long now. It’ll fly by. I’ll be back in no time. Back to my old life. Maybe I’
ll organize a work’s night out. We haven’t had one of those in a while. Invite Nic as well. That’s if she’ll go along this time. I could ask some of the boys to come too. Make a big night of it.

As the soap washed away from his eyes, he opened them. Looking straight ahead, the blur in his vision faded. The silhouette of a figure moved past the outside of the steamy glass.

His heart slammed against his chest as he stared at the dark shadow. Frozen, he watched it move toward the open bathroom door, and out onto the landing. Almost hyperventilating with horror, he turned off the water and slid the glass door open a few inches. “Nic?” he yelled, as he poked his head out. His voice was quivery, his body shivering from the cold and fright as he explored the empty room. “You home?”

With no reply, he got out and covered his midsection with the towel. “Nic? Don’t piss about now. It’s not funny.” Creeping toward the door, he clenched both fists, his body hunched. Each wet footstep slapped against the cold tiled floor as he reached the landing. Holding his breath as he stepped out on the soft carpet, he turned his head to check both sides of the landing. Each side was deserted. Still gripped with fear, he edged to the banister and peered over, looking down at the hallway. “Nic? You home? Nicky?”

Still no reply.

Unsure of what to do next, he remained on the landing, cold and half-naked. The slightest sound made him tense up in panic. His neck cricked from turning back and forth, checking every corner of the landing.

Jesus Christ, what was that? This ain’
t right. Something’s going on here. This can’t just be coincidence
.

He shook his head, unable to fathom the situation.
This is getting out of hand now. I can’t go on like this.

“Oh, hi, Ilene, how’ve you been? Everything all right?” Richard politely asked his elderly neighbor.

Smiling when she realized who it was at her door, she leaned in close. Her thin body was covered in a thick blue dressing gown, her white hair tied back loosely. “Hello, Richard. I haven’t seen you in a while. Have you been away somewhere on holiday?”

“No, not this year,” he replied, shaking his head. “Just been tied up with work. The usual stuff.”

“You’re a busy little man. I hope you’re spending some of your time with your lovely wife Nicola.”

Fake-smiling as the guilt resurfaced, he changed the subject. “Yes, thanks. Ilene, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about my house.” He leaned against the stone doorway as he waited for a reply.

“Your house? Yes, no problem, Richard. Anything the matter?”

“No, nothing’s wrong—just a few things I wouldn’t mind finding out.”

“What sort of things?”

“Do you remember who lived in the house before the last man?”

Looking up as she tried to remember, she played with the collar of her dressing gown. “Let me think. Let me think.
Mmmm
…if I’m not mistaken there’s only been two other owners of your house—the last owner, Mr. Young, and Mr. and Mrs. Rees.” She thought for a few seconds, and then nodded. “Yes, that’s it. No one else. Just them. Nigel and me were one of the first people to live on this street back in the eighties. We bought it brand new. Then a few months later, Nancy and Steve moved into your house. Very nice couple. Always polite. Always chatty.”

“Did the last owner, Mr. Young, have a wife? I only met the man once when Nic and I had our first house-viewing. Everything else was through the estate agent.”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “He wasn’t the talkative type. But he did have a girlfriend. She stayed over most nights. Never knew her name though. Never even spoke to her. Hardly ever came out.”

“And what did she look like? Do you remember?”

“Well, she wasn’t a girl you’d easily forget.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, intrigued.

“Well, she was one of those—what do you call them, now? Black everything—clothes, hair, nails, everything.”

He thought for a moment, and then said, “Goths?”

“Yes, that’s right—Goths. Always playing that horrible music, too. Not my cup of tea. It’s just a lot of shouting and noise.”

Convinced that this Goth girl couldn’t be his ghost, he asked, “And what about Mr. and Mrs. Rees—do you know what happened to them?”

“Well, yes—they’re both dead.”

A sudden cold sensation washed over his body as he felt that the truth was about to surface. “And do you know what happened to them?” He braced himself.

“Well, Mr. Rees died about fifteen years ago. A heart attack if I’m not mistaken.”

“And Mrs. Rees?”

“Well, she died about four years ago, bless her soul.”

His heart almost stopped, feeling a mix of terror and excitement. Had he solved the mystery so soon? Did his so-called ghost now have a name, an identity? Captivated, he delved even deeper. “How did she die, Ilene?”

“I think it was just old age.”

He frowned in confusion. “Old age? How old was she then?”

“Oh, she must have been at least ninety. She died in a nursing home over in Bath.”

His entire body deflated. He had felt so close to the answer, and now he was back where he started. “Are you sure no one else has lived there? Even for just a few months. A lodger perhaps. Maybe a brown-haired woman—wearing a white dress?”

Smiling, she shook her head. “No, just those people. I’m sure of it. Why do you need to know so much? Is there a problem with the house?”

“No, it’s nothing.” He started to walk back over to his front door. “Thanks for the information, Ilene. You need anything, just give me a knock. I’m off work for a few days now so I’ll be in most of the time. All right?”