“I’m glad you ordered that and didn’t insist on ice cream like usual.” Shane finishes off his second coffee, the froth sticking to his lip.
“It’s a little early for ice cream.”
“Yeah, and I saw the prices in the window. We really should watch what we spend until we’re done with renovating.”
“Is that why you had a second coffee?”
Shane’s face falls flatter than my one and only soda. “Am I not allowed a treat? I work hard.”
“Maybe you need something stronger to help you chill.”
“I’m fine. Do you think that house is safe to bathe in? I can’t be fucked for another shower.”
“The downstairs bathroom is surprisingly clean.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“And there’s hot water. We could maybe take one together?”
“Maybe another time? I wanna be in and out. You know I like quicker baths than you do.”
My soul deflates a little, knowing the truth that there’s more than one reason why he won’t take a bath with me.
“Shall we go?”
“Sure.”
“Great. I’ll go take care of the bill.” He rises from his seat. “Get your stuff ready.”
When we get back to the house, Shane leaves me alone with the shadows of those who haunt me. And they have been all week.
I started seeing things a few days ago. Shadows here and there that move with me as I creep around the downstairs rooms.
At first, I thought it was Shane playing tricks, but he denied it then, and he’s still denying it now.
It’s been fifty minutes and counting since he left for the bathroom, the little clock on the mantle confirms.
I’ve never seen it before—it looks like an old telephone, but it has a face and two ticking hands going around and around.
Surely, a clock wouldn’t still be working after all this time?
That thought lasts a split second before my mind goes back to the shadow in the corner. The one that could either belong to the old, heavy drapes or something hiding behind them.
Dipping the brush into the half-full can, I turn my attention back to applying the first layer of paint. The eagerness to hide the horror stories written on the wall has me smearing the painttoo thickly. But the mess I make helps me ignore the shadow, hoping that if it is something sinister, it’ll grow bored with my lack of attention.
There are new lies sprayed across the walls today.
A sigh of frustration leaves me as Shane and I had painted over each message throughout the past week. I did so while tears secretly streamed down my face. And Shane did it while sneering at the culprits and Ambrose because he especially hates my brother.
And yet, more words appeared within the hour we slipped out this morning.
Shane pointed them out the second we got back, capping his lack of amusement with a false laugh. It brought me stress, causing me to give up the day of wedding planning and pull out the paint cans.
My paintbrush smothers the words that imply a seedy relationship with Ambrose. I freeze on his name, just like I did that first day here. The first three letters lost to the new shade of pink.
Ambrose.
My skin prickles, but I feel too hot.
