Eyes On You: A Ghost Story

by Steven Jenkins

  “I love you too, Sue,” Aimee tells her; giving me a look to suggest that Susanna always gets like this.

  Susanna then takes Aimee’s hands, and looks deep into her eyes. “I’m so proud of you, honey. We all are. You’ve grown into such a wonderful person. You really have.” She turns to me and takes my hand, dragging me next to Aimee. “And this boy here,” she yanks my hand up to her mouth and kisses it, “this one’s a keeper. Much better than that other boy. What was his name now? Steve? Or Stuart? Or Peter? What was it now, Aimee?”

  Aimee rolls her eyes, but still with a smile on her face. “It was Sam.”

  “That’s the one. Sam. What a dickhead.” She turns to me and kisses my hand again. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Matt. That little prick’s got nothing on you.” She lets go of my hand and pinches my cheek playfully. “No one could compete with this handsome face.”

  Slightly annoyed by how hard she pinches me, I carry on grinning regardless.

  “Leave them alone, Sue,” I hear Aimee’s father, Byron say as he approaches us, a pint of beer in his left hand, and a disposable camera in the other. “You’re slobbering all over them.”

  “I’m not slobbering,” she replies, turning to her older brother, “I’m just showing some affection to these two lovebirds. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

  Ignoring his sister’s question, Byron sets his glass down on a table, and then brings the camera up to his eye. “Everyone get in close,” he nudges Paul with his hip. “You too, Paul. Get in there. Nice and tight now.”

  I wrap one arm over Aimee’s shoulder, and the other over Susanna’s, and Paul squeezes in just front of me, ducking down a little.

  Clearly just as drunk as his sister, Byron pushes the button at the top of the camera, but nothing happens.

  “You need to wind it, Dad,” Aimee shouts over to him.

  Byron obeys his daughter, and tries again. “Big smiles now. Ready? Say cheese!”

  “CHEEEEEESE!”

  14

  Nearly two months have passed since getting back from Mexico, and still nothing. No knocking at the door. No mirrors cracking. No TVs breaking. And no cold breeze in the middle of the day.

  It’s almost as if we both dreamed it all up.

  Dylan Strong, you’re a bloody legend.

  Aimee and I are watching some programme about bugs. There’s nothing else on so I’m enduring it.

  She turns to face me on the couch; a massive, excited grin spread across her face, stroking Luna on her lap like a Bond-villain. I bet she’s got one of her secrets to confess.

  “Go on then,” I say to her, as I mute the TV. “What’s the gossip?”

  Aimee shrugs. “What gossip? Who said I had gossip?”

  “You did—with that look you’re giving me.”

  “Well, maybe I won’t tell you now,” she replies, her tone childlike. But it’s obvious that it’s only a matter of time before she does.

  “Fine,” I say, putting the volume back up, attempting to call her bluff. “I’m sure it’s not important.”

  She prods me with her elbow. “You’re a dick, Matt. For all you know I’m about to tell you that we’ve won the lottery.”

  I pick up the remote again but this time I turn the TV off. “Come on then. What’s the gossip?”

  She pauses as if about to hold it back, but then gives in almost immediately. “Well, do you remember Sarah from work?” she asks, prompting me to know exactly where this is going and how un-juicy this gossip will be.

  “Yeah—the fat one?”

  “She’s not fat. She’s just curvy.”

  “Okay: the curvy one then. What about her?”

  “Well, yesterday she announced to everyone in the office that she’s three months pregnant. And she’s having twins!”

  I pull off one of my best fake ‘surprised’ looks, and smile. I know I’m being a bit of an arse, but sometimes it’s unavoidable, despite my best efforts. “That’s great news…for her.”

  “You don’t think that’s at all interesting?” Aimee asks, clearly annoyed by my lack of enthusiasm.

  “Well, it might be great for her, but I don’t even know the girl. So it’s pretty hard to get excited about a stranger’s good fortune.” I pick up the remote control and put the TV back on. “But give her my love when you see her. Okay?”

  Aimee goes silent. She’s pissed off. I can feel it. I prefer it when she’s screaming at me. Silence is never good. Turning to her, expecting to find her carrying a deep, resentful scowl on her face, instead I see a huge grin across her mouth. “What’s so funny?” I ask, genuinely baffled. “I thought you’d be pissed off with me.”

  Aimee doesn’t reply.

  But then she says, “Sarah’s not the only one who’s pregnant.”

  Suddenly my jaw literally drops like a cartoon character. “What are you talking about?”

  “What do you think I mean, dumbass? We’re gonna have a baby as well.”

  “Are you serious?” I ask with a wide stare.

  Aimee simply nods, eyes clearly swimming with elation.

  “A baby?”

  She nods again. “Yep. You and me are having a baby.”

  “Oh my god! That’s awesome! That’s…you better not be winding me up now. I mean…”

  “’Course I’m not winding you up.” Aimee takes hold of my hand. “We really are having a baby!”

  I pull her close, kiss her on the lips, and then hug her tightly. “I love you so much,” I tell her. “I’m so happy. I think this might be the greatest news I’ve ever had.”

  “Really?”

  “Damn right it is. Even better than finding out about your fat friend.”

  Aimee laughs out loud. “Piss off. She’s curvy.”

  Sitting back on the couch, I take a breath to absorb the news. I run both sets of fingers through my hair, and then turn back to Aimee. “How far gone are you? Do you know?”

  “I think I’m about four or five weeks. Hard to tell with me; my periods are always all over the place.”

  “That sounds disgusting.”

  She lightly elbows me again. “What do you mean?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Well, I’ll give the doctor a call tomorrow,” Aimee continues, “to see about getting me a midwife. She’ll probably have a better idea when I’ll be due. But either way, we’re looking at about June, July. Somewhere ‘round there.”

  “That’s even better news. A summer birthday. Nothing worse than one in January or December. Who the hell wants a birthday so close to Christmas.”

  “I think we’ve got a few years before we need to worry about that.”

  I still can’t quite wrap my head around how exciting all this is. I mean, we’ve talked about having kids, but we’ve never actually planned it. I thought I’d be a little more terrified, but I’m not in the slightest. I’m thrilled! I couldn’t be happier!

  “I can’t wait to tell Mum,” I say like an excited child who’s just won his first race.

  “We can tell them this weekend if you like. We don’t have to wait for the midwife.”

  “So when did you take the test?”

  “This morning, before work. I wanted to be sure before I told you. Really wasn’t expecting a positive, especially after being on the pill for so long.”

  “What if the test is wrong? Wouldn’t it be safer to wait until we’ve seen a doctor?”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ve already done two tests. And besides, if the test says it’s positive, then it’s positive. It’s when it says it’s negative there could be an error. It might say you’re not pregnant and then nine months later out pops a kid.”

  “Ah right. Okay. Let’s tell your parents on Saturday. We can tell my mother when we see her for Sunday lunch. What do you think?”

  “Yeah. Sounds like a plan.” She looks down at Luna. “How would you like a brother or sister to play with, boy?” she asks in a vomit-inducing, childlike voice.

  “He’s a
cat, Aim. He doesn’t give a shit.”

  She kisses him on his furry, white head. “Of course he does.”

  Aimee is still sitting up in bed, reading a book on baby-names. She’s called out at least twenty-five boy names, and easily fifty girl names. Well, I’m no mentalist, but that definitely sounds like she’s leaning towards wanting a girl. Although when I ask which she’d prefer, she just tells me that she doesn’t care, as long as it’s healthy.

  Bullshit. Everyone’s got a preference.

  “How about Lloyd?” Aimee asks me, even though she knows that I’ve been trying to sleep for the last hour. “Or Archie? No, we can’t have that. Archie Archer. That’s ridiculous.”

  “All good, Aim,” I mumble. “Just write down the ones you like and I’ll take a look tomorrow. First thing.”

  “Or Lucy? I quite like Lucy. No, too much like Lucifer. Maybe Lacy. I quite like that. No, it sounds like a South African saying: Lassie. What do you think, Matt?”

  I ignore her. I don’t like any of those names. I know she’s excited, but I’m exhausted. Haven’t the heart to tell her to shut up. Maybe if I keep quiet she’ll get the message.

  “A girl in school was called Freya. I’ve always liked that name. Or Eva’s nice too.”

  Another thirty minutes pass before she puts the light off and I finally hear the book closing and dropping onto the floor with a thud. Aimee shuffles next to me, and then within a matter of seconds, I hear her breathing heavily, clearly fast asleep. Already? I don’t know how she does it. I really don’t.

  I try to push out the horrid thought of having to work tomorrow, and face yet another boring and pointless meeting about staff lateness. I mean, what’s the point? We already get docked if we clock-in late, so we already get punished. It’s not like we’re salaried and we’re wasting the hospital’s money. Having long meetings about lateness is wasting money. That’s irony at its best.

  After maybe ten minutes of trying to drop off, I surrender and open my eyes. For a moment the room is in complete darkness, even with the bedroom door still open, and the faint glow from the street-lamps. I can just about see the doorframe and the dresser. Definitely need a bigger place. It’s way too small. Can’t see us coping when the baby gets here. It’ll be fine for the first couple of months, the baby’ll be sleeping in here with us, but after that we’ll need at least two bedrooms. Don’t fancy ending up stuffed into one room like Charlie Bucket.

  My eyes adjust to the darkness and I start to see the shelves and the ornaments, and the photo frame on the wall next to the door, the one from the wedding, just the two of us. I wanted the one with our friends and us, but she insisted. Not worth fighting over—they’re both stunning pics. Especially with Aimee looking so beautiful, so perfect, so composed; not like me at all. I look over at Aimee as she sleeps soundly, and I smile with pride.

  But then my smile dissolves when I see something black hovering over her body.

  It’s shaped like a person.

  Gasping in fright, I clutch the quilt as its shadowy hands reach down at her, as if clawing at her face and chest.

  What the fuck is it?

  It’s not real. It’s just my eyes playing tricks. It’s just a shadow of something else. It’s just the darkness.

  It’s not a person. It can’t be.

  Eyes wide with terror, I follow the shadow as it slithers away from Aimee, creeping over the bed towards me. I can’t speak as the ice-cold air rushes over my face, like winter breath. I can hear it hissing as it looms above me. With no face. With no eyes. Just blackness. Just gloom reaching for me. Whispering inaudible sounds.

  It’s getting closer.

  I can’t move.

  Closer.

  It’s too much to bear.

  And closer.

  I shut my eyes.

  And closer.

  It’s not real. It can’t be real.

  And…

  “LEAVE US ALONE!” Aimee screams.

  The cold air suddenly vanishes.

  Then the bedroom door slams shut.

  Aimee puts the bedside lamp on, half-lighting the room. Her eyes are filled with tears. She clasps my forearm tightly, her nails digging into my flesh. I don’t feel the pain. It’s seems irrelevant. Whatever was here has gone. We say nothing; both eyes just locked to the closed door. Too petrified to dare go out into the hallway. Aimee’s breathing is erratic like mine, her grip on my arm still firm.

  A lifetime passes before I feel her fingers loosen and her breathing start to slow. I let go of the quilt and take hold of her hand.

  “You saw it,” Aimee whispers, turning to me, eyes wider than I’ve ever seen them before, her words clearly broken by fear. “Didn’t you? You saw it too? The shadow?”

  I nod slowly, squeezing her hand even tighter.

  “I didn’t imagine it…did I?” Aimee stammers.

  “No. You didn’t imagine. I saw it too.”

  “It’s come back. Hasn’t it?”

  I say nothing, just nod again. Too lost for words.

  “It never left, did it?” Aimee says as she begins to sob. “It’s always been here, hasn’t it? Waiting for us. Watching us while we sleep. It’s never gonna leave.”

  “I don’t know,” I reply with shallow breath. “Just get dressed. We’re going.”

  Both of us scramble out of bed. Aimee switches on the bedroom light. I throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt; Aimee does the same. I grab my wallet from the chest of drawers and we walk slowly to the door.

  “I think my car keys are in the kitchen somewhere,” I say. “Where are yours?”

  Aimee shakes her head. “I don’t know. I think in one of my handbags. Or maybe my coat pocket.”

  Reaching for the handle, I notice my hand shaking, yet my fingers seem frozen solid. I look up at Aimee; she knows exactly what’s stopping me opening the door—it’s obvious. I push past the dread, grasp the handle, and slowly twist the knob. Just as I start to pull the door open, I hear a small ping sound, and the room suddenly turns to darkness.

  “Jesus Christ, Matt!” Aimee yells in fright, grabbing my arm tightly. “It’s in here again!”

  I frantically try the light switch but nothing happens. “Don’t worry, Aimee. Just stay close to me. Everything’s going to be all right.” What the fuck do I know?

  Beads of sweat dripping down my forehead, I slowly tow Aimee out of the bedroom and into the dark hallway.

  The flat is in darkness, apart from the dim light of the street-lamps, seeping through the living room curtains. I hit the hallway light switch but nothing happens. I can just about make out the wall and the photos on it. I see the flat door. Unhooking the chain, I open it, and then motion with my head for Aimee to go through it. “Run to my car,” I whisper with urgency. “I’ll get the car keys.” She nods and then scurries out onto the landing and down the stairs, not sparing even a second to try the light switch.

  And then she’s out of sight.

  Leaving the door to the flat wide open for a sharp exit, I stampede through the blackness into the kitchen. Futilely, I try the light switch again but nothing happens. The room is even darker than the rest of the flat. I feel about on the table for the keys. Covering most of the table, I can’t find them. As my fingers give the table one last sweep, I knock the bunch of keys onto the floor. Following the rattle as they land, I reach down blindly and manage to gather them up.

  A loud thud vibrates under my feet.

  I bolt out of the kitchen only to find the flat door closed—and the door-chain hooked back on.

  I gasp in horror.

  Impossible.

  It’s not real.

  As I unhook the chain, scrambling to turn the knob, a sudden gush of cold air hits the back of my neck, snaking around past my ears to both cheeks.

  And then that slow, hissing sound creeps into my eardrums again, infesting my skin with goosebumps.

  I can’t breathe as it slides down over my throat.

  I know she’s there.
r />   Behind me.

  Watching.

  Too frightened to face it, I burst through the door. Across the landing. Down the stairs. Leaping the last five steps. And then I’m out of the building.

  Relief washes over me as the cool night breeze hits me, and I see Aimee, standing nervously against the car. I open the car door and we scramble inside.

  As we speed away down the street, towards the city centre, all I can think about is that vile shadow, hovering over Aimee, and that awful hissing sound.

  I feel sick.

  Muscles tight, sweat running down my forehead, I glance up at the rear-view mirror—but then quickly move it over to the left.

  I don’t want to see into the backseat. I’ve seen enough for one day.

  Just as we reach the motorway, heading towards Aimee’s parents’ house, something hideous dawns on me.

  We forgot the bloody cat!

  15

  We pull up outside the flat. It’s started to rain, filling the sky with grey clouds, concealing the sun that was shining only twenty-minutes ago. The dark and gloomy weather doesn’t exactly help our current situation.

  I rub my tired eyes hard with my palms. I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. Neither did Aimee.

  How the hell could anyone sleep after all this shit?

  Aimee unclips her seatbelt and grabs the door handle. I take her other hand, preventing her from opening it. “Stop,” I tell her, firmly. “I told you to stay put. You can’t risk the baby.”

  “Look, I was the one who forgot Luna—so I need to do this, Matt. He’s my cat.”

  “No, Aimee,” I reply, shaking my head in protest. “We both forgot him, so I’m going alone. I’ll grab him, find your car keys, and then pack up our things. I’ll be in and out in two minutes.”

  “I don’t care!” She pulls her hand free from my grip and then opens the door. “I’m coming with you.”

  I sigh, and then reluctantly follow her out of the car. “Fine. But you stay next to me the whole time. Agreed?”

  “Okay.”

  Walking up to the building, hand in hand, we both look up at the living-room window. Not sure what I’m looking at, what I expect to see. But this is not how someone should be entering their home—filled with worry and dread. Pulling out my keys, I fretfully open the door. The corridor light is somehow on. Aimee’s grip on my hand tightens as we make our way up the stairs, each footstep somehow creaking louder than the last. At the top I notice the door to our flat still hanging wide open. Memories of the floating shadow come rushing back. I shake them off, take a breath, and then slowly step inside the flat. My heart is racing but I try to hide my anxiety. The last thing Aimee needs now is to see me in a state, especially in her condition.