A loud noise booms, echoing through many rooms. My heart lurches, and I let go of the doorknob. I recognize the sound, which is just a grandfather clock. The one in the reading room alerts me that it’s seven in the evening, and with a six-second delay, another confirms it up in the hallway on the second floor. I step back, my whole-body trembling.
The door is still closed, and after seconds pass and silence ebbs, I’m able to breathe when it doesn’t click open again.
“This sofa doesn’t feel too damp, considering it’s been here for how many years?”
The statement sofa almost fills the tiny living room. The only other furniture is a coffee table, free of stains, which is also unfamiliar. Shane’s tablet sits on top, playing some movie that has neither of our attention. I tremble at his side, tears still dripping from my eyes.
“I have no idea.”
“Look, stop crying. You have no reason to be sad.”
Nodding, I finger the fabric, not remembering the comfy maroon sofa at all. The suedette material feels nice between my fingers, warm… like the room, which should feel damp, too.
“Come on, relax a little.”
Using my toes to do it, I pull off my socks and kick my feet up just as the doorbell rings, as loud as it always was.
“Can you go?” Shane’s shoes are off, too, kicked under the table he puts his feet upon. “No shoes.”
Bringing my foot into the air, I wiggle my toes. “On the way here, you said you wouldn’t leave my side.” My anxiety tries to guilt him, and a flush of shame guilts me for it instead.
“Lancie, we’re in your childhood home, and the monster who caused all your fears is still behind bars. You’re safe.”
The bell rings again.
“Go on,” Shane encourages, handing me his wallet. “I won’t find my way back.”
I’d say Shane is playing dumb with his excuses, but with the amount of attention he pays to anything but the phone in his hand these days, it’s possible that he wouldn’t find his way back until our food goes cold.
A sneer about him using that annoying little device for GPS sits on my tongue, but I don’t feel the desire to voice it.
“You’ll be quicker. Go. And wipe those silly tears.”
Knowing that’s true, because I’ll probably run through the house to avoid harsh memories catching up, I force myself off the sofa.
I glance back with pleading eyes at the door, but he doesn’t meet my stare, and I know I have to do this alone.
I make it from one side of the house to the other in seconds, avoiding the pull to the second floor.
Wedging the door handle in that special way, it opens on the first attempt. I cringe as it whines.
Rain bounces off the delivery guy’s red hat, his blond hair drenched beneath. Rain droplets are dropping into his eyes.
“Oh…”
Now, I not only understand his impatience as shown by ringing twice, but I feel bad, too. I hadn’t noticed how bad the weather was while Shane was blasting some movie he’d downloaded on his tablet.
“Come in a sec.” I step back, counting money from Shane’s wallet, and the man steps inside, shivering on the worn welcome mat.
“New in town?” he asks cautiously as he stares around the house.
“I just got—” I freeze before saying the word, “home. I grew up here.”
“Then I guess you’re not scared away by the ghost stories.”
“Well, ghosts don’t usually hurt you. Living, breathing people do.” I roll my eyes shut, hoping this random person forgives mefor the bite in my voice. And hoping that he can’t see I’m all talk because the ghosts here make my hair stand on end.
“I’m sorry. The place is just a mess, and it’s stressing me.”
