by Kait Nolan
Evie was on the third step when she heard the familiar creak of the mail slot and the soft flop of a single letter hitting the floor.
She turned around and saw the familiar envelope lying on the floor, her stomach lurching as she recognized the black lettering. She picked it up and then ran to the door, tearing it open to see who had delivered it. No one was there. She walked out on the porch, but the yard was empty.
Back inside, she locked the door and opened the letter, letting the envelope fall to the floor as she read the note inside.
“Sometimes, Evelyn,” it read, “I wonder what you do in the big house by yourself. I would have thought that by now you would have uncovered some of its secrets. In all those renovations, you haven’t found what is hidden in its depths? In its walls? Beneath the old floor boards? You will. I have other questions, too. Like what color your eyes are. It’s hard to tell. Light, I know that, but that doesn’t tell me much. Are they light blue? Or maybe bright electric blue, a cerulean sea? Perhaps they are green, maybe with flecks of gray or rimmed in brown. Never mind these little questions. I’ll know the answers soon enough. I’ll know those eyes intimately. Do you know how I dream of seeing them close? How I think of how soft your skin must feel?”
The letter continued, but Evie crumpled it up into a ball and let it fall to her feet, unable to read anymore. She made it to the bathroom just in time for the contents of her stomach to come up. She sat on the floor next to the toilet, panting and sweating. Then she picked herself up and called the police.
~*~
She opened the door to see the same men who had come to her house the last time, the same police officers who had so smugly suggested that she had forgotten where she had put her electrical cord.
She didn’t even wait for them to speak. “Does this look like I made it up?” She waved the letter in the air between them as she spoke. “You think I’m crazy now? ‘Cause this looks pretty damn real to me!”
The cop on the right looked annoyed, but the other one shook his head, warning his partner to be quiet, and spoke. “May I see the letter please?”
Evie narrowed her eyes but handed the letter over.
He took a moment and then handed it back.
Evie folded it twice and stuck it in her back pocket. “Well?”
“Well,” he said, speaking slowly, appearing to choose his words carefully. “You’re right to be concerned. But there’s no real threat here. Unfortunately, I think all we have here is a poor lovesick fellow.”
“Yeah,” Evie said. “One who wants me to believe that there’s some ghost lurking in this house.”
“Ghost?”
Evie shook her head. “Just something he wrote. The Watcher, that’s what he calls himself.”
“There are other letters then.”
“Just one more. I saved it this time.”
“We’re gonna need to see it.”
~*~
“I really don’t know where it is,” Evie said. “I put it in the kitchen drawer. I remember slamming it shut, but….” It hadn’t been there. She had looked all over the kitchen, her bedroom, the living room. But the letter was nowhere to be found.
“Miss, we can look around the house, if you’d like. Make sure everything is secure, but I’m afraid there’s not much here for us.”
Evie pulled the letter she got today from her back pocket. “But I’ve got this one. That’s something, right? Shouldn’t you take it with you? Open an investigation? Find out who is stalking me?”
“This alone isn’t evidence of stalking. Besides, stalking is a tricky crime to prosecute in Mississippi. The laws are barely there. We’d need at least a direct threat to you. Something. This isn’t anything, except maybe evidence of someone who likes you.”
“He says he wants to feel my skin!” Evie’s voice was near the breaking point. She struggled to maintain composure.
“And he talks about your blue eyes. Probably just paying you a compliment. A weird one.” He shook his head, a small smirk budding on his face. “Probably some guy who has no clue how to speak to a woman.”
“This is more than a gentleman caller,” Evie shouted. “And I think you know that. Jesus Christ, what good are you if you can’t keep me safe? Isn’t that your job? I have a creep who’s stalking me. The least you can do is go after him!”
“Do you know exactly how difficult it is to track a letter? It’s nearly impossible. And that’s if a crime has been committed, which there hasn’t been. It isn’t against the law to write someone a letter. You can’t call the police every time someone says something that makes you uncomfortable. You’re an attractive lady. You’re going to get admirers.”
The second cop, who had been silent up to this point, stepped forward. “I think that’s all we can do here. Don’t hesitate to call us if you have a problem.” He smiled at Evie in a way that made her skin crawl. He hit his partner in the arm. “Let’s get back to the station.” And he turned and left.
Evie looked to the first man. “Please,” she said.
His face softened. “Legally, our hands are tied. At least without a credible and direct threat to your person. But if I were you, I’d keep those letters. Keep all of them. Keep track of what’s happening. You’ll need it to press charges against this guy. And I wouldn’t stay out here. Not alone.”
Evie nodded and watched him walk back to his car.
Chapter Seven
That night she couldn’t sleep. Evie picked up her phone almost without thinking. She felt more alone now than she ever had.
EVIE: Give me a distraction.
The dotted bubble appeared almost immediately, and for a moment, Evie felt a pang of jealousy. Luc responded quickly, which meant he had the phone near him or in his hand. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that she wasn’t the only one he was texting. She couldn’t be. This was a job for him, she had to remind herself of that, and of course he would have other clients he had to tend to. Other women. Her stomach clenched at the thought but her phone dinged before she had much time to obsess over it.
LUC: I was just thinking about you! Perfect timing. Just about to text you.
Evie smiled. She would take that. Even if she knew it to be a lie, she would take it.
LUC: What’s going on?
EVIE: Just a bad day. No need to rehash the gory details.
LUC: Sorry, babe.
Evie smiled, warmth beginning to creep across her body. She was beginning to relax, to feel more normal once again.
EVIE: Would another phone call be out of the question? Or did I already use that up?
The dialogue bubble appeared, and Evie waited, a bit afraid that he may deny her, or worse, offer to sell her a higher account. She was just about to retract the idea when the bubble disappeared. He had stopped typing. She held her breath waiting for his reply.
Instead, her phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Evie?” Luc’s voice was full and warm. Evie closed her eyes, feeling her body step into the relief that he offered and letting it rush over her. “You still there?”
“Yeah, sorry.” She opened her eyes, unsure why she felt the need to apologize. “Are you really from New Orleans?”
“Yeah, I’ve lived here about four years now. From Memphis originally.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Something upsetting you?”
“It’s just good to know you’re close by.”
“What’s going on?” His voice was soft, but deep with concern.
She told him the story, starting with the first letter, trying to tell him the whole story, but she knew she was leaving out details, downplaying the extent of how scared the whole thing made her. After she had finished telling him of the latest letter, she took in a deep breath and waited for his reaction.
He didn’t speak for a few moments.
“It was probably just a friend of mine playing a prank,” she said finally, unable to take the silence. “My sister likes to tease me about
the history of this place. You know, make me feel like I bought a haunted house. This is just something to be funny. I mean, nothing has really happened. Just a few letters. And the stuff moved around. But, I mean, really, what kind of big bad would feel the need to tidy up my house for me?”
She heard a gruff sound on the other end of the phone, as Luc cleared his throat. “Wait, you never said anything about that—was someone actually in your house?”
“I appreciate your concern, but really, I don’t think it’s any kind of big deal.”
“That’s not an answer. Was someone in your house?”
Now it was her turn to be silent.
“Evie?”
“Yes,” she said finally. “At least I think so. My contractor had told me that sometimes thieves target houses that are being renovated, so I started to be more aware of what was left out. You know, so I’d know if anything went missing.”
“And has anything gone missing?” Luc’s voice still had the sharp sound of panic.
“No.”
“Okay, well at least there’s that.”
“I mean, not really.” She paused and inhaled deeply. “Just some things had been moved. Like the ladder that I left downstairs was upstairs. Not gone, just in a new room. And some cords had been rewound, neatly put away. Things like that. Nothing sinister. Probably even more proof that it’s a friend or family member playing a little prank. Probably came out to check on me and put away things that I had missed.”
“You said you thought your sister might do that? Does that sound like something she would do?”
Evie shook her head. “Not exactly. She’s never been a big a prankster. Plus there’s no way that she could have moved the ladder by herself. She’s pregnant, like, hugely pregnant.” She paused and then quickly added, “But that doesn’t mean that another friend couldn’t have done this.”
“Okay then, who?” he prodded. “Are there any friends of yours who might do something like this? Someone you can think of?”
“Why do I feel like the guilty one here all of a sudden?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice audibly softening. “These letters have obviously freaked you out, and if someone has been in your house, then that’s something you need to take seriously. Promise me you are taking this seriously.”
Evie nodded. “I am,” she said, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that she was the one under interrogation, a child being reprimanded in the principal’s office. “Look, I appreciate that you want to help, really. But I can handle this myself. I was being dramatic anyway. I called the cops and they said as much. There wasn’t even a real threat being made. I’m making more of this last letter than I should.”
“See that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” he said, his voice stern. “Someone—whether a friend or not—has been in your house without your knowledge. That’s not okay. I know you want to play the ‘girl power’ card right now but that doesn’t mean you aren’t vulnerable. Someone was in your house, for Christ’s sake. That would scare the shit out of me. Hell, that would scare the shit out of anyone. And to be quite honest, it worries me that you aren’t more scared. I would think the cops could do something to help you. Maybe you should try again, tell them everything. Make them listen.”
“And what are they going to do?”
“Maybe find out who’s doing this, for starters. See if there is any real threat.”
“See,” she said, “even you admit that there might not be any real threat at all. This may all just be nothing.”
“You are a stubborn woman.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Just promise me that you’ll at least stay safe.”
She smiled, enjoying the fact that he, fake boyfriend or not, was expressing some very genuine concern for her. She had to admit that it did feel nice. “I promise.”
“I mean it,” he continued. “Double—no, triple check that the doors are locked. The windows, too. And don’t hide any keys outside. Or hang them where they are visible from a window. Someone could easily smash a window and get the key.”
“Got it,” she said, smiling.
“And at least consider getting a dog, preferably something big and mean.”
“A dog,” she said. “Got it.”
He made a kind of low growling noise on the other end of the phone, a sound of frustrated resignation.
“God damn it,” he said, “if I don’t always pick the stubborn women.”
She laughed at that. “Goodbye, Luc.”
“Goodbye,” he said, his voice filling her ear and sending a warm tingle throughout her body. “And promise me you will call the police again. Just check in with them. I bet they wouldn’t mind at least sending a car by your house to check things out.”
“Okay,” she conceded. “I’ll think about it. Bye.”
~*~
The phone call did make her feel better. Smiling, she went upstairs, phone in hand, to take a hot shower.
In her bathroom, she balanced the phone on the edge of the porcelain pedestal sink and stared at the blank screen, for a moment hoping that Luc would send a text through. He didn’t, but she still warmed at the thought of him. Either he truly cared for her, or he was damn good at making sure that she got every penny’s worth of her money. With attention like this, $24.95 was looking like a bargain. Why wasn’t everyone doing this? Maybe this was the relationship of the future, the technology age’s answer to loneliness. Whatever it was, it was good.
She turned on the water, and soon, the tiny bathroom was bathed in steam. Evie dropped her towel and stepped inside the shower, pulling the white cotton shower curtain closed behind her.
Normally, Evie was environmentally conscious. Just one of the problems she was having with her renovations was that she wanted her updates to be environmentally responsible, and that never came cheap. Plus, she ran into strife at every turn with the historical society, who seemed hell bent on maintaining the authenticity of the nineteenth-century home, even if meant foregoing the solar panels for electricity-devouring lighting, as long as that lighting was period-appropriate. But one thing that Evie never felt guilty about indulging in was long hot showers. The eco-warrior within her knew that shorter showers with lukewarm water were the way to go, but she couldn’t deny the singular pleasure of letting the near-scalding water run over her skin, the heavy mist building around her, blocking out—at least temporarily—the outside world. In here, it was just her, just the full pleasure of the water hitting her body, blocking out the worries, the frustrations, the thoughts that circled in her mind.
Tonight, she allowed herself an extra long shower, even by her standards. She hadn’t checked a clock, but she wouldn’t be surprised if she’d spent a full half hour in there, maybe longer, judging by the hot pink look of her skin.
She finally willed herself to turn off the flow of water, and the real world hit her with a hard line of cold air. Evie rushed to grab her towel, still fluffy from the last washing, and wrapped herself up in it, taking a moment to try and keep in as much of the shower’s heat as she could. When she felt she was warm once again, she dried off and wiped the steam from the mirror. She looked for more ghostly handprints but found none.
Her skin was pink and plump from the hot water, her cheeks flushed. She looked pretty, if she had to admit it. Wet, her hair looked a deep crimson, and she combed it carefully, watching the last of the setting sun bring out the different colors in it. For a moment, she entertained the thought that she might send Luc another picture of herself, one not covered in blood, but one cleanly scrubbed, a little bit flirty, a little bit sexy. She made a duck-face pout in the mirror, and laughed, quickly dismissing the idea. She had heard one too many horror stories of naked selfies ending up online for the world to see. That may be pardonable for a love-struck teenager, but a thirty-year-old widow wouldn’t have the same excuse.
Evie slathered lotion on her bare legs and thought about her last conversation with Luc. Calling the police o
ne more time might not be a horrible idea. Once, when she was a child, she had a babysitter who had heard scratches at the back door. Convinced an intruder was attempting to pick the lock, she called the cops, who came out, only to uncover the real culprit—Evie’s hamster, ChiChi, who had escaped his cage and was making his own attempt at unlocking the back door, by trying to burrow beneath it. The policeman had been kind, telling her that it was always the right call to tell the authorities. But Evie had seen the embarrassment on her babysitter’s face.
She wouldn’t make that mistake here. No need to call anyone until she knew what was really going on. No need to cause hysteria when nothing was actually happening.
Evie picked up her jeans and t-shirt from the floor and tossed them in the dirty laundry bin, noticing that her underwear had already landed there. Must’ve fallen in when she disrobed, she reasoned, and went into her bedroom for her nightshirt. Slipping it over her head, she went back to the bathroom to retrieve her phone, hoping more than a little that Luc had sent her a message. She tapped the screen, to see the clock appear on her lock screen. No new message.
Frowning, she swiped her finger across the screen to open the phone, expecting to see her home screen with all her apps, but instead she was greeted by a man’s face, or at least the scruff of his chin, on her phone’s screen. The rest of his face couldn’t be seen.
At first, Evie didn’t really understand what she was looking at—or how it had gotten on her phone. Her first thought was that maybe her Facebook app had been left open and this was a photograph from her news feed. She didn’t recognize the man, though. He was average looking, probably middle-aged, judging by his graying bits of beard. He looked to be about every forty-something white man she had ever seen. But there was something familiar about him, she was sure of it.
Something she recognized about—
Evie nearly dropped her phone as the cold realization hit her. It wasn’t the man she recognized, it was the room he was standing in. It was her bathroom. She recognized the white porcelain sink, the white curtain in the background, the fogged-over mirror.
