by Matt Shaw
He slowly started walking back down the long stretch of grass and towards the house. His eyes were drawn to the top window on the right hand side; the spare room. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed a shadow in the window. He quickened his pace until it turned into a run. Once at the back door he burst in and charged up the stairs, calling out for Jess all the way.
She walked out of the spare room with an alarmed expression on her face, “What is it?” she asked. Dean’s panicked shouts had - in turn - set her on edge.
“What are you doing?” he asked. He immediately knew that the shadow he’d seen, at the window, had been his wife’s.
“We thought we’d start clearing up. We were hoping to get the worst of it done by the time you got back,” she moved to the side so Dean could see into the bedroom. The girls were in there, with wet cloths, wiping the walls as best they could (not that it was making much difference) and the boxes had all been moved to the side of the room to give them a clearer idea of the actual damage caused. “You know - it’s not actually as bad as we first thought. Sure the carpet will need replacing but the walls were going to be painted anyway so…Nothing ruined there. I’ve had a look in the boxes too and everything inside seems okay. I think we were lucky - all things considered.” She stopped talking as she noticed how exhausted Dean appeared to be, “Are you okay?”
He laughed, “Yes. I’m just being stupid. And thank you for this,” he said, referring to the cleaning operation taking place in the bedroom. “I’ll just take my coat and shoes off and then I’ll come and help.” He went to go back down the stairs but was stopped by the sound of Sophie’s voice.
“Daddy?” Sophie asked.
“Yes, honey?”
“Is this the room where the lady died?”
Night Six
Dean walked into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed next to Jess. It had turned out to be a long day (and evening).
“They’re finally asleep,” he said. The pair of them had spent the majority of the day explaining what had happened in the house in the most kiddy-friendly way they could think of. The problem was - whenever you were speaking about death, there was never a way that was really suitable to discuss with children. They never understood it no matter how hard you tried to make it easy for them. Out of the two girls, Caroline had been the one who was more freaked out than her sister; which surprised both Dean and Jess. They figured that because she was a little older, she would understand more. She had surprised them by reacting badly saying that she wanted to move out and go back home. They told her that this was her home now and that nothing bad could happen in her own home but she didn’t believe them. Jess had put Sophie to bed and she seemed to go to sleep fairly quickly; perhaps because she’d had more time to come to terms with what had happened (having already known about it) but Caroline, who Dean put to bed, was a different story and - for the first time since she was about five years old - she’d demanded that the light be left on. “How’d she know?” Dean asked.
Jess shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe she heard us talking about it?”
“But we’ve been careful not to say anything in front of the girls.”
“I know but you know what they’ve like. They have a tendency to hear most of what they’re not supposed to. They pick up on things.”
“Well I can’t wait to hear what the counsellor says about it when Sophie brings it up with them - if we ever find a suitable one. We’re probably going to be labeled with the bad parent sticker…You know that, right?” Dean got up and started to remove his clothes - ready to climb into bed. “If it’s not one thing it’s another,” he groaned.
“By tomorrow they’ll probably both have forgotten about it,” Jess told him, “you know what children are like.”
“I know children have active imaginations. No wonder she thinks she has been seeing things. She must have heard us talking and now her mind has put two and two together to come up with…Whatever is going on in that mind of hers. You know we’ve probably broken our daughter, right?”
“Don’t say that. She’ll be fine. Tomorrow we’ll phone around some specialists and see if we can get her an appointment with one of them. Let’s just…Let’s just get to tomorrow, shall we?”
Before he’d even finished talking to the girls about the tragedy in the spare room, Dean had already decided to utilise tomorrow for finding a counsellor for Sophie to talk to. The girl already had bad dreams even before she had found out that someone had killed themselves in the house, and this probably wasn’t going to do those any good. If anything he felt they were likely to get worse. Now it was all about damage control as quickly and efficiently as possible. It didn’t even bother him that the Internet might not be working by morning, if it still hadn’t been connected, he was happy to use his mobile phone and a copy of the Yellow pages they had found by the front door when they first moved in; much to his surprise. He was sure they’d stop producing that since the Internet took off. It didn’t matter what he thought. Now he was just grateful it had been left for them. He stood there for a moment, at the end of the bed, with his mind racing overtime. Jess noticed he’d stopped getting ready for bed.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
He walked from the room and down the stairs, towards the front door. They’d casually tossed the book in the corner when they’d started bringing their boxes in. It was still there. He grabbed it and walked on through to the living room with it tucked under his arm. He knew he wasn’t going to sleep this evening - his brain was working overtime with concerns for his children (and stress). Why bother waiting for the morning to go through the section detailing various counsellors? Using his time productively now - by morning he could have a list the length of his arm of telephone numbers to try. Lying in bed, tossing and turning all night, was nothing but a waste of time. At least doing it this way, he felt as though he was doing something useful.
Jess walked into the room, confused as to why he had suddenly walked from the room, “What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m not tired, I figured I’d get a head start on looking for a counsellor.”
Jess didn’t move from the doorway, “Did you want me to help?” she asked.
“Only have one book,” he pointed out. “Besides - there’s no sense both of us sitting up. You might as well go on up to bed.” Truth be told he wanted some alone time anyway; a little peace to clear his head as he thumbed the booklet for telephone numbers.
“Okay. Well. If you’re sure.” She walked over to where he had crashed onto the sofa and leaned down for a kiss. He didn’t look up, too busy looking down at the book. She hesitated a moment - and then kissed him on the forehead when she realised that he was already caught up in the book. “Well. Good night.” She walked from the room.
“Good night,” Dean replied, still without so much as looking up at her.
* * * * *
3:30am.
The house was mostly quiet with the exception of the dripping tap in the kitchen. Both Caroline and Sophie were sleeping soundly in their bedrooms. Dean was still downstairs, lying on the sofa. His mouth was wide open as a small trail of drool seeped out onto the open page of the telephone directory resting on his chest where he’d dropped it before resting his eyes ‘for a minute’. On the floor, next to where he dreamt, was a piece of paper and a pen; the paper had ten numbers scrawled across it. His snoring suggested he was in a deep sleep.
The living room door quietly clicked shut before a pair of footsteps made their way up the stairs - hardly making a sound as they did; almost as if they weren’t quite touching the floor.
Jess was sleeping soundly in her bed. She stirred slightly as the door opened slowly.
“What time is it?” she asked. She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t even move. In reality - she didn’t even need an answer. She was already asleep again.
“Ssh,” whispered a voice which was not her husband.
She stirred again as the bed creaked on Dean’s sid
e. The duvet moved as someone climbed in behind her.
“Mmmm, that’s nice,” she sighed as she felt someone push up behind her. “I love you,” she said before falling back into a deep, deep sleep. Her visitor didn’t reply.
Day Seven
When Jess woke up she noticed Dean’s side of the bed was empty. She rolled over onto it - half expecting to feel the warmth left from his body and smell his natural scent - but was surprised at how cold the mattress and (that side of) the duvet were. Almost as though no one had actually slept there. She buried her face in the pillow and suddenly pulled it away - retching as she did. A dank, musty smell stuck to the pillow as though it hadn’t been washed for many years.
“Jesus!” she moaned, “Guess I know what I’m doing today!” A day of stripping the bed linen off and giving everything a good wash. She presumed it must have got dirty in the move - even though they were all bagged up neatly. She threw the duvet off and climbed from the bed before sticking her head into the en-suite bathroom. She frowned when she noticed it was empty. Figured Dean may have been in there - perhaps washing himself ready for a busy day of whatever he’d planned to do. Realising he wasn’t in there, she threw her dressing gown on and stepped from the bedroom and onto the landing. “Dean?” she called out. Nothing. She poked her head in on the girls - both of them were still sleeping. Hardly surprising given the late night they’d had. At least neither of them appeared to have had nightmares. Jess walked down the stairs towards the living room where she’d last seen Dean. He was still in there, fast asleep. The book on his chest, his neck at an extremely uncomfortable angle. “Honey?” she whispered loud enough to wake him but not loud enough to startle him. Nothing worse than being woken up with a jump. “Honey?” she whispered again when he didn’t stir. This time he did.
“What time is it?” he asked as he pushed the heavy book onto the floor.
“It’s early. Just gone seven.”
The book landed with a thud. “My fucking neck!” Dean moaned as tried to rub the ache away. “I tell you - this is not a comfortable couch to fall asleep on…”
“Why’d you come back down here?” Jess asked.
“I told you - I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep so thought I’d try and find a number for a counsellor. Need to get this sorted,” he said.
“I presumed you’d found one when you crawled into bed during the night.”
“I found a few…Wait…What? I didn’t come to bed last night. I fell asleep here,” he said.
Jess’ face went white, “You woke me up getting into bed.”
“Jess, I’ve been down here all night. I swear.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did. You just woke me up.”
“Then who crawled into bed with me?” she asked. Panic all over her face.
“One of the girls? It wouldn’t exactly be surprising if one of them couldn’t sleep after yesterday!”
“I’ve just checked on them. They’re both asleep in their own beds. They don’t go back to their own bed after coming in with us, you know that. They stay until morning.”
“Well - Jesus, Jess - I don’t know what you want me to say. I’ve been down here all night.”
“You promise?”
“Why would I lie about something like that? I’ve been down here all night.” He sat up. He expected Jess to come over and sit with him but she didn’t move from where she was standing in the doorway.
“Look - I think we should seriously consider our options here…”
“Our options? Our options to what?” he asked before giving her a chance to explain.
“This place. This house.”
Dean didn’t like where this was heading, “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t feel safe here. Something is very wrong with this house.”
“Jess…”
“No, I mean it, I don’t feel safe here. I haven’t since the first night. I’m not comfortable.”
Dean tried his best to keep his temper under control despite feeling it build up inside him. They’d spoken - at length - about what had happened in the house to avoid this very situation and yet, here it was, rearing its ugly head. “I’m pretty sure we can’t back out of a signed contract. The deal was done. This is our house now. We chose it. Together. We can’t just pack up and move out….Hell we…” he cut himself off and fell silent. Jess started to cry. Dean didn’t get up to offer her any form of comfort or reassurance. He sighed heavily - as though he’d lost all patience and will to even continue with the conversation but did so regardless, “This was supposed to be the start of the next chapter in our lives. You know, what we discussed, a place to continue raising the children. A place to make more happy memories…”
“We need help!” Jess went to argue. “Something is happening with our family and we need help to deal with it…”
“Oh now we need help?” That was the final straw. Dean raised his voice, “The other day it was Sophie who needed the help. We were fine. It was our daughter who was fucking insane but now it’s all of us? Brilliant. Nice one. Well…” he stopped. He noticed a shadow behind where Jess was standing. He peered around her and noticed Sophie and Caroline were standing there - both of them appeared upset. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. Judging by their expressions it was obvious they’d heard more than enough. “Sophie, daddy’s sorry…I didn’t mean it…” he got up and walked towards the girls. Jess, in the meantime, turned to face them. Despite the outburst from Dean - it appeared the girls’ minds were elsewhere.
“I don’t want you to die,” Caroline whispered. Her voice was quivering as she addressed her father. She burst into tears as though she’d been containing them for months upon months and was no longer able to hold them. Dean sighed again. That was all he needed, Sophie had been telling Caroline of her dreams. They had worked so hard to keep them from their eldest daughter just because they didn’t want her to start to have them either; a little seed planted by Sophie which would grow into a huge oak tree of problems.
Jess knelt down to her daughter’s level and put her arms around her, “Your father’s not going anywhere,” she reassured her.
“But he is though,” Caroline whimpered. Sophie started to cry too.
Dean turned to his youngest, “Did you have that dream again?”
She shook her head. He couldn’t help but wish they had never mentioned the possibility of her seeing someone - a specialist - to try and help with the bad dreams (and other issues). Ever since they had dropped it into a conversation, to see what she had thought, she had clammed up and refused to admit to anything to either her mum or her dad. This time she must have woken up, in a panic, and shared her sad thoughts with her sister - and her sister clearly listened and took it straight to heart.
“What makes you say that?” Jess continued talking to Caroline.
“Because he is going to die! He dies in his sleep!” she started to become more distressed. Jess held her tighter than before - a gesture to show she was there for her.
Dean muttered, “At least it’s peaceful,” he said.
Jess glared at him, “You think this is funny? Look at what is happening to our family. We can’t do this, Dean. We’re falling apart.”
Dean walked back into the living room and picked up the piece of paper he’d been working on during the night before he had dozed off, “Look - telephone numbers for counsellors - a whole list of them. I’ll phone them this morning and try and get an appointment for the whole family. We can all speak to someone and let them decide how best to proceed; whether it be one on one or group sessions for all of us. If that’s what you want - we’ll do it - but we can’t move out of this house. It’s nothing to do with the house…”
“But it started when we moved in!”
“The dreams were occurring well before we moved here,” Dean reminded Jess. “Remember? How many times have I lost out on a good night’s sleep because I’ve had to go and comfort her? In case you’ve forgott
en - loads of times.” He reiterated, “It has nothing to do with this house and what happened here and you need to put that out of your mind. You’re making it a problem and you need to stop!” Dean realised he was saying too much in front of the girls but he couldn’t stop himself. Just as Caroline’s floodgates had been opened, so had his - and his emotions came out in a more hostile way than Caroline’s. Jess just looked at him - her arms still offering comfort to her weeping daughter - a look of hatred in her face.
