TODAY ON OUR BLOG, WE HAVE AUTHOR JANE MURRAY, WHO IS SHARING HER FLASH FICTION STORY 'THEIR FIRST HOME' #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat

THEIR FIRST HOME

‘Do you think it’s haunted?’ Mel spun around to face David, her eyes lighting up and her face bearing a teasing expression. She knew her husband hated ‘the paranormal’ and anything claiming to be remotely supernatural. After all, he was a scientist, he dealt with cold, hard facts not superstition and conjecture. For him, life was life and once you were dead, you were dead. End of.

Noticing her expression, he relaxed his shoulders and bit back a sharp retort. Having an argument about something which didn’t exist was pointless, so he smiled and ruffled her already messy hair, which was hastily scraped back into an untidy ponytail held together by a couple of comb clips.

‘You know what I think,’ he smiled, as she took his hand. ‘And it’s not that the place is haunted. Do you like it?’

She nodded, her green eyes bright with excitement.

‘Like it enough to buy it, I mean, sweetheart?’ David was always so pedantic. It was not enough just to like the house; he needed to know that she wouldn’t ‘go off’ it in a few days’ time.  

‘I like it enough to buy it, in fact, I love it! I love you, Dr. David Harper!’ She laughed out loud, and her laughter echoed through the stillness of the old, empty house as her husband kissed her for the first time in what was soon to be their first home, well, the first one they had bought together, anyway. They were renting at the moment and probably paying more in rent than they would on their soon to be acquired joint mortgage. ‘I love you, too, Mrs. Harper. Now, let’s go and find the estate agent chap and tell him we want to make an offer.’

Six weeks later, they were in! Mel was exuberant and bounced around the old house which a vigour that David neither possessed nor would ever subscribe to. She often said they were chalk and cheese; her husband so cautious and contained, whereas Mel, she was like an open book. You could read how she was feeling in her every move. And today, she was happy. Mortlake House was her dream home. She used to walk past it, on her way home from work every evening and wish she owned it, and now, she did! Well, half of it, anyway, she conceded, her ridiculously reserved husband owning the other half.

David was ambivalent about the house. He liked it because Mel liked it and besides, he wasn’t the type of person who got excited over bricks and mortar. Give him a test tube or a scientific formula, and then people would see an animated David. He had decided to use the former snug in their new house as a sort

of study cum chemistry lab. Mel had bought him a Bunsen burner as a moving in present, accompanied with dire warnings not to set her dream home on fire. David said he never would.

Despite everything they did, as September’s bright autumnal days became October’s wintry evenings, the house had cold spots. The infernal draughts and sometimes icy atmosphere in certain parts of the house annoyed David. They had invested in underfloor heating and a state-of-the-art heat exchange system. There were no reasons for the coldness he sometimes felt whenever he entered the dining room, or how the hairs on the back of his neck would stand on end in the smallest bedroom. Practical Mel invested in rugs and room heaters, to complement the background heating. The rooms stayed cold. It seemed to spread through the house, relentlessly tearing away at the cosy comfort Mel and her husband were trying to evoke.

When the voices began, Mel thought she was hearing things. Or perhaps it was David, on the telephone to one of his colleagues. She’d go to find out, only to discover him asleep in his study, the small Bunsen burner flame burning brightly and the occasional hiss of gas the only sound. Then, footsteps started to accompany the voices. David denied he could hear people running up the stairs, and the excited chatter of voices that did not belong to either himself or his wife, but sometimes, even he had to admit that the noise of conversation was not something he could blame on interference on the radio which they both liked to listen to through the dark, icy winter evenings. He never agreed with Mel, though, that there were ghosts, and dismissed the noises and the footsteps, telling her he could near nothing, and that it was simply her imagination.

Mel stopped telling David about the voices, but it didn’t stop her hearing them. It wasn’t her imagination when, as Hallowe’en approached, they got louder. She began to be grateful when David was working at home and when he wasn’t, she made sure she was not in the house, either.

The night David was late arriving home, because of an accident on the ring road, Mel found herself outside on the porch, the rain lashing around her, battering the front door as the wind howled mournfully through the deserted street. The streetlights were small pools of iridescence, glowing like ghosts dancing in the dark as the shadows stretched towards her, reaching across the road. With sudden realisation, it dawned on Mel that it was October 31 st . Hallowe’en. The thought terrified her, and she scurried indoors, the voices temporarily forgotten.

Inside, the house was quiet, acquiesce for once. No voices, no chatter. Mel’s shoulders relaxed and she began to breathe more steadily. She felt safer indoors, rather than out, despite David not being here. Wanting to block out the unwelcome and somehow, frightening, darkness, Mel scurried around the silent house, closing curtains and pulling blinds tight shut. Moving quickly around the ground floor, she found herself at the door to David’s study. Hesitating only minutely, for David did not like her going in his workspace without his being there, she ignored this knowledge and pushed open the door, meaning to rush in, shut the blind and then she would feel safe.

Her hand stilled on the doorknob of the open door, and she screamed as she saw the figure, sepulchral, awful, standing at the window, looking out onto the street from where Mel had just arrived. Her blood ran cold as the figure turned, and she came face to face with herself. Still screaming, she ran from the room, terror gripping her heart in a cold, harsh grasp. Her breathing fast, short, panic filled. She ran across the parquet flooring in the hallway, her feet not making a sound on the hard wooden surface. Outside, the rain lashed against the windowpane and the trees bent and groaned across the garden in submission to the power of the wind. A solitary moonbeam cast a ghostly glow across the hall and lit up the tall, thin frame of the man Mel bumped into in her haste. Screaming again, she eventually calmed as David’s strong arms wrapped around her. She rested her head against his chest, and the comforting beat of his heart was absent. When she screamed, she could not hear her own voice and when she turned to David to seek reassurance, he had disappeared. She screamed again, unheard, save for the people who were looking around the house that very minute.

‘It’s supposed to be haunted, this house,’ the estate agent said, ignoring the distant scream and hoping desperately that the potential buyers hadn’t heard it. This was their second viewing of Mortlake House. Despite the picturesque scenery surrounding the property, people simply didn’t want to buy it. So, now that he did have an interested party, he wasn’t going to see his sale go off because of a bloody ghost! ‘I’m

afraid I do have to tell you this. Not to disclose it would be inappropriate.’

The woman looked around the hallway, noticing the scuffed parquet flooring and felt a frisson of…something, maybe excitement, maybe anticipation, travel through her body. Her husband didn’t look impressed with the estate agent, although she could tell he liked the house. That small room opposite the

lounge would make the perfect study for him.

‘I don’t believe in ghosts,’ her husband told the estate agent. ‘We’re interested. Could we proceed?’

The agent inclined his head. ‘Of course, sir, and if I could just make a note of your names, again, please?’

‘Yes, of course. My name’s Harper. Dr. David Harper, and this is my wife, Mel,’

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COMING SOON: On Sunday, 24th August, we are thrilled to be hosting Performance Poet, author and writer, Nicky J Rae, who will be sharing some of the poetry from her book 'Silent No More'.