Fourteen Days Page 7

  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?”

  “Thank you, Richard.” She gave a small wave. “Give my love to Nicola, will you?”

  “Will do. Thanks.”

  He walked back into his house.

  Maybe it was just some shampoo in my eyes, Richard thought as he sat on the foot of the staircase, staring at the front door. No, you didn’t have any shampoo in your bloody eyes.

  Maybe I’m losing it then. No, there’s nothing wrong with your mind.

  He sighed. This has got to be real then. Or work. Maybe it’s my mind creating a problem to block out work-stress.

  No. That’s stupid, Rich. The smoke alarm and the TV were real. Nicky heard them. And so was her talking in her sleep. It has to be real. There must be millions of reported ghost sightings in the world. It’s possible to have something living in my house. But who is she? She’s not Mrs. Rees. Can’t be her. Can spirits move from house to house, or do they have to have died there?

  Question upon question plagued his already full mind. He remained on the lower steps of the staircase, pondering, until the front door opened, and in walked Nicky, holding two plastic bags. As he stood to greet her, relief flooded his body. He took the bags from her and placed them on the floor. “Something smells good, babe. What’s in these?”

  “Take-out,” she said, “Chinese. Fancy it?”

  Nodding, he leaned in to kiss her on the lips. “How was work today? Anything exciting happen?”

  “Oh, you know: boring, long. The usual.” She walked into the living room and sat on the couch.

  He followed close behind. “You hungry? Do you want me to serve the food now or save it for later?”

  “Now please—I’m starved.” She kicked off her shoes and threw her feet up onto the couch, groaning in relief. As he started to leave the room, he picked up the food and carried it into the kitchen, then lifted it onto the counter. “We eating in there or at the kitchen table?” he shouted to her, glancing at the dreaded chair in repulsion.

  “In here! Can’t be bothered to move now, I’m here for the day.”

  Relieved and grinning, he pulled out two plates from the cupboard. “No problem. I’ll bring it in for you.”

  Lying in bed, Richard and Nicky were watching a movie on the television. But the romantic comedy, despite engrossing Nicky, failed to make any kind of impact on him.

  But nothing, no matter how interesting, could have drawn him away from what he saw in the bathroom.

  He could feel a cold sensation run across his forearms and up the back of his neck as he thought of Her.

  The woman in the white dress sitting at his kitchen table.

  He tried to banish it from his mind by attempting to watch the movie, but it was no use. Even when the movie’s sex scene played out, his mind was gripped with the fear of her standing outside the bedroom, scratching at the door with sharp fingernails, her dead eyes glaring through the keyhole.

  As the end-credits rolled, Nicky picked up the remote control from her bedside table and turned the TV off. “Well, what did you think of it? Any good?”

  “What did I think of what?” he asked, snapping out of a trance.

  “The film we’ve just spent the last two hours watching?” She pointed at the screen.

  “Oh, that. It was all right. Not my cup of tea, babe. Bit lovey-dovey.”

  She shook her head as if disappointed. “Typical men—only like a film with blood, guts, and sex.”

  “No, it’s not that,” he replied. “It’s just not my kind of film. I like lots of movies that don’t have death and shagging. I even like some chick-flicks.”

  “So what was wrong with that then?”

  Shrugging, he pulled the quilt over his chest as if to go to sleep. “Just couldn’t get into it—that’s all.”

  The room went silent.

  “Is there something the matter? You seem distracted,” she asked, also pulling up the quilt.

  “No,” he replied. “I’m fine. I’m just a bit tired.”

  Leaning in close, she draped her arm over his chest. “Come on, something’s the matter. You can tell me. What’s up?”

  “That’s the thing: I can’t tell you.”

  Frowning, she moved away and sat up in bed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He hesitated. “Well, you’re just gonna laugh again, aren’t you?”

  “Laugh at what?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Come on, laugh at what?” she asked again.

  He turned to her. “Okay, if you must know—I saw something again today.”

  She giggled, then gave him an apologetic look when she saw his deep scowl. “I’m sorry, babe—I didn’t mean to laugh. I couldn’t help it.”

  “Piss off,” he said, then turned to face the other way, pulling the quilt even higher over his body.

  “Oh, don’t be like that. What do you expect me to say? You know I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  He turned back to face her, and then replied, “I know you don’t—and neither did I—but I’m telling you t
hat I think our house might be haunted. I saw her, or something, when I was in the shower.”

  “And what was she doing—brushing her teeth?”

  Annoyed, he turned away again.

  “Oh come on, I was joking.” She grabbed his shoulder and turned him back to face her.

  “Look, I’m not bored, I’m not imagining it—and I’m not bloody nuts. But I’m telling you, I saw something in our bathroom. And the other day, I had a dream about her. She had blood seeping out from between her legs, soaked through her white dress. And you were there—and you had blood on you too. You kept asking me if I’d seen your baby.”

  “So, you probably dreamed about her because you thought you saw a woman in a white dress in the kitchen.”

  Shaking his head, he sat up. “The other night you were talking in your sleep again. And you said, ‘Have you seen my baby?’”

  There was silence for a few seconds, before she replied, “Are you sure that’s what I said? You said yourself I mumble. Maybe I said something that sounded like that.”

  He shook his head. “I’m positive. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Well, if that’s true, then it is weird. I admit it.” She lay down and pulled the quilt over her again.

  “Is that all you’re gonna say?” he asked, bewildered.

  “I said I thought it was weird. What more do you want me to say?”

  “That you believe that there might be a ghost in our house.”

  “Well, I don’t—so go to sleep.”

  Frustrated, he shook his head. “For God’s sake, Nic.” He lay back down and turned away. “There’s no reasoning with you, is there? You’re as stubborn as a mule.”

  “Goodnight, Richard,” she said, ignoring him.

  Exhaling in irritation, he turned off his bedside lamp and closed his eyes. “Yeah, goodnight,” he said.

  But the last thing Richard was able to do was sleep. The argument may have held off the fear for a few minutes, but once the silence and darkness surrounded him again, the woman from his kitchen stayed at the top of his mind. And there she was likely to stay until he could figure out why she was in his house. And more importantly: how to get rid of her.

  There was one woman he knew that could help.

  Karen Leigh.

  Chapter 8

  Day 8: Tuesday

  Nicky leaned over the kitchen worktop, preparing her lunch for work on a chopping board. Richard was standing in the doorway—reluctant to sit at the table.

  “So what are you gonna do today then?” she asked, not looking at Richard. “Anything nice?”

  “Don’t know yet,” he replied, shrugging at the same time.

  Turning away from the chopping board to look at him, she grimaced. “You’re not still in a mood with me are you?”

  He shook his head, indicating that he was.

  Rolling her eyes, she turned back to her food. “Grow up, Rich. Just because I don’t believe something doesn’t give you the right to be pissed off with me. For God’s sake.”

  “I’m not pissed off with you—I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep too well last night.”

  She paused for a moment. “Oh, right. Why’s that?”

  He shrugged again. “I don’t know. Still not used to being off work or something.”

  “Well, you’ve got a few more days left—enjoy them while you can.” She put the food into a small plastic container and walked over to her handbag, which was hanging on the back of a chair. She slipped her lunch in and moved toward Richard. “Right—I’m off. Have a good day doing whatever it is you do all day, and I’ll see you later. All right?”

  Forcing a smile, he leaned forward and kissed her lips. “Yeah, have a good one. See you later.”

  She left the kitchen and made her way to the front door. “Try and get some sleep if you’re tired.” She gave a backhanded wave goodbye, and then slammed the door shut.

  Taking his eyes from the front door, he turned back into the kitchen. He shuddered, realizing that he was alone in the kitchen, standing right next to the dreaded chair. He vacated the room and headed for the living room.

  Sitting on the couch, he searched Nicky’s address book for Karen Leigh’s number. On finding it, he entered the number into his cell phone and held it to his ear. He waited as the call went through. Just as he was about to hang up, a voice sounded on the other end. “Hi, is this Karen?” he asked.

  Karen Leigh was standing in the rain when Richard opened the front door. Her hair was wet, stuck to the sides of her face, and her drenched blue coat was long and puffy. Why doesn’t she have an umbrella? he thought, as he ushered her inside.

  “Let me take your coat,” he said, as she stood in the hallway. “You’re soaking. I feel so guilty asking you over now.”

  Pulling off her coat, she handed it over to him. “Don’t worry about it. It’s probably best if we speak at the house and not over the phone.” She glanced upstairs. “Is she here?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since yesterday. And I’ve heard nothing this morning.”

  She looked confused, and then grinned. “I meant Nicky—your wife.”

  “Oh, right—Nicky. I thought you meant the dead woman.” He shook his head with embarrassment. “No, she’s at work. Won’t be home ’til about five.”

  “Okay. Probably best—she’ll only make fun of us.”

  Nodding, he replied, “I know. Tell me about it. Every time I mention ghosts she laughs at me.”

  “Shall we sit somewhere and talk?” she suggested, gesturing with her head to move into the living room.

  “Yeah. Sorry. Let’s sit on the couch. Do you want something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Something cold?”

  “No thanks, I’m fine,” she replied, waving her hand in refusal. “I haven’t got long.”

  They entered the living room. He grabbed the remote control and turned off the TV.

  Feeling awkward, he sat on the single sofa seat, whereas Karen sat on the couch. To see her sitting in his living room, willing to talk to him about such a strange and unbelievable problem, filled him with a quiet relief. To have someone he could vent his issues with was exactly what he needed. Until now, he thought that therapy was just a waste of money, just a way to pick the pockets of the weak and suggestible. But Karen, staring at him with excitement and eagerness in her eyes, was therapy he would happily pay for.

  “Can you sense her in the house?” he asked, as he examined the room.

  “No,” she chuckled. “I’m not a psychic. I wish I was. I’m just very interested in the afterlife. And I’ve studied it since I was very young. I’ve only ever seen one ghost in my life.”

  “Where was that?” he asked, praying that she couldn’t see the disappointment in his eyes from her lack of experience. “At your house?”

  “No. At my grandparent’s house when I was eleven—just after my granddad’s funeral. I saw him sitting in his old armchair, staring at my grandmother, plain as day. Peaceful. But just for a second—and then he was gone.”

  “And is that why you got into the paranormal stuff?”

  She shook her head. “No. But that’s probably why I was able to see him—because I was interested in it. My mind was already open, and ready to receive.”

  “Did it frighten you?”

  She smiled. “No, not at all. If anything it made me happy. It made me certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that there is life after death, and that my grandfather was somewhere better, watching over my grandmother.”

  “I can understand that. But with me it’s different. A few days ago I was convinced that there was some logical explanation for everything; but now things are different. Everything feels different. And plus, I don’t know this woman, or anything about her, so she’s scaring the crap out of me. Really.”

  She thought for a moment, and then asked, “Do you feel that this spirit is in any way trying to scare you?”

  “Hell yeah! I’m too blo
ody scared to go into my own kitchen. And I haven’t been able to take a shower today. Don’t know how long I can keep that up before Nicky kicks me out.”

  She sniggered. “I’m sure she doesn’t mean to scare you. And I’m even more certain that she doesn’t want to harm you.”

  “How can you be so sure? For all we know she could be something out of The Ring. I’ve seen her twice. And only for a few seconds.”

  “Look, Richard, let’s put things into perspective: so far all she’s done is made you aware of her presence. Nothing else. She hasn’t tried to hurt you or Nicky. She hasn’t destroyed anything. She’s just in your house for some reason. And we’ve got to figure out why. Did you go and see your neighbor?”

  “Yes. She said that the last guy wasn’t married, and the other owners were an old couple. And the woman died in a nursing home aged ninety. So it couldn’t be her.”

  “How old did you say you thought the woman from your kitchen was?”

  He shrugged. “About thirty odd. Something ’round there. Not sure. Not ninety though.”

  “It could still be her. Your spirit can come back to an age when you were the happiest. Who would choose to return aged ninety?”

  “Okay, that makes sense, but she died in a nursing home, over in Bath.”

  “That doesn’t matter. This is the place that she remembers most, so it seems logical that this is where she’d want to be—not some nursing home.”

  He nodded. “I can buy that. But why come back at all?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe she’s looking for someone. Do you know what happened to her husband?”

  “He died of a heart attack about fifteen years ago.”

  “Well, that could be it. Maybe she’s looking for him?”

  “That’s awful. Isn’t she supposed to be happy up in Heaven or something?”

  “Maybe she’s lost. Or maybe he’s lost and she’s trying to guide him there. Who knows? There could be a million reasons why someone is earthbound. Perhaps she chooses to stay here. For all we know they could have hated each other.”

  “Why would anyone choose to stay here as a ghost—stuck doing the same thing in the same place every single day?” But that was how he lived his life; the same office, doing the same thing, day in and day out. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and focused on his current predicament. “And where’s God in all of this? I thought you’re meant to see a big shining light when you die. What happened to that?”