Fourteen Days (9 page)

A way to actively get this unwanted guest out of his house.

But then the loneliness of the house began to creep in again as the silence echoed along the hallway.

And there was the kitchen, directly in front of him—his Everest, waiting to be climbed.

He couldn’t live like this. He had to put an end to her reign over the house. His house. Going back to work next week was only going to temporarily solve the problem. He would still have something not-of-this-world dwelling in his house, waiting for him to come home, waiting for him to be alone. No, it was time he sent Mrs. Rees packing. She had her time on earth and now it was his. Simple as that.

He marched down the hallway and into the kitchen. Standing next to the counter, he gazed intensely at the dreaded chair, feeling like an animal fixed on its prey, fists clenched tightly. “Come on, Mrs. Rees,” he muttered, “come out and show yourself. I’m not afraid of you.” He waited for some kind of response, deep down knowing that it was never going to be that easy. He could feel his heart pound against his chest as he struggled to hold back his heavy, terrified breathing. “Where are you Mrs. Rees? I just want to talk to you.”

He stood in the silence, listening to the clock on the wall ticking louder and louder, and the rain striking the window like machine-gun fire. He fought hard to stay strong and focused, but the fear was winning, infecting him like a virus. The house was once again a breeding ground for darkness and isolation. And the idea of summoning a spirit to his kitchen seemed preposterous. But not the actual concept, merely the stupidity of forcing something so terrifying out into the open. Richard had still not been able to overcome his phobia of spiders, despite countless attempts by his wife. And right now, standing in his kitchen, potentially about to come face-to-face with the ghost of a former occupant—he would gladly trade it for a spider any day of the week.

“Come on, Mrs. Rees, tell me what you want from me?” he asked. “Don’t be afraid.” The very thought of her being fearful of him seemed absurd. But nevertheless he had to take Karen’s advice. He didn’t have any ideas of his own to bring to the table. “Maybe I can help you? But I need to know what you want.”

With no response after almost five minutes, his muscles started to relax. His fists opened and his body straightened.
She isn’t coming
, he thought. Suddenly the room seemed a different world, like a great shadow had been lifted. Thoughts of seeing her faded, so he shook his head and left, relieved yet disappointed.

Stupid idea
.

Why would a bloody ghost listen to me? God! What’s the matter with me? This is idiotic. If my friends could see me now. They’d laugh their asses off. This can
’t be real. There can’t be a ghost in my house. Jesus Christ, Rich! What are you doing to yourself? You’re letting a couple of tricks of the eyes drive you mad. There’s nothing here. No woman in your kitchen. It’s all just mumbo-jumbo. Pull yourself together.
Focus!

He left the kitchen and headed toward the living room door.

The shrieking of the smoke detector painfully filled his eardrums.

Richard’s body jolted with gut-wrenching terror. “
Bloody hell!”
His body spasmed with shock. Covering his ears, he climbed the first few steps of the stairs so he could reach the noisy device. He unscrewed it, his face scrunched up in repulsion, and then frantically removed the battery, his hands sweaty, trembling.

The noise stopped dead.

He set the plastic device down on one of the steps, and then leaned against the banister, taking a moment to calm down. “Bloody hell,” he repeated, holding a hand to his thumping heart.

Slightly calmer, he started to descend the stairs.

Just as his foot touched the hallway floor, the piercing sound of the smoke detector returned.

He recoiled in fright again. Frowning, he opened his hand to see the battery in his palm. He froze in fear, unable to explain how the device could still be screaming without power. Impossible.

Racing upstairs, he slipped the battery into his pocket as he climbed. Reaching the top, the sound became louder—it was coming from the other detector, located on the ceiling between the bathroom and the two spare rooms. Panicked, he hurried into the office room and wheeled out the computer chair. He positioned it under the squealing device, climbed up, and using the wall for support unscrewed it in a frenzy, also removing the battery.

The sound stopped dead.

His eardrums throbbed and rang as he jumped from the unstable chair. He slipped the battery into his pocket and wheeled the chair back into the office, his heart slamming against his chest, his hands shaking, sweat pouring down his face.

But before he even had the chance to calm down, the house came alive again with the sound of the smoke detector, this time coming from the kitchen.

“Bloody hell!”

He sprinted down the stairs, missing the last few steps completely. Storming into the kitchen as if his house was ablaze, he pulled out one of the chairs from under the table and climbed up, disconnecting the last remaining detector.

He stood in the kitchen, exhausted, shaking from head to toe, unable to comprehend what had just occurred. And then he remembered the dreaded chair. He took one look at it and left, still clenching the battery in his sweaty palm. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the other two. Shaking his head in mystification, he glared down at the batteries. “Bloody hell
,
” he said, for the fourth time.

He walked into the living room and collapsed onto the couch. His ears still rang loudly, so he picked up the remote control and switched on the TV, turning the volume up almost to the top. He ran his hand over his sweat-soaked face and sat back, eyes wide open.

He didn’t care what was on.

Anything would do.

Anything to take his mind off what he had just been put through.

Drained and exhausted, Richard had passed out on the couch, only to be woken by the TV being turned off. As his eyes opened he saw Nicky standing over him, holding the remote control. “Are you deaf or what?” she asked, still wearing her coat, her face filled with annoyance.

Sitting up on the couch, he rubbed his tired eyes. “What?”

“The TV—the volume was on full-blast.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize,” he replied.

“And why is the smoke alarm on the stairs? You haven’t unplugged it just in case your ghost sets it off, have you?” she asked, half-teasing, half-irritated.

He didn’t answer. How could he? He could never make her understand what had happened, make her believe. He was having enough trouble understanding it, believing it himself.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked, sounding concerned. “I was only teasing.”

“There’s no point,” he said.

“No point in what?”

He shook his head. “No point telling you why the smoke detectors are disconnected.”

She scowled at him. “Have you been drinking, or have I missed something?”

He got up and walked to the door.

Standing baffled, she asked, “Where are you going now?”

He left the living room and stepped out into the hallway. “Look!”

Still grimacing hard, she followed him out. “What?” she asked. He pointed up at the ceiling where the detector had been removed. “I know it’s gone. I’ve already told you.”

He marched past her and made his way into the kitchen, and then pointed up at the ceiling. Nicky hesitated for a second, and then followed him in.

“What the hell are you doing, Rich? You’re being really bloody weird.” She glanced up at the ceiling, only to find another missing smoke detector. “You’ve pulled that one down as well. Is there something wrong with you?”

He pointed past her, in the direction of upstairs. “And the one on the landing is gone too.”

Frowning, she looked in the direction his finger was pointing. “Have you lost the plot or something? Why would you do that? What if there was a fire?”

“I pulled them down because they were all going off—one after the other.”

She gave him a doubtful look. “One after the other? That’s impossible. Are you sure?”

His body filled with rage. “Of course I’m sure! I’m not bloody nuts! The one on the stairs went off. I pulled it down and took out the battery. Then a second later the one on the landing went off. And then a second after that,” he pointed to the ceiling, “this one went off. I’m telling you the truth.”

She looked up at the ceiling, her face puzzled. “Calm down, Rich. I believe you. I know you’re not a liar, and I admit it’s strange, but—”

“But what? What else could it possibly be? When are you going to accept that, just maybe, our house is haunted by Mrs. Rees?”

She chuckled. “Who?”

“Mrs.
Rees
,” he snapped, irritated by her amusement and lack of empathy. “She used to live here and now she’s dead.”

Shaking her head, she hesitated, clearly trying to find something appropriate to say. “Look, you’re never going to convince me that ghosts exist, no matter
what
happens.”

“Then how do you explain this? A coincidence?”

“Yes, I do think it’s a coincidence. Probably an electrical surge. The weather’s been bad lately.”

Laughing in anger, he shook his head. “How could an electrical surge do this? They’re battery operated! Are you stupid, or what?”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” she snapped. “I’m not stupid. Just because I can’t think of a logical explanation doesn’t mean there isn’t one. You of all people should know that.” She stormed out of the kitchen and headed for the stairs.

“Where are you going now?” he shouted.

“Away from you!”

“Don’t be like that,” he said, walking over to the stairs. “This is serious!”

She vanished from his sight.

“And you better put those smoke alarms back up!” he heard her shout from the landing.

Too proud and upset to follow, he remained in the hallway, leaning against the banister for several minutes before retreating back to the living room, slamming the door hard behind him.

“Women,” he said through his teeth. Then he turned on the TV, still fuming as he sat back on the couch.

R
ichard had stayed downstairs all yesterday evening. His neck and back ached from sleeping on the couch. “Are you talking to me yet?” he asked, eating his corn flakes on the couch as Nicky ironed a shirt.

She didn’t look up. “Of course I am,” she replied.

“Then say something,” he said, unsure if the knot in his stomach was from the fight or Mrs. Rees.

Most likely Mrs. Rees.

She continued to iron. “I just did, didn’t I?”

Getting up, he placed his bowl on the coffee table, and then walked over to her. “Look, I’m sorry I got mad yesterday, I was just…”

Her ironing became faster and harder. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“Yes it does matter,” he said, putting a hand on her arm to stroke it. “I hate when we’re like this.”

She rested the iron facing upwards. “Look, I’m sorry too. I just don’t like it when you call me stupid. It’s not nice, Rich. And all this ghost business is doing my head in. It’s got to stop.”

“I’m sorry I called you stupid; I didn’t mean it. But I didn’t ask for any of this to happen. I’ve seriously been finding the last week unbearable. I saw something in the kitchen
and
in the bathroom. And the smoke detectors
did
all go off yesterday. I understand that it’s hard to accept that our house is haunted, but that’s what happened—like it or not. And when I told you about the smoke detector the other day, you told me that it’s probably faulty, and that it would only be weird if all three went off. Well, now all three have gone off.”

She gave a subtle nod. “Yes, I know I said that, but I take it back. I’ve lived in this house just as long as you have, and I’ve spent much more time alone here than you, and I haven’t so much as heard a creaky floorboard, let alone seen a bloody ghost. So don’t be too surprised if I have some trouble believing you.” She put her hand up, as if to stop him from talking. “And before you say anything—I’m not accusing you of lying, I just think that there’s a logical explanation. All right?”

“I told Karen the same thing yesterday, and she said that it’s because your mind isn’t open, and that—”

“Karen was here yesterday? At the house?”

“Yeah. I asked her ’round for some advice.”

“Was this before or after the smoke alarms went off?” she asked, slipping her freshly ironed shirt on.

“Before—why?”

She started to fold up the ironing board. “Because she’s been filling your head up with all this nonsense, that’s why.” She put the ironing board into the cupboard. “Look, I love Karen to bits, but all the paranormal, supernatural crap she talks about is a load of rubbish.”

“It’s not rubbish. The only reason I asked for her advice was because I saw something. And what, you’re telling me that just because I had a chat with her she somehow made me believe that the bloody smoke detectors all went off at the same time? How do you work that one out, Nic?”

She moved past him, toward the door. “I don’t know, but it’s probably not best if you let her fill your head up with that stuff. It’s only going to make matters worse. And I’m getting sick of it.”

In astonishment, he watched her leave the room. “You’re the one who told her about the ghost in the first place!” he said as she disappeared from his sight.

“Yes, you’re right—and I regret it now,” she shouted from the kitchen.

Annoyed, he walked over to the door and poked his head out into the hallway. “I bet you bloody do.”

Walking up to him, she kissed him on the cheek. “Look, I’m going to be late for work. I’ll see you later. Let’s just drop this subject.”

Frustrated, he followed her to the front door. “
Okay
, I’ll see you at five then.”

“Okay, have a good… No you won’t. I forgot, I’m seeing some of the girls tonight after work. I’ll be home late.” She raced out the door and onto the pavement. “See you later!” she said as she crossed over the road.

Richard was left standing in the doorway, lost for words, still with a million things to say to her. Shaking his head in bewilderment, he watched as her car pulled off down the road.

He then went back inside and closed the door.

Sitting on the foot of the stairs, he picked up the disconnected smoke detector and played with its plastic cover, in a trance.

The idea of spending the entire day alone in the house made him almost retch with fear. He had to get out.
To hell with relaxing at home
, he thought.
I was calmer at the office. Any longer cooped up in this house, I’m gonna lose it. Big time
.

Setting the device down, he went upstairs to change out of his pajama-bottoms and tee shirt. Opening his bedroom door, it occurred to him that he hadn’t showered, or washed in any way, since Monday. He sniffed an armpit, and then straightaway pulled a face of revolt.
Better take a shower. Or maybe a bath would be safer. No, a shower. Have to face it sooner or later. And it’
s much quicker.

Tiptoeing across the landing, he could feel his palms begin to sweat, his heartbeat thunder. He stepped into the bathroom. Dropping his clothes on the floor, he switched on the shower, checking behind him, quickly inspecting the bathtub. Not willing to wait for the water to heat up, he climbed inside, wincing as the ice-cold water hit his body. As he was about to slide shut the glass doors, he paused for a moment to reconsider.
Best leave the door open
. Lukewarm water sprayed all over the floor, so he frantically adjusted the nozzle, pointing it down instead. Filling his palm with a big dollop of shower gel, he lathered his entire body, including his hair—but not his eyes; those were fixed straight ahead in case Mrs. Rees decided to put in another appearance. Rinsing as fast he could, with his ears still covered in foamy soap, he climbed out onto the wet floor, almost losing his footing. He held onto the shower door as he reached for a towel and let out a long breath.
Clean at last
.
Maybe now I can go to the library to check out the Internet. Or pop in to see Phil and his kid. No, he’s probably working.

Everyone’s probably working. Except me, of course.

He stepped out onto the landing, cold and naked, heading for the bedroom.

Maybe I could visit Gran and Gramps. Haven’t seen them for a while. I could take them both out for lunch, to The Farmers. They’d love that. They’d never expect it. They’d both have a heart attack if I turned up to take them out. Got to start calling ’round more often. Have to make more of an effort. Even if it’s—

He froze.

She was sitting on the edge of his bed. Watching him.

His chest tightened as he stared deep into her reddened, tear-filled eyes.

His mouth dropped open, incapable of screaming or swallowing.

Powerless to take his eyes off her, he slowly backed away toward the spare bedroom, unable to find the courage to go forward to the staircase to run out the front door. Almost choking on his own saliva, unable to breathe, he backed up against the wall, opposite his bedroom, and reached for the spare bedroom door handle to his right. After a few failed attempts, he managed to grasp the handle and open the door, eyes still locked on the woman as she gazed at him. He backed into the room, losing sight of her, and closed the door behind him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and convulsed back and forth, staring at the door handle.

After several minutes of dead silence, with only the sound of his heartbeat thumping, he heard gentle footsteps on the landing, outside the door. His shallow breath and his narrowing vision had brought him to the edge of passing out. He struggled to stay focused, watching for signs of movement under the door. Helpless to move from the bed even to hold the door shut, he sat, his muscles clenched to the breaking point.

The footsteps from the landing vanished, but Richard was nowhere nearer to moving. He had never been so petrified in all his life. Nothing before today could compare to it. Everything else seemed trivial—a walk in the park.

Suddenly it occurred to him: he was no safer inside the spare room than he was on the landing. Surely she could move from room to room without the worry of closed doors. The notion made him examine the room, corner to corner, ceiling to floor, for signs of her.

The bedroom was deserted.

All that dwelled there was a single bed, several boxes of junk, and a small wooden chest of drawers. In addition to the sound of a car passing outside, and a dog barking in the distance, he could smell the damp old clothes Nicky had stuffed into a charity bag.

And taste the rancid fear in his mouth.

He began to slowly crawl backwards onto the bed, all the way to the headboard, to gain a better view of the room and door. He pressed his bare back against the cold surface of the wooden headboard. But the ice-cold sensation on his skin didn’t bother him. His only concern was the door.

Tap…Tap…Tap.

Did he just imagine it?

Did his petrified state plant the sound in his head?

Or was she still behind the door? Still waiting?

Taunting him?

His body tightened even more, and he bit down hard, unconcerned with chipping his teeth. His frantic breathing was now confined to his nostrils. His vision started to blur as his breathing become more and more erratic.

Please leave. Please leave. Please leave
.
Please leave. Please leave. Please leave. Please leave
…

The light of the room faded into darkness, and he passed out.

Sitting at his kitchen table, he watched the rain hit the large window in front of him. The dreaded chair held no significance as he listened to
Man in the Mirror
by Michael Jackson on the radio.

Lightning lit up the room like an explosion, causing him to shudder. “Where the hell’s Nicky?” he heard himself ask. “Must be with her mother.” He tapped his fingers to the rhythm of the song, humming it also. “She’ll be home soon, I’m sure of it.”

Standing up from the table, he glanced at the clock on the wall. 10:30 p.m. “She’s really bloody late.” He frowned. “Strange for her.”

He left the kitchen and walked along the hallway, staring up at the ceiling. Noticing the smoke detector was reconnected, he smiled. “Good old Nicky. She’s more the man of the house than me.” A loud knock sounded at the front door. Answering it, he saw Karen stood outside in the pouring rain, soaked through. Confused, he asked, “What are you doing here? And where’s your umbrella?”

“I left it at home,” she replied, stepping up into the porch.

“Don’t you have a client today?”

“No, my calendar is totally free. I haven’t got anyone ’til Saturday morning. Thank God.”

He ushered her inside, taking her wet coat from her and hanging it on the banister.

Looking up at the ceiling, she beamed. “The smoke alarm is fixed. Finally. It’s not safe to keep those unattached. You could have a fire
.
”

Looking up too, he said, “Yeah, good old Nicky. She’s the real man of the house.”

She nodded. “Is she home yet?”

“Who?”

“Your wife, stupid. Nicola. Is she home?”

Grimacing, he snapped, “Don’t call me stupid!”

With a look of remorse, she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Just a slip of the tongue.”

“That’s all right, Karen. Yes, I think she’s here somewhere.” He walked toward the living room door. “She should be home by now. She’s been with her mother all day.” He paused for moment as if to correct himself. “At least she
should
be with her mother. I’m not so sure anymore.”

He entered the living room.

“Oh, here she is, Karen,” he said, surprised. At first glance the woman sitting on the couch seemed to be Nicky: same hair, same clothes, same shaped body. Then, in the blink of an eye, it wasn’t.

In her place, with two hands over her abdomen, was the woman in the white dress. The room darkened as she stood, revealing her blood-soaked dress. Horror filled his body as she edged closer, holding out her arms as if to hug him. “Come to me,” she ordered, in a soft, desperate voice. “Don’t leave me here. Please.”