In the reflection of the door’s glass, Richard caught sight of a man standing at the back of the office, behind his desk. He yelped in surprise then spun back. There was no man there.
But there had been someone, he thought. He had a large stocky build, dark shirt and trousers, with a lighter coloured tie.
The face was imprinted in his mind. A round face, pockmarked with acne scarring, a day or two’s thick stubble growth. And eyes. He shivered. The narrow eyes had been full of hatred.
Richard gulped and inched his way around the perimeter of the room, warily surveying as much as he could. He just wanted to get to his phone, make a phone call, ask for someone to help him with his door. There was no back way out anymore. In his makeshift kitchen was an outside door, but Richard had never needed the back entrance so when the lock broke a couple of years ago, he hadn’t replaced it. What was the point in paying a locksmith to replace something that never got used? Besides, it made the place more difficult to break into, didn’t it?
But your attempt to save money has cut off your other chance of escape.
Jesus, escape. Richard’s mouth went dry, the morning beer forgotten as he realised how ridiculous it was that he was working out how to escape from his own shop.
Richard stopped moving as he spotted something in the reflections from the back of the property listing boards.
The man was still inside the shop, his presence confirmed only by his reflection.
You’re tired. There was something funny about that pint. I knew there was. What the hell was I thinking? I should have stopped myself.
For a moment, there was a standoff. The figure in the reflection facing Richard whose body now seemed incapable of any movement at all. The reflection placed the man—When are you going to refer to that as a ghost? It’s a ghost. A goddamn fucking ghost and it will hurt you unless you get out of here.
But ghosts couldn’t hurt. Their whole raison d'être was to lurk around haunted houses and intimidate the living.
A whirring noise broke his train of thought and Richard looked around, breaking contact with the ghost in the reflection. He knew that sound, but he couldn’t place it.
Oh, right. Great.
The shop’s metal security shutters were lowering.
It’s shutting you inside.
Richard ran for the door again, the metal shutters already a third of the way down. He pulled at the snib, the metal knob slipping through his greasy fingers. People walked past on the street outside. Perhaps he could get their attention, get one of them to stop the shutters and try the door from the outside.
But no matter how hard he banged, nobody stopped or came to his rescue.
Soon, the only light in the room came through a fine crack at the bottom of the door.
He made his way to his desk and flicked the switch on his desk lamp. Nothing. Had he expected anything else?
Nothing can hurt you.
Except Richard didn’t believe that was true. Not for one second. If the entity in his shop could lock him in and operate the metal shutters, it could certainly hurt him.
He picked up his mobile and turned its LED torch on, shining it around the room, banishing the shadows from the edges. His heart galloped like he’d just finished a 10k and his chest felt tight. If he’d been out running, that would have been a good sign to pack it in for the day and take a rest.
“Whoever you are, you don’t need to scare me. For the record, I’m petrified and totally believe in you. Why not leave me alone? I’m nothing to you.”
The room was silent, apart from Richard’s ragged breathing.
He turned the phone’s light off, then dialled his wife.
It took ten rings for her to answer. Ten rings where he got to enjoy the sound of his racing heart and broken breath.
“What’s up?” She sounded like she was speaking from the middle of a crowd. A multitude of voices threatened to swallow her voice.
“I need help. I’m stuck in the office.”
“Richard?”
“I’m locked in. Come round. Call a locksmith.”
The voices at the other end became louder. Hannah was talking but Richard struggled to hear what she was saying.
“...you’re...what’s the matter wi—” The line went dead.
Richard glared at the handset in disbelief. He pressed the home button again, but the screen refused to turn on. There was no way the phone hadn’t had a full charge. He barely used the thing, and he knew it was on one hundred percent when he’d unplugged it that morning.
Richard ran for the kitchen. There was less space in there, and fewer reflections. Fewer places to hide. And there was a selection of knives. Richard wasn’t trying to kid himself that a knife made a great weapon against a ghost, but it was better than using a dead handset.
As he reached the kitchen doorway, he turned, and staggered back in terror.
The man was in front of him. No longer hiding in reflections. He was over six-foot-tall, the facial features, snarled up into a vicious grimace. Richard bumped into his desk, and something knocked over, he didn’t care to look to see what it was.
“What do you want?”
The man’s mouth opened, and Richard thought he might have heard a sound, a gasp of air that could have been the start of a sentence, or the answer he’d been hoping for.
But there was nothing that he could discern. The thing either couldn’t speak or chose not to.
Richard drifted around his desk, never taking his eyes away from the apparition. And the thing took a step into the main part of the shop. Richard could almost hear the thing’s footsteps. He thought he could almost smell the thing. and it smelt of all the dead things.
Damn, there was that tightness in his chest again. Worse this time.
“Leave me alone. What do you want with me?” His mouth was painfully dry, the words scratching their way out from his throat.
The ghost continued towards him, cornering him at the back of the office furthest from the door.
His temple pounded like he was coming down with a migraine, and his arm felt peculiar like it no longer belonged to him. The face seemed to be trying to speak, its mouth opened and closed but no words came out.
A terrific pain in the side of his chest suddenly struck Richard. Daggers rising from just below his armpit, driving deep into his abdomen.
I’m having a heart attack, he thought. Oh my God, this is actually happening. I’m having a massive heart attack and I will never be able to tell anyone what I’ve seen.
33
Despite everything, Judy managed a decent night’s sleep. There was no sense that the house would be a problem for either her or Jemma that evening. Jemma was not the scared little girl that the previous night’s incident had suggested. If anything, seeing something in her room had made her stronger, more resilient.
Perhaps, she would be OK with them moving to a new house, perhaps she would understand. It wasn’t all about the money, families were complicated. But ultimately, this had to be something they decided to do together. It was wrong for Judy to put the house on the market without mentioning it to Jemma first. How would she feel if a ‘for sale’ board appeared in the front garden?
A pang of guilt hit her as she remembered the confused look on Jemma’s face when she saw Richard in the house. Had that been the first time she’d seen a real look of disappointment in her daughter’s eyes?
Over breakfast, Jemma had been focused on the day’s tests she had coming up. The school was putting their pupils through a week’s worth of testing in readiness for their final end of year exams. That meant Jemma had a science test and a geography test, and she was panicking about both of them. This wasn’t the right time to talk about house moves so Judy did the right thing and helped Jemma get her bag ready for school, reminding her of the revision cards she’d been using and asking her a few choice questions that Jemma had already highlighted the answers to.
After lunch, she sent a text message to Richard.
> Hi. Thanks for listening yesterday. Just promise me you won’t turn up with a giant ‘for sale’ board. I’ve not had chance to mention any of this to Jemma. She’s had enough surprises from you this week ;)
Richard didn’t reply straight away, and insanely, she felt that light breeze tickle the back of her neck as soon as she pressed the send button. Something was off but she couldn’t place her finger on it.
From beside the kettle, she drew her notepad close and flipped the cover. She’d last made a check in the house yesterday evening whilst Jemma had been ensconced in her bedroom revising. There had been no sign of any unusual activity and no sign of any Almost Doors.
It doesn’t mean there won’t be any now.
She picked up the pad and went from room to room, focusing on the doors that she knew were real and the spaces between them, tallying them up and making a mark on her pad. On the landing, she paused, her pencil in hand. Had that been a noise from the loft? After seeing the shape in the shadows she would not go up there again on her own.
At the threshold to Jemma’s room, she pushed open the door and looked inside. It was difficult to tell where the carpet began and the wardrobe ended. Clothes were strewn over the carpet and continued over the unmade bed. Judy sighed, remembering how quickly Jemma had agreed to tidy her room last night and the casual reply she’d got from her at the kitchen table over breakfast when asked whether she’d done it.
Yeah, it’s tidy, she’d told her. But then she’d looked back down at her revision cards and demanded another question from her mum.
There was nothing strange upstairs but the feeling that something was wrong didn’t leave her until she was back downstairs in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher.
Her phone buzzed with a notification.
Why were you texting my husband?
Judy’s legs no longer wanted to hold her body and she stumbled back into a kitchen chair, almost missing it, needing to reach out a hand for the table to stop herself falling onto her arse.
She stared at the message. Was it a joke? Was Richard messing with her? He hadn’t seemed the type to want to play practical jokes on her.
And it wasn’t as if the joke was in any way funny.
Why the fuck have you been txting each other all week!!!
Shit. This wasn’t a joke. Richard was married.
That feeling wasn’t going away. Something else was going on here and it was smothering her senses in a way that made her want to get out of the house and breathe in some fresh air.
Another notification came in, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at the handset. Then a minute later, Beyoncé started singing. Judy grabbed the phone, saw that it was Richard calling and swiped to end the call. It wasn’t Richard on the end of the phone.
What had happened? It must have been serious for Richard to tell his wife. Or had she found his phone unguarded and looked? How many other women had he been sleeping with?
Don’t be so precious as to think you were the only one. Once a cheater.
Had he slept with her just to get her business? No. That was stupid. He might have been desperate, but he couldn’t be sleeping with all his clients.
She picked up her turned-off handset and wished she could speak to him, find out why he’d been such a lying devious piece of shit. And the longer she stared at her phone, the worse the feelings became. She imagined tearing a new strip off him, even fantasised about ganging up on him with his wife. After all, they’d both been lied to.
Don’t make out you’re as much the victim as his wife. Who the hell do you think you are?
The drive to town passed by in a haze of regret and anger. It all made sense. The shifty nature, the reluctance to meet anywhere other than the shop or Judy’s place. His claim that he lived in a small flat with a nosey landlady had been another lie intended to keep her away from the truth.
What a fool she’d been.
Judy didn’t know how long she stood outside the estate agent’s looking at the closed door. The metal security shutters were down around the main windows, only up in front of the shop doorway.
What had happened here? Where was Richard? She stood on the doorstop and peered inside. That was odd, the deskphone was on the floor, like it had been brushed aside and forgotten. From inside the shop, music started to play. She knew instantly what the song was. She’d heard Dire Straits enough to recognise it within a couple of bars.
A woman’s voice behind her made her jump.
“I’m afraid it’s closed,” she said.
Judy spun around and stood facing a woman wearing the uniform of the bakery next door. In a hand, she held a coffee mug. She sipped it as she regarded Judy.
“I was looking for Richard,” Judy replied.
A grimace then on the woman’s face. It bunched up the lines on her forehead, and there was a hint of reluctance.
“I was the one who called the ambulance.”
Judy’s heart skipped a beat. “Come again.”
“There was a lot of banging, but I had my hands full with a tray of sausage rolls from the oven. I couldn’t just stop what I was doing. I thought he’d dropped something. So sad.”
Judy wanted to grab the woman by the shoulders but resisted. “I’m sorry, but what are you talking about? Where’s Richard? Why did he need an ambulance?”
“I heard them talking as they brought him out. I probably shouldn’t say anything.”
“Please, you’ve got to tell me.”
“Are you a customer?”
“No, yes. But a friend more than anything.”
“I’m sorry then, but it was a heart attack. He was dead by the time the ambulance got here.”
34
“I think we’re all in the most terrible danger.” Judy was standing on the doorstep of Lisa’s house. “You should leave. It’s not safe for you to be here.”
“What are you talking about?” Lisa’s posture was that of the sceptical housewife warding off the door-to-door salesman.
“Richard is dead. They say it’s a heart attack, but I think he was killed by the thing haunting your house—our houses.”
Judy looked up at the sky as she spoke, thinking that might help stop her breaking into tears. She didn’t tell Lisa her fear that the ghost might be Phil.
Lisa shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who is Richard?”
“It doesn’t matter who he is. Trust me, he was killed by the ghost. You need to let me in.”
Lisa sighed, then pushed open the door and let Judy come inside. The atmosphere was palpably different. The hallway was freezing. “It’s still here. I can feel it.”
“There’s nothing here, Judy. I made a mistake. It’s all in your head. I’m still feeling terrible for dragging you into something that you didn’t need dragging into.”
Judy studied her sister-in-law’s face. Something was different about her.
“How are you sleeping?”
“Fine. Much better.”
“Good. I’m glad. And how’s Ellis?”
“What is this? Twenty questions?”
Judy forced a chuckle. “Sorry. Habit, I guess.”
The pair of them walked through to the kitchen, Judy lingered behind a moment and glanced up the staircase. She couldn’t see the top of the stairs, let alone the entrance to Lisa’s bedroom. The atmosphere in here felt heavier somehow, like stuff was pressing down on her. She hurried back to catch up with Lisa and saw the back room hadn’t been tidied. It looked more like a student house-share than the home of two young professionals. A couple of plates with what looked like last night’s dinner sat on the coffee table, a scattering of used mugs accompanied the plates. An old towel had been dropped on the back of the armchair, still damp. The kitchen was worse. A smell like rotting potatoes clung in the air. Lisa didn’t seem to be aware of the smell. There were more plates and mugs on the side, waiting for someone to wash them, or load them in the dishwasher.
Lisa opened a cupboard and pulled ou
t the only remaining mug, plucking a second from the sink, rinsing it quickly under the tap before setting it down by the first. It still looked filthy and Judy made a note to abstain from drinking from it.
“So, this Richard? Was he a friend?”
“Yeah, an old friend. Someone from the school.”
“And he’s died of a heart attack? What’s that got to do with your ghost?”
“I’ve got a good reason to believe that the ghost was involved.”
“It’s sometimes better isn’t it, when the death is sudden like a heart attack. I know it’s a shock, but it can be better to cope with. Not like when Phil died. That was quite a long painful road, wasn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
Where are you going with this? Judy thought. Why do you keep bringing Phil’s death back into the conversation? You didn’t know him like I knew him. You wouldn’t have wanted to know him.
“I’ve been thinking about him a lot.”
“Phil? Why’s that?”
“I just get the sense that there was more going on before he died than he ever shared. You’ve never really spoken about his illness or how difficult it must have been for you.”
And there’s a good reason for that.
“I wouldn’t want to upset you with it.”
“I’m not upset.” Lisa dropped a tea bag into each mug, then filled the kettle from the tap. “I suppose I regret not taking the time to help you out more.”
“There wasn’t anything you could have done. You’ve got no reason to be sorry for anything. Just knowing you were there if I needed to talk to someone was helpful enough.”
Lisa laughed. “Don’t be stupid. I wasn’t talking about helping you. I only ever wanted to help Phil. I know he was Dad’s favourite, never going to forget that, and he had a decent job—even if that meant working for Dad—but he was still stuck with you and that weird daughter of yours. It must have been enough to drive him mad.”
Where was all this bitterness coming from? “I don’t think you’re thinking straight. Why do you feel the need to say these things? What’s happened to you?”
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