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 that 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