The Writer (3 page)

Before he can finish, there’s a bump from one of the other rooms in the house. We all look toward the door, and seconds later there are two more bumps, almost as if someone or something is banging on one of the walls.

“You were saying?” Jacqui mutters.

“It was probably nothing,” I tell her, trying to stay calm. I know I should go and take a look, but I’m scared. The noise seemed to be coming from Hannah’s room.

“Well,” John says, getting to his feet, “here’s a perfect example of how something innocuous can be misinterpreted. With your permission, Beth, I shall go and see what caused that little interruption.”

I nod, and he heads through to the corridor.

“Come on,” Jacqui adds, getting to her feet. “We can’t let him have all the fun.” When she gets to the door, she looks back and sees that I’m still in my seat. “Are you coming or not?”

“I think I’ll…” I look over at the pot on the stove, before turning back to her. “I should probably check the food.”

“What are you scared of?” she asks, holding her hand out toward me. “There’s three of us here. It’s totally safe.”

Realizing that there’s no way she’s going to let me off the hook, I get to my feet and follow her out into the corridor. Up ahead, the door to Hannah’s bedroom is open and John has already gone inside, but when we join him it’s clear that the room is completely empty apart from the furniture that I’ve left as a kind of memorial. Looking at the bed, I see to my relief that it’s neat and tidy,with no sign of any disturbance.

“I’m fairly sure the noise came from in here,” John says, taking a quick look out the window before turning to me. “Everything’s as it should be, isn’t it?”

I nod, unable to stop looking at the bed.

“So what caused that noise?” Jacqui asks. “Don’t tell me it was the house settling, ‘cause that’s just a non-starter.”

“One of the most difficult things for man to accept,” John replies, “is that sometimes he might not know the answer. There are plenty of things that could have caused that bump. Some kind of animal, a freak fall in one of the cupboards… The point is, even though we might not be able to pin it down, we must accept that
something
happened, something perfectly mundane and boring. In the absence of an answer, we can’t jump to outlandish conclusions.”

“Jesus,” Beth mutters, “your books must be fun.”

“Let’s just get back to the kitchen,” I tell them both, edging toward the door. “There’s obviously nothing in here.”

“I know someone who can find out for sure,” Jacqui says, turning to me. “She’s a psychic with -”

“Nonsense,” John says firmly.

“What’s the harm?” she protests. “She’s a real nice woman with a great track record in this kind of thing. If there’s nothing here, there’s nothing here, but it’d be good to get another opinion.”

“I don’t think this is what Beth needs right now,” John tells her, before turning to me. “We all heard those bumps, but the cause was undoubtedly something completely ordinary. There’s absolutely no need to start bringing in psychics or any of that rubbish.”

“You’ve got a very closed mind for someone who’s supposed to be a writer,” Jacqui tells him. “Shouldn’t you be open to every possibility? Shouldn’t you show some imagination?”

“I think you misunderstand what I do,” he replies, clearly annoyed. “Beth is right, why don’t we go back and resume our evening? The world is full of things that go bump in the night.”

“And if this was one of your books,” Jacqui continues, “is that what the characters would do? They’d go and sit back down and pretend like nothing happened?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” I tell her, interrupting before John can say anything. “I’m sure those bumps were nothing. Let’s just carry on with our meal and try not to let our imagination run away with us, okay?”

As we head out of the room, I stop to pull the door shut. I can’t help looking over at Hannah’s bed one final time, however, and wondering whether, in some way, she might still be here. I pause for a moment, giving her a chance to make her presence known, before finally I close the door on the empty room.

***

“And I’m telling you,” Jacqui mutters as we sit on the porch steps overlooking the dark garden, “I don’t like him. He’s creepy, and his interest in you is definitely a little… I mean, sure, he’s some kind of successful novelist, but face it, honey, you’re living next door to a dirty old man.”

“No,” I reply, shaking my head, “he’s nothing of the sort. You don’t know him, he’s actually a really nice guy.”

“I can tell his sort a mile off,” she adds, taking a drag on her cigarette before offering it to me. “Go on. Just one puff.”

“I quit when I got pregnant, remember?”

“Yeah, but… It’ll relax you.”

I shake my head again.

“Your loss,” she says, taking another long drag and holding the smoke in her mouth before letting it out slowly, as if she’s savoring the sensation. “That guy’s a grade A creep. Didn’t you notice how he was hanging around after we ate, like he wanted to make sure I left first? The guy didn’t get the message until close to midnight! Seriously, I thought he was just gonna set up camp on the sofa and stare me out all evening. He doesn’t like me and he doesn’t make any attempt to hide it! I reckon he wants you all to himself, Beth!”

“He’s just worried about me.”

“Why?”

“There’s just been…” I pause, realizing that this might not be the right time to tell her about the strange encounters I’ve been having lately. “John is just a very kind man who wants to make sure that I’m okay. He remembers David and Hannah, he liked them, and when they died he was pretty much the only person around. He spent so many hours just sitting with me, helping me, talking to me… Without him, I don’t know if I would have got through it.”

“I should’ve been here,” she replies. “I can’t believe the timing. I’d just moved out to goddamn Australia for that new job, and then I didn’t get your emails until way after the funeral. I still don’t know how that happened. It’s almost like my account got hacked.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “You’ve got your own life.”

“And you need
your
own life,” she mutters, looking over at John’s house next door. “Beth, don’t you think it’s time to sell the house and move on? Get a new job, one that doesn’t involve working from home. You need to meet people, you could even…” She pauses, as if she’s reluctant to say the next thing. “You could even think about maybe, you know, possibly, potentially… some day, you might meet someone new.”

“I’m not looking for a guy,” I tell her.

“Just someone to hang out with. Right now, who have you got? Me and your freaky writer friend. Two people in your whole goddamn life!”

“That’s two more than some people.”

“You need to get out there again,” she continues. “Beth, you need to have a life again. I mean, hell, I’m brilliant and exciting and fun, but you could still use a few other friends. You’re a great person and you should be out in the world, not hunched up here in this place.”

“I will. One day. Just…” I turn and look back into the house, and for a moment I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched from the dark corridor that leads along to the bedrooms. Are they here? Are they watching me, waiting for me to be alone? “It’s not the right time,” I say quietly. “I’ll know when the moment comes. I need to wait a little longer.”

“I’m gonna give you the number for my psychic friend,” she tells me. “Don’t tell John, but call her. She can come and check the house out for any kind of spirit, and if there’s something here, she can help them find peace.” She pauses. “Isn’t that something that might help, Beth? I can’t help thinking that the reason you’re still living here is that you think somehow David and Hannah might be around. If that’s the case, you owe it to them to help them move on.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready to believe in psychics,” I tell her.

“Just let her come and scout the place out. What harm can it do? Give me your phone.”

Taking my phone out of my pocket, I pass it to her and watch as she enters her friend’s number into my contacts list.

“There,” she says finally, handing the phone back to me. “I’ll call her in the morning and let her know about you, give her the gist, and then all you have to do is get in touch and arrange a time for her to come over. Maybe it should be when John’s not at home, so he doesn’t come and interfere. Getting the place checked out by a psychic might help you to get rid of any fears that might be lingering in the back of your mind.” She takes another drag of her cigarette and then blows the smoke close to me. “Enjoy,” she adds with a grin. “I know you still like the smell.”

“I’ll think about calling her,” I reply, putting my phone back in my pocket. “I just…”

My voice trails off for a moment as I think back to the sight of Hannah in her bed, with all that blood and glass everywhere. I don’t know how many times that image has jumped into my head today, but it must be in the thousands. Even though I was miles away when the crash happened, I can’t help wondering whether my subconscious mind still thinks that I’m to blame. If I’d done something, anything, to delay their journey by just a minute or two, David might never have lost control of the car and hit that tree. Then again, the accident investigators never managed to conclusively determine what happened. The theory that he veered to one side to avoid a deer is just that: a theory. I still have a few lingering doubts, just a hunch that the full story never got out.

“Take this,” she says, handing me a small crucifix.

“I’m not religious,” I tell her. “Neither are you.”

“Says who?” She smiles nervously. “Just have it in the house. I was told once that this kind of thing can be used to keep spirits away.”

“That’s nonsense -”

“Then it can’t do any harm, can it?” she adds, turning and throwing the crucifix through the back door and onto the kitchen floor. “Just ignore it. Humor me.”

“You never cease to amaze me,” I tell her.

“Have you seen them?” she asks.

“Who?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” She turns and looks back into the house. “I know it’s a touchy subject, but do you ever see anything or hear anything or… I hope I’m not stepping on your toes here, but do you ever feel like they’re still here? Like… ghosts?”

I shake my head.

“You sure?”

“I don’t know how you do it,” she continues. “You’ve stayed so strong, Beth. Anyone else in your position would have cracked up completely. Still, I think it’s time for you to get on with your life. You’re only thirty, and the world out there is so huge and vast. It’s waiting for you!” She takes the longest drag yet on her cigarette and then blows the smoke ahead of us, allowing it to rise up through the night air toward the stars. “You don’t want to spend the rest of your life in this goddamn house,” she adds, “living next to Mr. Creepy and wondering when the ghosts are gonna come again. Call my friend. She’ll tell you if there’s anything here.”

Three

“I’m picking something up,” Louise says as she makes her way across the kitchen and pauses by the door, staring along the corridor that leads to the bedrooms. She stops for a moment, as if she’s concentrating on some hidden force, and then finally she turns to me. “There
is
a presence here. I noticed it before I even got in the door.”

“See?” Jacqui adds, nudging me in the arm. “I told you she’s good.”

Although I force a smile, I can’t help feeling that this whole thing is a sham. It’s been almost a week since Jacqui first gave me the psychic’s number, and although I dragged my feet about calling, I was eventually persuaded to give it a shot. I’ve been dreading the whole thing, and now my worst fears seem to be coming true: Louise Redmond, the psychic Jacqui thinks is so goddamn brilliant, seems so far to be nothing more than a confidence trickster, like something from a bad TV show. Still, I figure my best bet is just to let her do her thing and wait for her to leave.

“How many physical manifestations have you seen in the house?” Louise asks.

“Physical manifestations?” I glance briefly at Jacqui. “Oh. Um, two.”

“Uh-huh.” She pauses. “I’m only picking up one.”

“Just one ghost?” I reply.

“I’m not sure if that’s quite what it is,” she continues. “Things might become clearer as I move through the building. Also, it’s possible that one entity is manifesting in two forms.”

“Really?” I reply. “Surely if -”

“Ssh!” Jacqui hisses. “Let her do her thing!”

I watch as Louise makes her way along the corridor, heading to the bedrooms.

“How much did you tell her?” I ask, turning to Jacqui.

“Just a brief outline.”

“Okay. ‘Cause I just want to know how much of that she’s going to regurgitate back at me in the guise of picking things up from the atmosphere.”

“I thought you believed in ghosts?” Jacqui asks, looking a little hurt.

“I do. I think. I mean… It’s one thing to believe in ghosts, it’s just… I don’t believe in people like Louise Redmond. She seems so fake.”

“She’s got an amazing track record,” Jacqui continues. “The Somervile Haunting? That house in Plainsboro that started bleeding from the walls? She was at both of those and more. She’s highly respected on the internet.”

“Case closed,” I say with a faint smile.

“It can’t hurt,” she points out. “Well… Not unless she accidentally unleashes some kind of demonic force, but she won’t do that. She’s far too professional.”

Sighing, I head through to the corridor and make my way along toward the master bedroom. Before I can get too far, however, I stop by Hannah’s door and see that Louise is standing next to the bed, staring down at the neatly-made-up duvet. I wait for her to say something, but she seems almost transfixed, as if something about the bed is attracting her full attention.

“Are you okay?” I ask after a few seconds.

She holds a hand up toward me, indicating that she wants me to be quiet.

As Jacqui joins me in the doorway, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m witnessing some kind of ‘performance’. No-one has mentioned paying Louise for her services yet, but I’m pretty sure there’ll be a bill at the end of it all.

“This is where the child slept?” Louise asks finally.

“Yeah,” I reply, feeling a twinge of irritation at the thought of Hannah being used as some kind of prop in this performance, “but she -”

“She didn’t die here, did she?” she asks, turning to me. “She and your husband died, I believe, in a car crash?”

I nod.

“Yes, I see now,” she continues. “I was expecting, based on everything I was told before coming to the house, that this room would be the epicenter of the paranormal activity, but in fact there’s nothing here.”

“Nothing?” I ask, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

She shakes her head.

“But Beth’s seen her in here,” Jacqui adds, before glancing at me. “Sorry, honey, I hope you don’t mind me telling her that.”

“It’s fine,” I say quietly.

“That may be,” Louise continues with a shrug, “and I would never argue with you, but I’m quite certain that this room is in no way connected to the presence that I’m feeling.”

Making her way to the door, she slips past us and heads along to the master bedroom, leaving me to give Jacqui a ‘What the hell is this all about?’ stare.

“See?” she whispers. “If this was all fake, she’d have been all over Hannah’s room, claiming there were spirits and all that jazz, but she’s being honest with you!”

“I just don’t like it being turned into a pantomime,” I reply, keeping my voice low. “If there really is anything here, maybe -”

Before I can finish, I look back toward the kitchen, convinced that I just heard a faint bumping sound.

“What?” Jacqui asks.

“Nothing,” I say, turning back to her, “I just… It’s not a game and I don’t want it trivialized. Either there really
is
something here, or I’m losing my mind, or -”

“Nothing,” Louise says suddenly, coming through from the other bedroom.

“I’m sorry?” I reply, turning to her.

“There’s nothing here. I’ve been through the whole place, I’ve listened for any hint of paranormal activity, and apart from that brief moment when I was coming into the house, everything’s clean. This house is not haunted.”

***

“I don’t know what else to tell you,” she says a few minutes later as we make our way out the back door and across the garden, heading for the gate. “I can’t pretend to have detected something when there was nothing there. It’s possible that I’m wrong, or that somehow the spirits are concealing their presence from me, but that’s highly unlikely. As far as I can tell, there are no manifestations in your house whatsoever.”

“But when you arrived,” Jacqui replies, clearly a little disappointed, “you
said
you picked something up.”

“And I did,” she says, opening the gate before turning to us. “It wasn’t strong, but I detected something right around the back door, over there.” She points toward the kitchen window, and at the alley that runs to one side between my house and John’s next door. “Frankly, picking something up so soon, I was expecting to be blasted when I got inside. Instead, it felt as if the interior of the house was completely devoid of spirits. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever encountered.”

“So you’re saying her back door is haunted?” Jacqui asks. “And the alley between the houses?”

“Not haunted,” she replies, “more like… I don’t know, I’ve never experienced anything like it before. Something just felt… off.””

“I saw things
inside
the house,” I point out. “Not by the back door, not in the alley, but actually in the bedrooms.”

“And they were physical and auditory?”

“Yeah. I saw them, I heard them, once or twice I even…” I pause for a moment, wondering whether I’m at risk of making myself sound insane. “I even felt them. My daughter’s hand… Her palm was badly grazed, there was gravel in the wound, and glass…”

A sad smile crosses Louise’s face, and I can tell that she feels sorry for me.

“Has anyone else seen any of these manifestations?” she asks.

“We both heard something,” Jacqui butts in. “A few bumps the other night.”

“Bumps could be a lot of things,” she replies. “Have you or anyone apart from Beth actually seen anything?”

“Well…” Jacqui pauses. “No…”

“It’s just me,” I add.

“There are a lot of reasons why something like that might happen,” Louise continues. “I believe in being completely honest with people, so that’s what I’m going to do right now. Paranormal manifestations
are
real and they can happen, but a lot of the time, there are other reasons why people see things. Emotional or psychological issues -”

“You’re saying I’m mad.”

“Absolutely not,” she says quickly, putting a hand on my arm. “
Absolutely
not. It’s just, you shouldn’t underestimate the impact of an immense trauma.” There seem to be tears in her eyes now, as if she’s finding it troubling to empathize with me. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to go through the kind of loss that you’ve experienced. I read up about what happened before I came over. I have a husband and two kids myself, and if I lost either of them… My advice would be to make sure you get the maximum level of support that’s available, surround yourself with good friends, and hope that things calm down. Maybe consider counseling.”

“I saw them,” I say firmly. “I’ve seen them several times over the past two years.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“But you don’t think they were really there, do you?” I continue. “You think they were in my head.”

“I can only tell you that I didn’t detect anything in there,” she replies. “Maybe you should think about moving away, though. It can’t be healthy to be -” She pauses, and suddenly something seems to have attracted her attention back toward the house. “Who’s that?” she asks, with a hint of caution in her voice.

Turning, I look at the kitchen windows, half-expecting to see a figure watching us, but to my relief I realize that there’s no-one. After a moment, however, I spot movement to the left of my field of vision, and finally I see that John is on his porch, looking toward us as he waters his plants.

“That’s the creepy neighbor I told you about,” Jacqui whispers.

“Don’t say that!” I hiss, waving at John.

He waves back, but I can see that he’s very curious about our little gathering.

“He’s one of those old men who try to get involved in other people’s lives,” Jacqui continues, keeping her voice down. “The guy’s a grade A weirdo.”

“He’s a friendly neighbor,” I continue, turning back to them. “He also happens to be an award-winning novelist.”

“Wait,” Louise replies, obviously shocked, “
that’s
John Myers? I heard he lived in the neighborhood. I’ve read every single one of his books!”

“I read a couple,” Jacqui replies. “They’re pretty rubbish, aren’t they?”

“The man doesn’t believe a word he writes,” Louise replies with disdain. “You can tell from the way he structures his plots, it’s so cynical. He writes about ghosts and paranormal activity, he makes huge amounts of money from his books and film rights, but it’s so obvious that he doesn’t believe. Still, he knows how to string a story together, so I guess that’s why people lap up his work.”

“I wish he’d spend more time working on his crappy books,” Jacqui mutters, “and less time perving over Beth.”

“That’s enough!” I hiss.

“I should be going,” Louise says, reaching out to shake my hand. “I wish you all the luck in the world, and remember, everything I’ve told you is merely my opinion. At the end of the day, the only person who really knows what goes on in that house is you. I just hope you’ll consider all the possible explanations, and… Seriously, think about moving away. Living in that house must be tough. Not all ghosts are supernatural forces. Some are just bad memories.”

As she heads to her car, I can’t help wondering if she might be right. The problem, however, is that with all the chaos that came into my life two years ago, somehow the house has become a rock of stability. Apart from John, everyone I know has been telling me to move away, but I can’t bring myself to make that break. There’s also the fact that a tiny part of me
wants
David and Hannah to still be around, even if I only pick up little whispers of them now and again. I’m starting to think that maybe I don’t want to get rid of them.

“Come on,” Jacqui says, leading me back along the path. “That was a bust, huh?”

As we get to the back door, I spot John still out on his porch, and it’s clear from the way he’s watching us that he’s intrigued.

“Busy day?” Jacqui calls out to him.

“Just getting some chores done,” he replies. “I’ve got a lot of writing to do at the weekend, and I need to prepare for that godawful bookshop appearance.” He pauses for a moment. “Had a friend over, did you?”

“Actually,” I reply, “she was…” I pause for a moment. “Her name’s Louise. She’s the psychic Jacqui was talking about the other night.”

“Uh-huh,” he says quietly. “Well, I… How did it go?”

“You’ll be pleased to know,” I continue, “that she gave the house a clean bill of health. As far as she can tell, there’s no sign of any ghosts.”

“Well, that’s something,” he replies. “I hope it puts your mind at rest.”

He smiles politely, but as he heads back into his house I can tell that he’s uneasy with the idea that I had someone come to check the place out. I know it’s not really his business, and I can do anything I like in my own home, but at the same time I feel almost guilty, as if I went behind his back. John’s been so good to me over the years, I should have accepted his advice and never bothered getting someone like Louise to check the house out. As Jacqui leads me inside, muttering about psychics and exorcisms, I suddenly realize that something has changed. If the house is truly empty, if there’s absolutely no ghost activity at all, then I really
am
alone here every night.