The cushions from the sofa were on the floor. I stood up slowly and looked around. I checked the bathroom, the toilet, the bedroom and the car. She was gone.
In fact there was no real sign she had even been there at all. I surveyed my home carefully. Her coat was not on the kitchen door; there were no wet drips on the carpet, no muddy footprints, even the car seat she had soaked into was dry. And the living room was as much of a tip as it had ever been.
But I knew I had not dreamt it. I had had no dreams. She had been there. I felt her, smelt her, touched her. And I was so sorry that she was gone.
I waited dutifully until eight-thirty for her call. I did not eat, I did not drink, I did not wash. I cleaned the place up out of boredom. I took the bin out, did my recycling, crushed the pizza boxes and cans.
But her call never came.
I put on clean clothes and did my washing up. Even Hoovered the place at 20 minutes to midnight. But she didn’t call, and she never called again.
I was sad at first that she was gone, but I knew that, and I apologise if this sounds corny, but that she was now in a better place. I can’t say that I had expected her to call again.
Having saved her, in my own way, I thought it only sensible that I should now save myself. On the following Monday I met with my boss and admitted to him that I had become an alcoholic. That this had affected my performance and that I was very sorry. He could fire me if he so wished, but I would be grateful if he would give me one more chance. He seemed impressed by my honesty, but I can’t honestly say whether he’ll really allow me to continue beyond the end of my probation. I started to visit alcoholics anonymous for a while, just to show my willingness to change – although I didn’t really think that I was a real addict, just acting-out.
I went on a diet, just briefly; a reduction in take-aways made a big impact. And I started to exercise on a semi-regular basis. I’d be lying if I said that my bizarre encounter completely changed everything. But it had made me start to care about myself again, and to care about what happened to me.
I had not completely had my fill of unexpected phone calls though. A week or two after my strange encounter I had a call from her – my ex. I was surprised to hear her voice; we had had no communication since I had left our home. She had heard some concerning things about me from my “friends”. I’d forgotten that she cared. We talked for a little while, caught up as it were. I was amiable, if not a little difficult. But in truth it was actually good to hear from her. I did miss her, in spite of not wanting ever to see or hear from her again.
She invited me out for a drink sometime, said she’d missed me. I declined as politely as possible. I didn’t really want to see her. Besides, I had only a day or so before heard rumour that her and him were no longer an item. And I did not want to be her crutch – I was better than that. Of course she may have simply only wanted to be friendly. I didn’t wish to find out either way. Better just to let some things go completely.
There was also one more phone call of note – an uncomfortable epilogue for this story.
It was late in the evening when the phone rang. I picked it up without fear, knowing that it could never be her.
But someone was breathing heavily on the other end of the line. It was out-of-breath, nervous breathing. It was unsettling, and creepy. It carried on for just a few seconds when, just as I was about to say something myself, there was a sudden unexpected whisper. It said: “…thank you…”
And then the line went dead.
You could jump to a conclusion and assume that this was some ghostly final acknowledgement of gratitude from beyond the grave…
But the time was eight-thirty-two pm…
And it was a man’s voice.
I supposed whether you’re in the right or you’re the wronged, we all have our chance to suffer.
Table of Contents
INTRODUCTION
A RHYTHM OF SIX
KNOCK DOWN GINGER
THE BLACK CLOCK
WHEN IT RAINS…
THE STORM WALKER
CAT LADY
IN A BOX
THE CALL OF THE SEA
ON THE SHOULDER
BENJAMIN WENT TO THE WELL
WRONG NUMBER
Eleven New Ghost Stories Page 26
