Page 26 of We Live Here Now
“You sound surprised.” He does. Why does he? He has no reason to.
“Oh, it’s just not uncommon for there to be adjustment issues. Migraines. Visual abnormalities. You’ll be dealing with a lot ofsensory overload after such a long time in the hospital on top of the illness itself.”
“Well, nothing to report but tiredness here.” I’m cheery as the first heavy splatters of rain hit the window. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. He’s not due to call me today. A little coincidental that Freddie and I fight and I tell him about the smell and then my specialist calls the next day. It’s ten in the morning. If Freddie rang him first thing, that’s about right for them to have spoken and then for the doctor to be calling me. I don’t feel that awful strange rage I felt in the night, but something else. Something hollow. Sadness maybe? A sense of betrayal. Freddie talked to my specialist without even telling me.
“I’m fine, honestly.” I have to give him something. If I’m too effusive that everything is perfect and Freddie’s rung to say he’s worried about me, that’s going to be odd, and it won’t be me he believes.
“I’ve had the occasional strange smell but nothing lasting,” I say reluctantly. “If I’m honest, it was a bit freaky in the moment, and I probably overreacted, but like you say, these things will probably happen for a while.”
“Ah yes, that’s quite common.” He sounds relieved. “But try not to get too worried about it or let your imagination run away with you. You’ve not only been through a health crisis, you’ve also moved house. Your brain is sorting everything out, but there will be glitches in the matrix for a while.” Freddie must have mentioned what I said about the smell. Maybe he’s mentioned the haunting stuff, but Dr. Canning’s obviously not about to bring that up.
“Yes, I need to think of it that way. But honestly, I’m good.”
“You certainly sound well. And call me anytime, Emily. Okay?”
We say our goodbyes and I toss the phone back on the side table, staring out at the smeared gray. The sunshine I’ve only just woken up to has been swallowed by a heavy rain that’s almost hail, landing icy sharp against the windows. The weather seems to change in an instant on these moors, the wild land’s moods swinging violentlyfrom one extreme to the other, and it’s so gloomy that I don’t bother getting dressed but instead go downstairs, take some pills, make a cup of tea, grab more pills, and head straight back to bed. My whole body aches from too much activity, and I refuse to feel guilty about crawling back under the covers, especially when the world outside is so uninviting.
I found it, but I didn’t use it. I put it back.I should go up to the top floor and search, but I can’t. I just can’t. I don’t want to think about that, and I really don’t want to think about those awful words,You will die here.
I stare at my phone again. No texts from Freddie. Is he annoyed at me about our fight last night? I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I know I was mad, the events of the night now like some hazy dream. I remember feeling rage though. I guess fear brought it out in me. Seeing that nail again.
The wind races around outside, whistling through any tiny gaps in the bricks as the rain lashes the building, and I feel like I’m on a boat on stormy seas, but the sounds are soothing, reliable, and known, not creaking doors or the thud of moving books, or doors slamming shut by themselves. Today, everything is perfectly normal in the house.
My eyes are heavy and after barely a few sips of my tea I pull the duvet up close around my chin even though the bedroom is toasty warm and find some old episodes ofModern Familyon my phone to play in the background so I don’t think about ghosts or poltergeists or ominous threats.
No wonder Freddie is worried about me, and he doesn’t even know about all of it. I wish something would happen around him. Just so he’d know I’m not imagining it all.
Just soI’dknow I’m not imagining it all.
34
Freddie
Emily’s car is in the driveway but the house is quiet—and freezing, why is it always so bloody cold?—so I light a fire in the sitting room and then get the tools from under the sink to see about this nail. Now that I’m back in Larkin Lodge, I feel my irritation with her returning. How many nails can possibly be sticking out of our floor? And why was she so quick to disbelieve me?
She probably hasn’t forgiven me for burning that Ouija board. I’ve been feeling a bit bad about calling Dr. Canning and not telling her, but that guilt is vanishing. After all, she was going on about bad feelings and smells. The doctorneededto know. Also, I’m starving after work, and I wasn’t expecting a three-course meal or anything, but I thought she might have at least thrown some pasta in a pan or be here to welcome me.
The irritation is like bees buzzing in my head. I don’t know where it’s come from and it’s not like me, but I can’t shake it off. And it certainly isn’t helped by what I see—or more accurately, what Idon’tsee—when I get to the middle landing.
It’s only as I swear out loud in a burst of annoyance that there’s the rustle of bedclothes and she appears, still in pajamas, in the doorway. I look up at her, surprised.
“Have you been in bed all day?”
“I was exhausted.” She’s barely awake but glances down at her watch. “You’re home early.” She gives me a half smile, but then it falters, my irritation obvious.
“What’s the matter?”
“Look.” I point down at the floorboard. At a single tiny spot on the floorboard. At the small hole tinged at the edges with a stale red. The hole where the nail used to be.
“I told you I’d taken it out,” I snipe as she follows my gaze. “I don’t know what you saw, but it wasn’tthatnail. In fact”—I scan across the rest of the hall to double-check—“there are no nails.”
She frowns. “There has to be. Isawit.” She flinches as she tries to crouch, awkward and obviously in pain with her leg. Her eyes dart across the wood. “It was there. It was.”
Her sudden insecurity—her terrified self-doubt—gives me a flash of victory.Not always right, are you, Emily?
“It doesn’t matter, Emily.” I’m softer. “Maybe it was a splinter you saw. It was the middle of the night.”
“Itwasthe nail. It was right there.” She looks up at me, suspicious. “Did you take it out? Just now?”
