It was a miserable day, rain-heavy, low clouds making it feel like early evening rather than mid-morning. The kind of day I’d have been happy to remain curled under my duvet with a good book rather than driving to Windsor. Mark and his self-serving idea to work from home – my home – had made that impossible.
Going away for a while would give him time to reflect. I’d planned one night; maybe I should stay for a few. It wasn’t as if Ivan was going to complain. The idea made me snigger. I turned the volume of the radio up and let out a long breath. The earlier fear that had almost swamped me had receded. I refused to give credence to the notion that I felt better away from Mark. He was perfect for me and made me happy.
My life would be good from now on. I lifted my hand from the steering wheel and patted my pocket almost obsessively, then turned the volume up higher, desperate to drown out my thoughts. It didn’t work. All it succeeded in doing was giving me a headache that was throbbing as I pulled into the driveway of Ivan’s house grateful to find the gate had been left open.
The promised rain had arrived. I parked as near to the door as possible, grabbed my bag and made a dash for shelter. The key turned easily in the lock for a change, and I was inside, shaking off the few drops that had managed to sneak up on me.
The smell I’d noticed on my last visit, only days before, was more intense, more nauseatingly stomach-churning. It seemed a wise move to go to my bedroom and open all the windows wide. Granted, rain would come in, soak the curtains and Ivan’s precious Persian rugs, but more importantly, the stink would have a way out. If I was going to spend a night or two, I had to be able to breathe.
It took a couple of hours before the rank smell faded to an acceptable level. It necessitated opening windows, not only in the bedroom, but in the lounge and kitchen and propping open the front door to provide a through draught. The house was old, and creaked its age but with so many windows open, it developed an ominous rattle. A wind had picked up; it sent the curtains dancing at every open window until sufficient rain was lashed through to wet them and make them too weighted to more than flap noisily.
I kept my jacket on and made myself a cup of coffee. I should have thought about bringing some food. A glance in the freezer made me sigh. I wasn’t hungry, but I might be later. Ivan had never been keen on takeaways so we’d never ordered one while I lived there but I had no doubt I’d find someone willing to deliver. It was that or drive out in the belting rain to the nearest supermarket. I looked out the window at the dark sky and the trees swaying madly in the wind, and shook my head. I wasn’t going out in that.
I sipped the coffee slowly, putting off the inevitable, then dropped the empty mug in the sink and headed up the stairs.
Ivan’s bedroom door was slightly ajar. As I got closer, my nose crinkled in defence as the offensive odour increased. It stank of body waste, of death, of hopelessness. I didn’t need to go further than the doorway and didn’t. ‘Hello, Ivan. I’m staying for a couple of nights. Hope that’s okay with you. I won’t be in your way.’
He didn’t reply. Not that I expected him too. It was my duty done. I stepped back into the corridor and closed the door over.
I was suddenly tired. The previous night’s shenanigans had taken their toll. I think I was getting too old for all-night sexual gymnastics. When Mark and I were married, that would be the first thing that would go.
Back in my bedroom, the air smelt fresher, but the wind was making the open windows rattle and the now-wet curtains slap noisily against the wall. I shut them over and hoped the stink wouldn’t creep under the door and choke me while I slept.
The bed was comfortable. So were the pillows, far more comfortable than the ones in the apartment. They’d come with me when I left. On that positive note, surprisingly relaxed, I drifted off to sleep.
A deep sleep filled with dreams of stinking, rotting corpses and thick, foul-smelling effluent that came down like rain to pour in the windows. It grew legs and tramped through the house, leaving a rancid stink in its wake. And there were bells tolling, warning everyone of the ghoulish creature that approached. Loud bells but the people ignored them and instead of running, reached for the ghoul to shake his hand, their expressions changing to horror when the limb came away as they shook.
I felt the soft, putrid mass in my hand and threw it away with a cry of disgust. It was enough to take me out of the dream and jerk upward, checking my hands, half-afraid there would be something rotten clinging to my fingers.
I wiped my hands together. The sensation had been so strong.
‘Hello.’
For a second, I thought I was still asleep, then the word came again, louder, firmer.
‘Hello.’
I was still searching my body for any evidence of the ghoul in my dream, but at this second salutation, I looked up, peering across the darkened room. There was something by the door. A hazy form whose body and limbs blended into the dark wall behind. Only the pale face stood out, strangely bright as if all the light in the room were concentrated in that single oval. Perhaps I was still asleep and my ghoul was taking human shape.
‘You’re Hannah Parker?’
A nightmarish ghoul who knew my name? Slouched on the bed, I felt at a distinct disadvantage. What or whoever this intruder was, it seemed better to confront it on my feet. I stood and reached for the bedside light, all the while keeping my eyes on the figure still standing near the door. The lamp didn’t lend much illumination; on the contrary, it threw up more shadows, making the scene scarily unreal. I needed the main light on, but the switch was by the door and would mean approaching the figure. I’d always considered myself a brave woman; I’d had to be, after all. But that was facing reality, this… well, I wasn’t sure what this was.
Maybe the intruder felt the same, because suddenly, it moved and the light came on and I was facing a woman. Just a normal woman.
Mark’s wife.