Page 50 of We Live Here Now

I barely feel the cold when I get outside to the car.

Too late now.

My head is spinning. I need to get back to the house and think.

“Hope you weren’t too cold. I forgot to say I’d opened the window.”

Freddie’s home when I get back to Larkin Lodge, and I’m so distracted by my visit with Fortuna that I’m momentarily confused and have no idea what he’s talking about and then realize he meansthe third-floor bedroom window. He’s coming down the stairs in jeans and a sweater, changed from work, and the house is baking again.

At least now I know how the dead bird got back in. Through the open window. But how did it come through the window if it was dead? Had it somehow ended up on the roof and blew in with a wind? It was as if someone had thrown it back inside, but that’s ridiculous.

“Where have you been?”

“Oh, just out for a coffee. Stroll around the village. Trying to get back into driving again.” I don’t meet his eyes as I follow him into the kitchen. “Thought I’d give it a go before the snow comes.”

“Be careful. Those turns can be dangerous in the mist.”

“How come you opened the window? I thought you were always cold here.”

“I could smell puke.” He pulls out a cheese slice from the fridge to snack on. “You know, from Iso.”

“Of course.” My skin prickles. He’s not being honest with me. The house didn’t smell of sick. She didn’t make a mess. She threw up, yes, but straight into the toilet. Thereissomething going on in this house, and Freddie can’t bring himself to admit he was wrong.

“I’ve volunteered to take on some extra stuff at work.” He changes the subject from the upstairs room, and I let him.

“Straight into it at the new branch then.” I don’t have the energy to argue, and he’s never going to tell me that maybe Iwasright. I was hoping he wouldn’t be back for a while and I could have some quiet time to think and search again, but as that’s not possible, I don’t want to fill the evening with fighting.

“Yeah, covering some accounts while someone’s on sabbatical leave. May have to work longer hours for a bit.”

“That’s fine. Every little bit will help until we sell this place.” I reach into the cupboards to see what we can have for dinner. Pasta again, no doubt. And wine. Cheap and hopefully cheerful. Anything to help ease this awkwardness between us. I should tell him about the money that’s on the way. I really should. We could play musicand dance around the kitchen and feel the relief of all our financial problems being solved. Ishouldtell him, but his lie about why he opened the window has annoyed me. It makes me want to punish him a little longer.

Sometimes I wonder if this house is bringing out the worst in us.

64

Emily

On the landing, I stare out at the night, pulling my thick cardigan around my pajamas. The snow hasn’t arrived and the darkness is crisply silent. A void. If I opened the window and tumbled out, I could be falling into that void forever. Maybe I’m still in the void of unconsciousness in the hospital. Maybe I never woke up at all. Another crazy idea to contemplate. I can’t sleep, which given everything is hardly a surprise, but with Freddie beside me snoring I couldn’t think either. And I need to think. At some point I have to start trusting myself instead of everyone else. I trusted Freddie and he was lying to me. Mark and Cat have been pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes. Why not trust myself?

Therewasan awful smell coming from upstairs and even Freddie’s experienced it, because why else would he air out the room when he’s always cold? And why is he always cold when the thermostat shows it’s baking in the house? He’s feeling a little of what I am. Not the writing on the mirror and the books flying and the Ouija board, but something more visceral. And there issomethingabout this house. Something odd.

I know the bird that flew away this morning is the same dead bird I put outside on my first night in Larkin Lodge. There is no way there are two ravens with identically damaged wings. The bird was very dead when it fell from the chimney into the red room, but somehow, when it was in theupstairsbedroom, it came back to life.

This brings me to Mrs. Tucker’s tall tale of her daydream of seeing Fortuna Carmichael killing Gerald and dragging him into that room. I look up at the ceiling, imagining his dead body there. Thenext day he was fine, hale and hearty. Sure, that could be a child’s imagination, except for that sentence that I keep hearing over and over in my head.

We were happy after I killed him.

But where does all this get me? Even if the upstairs room has some strange power to bring things back to life, that doesn’t solve my problem of the haunting. The dead bodies get up, breathe, and walk—or fly—away. No ghosts.

In bed, I curl up behind Freddie, his back my pillow, and his body moves in a steady comforting rhythm. As much as I find it soothing, I cling tightly to him as I drift into sleep. I can’t deny I’m afraid. Because if all the other odd stuff that’s been happening in the house is real, then what about the message with the books. Was it a warning, a threat, or a prophesy?

You will die here.

Maybe if I solve the puzzle of the house, that threat will be gone. Just like we’ll be gone soon. We’ll have money and a fresh start. We’ll leave the house behind and live our best lives. My period is still notably absent. Maybe two arrived at Larkin Lodge, but three will leave. But first of all, I have to know. I have tofind it.

65

Freddie

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