Shadows (11 page)

She hid an impulse to smile.  “I don’t think locked doors keep ghosts out.”  Melissa drained the last of her coffee.  Walls did not keep out ghosts.  “What else did Jonny say?”

Rory sprang out of his white plastic chair, making her jump.  He paced the length of the bolly in front of her.  “He seems to think it’s all a good joke.  He said if we’re curious, there’s some story about it in the local library.”

“So we’ll go to the library and look it up.”

“No, we won’t.”  He wheeled around, his face taut.  “Do you think we’re going to encourage this thing, whatever it is?  Feed it by thinking about it, looking it up, giving it a life?”

Was he afraid of the ghosts?  She suspected he might be.  “But what harm can reading about it do?”

“We should forget about it, ignore it.”  He ran his fingers over his head.  If his hair had been long enough, Melissa suspected he’d have dragged his fingers through it.  Very alpha male.  She suppressed a grin.

He stared at her.  “We’ll go shopping and forget about it.”

“Isn’t that running away from the problem?”  The ghosts wouldn't go away.  They'd persist until they got what they wanted.

He glared at her.  “Perhaps.  What do you want to do?  Sit here and wait like a good girl scout and throw a net over it when it reappears?”

She almost scoffed at the suggestion, but changed it to a cough.  If he was scared, laughing at him wouldn't help.

“Perhaps it won’t come back,” she said mildly.  “People sit for hours waiting for ghosts to appear and they never do.”

~~~

Melissa woke quite suddenly, her heart thumping in fright.  There was no sound save her breathing, loud in the quiet room.  Not even the mice were scratching.  So what woke her?  Dreading another ghostly visitation, she lifted her head and stared into the shadowy corners of the room.  If she waited, her eyes would adjust and she would see more.

If she did not breathe too loudly nothing would hear her.

That mantra was a throwback to the days of her childhood when she’d believed that if she stayed absolutely still beneath the bed clothes, the ghost would not know she was there.

Why not call Rory?  He would come and protect her.

He’d been brave enough when he saw the monk and the girl, but it had shaken him to acknowledge that ghosts existed.  Or didn’t, depending on your point of view.  Maybe this time he wouldn’t come running and save her from whatever was creeping through the living room.  Her skin prickled.  Was it her imagination, or was the room growing colder?

Something moaned behind her.  A flare of panic clenched her hands and she bit down harder than she intended on her lip.  Don’t be so stupid.  Breathe deep and slow, and use your head.

The old dictum brought a memory of her mother’s cheerful face.  “‘Scared of shadows, Melissa?  Up and at ’em, girl.  Shadows disappear when you switch on the light.’”

Impatient with her fears, she raised up on one elbow.

The window swung on the wind, and moaned as it did so.

Because of the heat, she’d left the window at the end of the living room open, and Rory must have opened the window in the bedroom.  The wind blew through the house, just as it had the previous night.  Only this time the wind was cool, and damp.

The door into the hall swung gently on its hinges.  Heart thumping, Melissa stared into the blackness beyond.  The bed slats rattled as Rory turned over.  A floorboard creaked.  Melissa’s pulse tripled.  Rory cleared his throat.  Another rattle of sound, this time from the window behind the bulwark of the sofa, the one she could not see.  Greatly daring, she pulled herself up peered over the top.  The trees outside rustled swayed in the wind.  A stray strand of creeper clattered against the glass.

The wind was rising.  When she looked at the window at the end of the room, it swung to and fro.  Her muscles relaxed as if someone had cut all the strings, and only then did she realize how tense she had been.  Banging windows she could handle and if she didn’t get up and shut them, they would crash and break the glass.

She lay in the warmth and considered shouting for Rory.  The window crashed against the frame and her heart leapt into her throat.  Another bang like that, and the window would break.

Melissa scrambled out of her tangled blanket.  She didn’t want to have to phone Jonny to tell him one of the lovely old windows had shattered because she couldn’t be bothered to get up and shut it one windy night.

She scampered across sloping walnut floorboards, shivering in the cold, damp air flowing from the open window.  The weather had changed, and not for the better.  Locals spoke of the wind shrieking in from the Bay of Biscay, bringing torrential rainstorms with it.  This must be what was happening now.

Outside the window everything moved, swayed, thrashed as the wind struck.  Trees and bushes out in the heaving blackness creaked and groaned as she struggled to catch the flapping window.  Both sections of paned glass were nearly four feet high and a good three feet wide, and she had to heave against the pull of the wind to get them both safely closed and the clumsy old clasp properly fastened.

She scampered back through the dark room, satisfied with her work, and automatically checked the second window.  Directly above the millstream that ran under the house, the window remained shut to keep insects out of the house.  In the shadows beneath the window, something moved.

This time her heart did leap into her throat.  Eyes wide on the lighter patch before the window, Melissa froze.  Small hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention.  Her skin prickled.  The very air of the room seemed to vibrate around her.  Rooted to the spot, she sucked in a quivering breath.  A human form rose from some kind of sleeping bench.  There was little light, but surely that was an outline of shaggy curls silhouetted against the window?  The smooth outline of naked shoulder, a male shoulder, well-formed and muscled?

He took a step toward her, one hand outstretched.

Melissa bolted through the hall, leapt across the bed with scant regard for Rory’s comfort, and shook him roughly.

“Wake up.  Rory.  There’s something in the other room.”

With his warm bulk between her and the door to the hall and living room, she might be safer, but did not take her gaze from the bedroom door.  Belatedly, she reached for the light switch.  The lamp bloomed, throwing shadows back into the hall.

Rory glared at her.  “What’s the matter now?”

“In there.”  Melissa pointed.

Rory groaned.  “The mill’s tame monk?  Another appearance?”

She nodded, incapable of speech, ignoring his sarcasm.  He threw back the duvet with all the exasperation of a man woken from sound sleep.  He got to the door and looked back.  “Well?  Aren’t you coming?”

“No.”  She sat on the bed, within the comforting glow of the bedside lamp.

“Where’s that baseball bat you gave me the other day?”

He hadn’t wanted the bat the other day.  Rory’s glance dipped and skimmed over her.  She followed his glance.  Her tee shirt revealed long legs and more of her than was good or wise, considering the state of their relationship.  Melissa tugged the fabric lower, gulped and pointed to the living room.  “In there.  By the door.”

The tee shirt rode up as she pointed.  She grabbed it again, well aware that she was naked beneath it, and Rory's expression told her he liked what he saw.  He cocked an eyebrow at her, winked, turned and crept stealthily toward the hall and the living room.

Unsure whether to laugh or cry at the click of switches, she was glad when the living room flooded with light.  Behind her, the wind tugged at the bedroom window.  She got up and closed it.

A few moments later, the click of switches in the living room coincided with the sudden darkness.  Rory leant one hand against the door frame and regarded her with a lop-sided smile.  “There’s nothing there.  What frightened you?”

At least he’d gone to investigate.  Thank goodness he wore boxers at night.  The garment still left an impressive amount of maleness on view.  For maybe three whole seconds she gazed at him, realized she was perving and looked away.  Remembering the shortness of her tee shirt, Melissa sat down on the bed again.  “The monk.  No clothes.  He got up from some kind of bed underneath the mill stream window and came toward me with his hand outstretched.”

He did not laugh, thank goodness.  “That sounds unpleasant.  I suppose you don’t want to go back in there?”

“Um, well, no.  But…”  She eyed him doubtfully.  She really didn't want to sleep in the living room, but then again, she didn't want to sleep in this bed with him, and that left her with no other options.

He propped the bat against the wall, closed the door and came to the bed.  “You can sleep on that side, I’ll take this.  It’s nearer to the door.”

She almost rejected the offer out of hand, but hesitated.  There really was no where else to go.  No chair in here.  The bolly was as haunted as the living room.  Only here seemed safe from nightly visitations.

Rory got under the duvet, looked at her and smiled.  “Frankly, I don’t want to sleep in there either.  Sleep on the floor if you want, but it will be dammed hard, I promise you.”

She looked at the walnut boards.  Apart from the hardness of the floor, there would be all kinds of spiders and creeping insects in the darkness of the night.  There was only one duvet, and tonight it was chilly enough to need its warmth.

“I wouldn’t touch a maiden in distress.”

Her lips traced an upward curve in spite of her misgivings.  She liked his way of putting things.  Slowly, she lifted the duvet and got into bed.

The wind charged over the house all night long.  Gusts whipped through the trees, rattled the chairs along the bolly and then died away.  Every time Melissa thought it had gone for good, back it roared, noisier than ever.  There was one small consolation in the tumult.  Ghosts in black robes could be having a party next door and she wouldn’t hear them.

Rory seemed to fall asleep within minutes, but Melissa lay rigid for a long time.  The moment her hand or toe hit the warm glow emanating from his side of the bed, she retreated.  Worried that her constant shuffling would wake him, she finally fell asleep well after midnight.

When she awoke, she opened her eyes on the single strip of white lace that did duty for a curtain, and frowned at the bright blue sky.  This wasn't the living room.  Images of last night flooded her brain.  Wide awake in an instant, every muscle tense, she checked over her shoulder.

Rory’s side of the bed was empty.  Melissa loosed a sigh of relief, and flopped back on the pillows.  Facing Rory would have been so embarrassing.  The horror of trying to exchange chit chat with him, deciding who should get up first, knowing that she wore nothing but a skimpy tee shirt.  How thoughtful of him to have risen so quietly.  Unutterably grateful, she lay there staring at the gently shifting patterns of sunlight on the white walls, smiling.

“Melissa?  You awake?”  His voice came from somewhere beyond the hall.

She grabbed the duvet and pulled it up to her chin.  Catching sight of her frightened face in the wardrobe mirrors, she offered her reflection a weak smile.  Don't be so stupid.  Rory's not going to waltz in here.  He's already proved he's a gentleman.  You're being foolish.

Footsteps sounded in the hall.  Glancing at the half-open door, she shuffled upright in the bed.  “M’mm.  Yes, I suppose so.”

Rory’s head appeared, and one hand gripped the door.  The rest of him, she was happy to see, stayed in the hall.  “You have a clear run at the shower.  I’m done.  Okay?”

“Thanks.  I'll get up right away.”

He deserved full marks for being so considerate.  He could have taken advantage of the situation in the worst possible way, but he’d behaved perfectly.  She headed for the shower and hummed and even sang snatches of song as the water thundered down.

Toweling her hair dry, she returned to the kitchen.  “Have you had breakfast already?”  The big windows at the end of the living room were wide open and the breeze carried the scents of damp grass and honeysuckle.

Rory looked up from the newspaper spread out before him on the counter top.  “Had a coffee.  Why don’t you go and sit down in the sun and I’ll bring something out?”  He closed the newspaper and flung it onto the sofa.