The House We Haunted and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  "I think I'll be fine," I reply, keen not to give him the wrong impression. "It's been a crazy day and I think I should just get some rest. I have an early class to teach tomorrow, and I swear, the kids can tell when I've been out late."

  It's late, and I've spent all day hanging around with friends while trying not to dwell on the conversation I had with the woman earlier. I haven't told Tom what happened; I simply gave him his camera back, thanked him for letting me borrow it, and assured him that I wouldn't be needing it anymore. Thankfully, he's finally stopped asking me about it, and now it seems he's accepted that I just want to go up to my apartment alone.

  "Maybe we can hang out again some time," he says as we reach the patch of grass in front of my building.

  "Maybe," I reply. "I think the others are planning to go to the cinema on Wednesday. Maybe I'll see you there/"

  "Maybe," he replies with a faint, disappointed smile. For a moment, it seems as if he might be about to ask me something else, but finally he takes a deep breath and manages to reset himself. "You know what? It's late, and I've got an early start tomorrow, so it'd be a bad idea to stay up watching horror movies. We'll do that some other time."

  "Sure," I reply, feeling a little sorry for him. "Definitely."

  As he heads back toward the bus stop, I can't help but watch him and feel a little bad. I think he might be falling in love with me, even though I've done nothing (at least, not consciously) to encourage such feelings. I don't dislike him, and he's a good friend, but I'm not interested in any kind of romantic relationship right now; I need to let him down gently and hopefully avoid that awkward moment when he's going to try to kiss me. The worst part is, I have so little self-control right now, I'm worried I might actually kiss him back or even sleep with him, just to avoid making a fuss. Then again, would that be so bad? I'm probably over-thinking things massively.

  Turning, I head toward the door to my building.

  Suddenly I see her, standing up ahead.

  It's the woman from the apartment opposite mine, staring straight at me.

  "What are you doing here?" I ask as I get to the door and fumble in my pocket for my access card.

  "He was my husband," she says, with a nervous look in her eyes as if she's been building up to this moment while waiting for me to come home. "He... He died more than ten years ago, when we were living in Tokyo. There was a car crash, nothing particularly out of the ordinary... He was hit by another car and ended up being knocked into the path of a lorry, and... Well, I guess he was just very unlucky. It was very quick, by all accounts, so that was a blessing. That's what the coroner said, but I always wondered if he was just trying to make me feel better. Still, it was almost impossible to deal with the grief for a while. I came to Hong Kong because I wanted to get away from the places where we'd lived together. I missed him, and I still miss him, and I suppose that won't ever change, and..."

  She pauses.

  "I always felt that maybe he was around," she adds eventually, with the faintest hint of tears in her eyes. "I wasn't sure, and I suppose I probably thought I was imagining it, but I was comforted by the idea that he might be watching over me in some way. You always hear of people saying things like that, don't you? It always sounds so foolish and delusional, but over the past few years I've come to understand that maybe there's some truth to it. I never expected it to be so literal, of course, but your photos..."

  I wait for her to continue.

  "I'm sorry," I tell her, feeling a cold chill pass through my body as I realize that I was right.

  "We never came to Hong Kong while he was alive," she continues. "In fact, I'm pretty sure he never came here at all. I suppose he must have followed me. Maybe when I moved here, with all my things stuffed into two suitcases... Maybe he was there with me the whole time. When I had friends over to the apartment, even a few male friends who helped to pass the time in bed, maybe he was there too. And maybe he's here now, watching, listening..." Her voice trails off for a moment. "I'm not sure whether I feel happy that he's around, or sad that he has to watch me living. I suppose I feel both at the same time."

  "Maybe I shouldn't have shown you the photos," I tell her.

  "Of course you should," she replies with a faint smile. "There are very few times when we should hide the truth from others. If I don't handle this revelation very well, it's not your fault. You did the right thing, and I suppose I should reciprocate and do the right thing by you." She pauses, before reaching into her pocket and taking out a small folder; I instantly recognize it as the packet that the twenty-four-hour photo shop uses, but I'm pretty sure I didn't leave the packet with her when I gave her the photos last night.

  After a moment, she holds the packet out to me.

  "You can keep them," I tell her.

  "These are different photos," she replies. "I'm returning the favor. When you showed me..." She pauses again. "I don't want to ever speak of this again. I've given my notice for the apartment, and I'll be moving soon. I'm not sure where I'll go, but if Peter has to watch me, I should at least drag him to some more interesting places. He must have been so bored, just standing there night after night in that little apartment. So I figure I'll take my savings and get on the road, and hopefully find somewhere nicer for both of us. Until then, I might stay at a friend's place. I hope you're okay. If it's any consolation, I truly believe that they mean no harm."

  With that, she turns and hurries toward her building.

  Although I'm curious about the packet she handed me, I head through the door and take the elevator up to the fifteenth floor, and then I go to my room. It's dark inside, but once I've switched on the lamp by the desk I take a seat and, while my laptop is loading up, I open the packet that the woman gave me. Pulling out a small collection of photos, I'm shocked to see that the first one shows me, holding a dress up against my body while my phone is wedged between my neck and my shoulder. It was just a few hours ago that I was talking to Kate while trying to decide what to wear, and now it seems that the woman, despite having her blinds closed, was taking photos of me the whole time.

  I check the next photo.

  I stare at the image, and immediately I feel a cold chill pass through my body. It can't be, but at the same time...

  It is...

  For this photo, the woman zoomed out a little, and while the image still shows me holding a dress up against myself, there's now a second figure in the shot. Standing a little way behind me, there's a woman wearing a long gray dress and a clean white apron. I try to tell myself that I don't recognize her, that this is just some trick of the light and I'm losing my mind, but finally I have to admit that I know exactly who she is.

  It's the gray-skinned woman from the house.

  Part Five

  The Disappearance of Lisa Barnes

  Chapter One

  John

  "Dr. Maynard, there are two policemen here to see you."

  Sitting at my desk, I stare at the speaker for a moment. There are a million reasons why the police might be here, although I can't help but instantly assume the worst.

  "Dr. Maynard?" Jenny asks. "Should I send them in?"

  "Yes," I say quickly, realizing that there's no way I can stall any longer. "Absolutely, send them in."

  As the line cuts, I look over at the door and realize that I have probably twenty, maybe thirty at most, seconds until they reach the office. Glancing around the room, I start to panic as I try to work out if there's anything that shouldn't be here. I get to my feet and hurry over to the coffee table, then to the bookcase, but everything seems to be in order. Still, I have this burning feeling that I've forgotten something, that somewhere in here I've left a -

  There's a sudden knock on the door.

  I freeze.

  Forcing myself to remember that there's no need to be worried, at least not yet, I head to the mirror and check that my tie's straight, before making my way to the other side of the room, pausing for a moment, and then finally opening the door to reve
al two hulking policemen, heavily laden down with various radios and other equipment. Frankly, they look more like soldiers than ordinary officers of the law.

  "Good morning," I say with a calculated smile. "Please, come in."

  As they step through the door, I can't help but feel a little intimated. They don't seem particularly friendly, and although I was hoping that they'd apologize for disturbing me, they seem much more cautious. Perhaps even suspicious.

  "I hope nothing's wrong," I continue as I push the door shut and head over to my desk. "Please, take a seat and let me know how I can help you."

  "I'm afraid we're here about one of your patients," the first officer says. "Lisa Barnes?"

  "Lisa," I reply as I sit down, "yes, she's been a patient of mine almost since I moved up here. I hope nothing's wrong..."

  "Unfortunately she's been reported missing by her family," the officer continues. "She left their house at around 8am this morning after an argument, and there's been no sign of her since. Ordinarily we'd wait twenty-four hours before considering this to be a missing persons case, but Lisa's psychological state means that we feel it prudent to work a little faster."

  "Lisa is a very troubled young woman," I reply cautiously. "She has a history of mental illness and depression, as well as self-destructive tendencies and a number of self-harming incidents."

  "Her family say she's tried to commit suicide in the past," the officer continues.

  "Yes," I reply, "broadly speaking, that's true. There have been incidents with pill intake, as well as some cutting on her arms and belly. I'd hesitate to characterize those as actual suicide attempts, though. In my opinion, she was crying out for help on each occasion."

  "So in your professional opinion, she's not a suicide risk?"

  "I didn't say that," I tell him. "Her psychological condition is very vulnerable and fragile. If something has triggered an emotional collapse at home, she could very much be in danger."

  "And are you aware of any place she might go if she wanted to hide?" he asks.

  "I'm afraid not," I continue. "Lisa's twenty-two years old, but in many ways she has the emotional intelligence of someone four or five years younger. That's not to say that she's not smart, but she lets her emotions lead her decisions and she's very impulsive." I pause for a moment as I try to work out what these police officers want from me. "Her impulsive episodes usually only last for a few hours," I add, "but of course, a few hours is a long time for someone like Lisa. If you're worried that she's in danger of harming herself, then I'd have to say that it's a possibility."

  "We need to find her as quickly as possible," the officer continues. "She has no phone with her, and as far as we're aware she has no money or food. Obviously there's also the matter of the storm, which is expected to hit in a few hours' time. If conditions are as bad as the current forecast suggests, Lisa could be in real danger if she's outside for any length of time."

  "Absolutely," I reply, glancing at the window and seeing the dark clouds gathering in the distance. "I saw the news earlier. It seems we're in for quite a battering tonight." I pause for a moment, wondering how to raise my next question. "You say she doesn't have a phone with her," I continue cautiously. "Are you sure about that? Maybe -"

  "We found her phone in her room," he replies.

  "Huh." I pause again. "Did you -"

  "She wiped all her call records and texts before she went," he continues. "It seems like quite a deliberate act. We can get that information from the phone company, but it'll take time. For now, it's clear that she doesn't want to be contacted."

  I nod, although deep down I'm starting to worry. I can understand why a girl like Lisa might choose to wipe her phone, but that only means it'll take longer for certain details to emerge. Unless she shows up soon, I'm eventually going to have to explain why I've been talking to Lisa so frequently, including all those late-night calls. This is a problem that I definitely hadn't anticipated.

  "Dr. Maynard," the officer continues, "is there anything at all that you can think of that might help up locate Lisa? Perhaps she mentioned a favorite place where she likes to go when she wants to be alone, or a friend who might be giving her shelter?"

  "She doesn't have any friends," I tell him. "At least, that's what she always said to me. She feels very isolated living up here, so far from a major city, and her mental difficulties have made it very hard for her to make connections with anyone in the area. I find it hard to believe that she could have a friend anywhere. As for places where she might hide, your guess is as good as mine. If she's left the town and headed out into the forest or the farmland, it's hard to think of anywhere she could find shelter."

  "She was on foot," the officer points out, "so she can't have gone too far."

  "She's probably still in the grip of an impulsive episode," I reply. "Once that ends, she'll hopefully calm down and realize that she needs to get home. The biggest danger, in my opinion, is that she might be too late to get home before the storm hits." I pause for a moment, trying to work out if there's anything else I can say that might make them understand that I care. "I hope you find her quickly," I add eventually. "I'd hate to think of her being out there all alone."

  "We have to get back to the station so we coordinate a search effort," the officer replies, as he and his colleague head toward the door, "but if you think of anything that might help, please get in touch."

  "Of course," I reply, getting to my feet and hurrying over to show them out.

  "Just one more thing," he says as he steps out into the corridor and turns back to me. "You met with Lisa Barnes twice a week, didn't you? In this office?"

  "That's right," I reply, aware that the other officer seems to be staring intently at me.

  "Isn't that a little unusual?" he asks. "I would have thought that you'd refer a patient like Lisa Barnes to a specialist unit rather than continuing to see her so frequently yourself."

  "Yes," I reply, trying to stay calm, "that's absolutely what I'd do." I pause for a moment. "In Lisa's case," I add, "there were some complications. She reacted quite negatively to the district psychiatrists she saw, and I felt that her overall care was suffering. I've been trying to work out a different approach, but in the meantime I felt it was good to see her regularly so that I could make sure she was okay."

  "But she needs a psychiatrist?" the officer asks.

  "Absolutely," I reply.

  "And she hasn't been seeing one?"

  "She's been seeing me."

  "But you're not a psychiatrist."

  "I'm arranging for her to be referred to one," I tell him, trying not to sound too defensive. "As I just explained -"

  "That's fine," he replies with a faint smile, interrupting me. "We don't want to take up any more of your time, Dr. Maynard, but please, if you think of anything, don't hesitate to call us. Even if you think it's something trivial, let us be the judge."

  "Of course," I reply. "I'll do anything in my power to help. I only hope you find her soon."

  As soon as they've left, I hurry to the window and stare out at the parking lot. After a couple of minutes, I watch the police officers heading out to their car, and finally they drive away. My heart is racing as I grab my jacket as I try to decide what to do next. I never thought that Lisa would do something this reckless, but there's a huge storm on its way to the town and if she thinks she can hide out in the countryside, she's making a mistake that could turn out to be fatal. I have to make sure that she's okay, but first I've got a full afternoon's patient list to get through. I have no idea how I'm going to concentrate; I have no choice, though.

  I can't afford to raise any suspicions.

  Chapter Two

  John

  "Lisa?" I call out as I push open the door to the cabin. "Are you here?"

  Silence.

  "Lisa?"

  I wait for a reply, but there's nothing. She's not here.

  It's a little after 5pm, and I was convinced that this is where she'd be hiding. Making my way
across the cramped little space, I look out for any sign that she might have been here, but the place looks to be completely undisturbed and it's pretty obvious that no-one has walked through the door since the last time we were up here. I even check the garbage, in case she came and then tried to cover her tracks, but all I find are the old bottles and wrappers from the previous visit.

  Heading to the window, I look out at the desolate fields that surround the town. In the best of circumstances, it's not the kind of place where anyone should be out alone. With the oncoming storm that's due to hit around nightfall, I can't help but feel that it would be fatal for someone to even attempt to spend a night out in the open. If she didn't have the good sense to come to the cabin by now, she obviously hasn't thought this whole thing through.

  Figuring that I can't afford to be found out here right now, I head out the door, but before I go to my car I stop for a moment and do something I haven't done in a long, long time: I lock the cabin door and then I slip a padlock through the bolt. The windows are already made from reinforced glass, so with the door firmly locked, there's no way anyone could ever break in to the cabin.

  If Lisa gets caught out in the storm, she'll almost certainly try to make for the cabin. And if that happens, she won't be able to get inside.

  Slipping the keys into my pocket, I head to my car.

  Chapter Three

  John

  "Oh my God," Kelly says, standing stark naked at the window. "John, you have to come see this!"

  Rolling over in bed, I see that it's barely 7am, but Kelly has already pulled the curtains open and a kind of blinding white light is filling the room. It's the last thing I need after staying up until 2am drinking red wine, but as I try to shield my eyes, I realize that there's no point spending any more time in bed. There'll be a queue of sick and angry patients waiting to see me from 9am as usual.