by Amy Cross
This time, after a couple of seconds, there's another faint creak, and it seems to be a little closer to the door.
“I'm wide awake,” I add, “as you can tell. If you're going downstairs, can you get me something from the fridge? I don't care what, I'm just hungry.”
I wait.
“Scott? Come on, don't be annoying, just go to the fridge for me and -”
Before I can finish, I see that something is moving outside my door. A shadow has began to edge into view across the patch of moonlight, which means that whoever's out there, they're standing in front of the window next to the top of the stairs, which in turn means that they've definitely heard me and are slowly inching toward my door.
“Scott?” I whisper again, determined not to let him know that he's freaking me out. It's just like him to try doing something like this on our first night here. “Listen,” I continue, “I get it, you can't sleep so you want to bug me, but that's not really fair when I can't get you back. Either fetch me something from the fridge, or just go back to bed. I know it's boring here, but that doesn't mean you have to act like an idiot all the time.” I wait for a reply. “Go and bug Mom and Dad, or -”
Suddenly there's a faint bump out on the landing, and the shadow pulls back out of view.
“Scott?”
Sighing, I wait for him to come back, but after several minutes have passed I realize he must have managed to get back to his room without making another sound.
“You're an ass-hat,” I mutter, easing myself down onto my back and staring up at the ceiling. I know it's going to take a while to get back to sleep, but it's not like I have any other choice. I don't have any books up here yet and I can't even reach the light-switch, so all I can do is wait for tiredness to creep over me once again. After a few minutes, I hear another faint creak out on the landing, but this time I don't even bother to call out. If Scott wants to be an idiot, let him. I'll just wait until I eventually fall asleep and -
Suddenly the floorboard creaks right next to my bed.
I turn, but there's no-one there.
See? I'm already getting jumpy and Scott's definitely not helping. Taking a deep breath, I settle again and close my eyes. I have a feeling the next few weeks are going to be really goddamn tough.
***
“It's a new house,” Mom replies the next morning as she uses a sponge and a bucket of warm water to help me wash on the bed. “I didn't sleep well either, I was tossing and turning all night.”
“Can't you tell him to stay in his room?” I ask, raising my right arm so she can clean the pit. I hate being washed like this, like some kind of cripple, but at least it shouldn't take too long. Then again, I'm not really looking forward to seeing what the shower is like in this place, or trying to maneuver with my legs in plastic covers once I'm able to get around. “Either that, or chain him to his bed at night.”
“He says he didn't get up.”
“He's lying.”
“Obviously, but...” She pauses as she dips the sponge into the bucket of water. “You know what Scott's like. You and he have always had something of an antagonistic relationship, and now he sees you as a sitting target. You need to get smarter and think of ways to stop him.”
“I don't want to become his hobby,” I reply firmly. “He's annoying enough as it is.”
“I'll get your Dad to talk to him when he gets back from the store,” she continues, moving the bucket away now that she's done. “Do you need the toilet?”
I shake my head.
“Be honest, Annie.”
I pause, before nodding. Damn it, I hate being like this.
“I thought so,” she replies, getting to her feet. “I'll fetch the pan from downstairs.”
“Do I really have to pee in a pan?” I ask, wincing at the very idea. After yesterday's attempts, I'm really not looking forward to feeling that cold steel again. “Can't I have, like, a catheter or something?”
“It's just for a few more weeks.”
“It's humiliating.”
“Don't you think you're overreacting just a little?” she replies, heading out the door. “Come on, you need to pee, you can't hold it in until you're on your feet again.”
“Can you try to find some of my books?” I call after her. Hearing her heading down the stairs, I wait for a reply. “Mom? Can you try to find some of my books? Please?”
I wait, but I have no idea whether she heard me or not.
“I promise!” Scott calls out from somewhere else in the house, and a moment later I hear the back door opening.
Leaning on my left elbow, I turn and look out the window, and sure enough I see Scott racing across the garden, heading straight toward the forest. The way he's running, it's almost like he's mocking me, and for a moment I can't help feeling jealous. Damn it, I never thought I'd actually want to be out there scampering around in nature, but compared to being stuck in this bed, the idea seems positively -
And then I see her.
Over at the far end of the garden, a little way past the spot where Scott just ran, there's a woman in a white nightgown standing with her back to the house, seemingly looking down at a spot on the ground.
Squinting to get a better view, I keep expecting to suddenly realize that I'm wrong, that it's a trick of the light, but I feel a slow, creeping sense of fear as I realize that the woman is definitely there. From this angle, all I can tell is that she looks to be an adult and that she has dark, shoulder-length hair. I can't see anything on the ground in front of her, but she's just standing there, staring down as if something is really fascinating her. Looking over toward the trees, I realize that Scott is almost out of sight, and a moment later he disappears into the shadows. I turn back to look at the woman, but she's still just standing there, watching the ground.
“Annie's room,” Mom says suddenly.
I turn to her and see that she's standing in the doorway, holding the metal pan as she runs a finger across part of the door jamb.
“I never noticed that before,” she mutters with a frown.
“Mom, there's a woman outside,” I reply, turning to look back out the window. “Do you -”
Stopping, I realize that the woman has disappeared. I look around, but there's no sign of her anywhere, not even when I crane my neck to look down at the yard immediately outside the back door. I swear I was only looking away for a few seconds, and it's hard to believe the woman could have got away unless she ran like hell. Oh God, I guess it's true: people in the countryside really are weird.
“I guess Scott must have done this,” Mom continues, before bringing the pan over to the bed. “Funny, I -”
“There was a woman out there,” I tell her, still looking out the window. “Did you see her?”
“A woman out where?” She looks out at the garden for a moment. “I don't see anyone.”
“She was right there,” I reply, pointing to the spot about a hundred meters away from the back door where the woman was standing. “She was wearing a white dress and she had black hair. Come on, you must have seen her.”
“I was just in the kitchen,” she tells me. “I even went out into the yard to find a hose, so I'm pretty sure I'd have spotted someone. Besides, no-one's knocked on the door.”
“I'm not making it up!”
“Okay, whatever, just -”
“Mom, I'm not!”
She sighs, and I can tell she doesn't entirely believe me. Then again, I probably sound nuts, so I don't really blame her. “Annie,” she continues, “I get that your imagination is probably running overtime right now, but please don't come up with stuff like this. I would absolutely know if there had been a woman out there in the garden just now, and I'm sure she would have knocked. I mean, it's not impossible that one of the neighbors might make a trek out here to welcome us, but I don't think they'd just stand around in the garden and then leave without saying hello.”
“There was someone out there,” I reply, still watching the garden, convinced that the woman h
as to show up again. “Scott must have seen her. Ask him when he gets back.”
“Annie...”
“I want my camera,” I continue, turning to her. “Can you please find the boxes with my stuff in and bring them up? I want to get my digital camera out and have it ready. If that woman comes back, I'm gonna get a picture of her and then you'll have to believe me.”
“I'm working through the boxes methodically.”
“My boxes have my name on them.”
“And I told you, I haven't found them yet.”
“So they're lost?”
“They're down there somewhere,” she continues, lifting the duvet and sliding the metal pan into the bed. “I'll be up in a few minutes to collect this, okay? Don't be embarrassed, just do your business.” She heads to the door. “And I swear, I'll find something for you to read, even if it's just something from one of my boxes. I figured you might go stir crazy in this room, Annie, but I didn't think it'd happen on the first morning.”
“I'm not crazy,” I mutter, slipping the pan under myself. “There was a woman out there and she was -”
I let out a gasp as soon as I feel the cold metal against my skin.
“Where the hell did you keep this thing?” I hiss. “The fridge?”
As I do what I need to do in the pan, I turn and look back out the window. I know Mom thinks I'm going crazy up here in my room, like I'm some kind of wannabe Rear Window freak, but I know what I saw and I'm not quite at the stage yet where I'm going to start doubting my sanity. There was a woman in the garden, and something about her didn't seem right. Suddenly, being out here in this remote house feels even more unsafe than before. Good job I don't believe in ghosts.
At least, I think I don't believe in them.
Four
Seventy-one years ago
“There are a lot more worms here,” I tell Father as I scoop up some dirt in my right hand and watch the worms wriggling in the clumped soil. Some of them manage to squeeze between my fingers, which tickles, but I like it. “Why are there more in this part of the garden than everywhere else?”
“Mulch,” he replies, digging more soil up as he works to create a new patch for vegetables.
That one word doesn't really answer my question, but I suppose it would be wrong of me to press the matter. I want Father to think that I'm learning. I turn my hand around in the sunlight, watching as the worms continue to wriggle, and then I smile as I let the handful of dirt fall to the ground. Looking down, I see the worms wriggling away from their crash, trying to find a way back underground. It's almost as if they're panicking. I can't help but smile.
“What's this for?” I ask, heading over to one of the trowels that's propped against an old tree trunk.
“It's a trowel,” Father mutters.
“But it looks different to the others.”
“It's for border work. You'll learn.”
A moment later, I spot a hint of movement out of the corner of my eye. Turning, I see that Mr. Clement from the town is headed this way along the road that runs across our property. He rarely comes all the way out here, and when he does it usually means there's something important to discuss, so I can't help but feel a little concerned as I use my right hand to shield my eyes from the sun and watch him for a moment longer. He's walking fast, and the expression on his face strikes me as being a little unfriendly. Father won't like this; he never likes it when people come out to visit us from town, he prefers to be left alone.
“Father,” I say, “Mr. Clement is here.”
Taking a step back, I watch as Father drops his shovel and brushes his hands against his shirt, and then he adjusts his trousers and makes his way over to join the visitor. Just from the way he stomps across the grass, I can tell he's already annoyed.
“Go inside,” he says sternly.
“But if -”
“Go inside.”
Realizing that I must obey at once, I hurry to the back steps and then into the kitchen, although then I stop and wait, hoping to be able to hear the conversation that follows.
“Jonathan,” Mr. Clement says, his tones sounding clipped and tense. As a member of the town council, he has no reason to be out here unless it's on official business, and if there's one thing I know Father hates more than any other, it's official business. I lean back around the doorway and watch as Mr. Clement reaches out to shake Father's hand. Father makes no move to reciprocate. “Fine day,” Mr. Clement continues, forcing a smile that seems awfully hollow. “I see you've started work on your -”
“What do you want?” Father asks, interrupting him.
“Well, I was just in the area and -”
“What do you want, man?” Father asks again. “Can't you see I'm busy?”
“Of course.” Reaching into his pocket, Mr. Clement slips out an envelope. “Truth be told, Jonathan, I'm here with a message for your wife. It's just that a letter came for her and it was being stored at the office, and I was hoping to pass it on to her at some point but she hasn't been into town in such a long time so I finally figured I should come out here and deliver it in person.” He holds the envelope out, but Father doesn't take it. “I trust that Rebecca is in good health?” Mr. Clement adds, glancing toward the house.
I step back, to make sure I'm not seen.
“She's fine,” Father replies. “There's no need for anyone to fuss.”
I lean a little farther past the door-frame, so as to see them again.
“It's hardly fussing,” Mr. Clement continues, “it's just... Well, a few of us were talking and we realized it's been years since your wife was seen in town. Your daughter, too. Is Annie okay?”
“Annie's fine.”
“I hear she hasn't been to school ever. Are you educating her yourself?”
“She can learn everything she needs from me.”
“Even so -”
“Everything is quite alright out here,” Father tells him, taking the letter. “I'll see to it that Rebecca receives this, and if there's any need to reply to whoever sent it, I'm sure she'll do so. I don't know why people bother writing letters, though. It's just another way of butting into everyone's business.” He pauses. “Is there anything else you came out here for, Mr. Clement, or is your visit done with now?”
“Well...” Mr. Clement glances toward the house again, and I fear that he spots me briefly even though I step back out of sight. “We don't see much of any of your folk in town these days,” he continues. “You must be doing very well with the land out here, not to need to come and fetch supplies.”
“I know how to work my property,” Father replies. “I don't need outside help.”
“I'm sure you don't, it's just -”
“And part of that means getting on with work,” Father adds, “and not wasting time on needless things. I'll make sure that my wife gets this letter, and I thank you for taking the trouble to come all the way out here. Other than that, Mr. Clement, I'm quite certain our business is concluded for today. I hope you'll enjoy the walk back to town.”
I lean past the door-frame again, and I can't help smiling as I see the discomfort on Mr. Clement's face. Father is always so good at dealing with such people, and Mr. Clement is one of the worst of the people from town, all needly and officious.
“Well...” Mr. Clement pauses, but it's clear that he understands he's not welcome. “Of course, Mr. Garrett. It was good to see you again. Perhaps we shall have the pleasure of your custom in town some time soon?”
“Stranger things have happened,” Father replies, taking up his shovel again and turning his back on Mr. Clement, so as to get back to work.
A moment later, Mr. Clement looks toward the house again, and this time we make eye contact briefly. I can't help giggling, and I can tell that my reaction has disquieted him. I pull back out of sight, and after a few seconds I realize I can hear him walking away. I stay hidden until I'm sure he's gone, and then I step out onto the porch and watch as Father continues to dig.
If I ever get ma
rried, I don't want a weakling like Mr. Clement. I want a real man, like Father.
Five
Today
“No, she won't mind at all,” Mom says, as I hear multiple sets of footsteps coming up the stairs. “I think she'll be glad to meet new people.”
Looking up from the old fashion magazine I've been reading, I realize that the visitors, whoever they are, are about to be brought up to meet me. I heard them knocking on the front door a few minutes ago, but I never imagined that Mom would actually let them see me when I'm in such a mess. Tossing the magazine aside, I quickly arrange the duvet before reaching over and sliding the window up, just to let some fresh air through.
I turn back to the door and begin to sit up, just as Mom appears with a smile and ushers a blonde woman and her equally blonde daughter into view. The visitors are both wearing such bright, garish clothes, I actually feel like I need sunglasses just to look at them.
“Annie,” she says, “I want you to meet Harriet Roland and her daughter Tabitha. They live in that beautiful white house we passed on the way here, and they drove all the way over to welcome us to the neighborhood.”
“Hi,” I reply, forcing a smile. “Nice to meet you.”
While Tabitha holds back a little shyly, her mother Harriet hurries into the room and reaches out to shake my hand. Suddenly there's an overpowering smell of over-applied cologne.
“My word,” she says loudly, “what happened to you, you poor thing? You look like you've been in the wars!”
“Annie fell off her bike,” Mom explains. “Well, more like she flew off and got launched over a railing. She ended up with two broken legs.”
“How awful,” Harriet continues, lifting the bottom of the duvet so she can see my plaster casts. She doesn't seem to care too much about personal boundaries. “Oh, how terrible.” She turns to her daughter. “Tabitha, look at this poor girl! I've told you over and over to be careful on your bike, and now you can see why! Do you want to end up like this?” She waits for a reply. “Well, do you?”
