Fourteen Days

by Steven Jenkins

“Yes, you’re right—and I regret it now,” she shouted from the kitchen.

  Annoyed, he walked over to the door and poked his head out into the hallway. “I bet you bloody do.”

  Walking up to him, she kissed him on the cheek. “Look, I’m going to be late for work. I’ll see you later. Let’s just drop this subject.”

  Frustrated, he followed her to the front door. “Okay, I’ll see you at five then.”

  “Okay, have a good… No you won’t. I forgot, I’m seeing some of the girls tonight after work. I’ll be home late.” She raced out the door and onto the pavement. “See you later!” she said as she crossed over the road.

  Richard was left standing in the doorway, lost for words, still with a million things to say to her. Shaking his head in bewilderment, he watched as her car pulled off down the road.

  He then went back inside and closed the door.

  Sitting on the foot of the stairs, he picked up the disconnected smoke detector and played with its plastic cover, in a trance.

  The idea of spending the entire day alone in the house made him almost retch with fear. He had to get out. To hell with relaxing at home, he thought. I was calmer at the office. Any longer cooped up in this house, I’m gonna lose it. Big time.

  Setting the device down, he went upstairs to change out of his pajama-bottoms and tee shirt. Opening his bedroom door, it occurred to him that he hadn’t showered, or washed in any way, since Monday. He sniffed an armpit, and then straightaway pulled a face of revolt. Better take a shower. Or maybe a bath would be safer. No, a shower. Have to face it sooner or later. And it’s much quicker.

  Tiptoeing across the landing, he could feel his palms begin to sweat, his heartbeat thunder. He stepped into the bathroom. Dropping his clothes on the floor, he switched on the shower, checking behind him, quickly inspecting the bathtub. Not willing to wait for the water to heat up, he climbed inside, wincing as the ice-cold water hit his body. As he was about to slide shut the glass doors, he paused for a moment to reconsider. Best leave the door open. Lukewarm water sprayed all over the floor, so he frantically adjusted the nozzle, pointing it down instead. Filling his palm with a big dollop of shower gel, he lathered his entire body, including his hair—but not his eyes; those were fixed straight ahead in case Mrs. Rees decided to put in another appearance. Rinsing as fast he could, with his ears still covered in foamy soap, he climbed out onto the wet floor, almost losing his footing. He held onto the shower door as he reached for a towel and let out a long breath. Clean at last. Maybe now I can go to the library to check out the Internet. Or pop in to see Phil and his kid. No, he’s probably working.

  Everyone’s probably working. Except me, of course.

  He stepped out onto the landing, cold and naked, heading for the bedroom.

  Maybe I could visit Gran and Gramps. Haven’t seen them for a while. I could take them both out for lunch, to The Farmers. They’d love that. They’d never expect it. They’d both have a heart attack if I turned up to take them out. Got to start calling ’round more often. Have to make more of an effort. Even if it’s—

  He froze.

  She was sitting on the edge of his bed. Watching him.

  His chest tightened as he stared deep into her reddened, tear-filled eyes.

  His mouth dropped open, incapable of screaming or swallowing.

  Powerless to take his eyes off her, he slowly backed away toward the spare bedroom, unable to find the courage to go forward to the staircase to run out the front door. Almost choking on his own saliva, unable to breathe, he backed up against the wall, opposite his bedroom, and reached for the spare bedroom door handle to his right. After a few failed attempts, he managed to grasp the handle and open the door, eyes still locked on the woman as she gazed at him. He backed into the room, losing sight of her, and closed the door behind him.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and convulsed back and forth, staring at the door handle.

  After several minutes of dead silence, with only the sound of his heartbeat thumping, he heard gentle footsteps on the landing, outside the door. His shallow breath and his narrowing vision had brought him to the edge of passing out. He struggled to stay focused, watching for signs of movement under the door. Helpless to move from the bed even to hold the door shut, he sat, his muscles clenched to the breaking point.

  The footsteps from the landing vanished, but Richard was nowhere nearer to moving. He had never been so petrified in all his life. Nothing before today could compare to it. Everything else seemed trivial—a walk in the park.

  Suddenly it occurred to him: he was no safer inside the spare room than he was on the landing. Surely she could move from room to room without the worry of closed doors. The notion made him examine the room, corner to corner, ceiling to floor, for signs of her.

  The bedroom was deserted.

  All that dwelled there was a single bed, several boxes of junk, and a small wooden chest of drawers. In addition to the sound of a car passing outside, and a dog barking in the distance, he could smell the damp old clothes Nicky had stuffed into a charity bag.

  And taste the rancid fear in his mouth.

  He began to slowly crawl backwards onto the bed, all the way to the headboard, to gain a better view of the room and door. He pressed his bare back against the cold surface of the wooden headboard. But the ice-cold sensation on his skin didn’t bother him. His only concern was the door.

  Tap…Tap…Tap.

  Did he just imagine it?

  Did his petrified state plant the sound in his head?

  Or was she still behind the door? Still waiting?

  Taunting him?

  His body tightened even more, and he bit down hard, unconcerned with chipping his teeth. His frantic breathing was now confined to his nostrils. His vision started to blur as his breathing become more and more erratic.

  Please leave. Please leave. Please leave. Please leave. Please leave. Please leave. Please leave…

  The light of the room faded into darkness, and he passed out.

  Sitting at his kitchen table, he watched the rain hit the large window in front of him. The dreaded chair held no significance as he listened to Man in the Mirror by Michael Jackson on the radio.

  Lightning lit up the room like an explosion, causing him to shudder. “Where the hell’s Nicky?” he heard himself ask. “Must be with her mother.” He tapped his fingers to the rhythm of the song, humming it also. “She’ll be home soon, I’m sure of it.”

  Standing up from the table, he glanced at the clock on the wall. 10:30 p.m. “She’s really bloody late.” He frowned. “Strange for her.”

  He left the kitchen and walked along the hallway, staring up at the ceiling. Noticing the smoke detector was reconnected, he smiled. “Good old Nicky. She’s more the man of the house than me.” A loud knock sounded at the front door. Answering it, he saw Karen stood outside in the pouring rain, soaked through. Confused, he asked, “What are you doing here? And where’s your umbrella?”

  “I left it at home,” she replied, stepping up into the porch.

  “Don’t you have a client today?”

  “No, my calendar is totally free. I haven’t got anyone ’til Saturday morning. Thank God.”

  He ushered her inside, taking her wet coat from her and hanging it on the banister.

  Looking up at the ceiling, she beamed. “The smoke alarm is fixed. Finally. It’s not safe to keep those unattached. You could have a fire.”

  Looking up too, he said, “Yeah, good old Nicky. She’s the real man of the house.”

  She nodded. “Is she home yet?”

  “Who?”

  “Your wife, stupid. Nicola. Is she home?”

  Grimacing, he snapped, “Don’t call me stupid!”

  With a look of remorse, she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Just a slip of the tongue.”

  “That’s all right, Karen. Yes, I think she’s here somewhere.” He walked toward the living room door. “She should be home by now. She’s been with
her mother all day.” He paused for moment as if to correct himself. “At least she should be with her mother. I’m not so sure anymore.”

  He entered the living room.

  “Oh, here she is, Karen,” he said, surprised. At first glance the woman sitting on the couch seemed to be Nicky: same hair, same clothes, same shaped body. Then, in the blink of an eye, it wasn’t.

  In her place, with two hands over her abdomen, was the woman in the white dress. The room darkened as she stood, revealing her blood-soaked dress. Horror filled his body as she edged closer, holding out her arms as if to hug him. “Come to me,” she ordered, in a soft, desperate voice. “Don’t leave me here. Please.”

  He backed toward the door, unable to run or scream. “Who are you?” he struggled to ask.

  “Let me go,” she said, inches from him. “Please. I’m sorry. It wasn’t my fault. Please, let me go. Take me away from here.” She started to weep.

  No matter how much he moved away from her grasp, the door became farther and farther away. “Who are you?” he asked again.

  She finally reached him and clutched his tee shirt, staining it with her blood. He closed his eyes, unable to take it any longer. He could feel himself fall backwards to the ground.

  As he hit the hard wooden floor, he heard her whisper, “My name is Christina Long.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Nicky asked, standing over Richard’s naked body.

  Disoriented, he opened his eyes, startled by her presence. He looked around the room and then down at his exposed self.

  “Why are you in here? And why the hell are you naked?” she asked, chuckling.

  Suddenly he remembered why he was in there. Staring at the now open door, he sat up on the bed, panicked. “Did you see her?”

  “See who?”

  “The woman. Did you see her on the landing?”

  Rolling her eyes, she said, “Please tell me you’re not talking about that bloody ghost again.”

  “Of course I am!” he snapped, getting off the bed. “I saw her! She was sitting, plain as day, on our bed!” He walked over to the door, barging past Nicky in the process. “I’m not making it up! And I’m not crazy, I saw her! I swear to God!” He stepped out onto the landing and pointed to their bedroom. “She was right there, looking straight at me!”

  Nicky said nothing.

  “Are you listening to me, Nicky?” he asked. “I saw her clear as day. As clear as you are right now!”

  “Look, calm down, you’re scaring me.”

  “You’re bloody scared,” he barked, in disbelief. “How d’ya think I feel? I just saw a dead woman sitting on our bed—the bed we sleep on every night!”

  Walking up to him, she glanced ahead at their bedroom. “There’s nothing there. Are you sure you didn’t dream it?”

  Turning to her, his body gripped with frustration, he said, “Don’t patronize me, Nic. It wasn’t a dream. The only reason I was in there and passed out was because I tried to get away from her. She followed me over to the door. She even knocked on it, for Christ’s sake!”

  He started to take in deep, controlled breaths to calm himself. “Look,” he said, more settled. “Have you ever seen me so serious about something? Do I look like I’m bullshitting you?”

  She forced a smile. “Well, it’s hard to take you seriously when you’re standing in front of me naked.”

  He walked into the bathroom and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. “I’m not in the mood for jokes, Nic,” he replied, stepping back onto the landing.

  She shook her head with a look of annoyance. “I’m sorry, but it’s difficult for me to take you seriously when you’ve just told me that the previous owner’s ghost chased you across the landing.”

  As he was about to reply, he paused for a second; something had occurred to him. “I don’t think it was the previous owner. I think it was someone else. Someone called Christina Long.”

  “Who’s Christina Long?” she asked, clearly humoring him.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. She told me her name in my dream.”

  Instead of busting out with laughter, she snapped, “Look, this ends right here, right now! You sound like a lunatic! There must be something wrong with you. Maybe it was from the fall you had at work or something.”

  “It has nothing to do with what happened at work. My mind is fine. I just want you to believe me. Look, I admit that some of the other things could be explained, but this…”

  She didn’t reply—she couldn’t. Everything had already been said a hundred times before. The two just stood staring at each other in silence, until Richard finally stormed across the landing, into the bedroom, his fists up as if ready to fight someone. When he saw that the room was empty, he dropped his hands and raided his cupboard for clean clothes, leaving Nicky still standing, glaring at him, but still with a clear glimmer of concern in her eyes.

  After he had dressed, he stomped down the stairs, out of sight.

  Richard was sitting on the couch, staring into space, deep in thought. Nicky was sitting opposite on the single sofa chair, ignoring him.

  He thought about the name: Christina Long. He repeated it over and over in his head, hoping that something would click into place. But he knew no one by Christina, or even by the surname Long. Who the hell was this woman if not his former homeowner? Was she perhaps a former lover of the last owner, Mr. Young—or even his sister? Or maybe the sister of either Mr. or Mrs. Rees? Maybe the dream was just a dream. For all Richard knew, he could have heard the name Christina Long on TV, or in a movie, and placed it in his dream. So many possibilities ran through his mind. But one thing he was certain of: there was a ghost living in his house.

  And he had to get rid of it. Now.

  He glanced over at his wife, who was clearly not talking to him, pretending to be interested in the movie. Unsure of what to say to her without flaring up another argument, he remained silent about the subject. Probably best not to include her in all of this, he thought. She just doesn’t understand. I’m sick of fighting with her. I don’t need her help anyway. I’m better off dealing with it on my own.

  “Nic?” he said.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Nic? I’m sorry I went a bit mad earlier.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she replied, still not looking at him.

  “Yes it does. I’m sorry. You’re right. It probably was just a dream. I haven’t been sleeping very well; my mind’s been a little hazy the last few days.”

  Turning to him, she forced a smile, clearly struggling to shake off the disagreement. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s drop it. I can’t be bothered with all of this. I’m already stressed out at work, I don’t need to come home to more.”

  He nodded, now even more convinced not to involve her any further. “Yeah, let’s drop it.” He could still feel tension in the air so he changed the subject. “So, what’s wrong in work? Anything serious?”

  She shrugged. “Oh, the usual, but it’s been getting to me lately.”

  “So why don’t you look for another job?”

  “I have been thinking about it, but…”

  “Look, if it’s making you feel stressed then you should quit. Find somewhere else to work. I’m sure you’ll get something easily.” He smiled. “You could work with me.”

  She gave him a look of disbelief. “Work with you? No thank you.”

  “Why not? What’s wrong with working with me?”

  “Look, Rich, I love you loads, but I couldn’t think of anything worse than working with my husband every single day.”

  “What’s the big deal? Lots of couples do.”

  “I’m sure they do, but spending twenty-four hours together isn’t healthy. I need space—we both do. Trust me, it’d be an absolute nightmare.”

  “Okay, I get your point, but the offer’s there if you want it.”

  “Thank you for the offer.” She nodded and smiled. “But no thank you. I’ll just have to grin and bear it for another f
ew months. My boss is going on maternity leave soon, so Brian’ll be in charge.”

  Who the hell is Brian? Richard thought, as he nodded in agreement. Got to start taking more of an interest in her job.

  But for now, Richard had bigger fish to fry. And tomorrow he would find out whether or not Christina Long was just a random name—or in fact the woman in the white dress.

  Tomorrow he would begin his investigation.

  But first he would have to face sleeping on the same bed that she had sat on.

  After several hours of watching TV, Nicky stood up noisily from the couch, yawning as she stretched her arms up to the ceiling. “Right then, I’m off to bed. Make sure—”

  But before she could finish, Richard said, “I’m coming too.” He virtually leaped up from a sitting position, and yawned. “I’m knackered. Been a long day.” But he was far from tired. The idea of sitting in the living room alone—at night—made him wince. The only time the fear totally subsided was when he was with Nicky. And after what had happened today, he was in no fit state to go solo.

  She looked at him as if suspicious of his actions. “You don’t look tired. Stay down here and watch TV if you like. I don’t mind. Honestly.”

  “No, no. I’m coming up too,” he said, shaking his head in protest. “Got some stuff to do tomorrow.”

  She smirked at him. “Stuff? What stuff? You mean laze about the house.” She turned the TV off and left the room.

  Fake-laughing, he followed her. “Very funny. It’s tough doing nothing all day, you know. Got to get my beauty sleep.”

  She led the way upstairs into the bathroom.

  Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Nicky brushed her teeth over the sink. Richard sat on the edge of the bath, watching her. “What are you waiting for?” she asked, with a mouthful of foamy toothpaste before spitting it out into the sink.

  “I’m waiting for you?”

  Swilling her mouth out with water and spitting, she frowned. “Aren’t you going to brush your teeth?”

  He nodded, and then joined her at the sink. Just as he squirted toothpaste onto his toothbrush he saw her head for the door. “Where are you going?”

  She turned to face him, grimacing in bafflement. “To bed. Where do you think?”