Fourteen Days

by Steven Jenkins

  Richard awoke to the sound of hard rain hitting the bedroom window. He hadn’t been able to drop off until about 5:30 a.m. The idea that his house might be haunted kept his mind busy throughout the night. Was everything that Karen had told him right? Was there a dead woman in his kitchen? Did she want something from him?

  And if so, what?

  What could Richard Gardener have that she needed? He wasn’t an expert when it came to the supernatural. He knew a little, but the majority of his knowledge came from movies and Stephen King novels.

  Not real life.

  Not his life.

  He slipped both hands behind his head. I’ll ask Nic about her dream when she wakes. He sighed. What’s the point? She’ll never believe me. And even if she does, she’ll come up with some logical explanation—that I won’t agree with—and then we’ll start arguing again. No, it’s not worth it. Best keep my mouth shut.

  Turning onto his side, he watched as Nicky began to stir. Maybe I’ll save it for another day. I think today I need to give this house a wide berth and try to enjoy my Sunday.

  Nicky half-opened her eyes and smiled. “What d’ya think you’re looking at?” she whispered.

  “Why don’t we do something nice today?” he asked.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know—just out.”

  Sitting up in bed, she glanced across at the window and noticed the rain outside. “But it’s pouring out.”

  “So what? We don’t have to have a picnic. We can just go for a drink. Or a meal. Or even to the cinema. What do you think?”

  Rubbing her eyes, she yawned. “Why don’t we just get some take-out and watch a DVD? We’ve got loads of films from Christmas we haven’t seen yet.”

  “Because I’ve spent the last week eating crap and watching DVDs. I’m sick of it. And you’re the one always saying we should go out more often.”

  “Fine. Point taken. Let’s go for Sunday lunch somewhere, and then go to the cinema. But no horror films. All right?”

  Beaming, he kissed her on the cheek, “All right, no horror films. Something we both like.” He then rolled out of bed. “Maybe we could even go out for breakfast too, and then hit the shops. We haven’t done that in ages.”

  Frowning, she climbed out of bed. “What’s with you? Why are you keen to leave so early?”

  He slipped on his jeans. “Like I said, I’ve been bored when you’ve been at work all day, and yesterday you had to visit your sister. So I think we should spend the whole day away from this house for a change.”

  “All right, if that’s what you want. I’ll take a quick shower and then we’ll go to The CoffeePot for breakfast.”

  “Sounds good.” Relief circulated through Richard’s entire body.

  Finally, a break from the house.

  They were sitting in the Forester Arms, eating their roast-beef dinners. As usual, Richard had almost finished his in record time, whereas Nicky seemed to have barely touched hers.

  Sipping his lager, he asked, “How is it? Nice?”

  “Good, I’m just a bit full. Had too much breakfast this morning. Can’t eat as much as you.”

  He smiled, and then stole a roast potato from her plate using his fork.

  “Take more if you want,” she offered. “I’m not going to finish it.”

  Unable to answer due to a mouthful of Yorkshire pudding, he nodded instead. After he had devoured both plates, he sat back, bloated, and rubbed his stomach. “I’m stuffed. Feel like I’ve eaten a whole cow.”

  “I think you have,” she replied, shaking her head in astonishment. “Fancy a dessert? Some cheesecake or something? Maybe some chocolate fudge cake?”

  Exhaling as he mulled over the decision, he picked up the menu. “Not sure if I can fit it in.” He ran a finger down the list of options. “Everything looks so nice though.”

  “You don’t have to decide right now. We’re not in any rush. Let’s have another drink.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. We’ve got all day. No reason to rush home. Plus, we’ve got the cinema later.”

  “Exactly. You have a dessert. I won’t though. I’ll just watch you stuff your face.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, reaching over the table to stroke her hand.

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  And with that, he glanced again at the dessert menu, and then flagged down the waiter.

  The rain hammered down on the quiet road.

  Richard held onto Nicky’s arm as they crossed over. He gripped the umbrella over both of them as it flung from side to side in the wind. As they blindly stepped onto the pavement, the umbrella pulled away from his grasp, blowing down the road out of reach. Running to get it, he stepped in a deep puddle, soaking through to his sock, causing his wife to chuckle.

  “Leave it!” she shouted.

  Stopping in the middle of the road, he turned to her, his eyes squinting with the rain and wind. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, come on—the car’s over there!”

  Running back to join her, he took her arm and they both fast-walked down the pavement with their bodies hunched, trying to avoid the cold rain hitting their faces.

  They reached the car, both of them soaking wet, and climbed in. Turning to his wife, he laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked, grimacing.

  “Your hair.”

  She pulled down the passenger sun-visor and stared into the small mirror to inspect herself. “Cheeky bastard,” she said, while trying to fix it with her long fingernails.

  “Can’t believe how wet this year’s been. Hope it gets better for summer. I’m sick of all this rain.”

  “Me too,” she said, pushing up the sun visor. “Maybe we should go away this year. Somewhere warm. What do you think?”

  “Sounds good. Once I’m back in work and I’ve sorted a few things out, I should have some free time.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

  Frowning, he asked, “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, you say the same thing every single year, and every year you’re too busy—or we can’t afford it.”

  “That’s not true,” he replied, struggling to find conviction in his words. “We’ve been away lots of times.”

  She looked at him in bewilderment. “That was our honeymoon, Rich—three years ago.”

  The car fell silent. “I know, you’re right,” Richard confessed. “But I have been thinking since I’ve been off work, and I am gonna change. Life’s too short. We will go away somewhere this summer.” He put his hand on her leg. “I promise.”

  Subtly nodding, she put her hand over his. “I hope so.”

  Silence gripped the car again, so he started up the engine and reluctantly headed back home.

  I will change, he thought, as he drove through the heavy rain, windshield wipers on at full-speed. I know I can. I’ll show her. When I go back next week, I’ll be a changed man. And she’ll have to eat her words. Work isn’t everything.

  He turned on the radio, hoping to block out his guilt. The station played love songs—which didn’t help. Then he remembered the woman from his kitchen. He had almost gone the entire day without thinking about her, about the possibility of his house being haunted. He tried to shake off the events of the last few days: the TV, Nicky talking in her sleep. But he couldn’t. The closer he got to home, the more his mind raced.

  He looked at the digital clock on the dashboard: 10:06 p.m. Straight to bed, he thought. No time to mill about in the kitchen. Nicky’ll be working tomorrow. She’ll need to sleep. Yes, everything’ll be fine.

  But tomorrow I’ll be alone again.

  He pushed the thought of tomorrow to one side and focused on the road ahead. They hadn’t said a word to each other the entire journey. Pulling up outside their house, he turned to her. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired. And wet. It’s been a long day. But it’s been nice to spend time with you.”

&nb
sp; He smiled. “It has been nice. I’m gonna miss you when you go off to work tomorrow.”

  She tapped his thigh. “I’m sure you’ll cope without me. You’ll have your new lady friend to keep you company.”

  “Very funny,” he replied, fake-smiling. When he opened the door and climbed out of the car, his sock squelched as his foot touched the concrete.

  But what if she’s right, he thought, approaching the front door. Would I really be alone tomorrow? And the next day? And the day after that? No. Don’t be stupid, Rich. This is Karen’s fault. You don’t even believe in ghosts. She’s just filled your head with this stuff, and this dark and rainy weather is making things seem worse. There’s nothing in your house. There’s no one in your kitchen. But what about Nicky’s talking in her sleep? How do I explain that?

  When he entered the house, the lonely, creepy feelings began to resurface. In a matter of days his home had become a different place. Nothing like the wonderful first home together of five months ago. Nothing like the place they had spent a small fortune decorating to Nicky’s specific tastes.

  Get a grip, Gardener. Focus! There’s no such thing as ghosts.

  With the hallway lit up, he could see the kitchen blackened in the distance. He imagined the woman still sitting on the dreaded chair, waiting for him to walk in. Fighting off his anxiety, he headed straight upstairs, almost running. Nicky followed.

  After drying off, they climbed into bed. The room felt cold and drafty, prompting him to check to see if the window had been left open. It had been. Nicky hadn’t seemed to notice the cold. She lay facing him, hugging the quilt with her eyes closed. “Good night, babe,” she whispered.

  He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “Night, Nic. See you in the morning.”

  After a few minutes she had dropped off to sleep, leaving Richard alone once again, with the rain hitting the bedroom window hard, the chill in the air, and the woman in the white dress still on his mind.

  And tomorrow was yet another day to be tormented by his own kitchen.

  Chapter 7

  Day 7: Monday

  The noise of the front door slamming shut woke Richard. Yet another almost sleepless night. He lay on the bed for a few minutes, trying to gather himself before climbing out. He sat on the edge of bed exhausted, his elbows pressed against his bare thighs, his palms rubbing his eye sockets. Groaning, he got to his feet, slipped on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, and left the bedroom.

  Walking downstairs, he noticed the smoke detector. Stay bloody quiet, he thought, and carried on down into the kitchen. He poured himself a bowl of corn flakes and contemplated whether or not to sit at the table. Even though the dreaded chair was empty, he couldn’t get the woman’s image out of his head. So he took his breakfast into the living room and sat on the couch instead.

  Flicking through the channels, he thought about what Karen had told him on Saturday about asking the spirit to leave. The idea seemed ludicrous to him. Why would a ghost listen to anything I have to say? Why would she even give a shit? If she used to live in this house she would have no intentions of leaving just because I said so. I know I wouldn’t be in a hurry to leave if I was dead, just because some new owner got a bit scared. Forget that.

  Stop it, Rich. She’s not real. This is all coincidence. There’s no one in your house. He sighed. Real or not, she’s got to go. This is getting ridiculous. This is my house and I’m taking it back!

  With that, he got up and marched back into the kitchen. “Excuse me,” he said, trying to be firm yet polite. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re still here, and I’m sure you don’t mean me any harm, but you’re scaring the living shit out of me, so could you please leave, and we’ll say no more about it. Okay? Thank you.”

  Waiting for some kind of response, he scanned the room, praying that his request wouldn’t prompt her to appear on the dreaded chair again.

  After several minutes of silence, he nodded and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

  Satisfied, he left the room.

  Feeling better about his newfound crisis, Richard decided to have a workout. He hadn’t done anything energetic for months that didn’t involve sitting behind a desk, so he told himself that that was all going to change from now on. The doctor had already recommended that he should hit the gym. Nothing too strenuous. Not right now anyway. Just enough to keep things ticking over.

  A new me. A fitter and healthier me. No more lazy-ass. No more couch-potato.

  He hauled Nicky’s exercise bike from out of the garage, dusted it down, and set it up in the living room. He figured that if he could watch TV while training, he would be more likely to stick with it. Putting on one of his South Park DVDs, he mounted the bike saddle and started to pedal. After one episode he had had enough. He climbed off, dragged the bike to the far corner of the living room, trying not to scrape the wooden floor, and collapsed onto the sofa chair with sheer exhaustion. That’s enough for today. I’ll do better tomorrow. Best to start slow. No point rushing it.

  Pulling out one of the blankets from the sideboard, he spread it over the floor. He got on his back and proceeded to do sit-ups, followed by several push-ups. Shattered, feeling his cheeks turn bright red, he crawled over to the couch and climbed on. He lay there for almost an hour, comatose, staring at the TV screen, before mustering the strength to take a shower.

  Exiting the living room, he clambered up the stairs, his thighs aching, heading for the bedroom. Inside, he grabbed a clean set of underwear and made his way over to the bathroom, switching on the shower straightaway. As he waited for the water to heat up, he removed a fresh towel from the cupboard and hooked it next to the shower. Placing his hand in first to check the temperature, he felt the heat against his skin. Satisfied, he hopped into the glass-covered shower, closing the doors behind him.

  As he lathered his body, enjoying the pressured water as it massaged his neck and shoulders, he thought of work. He couldn’t help it. And then it occurred to him—he hadn’t thought about it in a while. Had the idea of having a haunted house been more important to him than running TSH Computers? Or was it his mind pushing it to one side for the sake of his health? For the sake of his sanity? Either way he felt proud of himself for being able to forget about Leah and the cursed website from Hell, and focus on something else. However, finding himself scared witless every time his wife left for work, or when he set foot in the kitchen, was in no way a healthy substitute, regardless of how much it shut out his other problems.

  He wondered if Leah had managed to complete the staff payroll on time without any help, or made sure that Janet had put through last week’s salaries, including overtime. And how successful had the launch of the new website been? Had it crashed on the first day? Had David managed to eliminate all the little bugs? Or had he just crawled under his desk, sobbing, praying that Richard would return soon to sort everything out—yet again.

  Or what if David had permanently replaced him?

  Or worse still, what if Leah had realized that she didn’t need Richard’s help at all?

  Countless scenarios filled his head as he washed his body. Scrubbing his face, he closed his eyes as he faced up toward the showerhead. He could feel the hot water blast against his forehead, over his eyes and mouth, as he continued to agonize over work issues. A few more days to go. Not long now. It’ll fly by. I’ll be back in no time. Back to my old life. Maybe I’ll organize a work’s night out. We haven’t had one of those in a while. Invite Nic as well. That’s if she’ll go along this time. I could ask some of the boys to come too. Make a big night of it.

  As the soap washed away from his eyes, he opened them. Looking straight ahead, the blur in his vision faded. The silhouette of a figure moved past the outside of the steamy glass.

  His heart slammed against his chest as he stared at the dark shadow. Frozen, he watched it move toward the open bathroom door, and out onto the landing. Almost hyperventilating with horror, he turned off the water and slid the glass door open a few i
nches. “Nic?” he yelled, as he poked his head out. His voice was quivery, his body shivering from the cold and fright as he explored the empty room. “You home?”

  With no reply, he got out and covered his midsection with the towel. “Nic? Don’t piss about now. It’s not funny.” Creeping toward the door, he clenched both fists, his body hunched. Each wet footstep slapped against the cold tiled floor as he reached the landing. Holding his breath as he stepped out on the soft carpet, he turned his head to check both sides of the landing. Each side was deserted. Still gripped with fear, he edged to the banister and peered over, looking down at the hallway. “Nic? You home? Nicky?”

  Still no reply.

  Unsure of what to do next, he remained on the landing, cold and half-naked. The slightest sound made him tense up in panic. His neck cricked from turning back and forth, checking every corner of the landing.

  Jesus Christ, what was that? This ain’t right. Something’s going on here. This can’t just be coincidence.

  He shook his head, unable to fathom the situation. This is getting out of hand now. I can’t go on like this.

  “Oh, hi, Ilene, how’ve you been? Everything all right?” Richard politely asked his elderly neighbor.

  Smiling when she realized who it was at her door, she leaned in close. Her thin body was covered in a thick blue dressing gown, her white hair tied back loosely. “Hello, Richard. I haven’t seen you in a while. Have you been away somewhere on holiday?”

  “No, not this year,” he replied, shaking his head. “Just been tied up with work. The usual stuff.”

  “You’re a busy little man. I hope you’re spending some of your time with your lovely wife Nicola.”

  Fake-smiling as the guilt resurfaced, he changed the subject. “Yes, thanks. Ilene, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about my house.” He leaned against the stone doorway as he waited for a reply.

  “Your house? Yes, no problem, Richard. Anything the matter?”

  “No, nothing’s wrong—just a few things I wouldn’t mind finding out.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Do you remember who lived in the house before the last man?”