by Amy Cross
"I really don't think you do," she says, staring at me with reddened, tear-soaked eyes. "If you did, you wouldn't be able to stay in that house alone the way you do. The fact that you're still there makes it obvious that you don't give a damn."
"I'm not alone," I point out. "Wilbur's with me. He's a good guard-dog, so I'm pretty sure he'll keep any ghosts at bay." As soon as I've said the words, I realize that I shouldn't have made a joke of it. Still, jokes have always been my way of relieving tension. "Your Dad gets back from holiday on Saturday," I add. "I can manage."
"You don't get it," she replies, picking up a cola bottle from the floor and unscrewing the lid. She takes a swig, before offering it to me.
"No thanks," I say quietly.
"It's not cola," she says. "It's wine. I poured some into the bottle when I was at the house the other day, collecting my things. I just wanted some, and before you say it, no, I don't have an alcohol problem. It's just something to take the edge off once in a while."
"If you need money," I reply, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the cash I brought for her, "I can -"
"I'm fine," she says dismissively, even though I can tell she doesn't really mean it.
"I'll just give you some," I tell her.
"Do what you want."
I place the cash on her bedside table, next to a half-full glass of water and a chocolate bar wrapper. It feels strange to be still giving her money at a time like this, but at the same time I can't just leave her sitting in this room with barely enough to get by. She's thrown herself into this situation with barely any planning, and she's only just begun to search for a job. I guess it's a characteristic of her illness that she doesn't plan ahead and doesn't think too much about the future. Her life seems to have become absolutely chaotic, and apart from giving her money every so often, I really don't think there's anything I can do to help. The few times when I've touched her recently, she's flinched, as if it's physically painful. I keep trying to find a way back to the way things used to be, but she seems determined to make sure that the gulf between us gets wider and wider.
"If you really understood what I'm going through," she says eventually, "you wouldn't be able to stay in that house."
"Kate -"
"It's fine," she replies with a theatrical sigh. "You don't understand. Not really. It's part of the problem. You don't understand and you don't want to talk about what's happening between us." Fixing me with a dark stare for a moment, she pauses. "It's the house," she adds eventually. "You didn't grow up there, so it doesn't affect you. That's great, but it's destroyed my life. I wish you understood, but you don't."
"I've never seen anything there," I point out. "In five years, I've never seen or heard a damn thing."
"Well, then you're the lucky one, aren't you?" she replies. "You're the only one who gets left alone. How fucking wonderful that must feel."
I open my mouth to reply, but I can't quite manage to get the words out.
After a few more minutes, she tells me she's tired and wants to rest, so I leave. Once again, we don't say the things we really need to say.
Chapter Two
Luke
So how are things with you? Laura types.
It's past midnight, and I should be in bed. Instead, I'm sitting in the kitchen, where the internet signal is strongest in the house, having an online conversation with my ex-girlfriend. I haven't seen her for years, but lately we've been keeping in touch online, and I can't deny that my thoughts have begun to stray. We were disastrous as a couple, but there's a part of me that thinks maybe we could try something casual. After all, she had a great body and the sex was good. I know nothing will come of these regular late night chats, but right now they're just about the only thing keeping me going.
Long day, I type back. Home alone with the dog now.
Glancing over at the dog bed in the corner, I watch for a moment as Wilbur sleeps. Sometimes I really envy him; I'd actually quite like to be a dog, spending my days eating and sleeping and playing. Sure, there are some things that they miss out on, like books and conversations and travel, but on the other hand they get to sniff things and scratch themselves and generally just loll around all day. It seems like a simpler life, and a happier one: no depression, no talk of ghosts, no suicide attempts or long discussions about relationships. Yeah, right now I definitely envy Wilbur.
Where's your girlfriend? Laura asks.
In the city, I reply, taking a swig of wine.
Alone?
She's got an apartment, I tell her. Didn't I tell you?
I wait.
The cursor blinks.
Yeah, she replies. Maybe. So what are you doing all alone?
Before I can type a response, there's a faint creaking sound on the floorboards directly above the kitchen. I look up instinctively, but the sound seems to have passed. When I look over at the dog, I see that he's still fast asleep.
Trying to ignore the ghosts, I type.
Ghosts? she asks.
Long story, I reply. It's an old house, and the same family's lived here for generations. Kate's great grandfather built the place more than a century ago. Most of them think it's haunted these days. One of their favorite activities is to sit around swapping ghost stories. Except Kate's Dad. He hates it when people mention things like that. I don't know if that's because he thinks it's rubbish, or because he thinks it's true and he just doesn't want to talk about it.
Do you believe it? she types.
I pause.
Who knows? I reply eventually, preferring not to give a direct answer.
You ever seen or heard anything? she asks.
I put my fingers on the keyboard, but for a moment I'm not sure what to write. Not really, I say eventually. A few creaks and groans in the night, but nothing too sinister. Just the sounds of an old house settling. Easy to mistake for something else.
I wait for her to reply, but the cursor simply sits there, flashing. I can't deny that during these late night conversations, my mind always wanders to images of Laura's naked body. She's single these days, and it's been almost a year since Kate and I last had sex; the thought of having one uncomplicated night with Laura is certainly enticing, and it wouldn't even feel like cheating. Things between Kate and me are so bad at the moment, I actually think it might help our relationship if I was able to get rid of some of my frustration. I guess it's a good job that Laura lives far enough away that nothing could ever happen.
So you're sitting alone in a haunted house? she types eventually. Cool.
I smile.
It sounds like fun, she adds. I'm slightly jealous.
I think you'd hate it if you were here, I tell her. Seriously, it's definitely kind of creepy. I've never seen anything, but I've heard loads of stories.
Maybe I'll come and check it out some time, she replies.
I take another swig of wine.
So what are you going to do when we've stopped talking? she asks.
Go to bed, I reply.
Alone?
With the dog, I type. What about you?
Bed. The cursor blinks for a moment. Maybe a shower first. I got some new shower gel today that I really want to try.
I take a deep breath as I think of her naked body in the shower, with soap running over her large, firm breasts. My fingers pause over the keyboard, and I swear to God, I'm tempted right now to just flat-out invite her to a hotel somewhere.
Remember when we used to shower together? she types.
Above, there's another creaking sound. I look up, and then over at the dog. This time, he seems to have heard it too, and he's sitting up in his bed, looking alert.
Yeah, I type. I used to help lather you up. As soon as I've sent those last words, I freeze. I take another sip of wine as I realize that for the first time, this conversation is starting to veer into dangerous territory. Still, there's no way I can stop.
Seems so long ago, she types.
I stare at the screen.
Is she hinting
?
Does she want it?
I'm sure we've both changed, I type after a moment. Not just as people. Our bodies too.
I wait for her to reply.
The cursor blinks.
"We'll go to bed soon," I say, glancing at Wilbur. "I promise." The truth, though, is that I know I'm going to have to go into the bathroom and masturbate. There's no way I can sleep while I'm feeling like this.
I stare at the screen.
Did I go too far?
Taking another swig of wine, I can't help wondering if I misunderstood her flirtatious responses. I guess she was just amusing herself, and I never should have let myself start thinking about her body. Sighing, I glance across the room and realize that the best thing would just be to end the conversation and go to bed.
Above, there's another creaking sound, followed by another, then another.
Almost like footsteps walking across the bedroom.
Almost.
I look down at Wilbur and see that he's alert, staring up at the ceiling.
"It's nothing," I tell him. "Don't worry. It's just an old house. There's nothing to worry about."
I have to go, Laura types suddenly. Have fun alone in your crazy haunted house.
I'll try, I reply. Good night. Enjoy your shower.
Once the conversation is over, I let Wilbur out for one last wee before bed, and then I take him upstairs. Despite what I say to other people, I definitely get a slightly unsettling vibe from this house. I'm fine when other people are here, or when it's the middle of the day. Alone at night, however, things always seem a little different, and I can't help glancing over my shoulder just to check that there's no-one around. I keep reliving the stories that Kate and her family have told me. Then again, if there are ghosts here, they've always left me alone, so I guess I should be grateful.
After spending some time in the bathroom, I finally go to bed. I'm usually a deep sleeper, but tonight I stay awake for a while, listening out to the silence of the house. Every so often, I hear another creak, although I'm able to remind myself that it's just the sound of an old house settling.
One thing's for sure: I don't hear any bells.
Chapter Three
Luke
"So what do you think?" the psychiatrist asks, turning to me.
"Me?" I pause, fully aware that the spotlight is pointing in my direction. "About... what, exactly?"
"About what Kate just said," he continues.
"Well..." I pause again, as I realize that I let my mind drift for a moment and now I have no idea what they've been talking about. "I suppose -"
"She just explained that she feels your life together has lost all meaning," the psychiatrist says, perhaps recognizing my helplessness and trying to give me a gentle nudge, "and that you don't seem committed to the relationship. She said that she's starting to see you as a friend rather than as a partner. Do you think that's a fair assessment?"
I look over at Kate, but the expression on her face is one of barely-concealed aggression. At times like this, I actually think she hates me.
"It's hard to say," I reply after a moment, unsure as to whether I'm really talking to Kate or the psychiatrist, or both. "The past few years have definitely been hard. There was Geir's illness, and then her sister's suicide attempt, and a million other little things. We've barely had time to take a breath, and I guess our relationship has suffered. I still think there's something that can be rescued, though. What we have has always been good, so I think it's too early to start thinking about just abandoning the whole thing."
"When, then?" Kate asks, clearly frustrated. "How much longer do you think we should give it before we accept that it's just not working anymore? How many more times are we supposed to talk about why we're not having sex?"
"I don't think this is the time to be making big decisions," I reply.
"Why not? Because I'm mad?"
"You're not mad -"
"You think I'm crazy and I just want to break up with you because I'm depressed," she continues. "I know that's what you think, but you're not looking at the bigger picture. I can't handle the way we've been living. It's literally driving me out of my mind, and you just don't seem to care. It's almost as if you don't realize that the house is killing me!"
"But we talked about moving somewhere else," I point out. "It was never my idea to live in that house for so long. You're the one who wanted to be there while your Dad was ill."
"Fine," she says with a sigh, "it's all my fault."
"I think what Luke's trying to say," the psychiatrist continues after a moment, clearly trying to inject some diplomacy into the situation, "is that he thinks the pair of you could benefit from making a change to your living arrangements."
"I already did that," Kate snaps back at him. "I got a flat."
"You rented a room," I point out. "For one person, no pets allowed."
"I had to get out of the house," she says firmly.
"And how do you feel about the house?" the psychiatrist asks me. "Kate has made it very clear that she finds the atmosphere there to be stifling and -"
"I hate it," Kate says, interrupting him. "I'm never going back there, not even to pick stuff up. No-one can make me walk through that door."
"No-one's trying to," the psychiatrist replies calmly.
"But they are," she insists. "It's like they all think I'm crazy for not wanting to be there. My sister used to feel the same way as me, but eventually she let them bully her into going back. It's like they all think I'm crazy and I'm wasting money for renting my own place, and they think I'm just some neurotic idiot who can't handle living with other people."
"Do you feel as if no-one understands you?" the psychiatrist asks.
"Do you really think this is working?" Kate asks, turning to me. "Do you really think this relationship is going anywhere? We're just treading water and arguing all the time."
"You're arguing," I point out. "I'm trying to make things work."
"You really don't get it," she says with a sigh. "After all the times I've told you about the things that happened to me, to all of us, in that house, you still think it's something I should just suck up and forget about. I can see it in your eyes, Luke. You think I'm some kind of hysterical shrieking idiot who gets carried away with stupid ghost stories."
"I'm curious about the ghosts," the psychiatrist continues. "Kate, can you tell me exactly what you've experienced in the house?"
"Noises," she replies, looking down at the floor as if she's suddenly been overcome by a wave of sadness. "A presence. More than one. There's something living there, something that was there when we were children." She looks over at me. "It doesn't affect you because you didn't grow up with it, but it won't let the rest of us go. Ellen tried, and it eventually pulled her back in. I'm the only one who's willing to stand up to it. No matter what it tries, I won't let it win. I'd rather die than ever go back there again."
"Fine," I reply, "but if we rent a house somewhere else -"
"I don't want to be in a relationship," she says firmly. "Don't you understand that?"
"You were happy for the first five years," I point out, trying to stay calm even though I can already feel my chest tightening. "Are we supposed to give up just because you've been feeling this way for a couple of months? You've been through a lot, and the electro-convulsive therapy -"
"The ECT has nothing to do with how I'm feeling," she spits.
"What do you think?" I ask, turning to the psychiatrist. "She had eleven sessions of ECT over four weeks. That's bound to have had an impact, right?"
"We need to be careful about making rash decisions," he replies. "The ECT will definitely have made changes, and while some of those changes are going to be permanent, some will be temporary."
"So you're saying I should just wait it out?" Kate asks, with tears rolling down her cheeks. "All the pain and misery and fear... The choking feeling of horror... I should just ignore it and wait for it to pass?"
"We need to fin
d a coping mechanism that works for you," he says calmly. "There's the issue of medication too -"
"No more pills," she replies.
"We can consider different pills," he continues, "but I think it's very important that you have a treatment routine. If you refuse to take any form of anti-depressant -"
"What?" she asks, interrupting him. "Are you going to force-commit me again?"
"That's an option," he replies.
"And you really want to give me a load of pills?" she asks. "In my condition? You really think I can be trusted?"
"Do you think I should trust you?" he asks.
"What do you think?" she continues, turning to me with a look of unbridled anger in her eyes. "Come on, you always sit there so quietly, so let's hear what you've got to say? Should I continue to take a magic cocktail of pills that are never going to help me?"
I pause.
"Or do you want me to be back in the hospital?" she asks. "Would that be easier for you?"
"I don't know," I reply, even though I know that it's a painfully inadequate answer. "I really don't know what's best for you. I guess we should just stick to whatever Dr. Lucas thinks..."
"See?" she replies, turning to the psychiatrist. "He won't say what he thinks. He never says what he thinks. He just waits for me to make decisions. All Luke cares about is that fucking dog. He doesn't even try to understand what I'm going through. The house has got to him." She glances back at me. "That's the real problem here, you know," she adds. "The house knows it can use you against me. You think it doesn't affect you, but it's just got you in a different way. It uses you as a pawn to get to me. How does that feel?"
I look over at the psychiatrist, and I can see from the look in his eyes that he doesn't have any answers right now. He makes some notes on his clipboard, but the room falls silent. Kate sits and stares at me, but I don't know what she wants me to say. She hates the house, and now it seems she thinks I'm part of it. If that's the case, I truly have no idea where we can go from here.