A Visitor In The Night

Harry Warren never believed in ghosts when he rented the old house at the end of Cherrydrive Orchard. One week changed his mind forever.

--- 1 ---

The air was colder than usual; cold as ice. He hadn't felt such biting freeze since his stints in the Arctic or the long years spent fishing off an Atlantic trawler. But this was not like his usual life, this was something else entirely. The polished wood staircase leading up in front of him stretched into the pitch blackness that shadowed the very top of the steps and landing. An area that was the entrance to fear. Something was up there. He just knew it, had known it for the past week.

Harry Warren had been renting the house about a month now. Something about the property had caught his eye when he'd read the ad in the motel, forlorn and down on his luck. Ever since he'd lost his job and his family, life had become nothing but a constant downward spiral. Friends had tried to help as much as they could, but not enough. Money was tighter than it once was. At least I still have some, Harry often thought. Most people don't these days.

Then again, these days most people don't believe in ghosts.

This thought flashed across his mind as he stood still, desperately clutching the bottom banister, trying to retain his composure under shaking terror. Every  night had been like this since last week. First came the locking-up, traveling from room to room and checking, switching off the dim lights behind one by one. Then came the walking (sometimes quickly) up the stairs to the bedroom. Then there was the closing of the door, the only thing that seperated his comfort zone from the dark hallways outside. Finally came the turning out the lamp, pulling the covers tight and laying listening to nothing but the terrible silence.

It was always then that it began.

Starting from the front hallway, through the living room and kitchen, up the stairs and from one end of the landing to the other and stopping outside the bedroom. Those slow, steady, heavy footsteps clomping on the hard wooden floor, his heart thumping so hard it damn near shot out of his chest. Harry had always considered himself a tough man, having fought his share of fights and escaping death plenty of times, yet the simple sounds of those steps night after night almost reduced him to a whimpering child. Venturing out to see the source was simply not an option. The Something knew he was here, he knew it was here, but the two of them seeing each other would only have made things worse. Harry knew that whatever walked the halls was something he didn't need to see.

For now, the bottom of the stairs seemed the best option. He held his digital watch up to his, pressing on the button which enabled the small monitor to glow in the dark. 4:36am. He brought it back down slowly, his eyes rapidly re-fixing on the landing. The quiet was deafening. His heart was bouncing again. Blood pulsated in his ears, thick and hot. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the light switch. If only he could edge his way over slowly.....

HOLY JESUS, THERE IT WAS AGAIN!

Across the landing darted the figment of a shadow. Saying nothing, moving fast, but the menace was unbearable. Black as coal and alive. Harry saw (or heard) the steps flying down the stairs a second later. By the time he ran over to the light switch and flipped it with uncontrollably shaking hands, the Something was right behind him. For a horrible moment he felt a biting iciness pricking the back of his neck, yet when the lightbulb shone everything he had felt was instantly gone. Even the quiet was a little subdued. Harry turned to face the entire hallway, his eyes travelling suspiciously over things, like the way a soldier seeks the enemy. Straining his ears for the tiniest sounds, nothing but the eerie emptiness of the house was to be heard. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Harry stood and ran his hands through his light brown hair. A cold sweat covered his body. He went and leaned against the wall, only now allowing himself a glance up to the landing.

It was empty, yet it wasn't. The Something had gone but would fast return. From upstairs came a curious rumbling, which stopped a few seconds later. A wave of intense nausea shot through him. He held his face in his hands.

Another night in hell, over and done with.

--- 2 ---

It took almost 20 minutes for Harry to work up the courage to turn the lights off again and a further 20 to journey slowly back up the stairs. Outside, the first orangey glows of dawn began to streak across the sky, yet the house's interior remained bathed in a dark blue murk. The bedroom door seemed a million miles away and Harry kept his eyes pointed straight ahead, for fear of catching the Something lurking in the corner of his eye. Eventually he reached the comfort zone and thanked God he'd made it. Throwing the curtains open for light and closing the door, he settled back onto the mattress and fell into his usual uneasy sleep.

Hours later and all was bright again. By day the house took on a different character; it almost became pleasantly liveable. The events of the nights always lost their edge, for a little while anyway, until the sun went down. Harry rose up and yawned loudly. The bedside clock read 12:00pm. Four hours sleep would be enough. At least the bed was comfy, whenever he actually got to enjoy it. He threw on his grey dressing gown and walked down the hallway to the bathroom. Looking in the dirty mirror, Harry stood and examined the physical effects of the last week. Sunken bags under his eyes, skin white as cloud, the beginnings of a beard forming on his face, and his hair a greasy, tangled mess.

Nothing the usual caffeine and fresh air won't fix, he thought. The office would have been today, but he still had a week of vacation time left. At least work would have been an escape from the house during the day, yet Harry had a sneaking suspicion that constantly being kept up  at night by the Something would make punctuality suffer. Harry had no clue what to fill his time with today. Maybe he'd go out. Maybe he'd stay in. Maybe this, maybe that. No matter what he did with his day, the night would still come.

These thoughts remained lingering as he sat at the kitchen table drinking a cup of strong black coffee, staring out the window at a clear blue sky. The radio murmured away in the background and a soft breeze blew in through the window. A stark contrast from the horrific antics of just a few hours before. Harry was still there. After a whole week of this he still hadn't tried to figure out what exactly was going on, who it was or what it was. The estate agent hadn't mentioned anything, just flashed her pearly whites and sharp suit in the usual "I'm-convincing-you manner". Harry had chosen to give in as she handed him the papers to sign. In his time he'd lived in all kinds of places; houses, apartments, cottages, even a mansion once. You never judge a book by its cover (Harry saved that for people instead). This place felt different in an untappable way, as he and the agent had wandered the rooms.

Yes, here, here is right. Something new. Something different, a voice inside seemed to cry out. Nothing to regret and plenty in store. That same voice always said that but in lesser measure for other places, here there were no faults. Harry wasn't much of an interior designer but even he appreciated the open rooms, big downstairs windows and authentic oak carvings. Just the thing for a man his age living alone. The voice panged back up again as Harry signed the papers, but was drowned out with the scribbling of his fountain pen.

But that was in the past now, he mused. My goddamn fault for renting in the first place. He finished the last of his coffee with a contented sigh and took the dishes to the sink. The radio blurbled on about the current evils of the world; Syrian tensions, that blonde maniac running for President, killer clowns. With a grumble Harry switched the set off, the silence enveloping the kitchen. This sort of quiet he had learned to appreciate. He basked in it, not caring that the Something still could be felt even in daylight. As he stood leaning on the counter, a wave of emotion overcame him. He buckled slightly at the knees, fighting hot tears.

Why the hell won't it stop? WHY?! WHY CAN'T IT LEAVE ME ALONE!

He snarled at himself.

Because you're the a*****e who rented it, remember? You're the one who never did your f*****g homework!

That couldn't be fought. The worst problems in life are always the ones you had gotten into yourself. He wiped away the tears and bent his head down to the floor. The Something would do the same tonight, tomorrow night and every other night. Probably until Harry was driven out, driven insane or driven to suicide, or any combo of the three. But that wouldn't happen. God almighty, it had been long enough.....

The thought came to him so suddenly that Harry became deadly still for a few seconds. God. Of course. What should have been so obvious from the very beginning was now staring him right in the face. It was only a few minutes away, one of the first things he'd seen driving up here for the first time. Harry had never been much of a religious man, choosing instead to treat it like his life; something to be picked up and restarted every now and again. Now was different though. Especially now. The quiet was beginning to grow on him and Harry sensed that even daylight hours would be disrupted from now on. Best to be quick about this.

Running upstairs to the bedroom, the first hopeful thought of the week swam into Harry's mind.

He'll fix this. He did before.

--- 3 ---

The wheels of the silver Mercedes crunched leisurely up the church's gravel drive, coming to a halt outside the heavy carved-wood doors. Harry got out slowly and breathed in the fresh morning air. Tall evergreen trees hid the church from view on the road, but sheltered you once you were inside. A large sign read "Church Of The Holy Angel". He stood a moment and listened to the pleasant surround sound of nature. The distant hum of cars was ever present and overhead a few birds were chirping merrily. All was still. Harry allowed himself a smile. Despite the past week, the house still hadn't taken away some of life's simple pleasures.

Entering into the church, the musky mixture of candlewax and dust was the first thing to greet his nostrils. It was your usual place of worship; row upon row of hard wooden pews, a high vaulted ceiling, two confession boxes along the right wall in the main chapel area. At the altar, a young boy wearing crisp, white robes stood arranging prayerbooks. Like the house, it was quiet as a mouse. The good kind however. Harry approached the little boy cautiously, his footsteps sounding loudly and reverberating around the empty air. He cleared his throat as he neared the pulpit.

"Excuse me..."

The boy turned around and looked at him with wide eyes. Harry cleared his throat. He'd forgotten the name of the man he sook.

"I'm looking for Father...uh...Father..."

The boy spoke, questioningly. The adult nature of his voice took Harry by surprise.

"Beecher?"

That must be it. He'd only met him once, very briefly. Harry didn't want religion then, didn't need it. Until the trouble had started, he never thought he'd ever find himself here, of all places. He nodded slowly to the little boy.

"Yeah, he's the one. Is he around?"

"Yes mister, I'll get him for you."

Harry smiled weakly and watched as the kid walked off quickly, entering into a small door hidden under the pillars of the cloisters. He sat down at the front pew and waited, listening to his ticking watch to pass the time. After a short while, a middle-aged man wearing small spectacles, with thick, greying hair and a small mustache emerged from the door and walked over to him, his hand outstretched.

"Hello there, Mister....?"

"Warren. I'm Harry Warren." he shook his hand firmly. The priest's skin felt rough and coarse against his, perhaps the skin of a man who, over the course of his life, had come to know more than he ever wanted to. His smile was genuine though, and inviting.

"Ah, Mr. Warren, such a pleasure. The name's Vernon Beecher, welcome to the Church Of The Holy Angel."

Father Beecher raised his hands up high to the heavens and grinned widely, as Harry watched silently. His glasses shone in the small beams of sunlight coming through the stained-glass windows.

"It seems the Lord has seen fit to bless us with another beautiful morning!"

"And may he bless us with many more..." Harry's voice trailed off. Please take this seriously, otherwise I really don't know what the hell else there's left do, apart from just leave. That's probably what the damn place wants anyway. For now, he shushed the inner voice as the priest's eyes met his again.

"Indeed, Harry. Now tell me, what can I do for you?"

Harry looked around, his sight drifting over the little boy. He was busy tidying the pulpit, probably readying it for the morning mass. Father Beecher noticed his silence and his face changed slightly, concerned. Harry turned and spoke to him lowly.

"It's something.....urgent. Very urgent and very private."

He paled at that. Something across his face? Maybe he knew. But maybe he didn't. The priests were meant to have been trained in this sort of thing, or so Harry had always believed. Now he would find out. Father Beecher motioned towards the door, deciding to wear the smile again. It was smaller this time, however.

"I see, my son, I see. Come with me, we can talk in my office."

So they walked down the aisle. As they were about walk through the mysterious door, Father Beecher turned to the little boy, who snapped to attention.

"Toby, when you're finished, see yourself out. Me and Mr. Warren here have something to discuss."

Without a word, Toby simply nodded and returned to his work. Questions were beginning to come to Harry's mind, but he had other problems to handle first. Father Beecher would help, or so he hoped anyway. They walked down a short corridor, the walls lined with framed photographs of past fathers and the church itself over the years. At the end of it, there was an open doorway leading into a small-but-neat office. A polished desk stood in the centre of the room. A small bookcase lined with leatherbound volumes was behind. A small crucifix hung on the wall above and a gleaming crystal vial of holy water was perched atop a thick Bible on the desk, amongst mounds of papers. Father Beecher pulled out a chair for Harry and, handing it to him, settled down into one himself. He sighed contentedly, then studied Harry intently.

"So Mr. Warren, tell me, what troubles you?"

"Father.....I'm not sure what to say.  My trouble isn't the typical one. It's probably going to sound completely crazy, to be honest."

Father Beecher leaned back in his chair. He took off his spectacles slowly and wiped them with a small white cloth. Placing them on the desk, he addressed Harry in a quiet, friendly tone.

"I won't judge you. Your only judge is God, and you needn't worry, for he can be a loving one."

"Well.....alright.....it's my house."

"Ah yes, I knew I'd seen you before! You've just moved here, I believe?"

"Yes, about three weeks ago, Father."

"I hope you've been settling in well?"

"As I said, that's what I came to tell you about. If you'll listen to me."

"Go ahead."

"There's something wrong with my house. Something that's been driving me round the bend for a whole week."

There it was again, Harry seemed sure of it now. He ignored it for the time being.

"Every night.....there's these sounds. Like there's someone else there, but I've always lived alone. Well, at least since my wife left me."

He wouldn't approve of that. However he sat in his chair, nodding his head slowly whilst stroking his mustache with long fingers. The spectacles stayed put. He opened his mouth.

"Where did she go?"

Hesitating, trying to bottle up the memories again. That empty feeling in the pit of his stomach rose again, stabbing into him. It was too much to think of, even though Harry's mind had drifted over the possibility before. Every night it came along with the Something. But she had to keep out of this.

"She's.....gone, Father. Coming up on three years now."

He nodded gravely. "I'm sorry for your loss, Harry. Truly I am. I too know the feeling of the Lord taking a loved one. If I may pry, how did she pass?"

The clench in his throat rose again, still as strong as it was all that time ago.

"Lung cancer. Inoperable. The doctor said she didn't suffer, though."

Nodding his head slowly, Beecher sighed. Harry tried to close the clench back up. The priest stood up and took his spectacles off the desk, placing them back on his face. He walked over to Harry and laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Harry looked up, unsure of his intentions. But Father Beecher simply rambled on, one hand staying on him, the other buried in his right pocket.

"So you're hearing bumps in the night, and my condolonces again, but your wife is gone?"

"Yes."

"I see. Which house is this again?"

"I've been renting for the past month.....I'm sure you know the one.....Frostwood Orchard, the top of the hill?"

He went very pale at this point, taking off his spectacles and twirling them in his hands. Harry was almost ready to stand up and scream at him. You damn well know something, spit it out already you old geezer! I'm suffering here, I haven't slept in a week! Jesus f*****g Christ! But the old man seemed deep in thought, so forcing himself to remain quiet, he awaited his answer.

"Yes, I do know the place. But this is something different. "You're not crazy at all.". He looked down at Harry.

"I'd like you to prepare yourself."

--- 4 ---

If Harry had heard what Father Beecher had told him just now a week ago, he would have laughed in his face. But instead, he found himself totally at a loss for words. The reality was both frightening and intriguing.

"Forgive me Father, but you're saying my house is.....you know....."

"Haunted?"

That word still tasted strange in the mouth, even though Harry was willing to believe it at this stage. The place looked enough like a classic spooky house anyway; faded wallpaper, chipping paint and the thin layer of dust over everything. In this case, looks proved to be entirely truthful. At least it was liveable for the time being.

"Well, yeah."

The priest had taken matters ever-so seriously once he had listened to Harry recount those awful, awful nights spent wandering cautiously in his own home, about the things glimpsed out of the corner of the eye. Coldness, darkness and biting shivering fright were flooding back to him as he spoke. Beecher seemed especially concerned when Harry told him about the Something.

"All black you say? Like a moving shadow?"

Harry nodded.

"I've only seen it twice; once on Monday and again Thursday night.....I can't explain it. It's there and gone before you see it properly."

"Well maybe it's somebody trying to contact you. Simply because a soul has passed doesn't always mean they are at rest. Sometimes the Lord chooses to keep them here, for certain reasons."

"You're saying maybe this thing couldn't get to Heaven? Hell even?"

Father Beecher spoke slowly, as though he were approaching a dangerous subject.

"We shouldn't presume in such matters, Harry. But one thing is clear to me; your house needs to be looked at. If you'd like, I can go over later this evening and see what I can do."

Harry stood up after what seemed like a little while. Beecher looked over at him inquisitively.

"I know what you're thinking, Harry."

"What?"

"That this whole thing seems an illusion, that the stress of your move has played tricks on your mind. But let me be clear, for your own sake, the dead do not always stay dead."

These words dug into his mind fiercely. Coming here was a decision he'd been unsure about. Father Beecher was either genuinely warning him or telling him what he wanted to hear. Harry hoped to God that it was the former. He spoke back to the elderly gentleman.

"Father.....I'd like you to know how glad I am we talked. But one last question."

Beecher smiled a small, but warm, smile.

"Of course."

"Why my house? Why one out of all the other ones on the road?"

Beecher simply shrugged his shoulders and sighed. He spoke slowly.

"Herein lies the problem, Harry. The dead and our Lord have one thing in common..."

He trailed off for a moment. Harry waited patiently.

"Both work in mysterious ways."

These words replayed themselves over and over in Harry's mind, like a broken record, as he rolled the silver Mercedes back down the gravel drive, minstrels of dirt and pebble being tossed in the air as the engine purred pleasantly along.

--- 5 ---
 

Returning to the house after the priest's words was almost impossible. They made the building in front of him appear gargantuan, and its potential secrets yet more troubling. Harry admitted to himself he was afraid, but even the realization didn't do much to help. When he walked in the front door, he regretted turning the lights off before he left. It was nice to be out of the cold however. All that was left now was to wait for Beecher to come. First things first, he thought to himself, turn everything back on. It can't hide if there's no shadows.

Upstairs, downstairs, even the porch lights. Once all that was done, Harry made himself a coffee, parked himself on his favorite chair in front of the television and sat quietly, doing anything he could to distract himself from the idea that he was not alone. The clocks ticked slow and slower still. Harry's mind kept racing from one thing to the next; why did he even come here? What made him stay? What if she was.....

She's gone. F*****g hell, she's totally gone. Beecher's right, maybe it's just the move. But even still, after all this time, who knows?

Oh, just shut the f**k up already and wait to see what the priest says. If he hasn't said it all yet. He stiffened in the chair, arms digging into the rests. The TV became just a constant ringing in the ears. Harry got up and walked around. If she was here right now, she'd be telling him to get it all together. One of her favorite sayings was always "when the going gets tough, the tough get going".  She repeated it to him all the time; like when his first job fell through, or when his brother went back to rehab, or when his parents had died just a week apart.

She was his rock. But now she was gone and here he was, stuck in a house with something from beyond the grave. Moving again wasn't an option, he still had the three months of rent to pay off and times were tough for everybody. Fatigue followed him everywhere. Again, she was gone. Now he'd found out something that sounded more like it belonged in a horror movie, but here he remained living it day by day.

"When the going gets tough, the tough get going."

Harry had to smile at that, even just a little. He glanced at his mug, seeing it was empty. Another would do him good. Muting the TV, he bent down to pick up the mug. But the beginnings of a good mood didn't last long. A sound came from out in the hallway. The soothing warmth of the coffee left his body in a flash. That familiar cold arose again. Now it bore into him as he approached the doorway slowly. The Something obviously decided it worked days now, too.

Out in the hall there seemed to be nothing wrong. The landing looked clear, as well as the stairs. But the house's emptiness had proven to be utterly deceitful. Now it waited for Harry to find its next surprise, as he searched from room to room. It was in his very bedroom, the safe haven from the darkness outside, that it was discovered. A small note scrawled on a piece of paper. Harry picked it up cautiously.

I'M NOT LEAVING.

Oh yes you are, you evil b*****d. You move before I do, thats the deal, Beecher and me'll f*****g fix that!

Whoever or whatever wrote this was wrong. Literally dead wrong. The bedroom felt horribly oppressive, Harry made a point of leaving as quickly as he had come. The rest of the house felt slightly better. Beecher would make it better, this note only further proved his stories. Harry determined to stay here for as long as he could. When all was normal, before the activity, it was the perfect home. Something anybody would die to live in. In this case, maybe they had.

Beecher arrived a few hours later, just as the sun was disappearing behind the last clouds, streaking the sky a brilliant orange. It felt a chilly evening as the front door opened. He took off his coat at the door, hanging it neatly on the hatstand, and refused Harry's offer of a hot drink, clutching his Bible tightly to his chest.

"No need for that, Harry. This shouldn't take too long."

Harry took him and showed him the entire house from top to bottom, pointing out where he'd felt, seen or heard things. For the most part, Beecher seemed unaffected by the sights. Until they proceeded upstairs. He paused at the top of the stairs, Harry leading the way. Harry turned to face him.

"You okay, Father?"

Beecher looked to and fro, answering slowly.

"Yes.....quite. Just a feeling, that's all."

He motioned for Harry to keep going. With his presence, the house had changed. Something in its atmosphere was shifting. Harry stayed totally alert the entire time, as did Beecher too probably. The Something was in its element now; the last rays of light in the sky had been washed away by darkness. Harry showed Beecher into his bedroom.

"This is my safe haven, Father, if you could call it that. Whatever this is, it hasn't come in here.....I'm not sure why."

Beecher nodded silently and placed the Bible on Harry's bed. Reaching into his coat, he took out a small plastic statuette of the Virgin Mary. It was filled with holy water. He turned to look at Harry.

"I suppose we may as well begin here."

Harry remained silent. Beecher continued. He took up the Bible and flipped it open to the appropriate page. Raising the statuette, he turned to face Harry. Speaking firmly, so it all began.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name....."

A flick of the hand and droplets of cool water splashed over Harry's face. His hands were stuck together in the praying position.

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread....."

Beecher flicked water over the bed next. The wind picked up outside.

"And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us....."

Beecher turned to face the doorway. Pausing slightly, he gathered himself and pressed on. Harry stood, wondering what happened. His mind wandered to the note he found earlier. Should I show him? What if he thinks I'm making this all up? He brushed the thought away instantly. You idiot, if that was so he wouldn't be here right now. Show him later.

"Lead us not into temptation and deliver us from every evil, amen."

A few moments of silence passed between them. Everything was still. Harry finally spoke up.

"So.....what do you think?"

Beecher turned to him.

"Your safe haven is now safer. But we still have to cleanse the rest of the house, whatever's here sounds smart enough to hide itself. Let's go."

They left the room. A loud click sounded behind them, but Beecher made nothing of it. Harry jumped slightly, feeling as though the prayer had already shaken things up, the Something wasn't sure how to act. His hands certainly hadn't touched the light switch. This alone gave him enough courage to stand in the doorway a moment and stare down the darkness before looking back ahead. Pure nothingness, so simple, yet so alive. Tonight it would all be over. Life would resume again.

He moved down the hallway, the door to his back. It slammed loudly, with all Harry could muster barely enough to stop himself from screaming. Leaning against the wall, shaking, Beecher called to him shrilly.

"Harry? I'm in here."

No. Just a quick setback. The f*****g thing will be gone by the end of this little ceremony. Sit still, it'll pass. Answer him though.

"Coming, Father, I just needed to check something."

Gathering himself, he walked quickly down to the next room to join the good reverend.

The rest of the evening went well enough, to the point where Harry felt it was all becoming quite anti-climactic. Part of him had imagined something more akin to The Exorcist; yet the reality was frankly ever-so dreary. Beecher simply went from room to room, spoke the Lord's Prayer and doused everything generously. There were a few more odd clicks and taps, yet the holy man simply ignored them, if that's what he was doing anyway. After he'd finished, he decided to take Harry up on the hot drink. As they went back downstairs, Harry's eyes drifted to the now-empty landing. Silence for now.

Goodbye and good riddance. The power of Christ absolutely f*****g compels you.

As he and Beecher sat drinking cups of coffee, he returned to the matter of the mysterious note. He took it out of his pocket and showed it to his (now) guest exorciser. The priest examined it closely, his eyebrows raised in slight interest.

"Interesting.....although perhaps the work of somebody trying to scare you?"

Harry shook his head.

"I heard something, looked and found that. It couldn't have just appeared."

Beecher shrugged.

"They might've gotten away before you could catch them."

"That's true. But if not.....if it left it, I'd say it's changed its mind."

Beecher laughed softly as he drained the last of his cup. He stood up to leave. He looked around the room, up at the ceiling, then down again.

"That may very well be so, Harry. But just remember, what is it the dead do?"

Harry smiled again, something that was already becoming a more regular occurrence.

"Work in mysterious ways....."

Taking his Bible off the table and extending a warm hand, Beecher beamed back.

"That they do, Harry, that they do."

The night fell fully shortly after Beecher's departure. Daytime's cheeriness was quickly replaced by the foreboding night. Harry, however, assumed all was fine and that he could now truly enjoy his new home. He ate well that night, finally using up that quality cut in the freezer the local butcher had given him as a welcoming gift. Washing it down with half a bottle of good scotch, the house gradually seemed less and less unbearably lonely. Time went by with leisure, not dread. The realization he was alone engendered content, rather than paranoia.  As he began locking up for the night, Harry made a mental note to thank Beecher generously for his good work whenever he next saw him. Humming happily to himself, he systemically locked all the windows and doors. Standing in the front hall for a few seconds (just to be sure), he climbed up the stairs that had once frightened him so much and went straight to the comfort of his bedroom.

Click.....click.....click.

Off went the lights. Then came the creaking of shutting the door. The soft padding of his bare feet on soft carpet, the springs squeaking in the mattress as he climbed into bed. The final click of the bedside lamp going out. After closing his eyes, the momentary pain was relieved and his senses relaxed. No more eeriness, no more worries, just the beginning of the next three months. His dreams would be sweet ones that night. In that brief, blurry transition between our reality and the dreamlands, Harry's final thought ran back to that saying of hers.

"When the going gets tough, the tough get going."

Happiness in the gut, enflaming his insides like a wonderful balloon. He grinned into his pillow.

Here I go, sweetheart. Hope they're treating you well up there.

Blackness engulfed his vision. Sleep was now upon him.

--- 6 ---

Wind whistled softly through the floors, boards and walls of the dead house. Outside, the early morning was magically still; the stars hanging in the sky like countless billions of glittering chandeliers. Birds nested peacefully in the trees of the front garden, waiting for the morning sun to greet them in a few hours. Inside the story was different. Harry realized this the second he was woken up out of what had been a fantastic sleep.

Oh God, it hadn't been enough.

Lying there, all he could do was listen. Helplessness flooded back over him. It was the same routine. Again. Back. Worse than before.

Starting from the front hallway, through the living room and kitchen, up the stairs and from one end of the landing to the other and stopping outside the bedroom. But this was different. The steps now were louder, faster, more aggressive. The Something was violently angered. Harry's mortal terror grew as he heard smashing and bangs coming from downstairs; smashing, battering, ripping, tearing, thumping, every conceivable way something could be destroyed must have all been going on at once. It was as though an entire parade of builders had come and swept through the entire downstairs of the house, decimating all in their path. The floor shook. Steps ran to and fro, with no clear pattern. The entire time, Harry slowly felt more like a statue. Wanting to flee right down the stairs and out the front door, yet utterly powerless to do so.

Clomp! Clomp! Clomp!

Then, at the moment when his ears began bursting, absolutely everything in the house stopped. Like pausing a CD in the middle of the loudest, longest heavy metal song imaginable. Heavy rivers of icy perspiration coated Harry's body. Exactly like before, the wooden door across the room was the only thing seperating him from the unknown.

Suddenly, more calmly, the steps ascended the stairs one by one. Still heavy on the floor, yet the deliberateness remained the same. Harry's hands fumbled for the bedside table. Breath was short. Work goddamn you, work! he wanted to scream at his hands, drunkenly grappling for the bedside light. The steps were getting closer and closer.

Clomp! Clomp! Clomp!

Oh sweet God! COME ON! But his hands still turned to jelly; all he had succeeded in doing was knocking the lamp to the floor, where the weak plastic broke apart easily. Now the footsteps were crossing the landing and coming right down the hallway. Not too long now. Starting to cry, Harry threw himself upright on the bed, eyes locked on the door's faint outline in the dimness. The Something was right behind it. In one form or another. He was about to find out which. Get the f**k out of there now! Why the hell didn't you leave when you could?!! The f**k is the matter with you?!!

Slowly, painfully, the doorknob began to rattle. Harry shook badly, feebly wrapping the sheets around him. Nothing left to protect him now, he mused as the door slid slowly open. A thin shaft of light began to peek through. Before this could register, it flew open with a tremendous bang. Harry could only watch with eyes that felt ready to pop right out of his skull. What he saw was almost indescribable.

Standing there in the doorway, clear as day (or dark as night), was an undulating black mist, forming what appeared to be the shape of a person. No noise came from it, it seemed to suck the atmosphere right out of the room. It stood there, content to remain. Until when, however, was entirely unclear. Harry's shock had overtaken him. His gaping mouth produced nothing but the meekest of gasps. The Something, in what was its true form, had its eyes (or whatever it saw through) locked firmly on Harry. It didn't budge. The hallway light shone through it, adding to the unbelievability. The staring match continued. Harry managed to calm his shakes long enough to scream directly at the Something.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!"

Nothing. Another attempt, equally angry. The Something's inactivity was the worst thing of all, somehow its doing nothing was more frightening than the footsteps and noises. Harry was high on primal fear as he shouted louder than ever.

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME! LEAVE ME BE!"

Still nothing. Harry tried one last time, this time pleading.

"PLEASE.....PLEASE! LEAVE ME ALONE! I BEG YOU!"

Absolutely no words would convince the Something. The icy cold that he once believed to be gone was now back in full force, his entire body numb. Harry could even see his breath swirling and dancing in the air as it caught the light flooding in. Harry picked up a pillow and flung it at the doorway, trying to gauge any, any reaction from the thing at all.

"YOU B*****D! EVIL PIECE OF S**T! GET OUT!"

That was the turning point, as he always remembered it afterwards. When the air changed and the atmosphere returned, yet not in a good way. The Something was still for a minute or two as Harry watched, seeing for a next move. Indeed there was one. In what seemed an instant, the mist vaporized and disappeared, a peculiar whooshing sound accompanying its exit. Footsteps ran back down the stairs, shaking the floor once again. Total, absolute peace. Harry remained frozen though.

A long, loud, piercing, bloodcurdling scream cut through said peace right about then. Louder and louder and louder it sounded, ripping through the house's foundations, up the two floors and probably out through the chimney. Harry began to devolve into a mix of sobbing, screaming and wailing. Like a madman in bedlam, he thrashed about on the bed, still in darkness.

OH WHY CAN'T YOU LEAVE! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?!! WHAT'S WRONG, WHAT'S WRONG, WHAT THE F*****G HELL IS WRONG?!! TOO MUCH NOISE, TOO MUCH, TOO MUCH! F**K THIS PLACE! F**K IT!

Faster than it came, it went. A heaving of sorts engulfed the house. No more. Not now. Not tonight. Harry still carried on the madness however, officially frozen to the sheets by now. The doorway menacingly remained in full view, almost daring the Something to return yet again. But it didn't. Outside, the sky had turned a pale blue, the first lights twinkling on in the distance. The night had passed; the stars vanished one by one across the vastness. The birds began singing. Harry, when his fear had expended, lay down on the sheets. Eyes glued shut, curled into a ball, he waited the short while till dawn came. Interminably slowly it came, the house's grip tightening more towards the end. Beecher's work had clearly done nothing to appease whatever walked here.

Another night in hell, over and done with for the very last time.

--- 7 ---

The following day went in a flash. Harry didn't leave the bedroom till he was absolutely certain that the Something wouldn't rush out of some darkened room. The biggest shock of the night turned out to be the least affecting; Harry had learned to make daily nasty surprises his bread and butter. What should have been a totally destroyed house instead remained as immaculate as he had left it before bed. Not a single hair was out place; no broken chairs or tables, no smashed china, no torn curtains, everything was perfect. Another wave of shaking heat shot through his body, but he forced it down and made his way to the kitchen. All the caffeine in the world can't cure me. Only a gun to my f*****g head would.

That had been the highlight of the day. After that, it was all coffee, contemplation and staring emptily into space, wondering how the hell he had ever let things get this bad. At this point all his anxieties about being alone had disappeared; the Something was able to do whatever the hell it liked most of the time anyway. Why worry about it anymore? Things weren't going to improve anytime soon. Later that day, as twilight fell, he moved into the living room and switched on the TV. He moved about like a zombie, stumbling to and fro, unsure of anything and everything. After downing the leftovers of last night's scotch, he felt absolutely no better.

I'm sorry. Really I am. You told me all my life and even when you're not around you still me. And what do I do? Go back to this s**t. The going's still tough, but the tough is no longer tough. He's absolutely f*****g clueless now. This f*****g place.

Whiskey and words alike tasted sweet in both stomach and mouth as these thoughts flashed through the passages of his brain. Harry surmised that moving would do no good; what if it followed him? She'd tell him not to run, but she wasn't coming back either. It'd be too expensive and the house would win. This place could not win. Bringing back Beecher would only make things worse; Harry scolded himself for listening to the man in the first place. Letting himself believe that God could save him. But outside of this house, nothing was left for him. No wife, no surviving family and only a few old friends, scattered across the world. They kept in touch alright, but not often enough.

Throwing the empty bottle across the room, Harry saw it smash against the wall, thin shards of glass scattering everywhere. But he cared so little anymore that he could just as happily have smashed it over his own head. He got and went to the window, looking out. Twilight was faster tonight than usual. It felt only a short time ago that he woke up. Now another night of hell was almost upon him. And the worst part? Harry was now all out of the one coping mechanism he had left. In one week he'd gone from a strong, streetwise, sober man who prided himself on his self-control and fearlessness, to a meek, petrified, lonely drunk who either lived in a real haunted house or whose very reality was one giant waking delusion. Either option could have been the truth by now.

Harry wanted to cry, but had no more tears. This was exactly how he'd felt when she'd died.

The night he sat in the waiting room, hoping he wouldn't be one of those people he'd had to observe so many, too many, times before. They sit there, keeping up a front of pure unbounded positivity. Friends and family sit by them all day and night for moral support. The doctors drop by with smiles and words of encouragement. Then the quiet commotion, the worrying hurry but the reassurance; "All routine, don't worry. Doctor Whatever knows exactly what he's doing." Those words over and over. He'd sat there one day clutching his hat when he looked down the corridor and saw him. Doctor Death.

Not me. Not my script, I don't know the lines.

But he came anyway, slowly sauntering over. Trying to find the words. Harry looked frantically to everyone in the waiting room. To his surprise, it was instead he all eyes were upon. Doctor Death's too. Harry shrank. A hand reached out but he slapped it away. Yelling. Refusing. Not wanting to accept that something beautiful, something truly good, was forever gone. Sitting by her deathbed, stroking those pale-as-alabaster hands.

I love you so much. Even though I couldn't ever say it to you before, you know now. That's something at least. What I'd give to hear your voice one last time.

Oh Christ. Thinking about the past made the present seem so much worse. His head pressed against the cold pane, eyes resting on the windowsill. God I miss you. What I'd give to just.....see you. See you one last time.

Now there was an idea.

The past had spoken to him before, maybe through her. But never like this, never this potently. He considered his options once more; most of them impractical, completely. The best one was the the one that was right in front of him, had been the entire time. Maybe he'd considered it before but always found an alternate route. Now was the opportunity to finally follow through on it. The house afforded it to him so easily.

He'd have to think on it. Glancing again at the smashed bottle lying on the polished wood, the first course of action was to buy a fresh one. He ran to get his coat. Alright honey, I'm on my way. Just need a little time first. Then again, don't we all? The house's emptiness was starting to fade once and for all, but he remained unconvinced.

The Something was still lurking. He was absolutely positive of it.

--- 8 ---

Nightfall. Harry had drank the other bottle by now, spending the afternoon wandering the house sipping mindlessly. He thought of calling back Beecher, but decided that if something didn't work once, why bother again? A defeatist attitude if ever there was one, but Harry decided he couldn't be blamed for having it at this stage. Past a week and things didn't look to be changing anytime soon. He was cold all over, his skin hard and raised with goosebumps. Most people didn't live this way. Most people would have left by now.

Outside, the night was blustery and wet, the rain having been lashing down for about forty minutes now. Beecher wouldn't even want to come if he called him,  if the weather was like that. He probably would think I'm crazy anyway. Harry's mind was made up anyway. Now all that was left was to just wait till that special hour, the moment when he usually began to anticipate the Something's arrival. His eyes drifted over the landing. All the lights were on downstairs, but he hadn't gone near the stairs since this morning. Upstairs was a world of darkness. Harry smiled, studying it intently.

Oh come on, we both know you're still here. But I've got a way out now you piece of s**t. I'm going to leave, whether you like it or not. Then we'll be even.

He strolled up and down the front hallway, checking his watch every now and again. 11:53pm. Seven short minutes until the final retribution. No noises yet, not even upstairs. All the light had to be gone first. That seemed to be one of the rules of the game.  He sighed. So close, yet so far. He went to the living room and sank into an armchair. Closing his eyes, the beginnings of a headache were troubling him. His head dully ached. He sat still. Some time passed. He reached into his pocket and took out the note from a few days earlier. Still the same message.

I'M NOT LEAVING.

Harry smiled. He got up and went back to the hallway. Taking some sellotape from the kitchen, he taped the note to the bottom banister, leaving it to hang. He had marked his territory. If the Something passed, or floated by, it would see the situation as it stood. Harry smiled and went back to the living room. A little while later he checked his watch again; 12:01am. Time enough now.

Click. Click. Click.

Off go the kitchen lights. Then the living room lights. A wave of black descends. Dimness distorts all. Time is going quickly. Nearly ready to go. Only the upstairs remains. Doors are locked, windows too. The house is now both a safe haven and nightly prison once more. He walks back to the front hallway and stands facing the stairs. One more final sweep; through the living room and kitchen.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs. Darkness surrounded him fully now; he may have been completely alone but knew better. Each step he took up creaked loudly, his feet thumping loudly in the dead silence. It should have been eerie, but not anymore. A week of haunting makes you impervious to fear. Harry was nearing the landing now, the familiar old boundary line. He looked back over his shoulder; nothing but open space. Anything could come from anywhere. The Something was coming again, soon.

But I've got my way out. I'll be leaving. You can stay, you always have, you a*****e.

He was on the landing proper now. The hallway leading from the bathroom, past the guest rooms and to his own bedroom was long and quiet. A thin shaft of light from the bathroom illuminated the soft carpet. Harry walked slowly down and switched the light off. He stood at the top of the stairs and once more surveyed his domain. Not mine anymore, at least not for much longer. I'm getting the hell out of here. Another smile grew on his face. Padding softly, he went to his bedroom and closed the door, locking it securely. Extra precautions would have to be taken.

The single lamp shone around the little room cheerfully. Outside stood the usual; an old dark house. Harry's safe haven wasn't safe anymore, but if the Something came into the room again tonight it would be in for a surprise. He would make sure of that before he left. She would probably have understood, would understand the way he was leaving. Not an easy thing to do but something that was all he had left. Harry's tired eyes drifted over the door.

No more. No more noises, no more tricks, no more f*****g shadows. If you want the f*****g place so badly, then damn well take it. See if I'll care.....

He looked at it in his hand; gleaming and dangerous. He'd taken it from the whiskey bottle and decided he might as well put it to use. Anything else would have been too difficult to come by. The house had a way though of having things appear at just the right time. Like that note, which was still taped to the banister. It was anybody's guess as to who, or what, had seen it. But Harry had a feeling it would work. He raised the shard of glass to his face, examining it closely.

Another quick glance at the door. He was starting to feel the coldness again that meant it was coming. But it wouldn't reach him, not this time. This time Harry wouldn't be there to scare. It would have to find somebody else, somebody new. Another victim of an evil, evil house.

Raising the shard, without thinking, Harry plunged it deep into his throat and sank back onto the bed happily, as warm blood flowed freely through the now-gaping hole in his neck. The last moments of his life involved not agony, but ecstasy. A sense of pure and total release. The warm redness spilled over his body onto the silky sheets, soaking them thoroughly. Pictures flashed by like a fast slideshow; him as a boy in the schoolgrounds of St. Andrews', his mother and father, meeting her for the first time, all of it. Now it came to this. Stepping out of the light, he finally saw what he'd come for. "Hello, honey. I'm home." Others stood behind her, watching and waiting; his parents, grandparents and countless relatives he last saw when they were still above ground. Now the next journey of Harry's existence was about to begin.

Together they took each other's hands and walked their abode; starting from the front hallway, through the living room and kitchen, up the stairs and from one end of the landing to the other, stopping outside the bedroom.

They were here again. Another night in Heaven, only just beginning.

Author's Note

Are the scary scenes genuinely scary, or do they need more work?
How is the character development?

Reviews

[alanwgraham]

I think you've done a good job here Tom. Its well written and easy to read which I take as a complement. I think your night scenes are quite scary but that is a tricky thing to pull off. It might be worthwhile just going over these for pacing. My impression is that you might condense the repetition of the horror scenes a bit. You dialogue with the priest and Harry's internal thoughts work well. When I got to the end your finale was good and a surprise and it reminded me strongly of the conclusion of my own shorter story NEMESIS. I should just mention that my own writing is mainly short stories (shorter than this) and most folk here are not keen to read more than a few lines. I'm sure you have other outlets for your work!
Cheers,
Alan