KATHERINE
Katherine’s eyes snapped open to complete blackness, just for an instant, then fluttered shut. No, she pleaded soundlessly, suspended in semi-consciousness, not again. Why am I awake in the middle of the night again? Because something had awakened her … something being dragged? No, she told herself, there’s nothing. Just go back to sleep. If she could recapture that pseudo-dream state, she could drift off again, if she could just get back there – I only need a few minutes …
She was alone in the house, a stately Victorian a stately Victorian which occasionally grumbled at the dramatic temperature changes of northwestern Connecticut, causing its hundred-and-fifty-year-old bones to creak and groan. That’s all it was, the house settling.
One floor below, the front door opened, then closed. Danny’s home? The hazy thought registered with the resigned admission that sleep was probably not in her immediate future. Then she heard what she’d have sworn was a large piece of furniture skating across the foyer floor and slamming into a wall.
She heard the front door again and this time when her eyes opened, they stayed that way, for all the good it did. Okay – it’s just Danny bringing home a sofa. But at eleven o’clock at night? Another skate-crash, and then a third. A sofa and two chairs? Now, instead of wanting sleep, she struggled to drag herself out of the fog. She wished she could see something, anything, wished turning on a light didn’t require getting out of bed.
Abruptly the front door started opening and slamming, over and over, joined by the library and parlor doors. She came wide awake, all remnants of the fog gone. The motor for the lift engaged and it began its ascent, a sound that should have lasted just long enough for the lift to reach the second floor balcony. Impossibly, it kept climbing. That’s when the footsteps began: hard, loud, and deliberate. The walnut staircase swept in a graceful arc around the foyer and the lift, terminating at the second floor balcony. There were thirty stairs. There should have been exactly thirty footfalls. She hadn’t been counting, but surely they should have reached the balcony by now? Except they didn’t. The footfalls continued and her skin crawled.
The lift reversed direction as Katherine’s heart struggled to burst through her chest. More furniture was dragged across the floor. More staircase footfalls. More doors opening and slamming, now accompanied by breaking glass. Finally, in an act of sheer bravado, Katherine tossed back her blankets, threw her legs over the side of her bed. Goddamn it, she told herself, there’s no such thing as ghosts, there’s no one down there and I’m gonna prove it!
The instant her feet touched the floor, everything stopped dead. Complete, profound silence.
Katherine froze and stopped breathing. Not again, please not again. Every hair on her body stood on end. Icy fingers gripped the deepest part of her belly and sent a chill surging throughout her entire being. She clung to the edge of her bed, hearing nothing but her ragged breath, seeing nothing at all.
Finally, she forced herself to stand and move. Slowly – oh, so slowly – with her hands out in front of her, trying to feel her way. Right foot ... left foot ... move ... breathe. As her heart hammered against her ribs, she inched though her bedroom door onto the balcony. Trembling fingers took an eternity to locate the small, electrified wall sconce. In the half-light it provided, she could see that the lift was not at the second floor and that no one was on the stairs. The stillness amplified the sound of her breathing.
In bare feet, she crept slowly, noiselessly, further and further away from her doorway, willing herself to move forward, dreading the moment when she would lean over the balcony rail, knowing exactly what she was going to see but terrified to see it anyway, still chanting her silent prayer: not again, not again, oh please God, not again. She peered over the rail and her stomach lurched past her heart, into her throat. Nothing was out of place.
The front door opened slowly. A shadowy figure appeared and drifted across the foyer floor. Katherine took a sharp, involuntary breath, clamped her hand over her mouth, and froze in place. She wanted to back away, oh God, how she wanted to back away, to get out of sight before this apparition could acknowledge her presence. She tried to will her legs to move, but they were cemented to the floor. All she could do was stand there helplessly and wish desperately that she could disappear. Then the wraith leaned back, inclined its head in her direction, and gently, seductively, whispered, “Katherine."
Terror replaced all reason. Whatever had held her feet in place finally gave way and she flew back to her room, positive she wouldn’t make it before something could grab her from behind. She slammed the door behind her and stood shaking violently in the darkness. Once more, footsteps started up the stairs, only this time they made it all the way to her door. “Katherine!”
Just before her head hit the floor, just before the blackness overtook her, she wondered who else was in the house, who it was she heard screaming.
† † †
Something cool was on Katherine’s forehead, the surface beneath her back was hard and uncomfortable, a voice was speaking quietly – no, two voices, maybe three. Fingers gently brushed some hair away from her face. It was no longer dark on the other side of her eyelids, which had yet to open.
“Katherine.” It was Danny. “She’s coming out of it,” he seemed to be saying to whomever was with him. She opened her eyes to see his face, that gentle, handsome face she loved so much, hovering just inches above hers. But now that face was etched with concern. Katherine had had these “episodes” before, but she had never fainted.
Danny slipped his arm under her shoulders and helped her sit up. She sat for a moment, leaning against him, comforted by his warmth, the familiar scent of his cologne. Then, very gently, he tightened his grip on her to help her stand, which she did, unsteadily. When he was certain she wouldn’t fall, he walked with her to the edge of the bed and they sat in unison.
“Did you hear it, Danny? Did anyone else hear it besides me?” She sounded almost desperate. Oh God, don’t let me be the only one who heard it, please!
But no one else had. There were six people, three couples, living in this enormous Victorian mansion. Lilly and Alex, who owned it, Jack and Shelly, who rented the third floor, and Danny and Katherine, who rented the second. Some may have thought it a peculiar arrangement for a bunch of professional adults, but for them, it worked. For Katherine in particular, whose preferred investment vehicle was always real estate, it had been the perfect way to put aside funds for her eventual dream house. Meanwhile, she truly enjoyed sharing a home with these five, because they had all been great friends since college. But even with all those people living under the same roof, no one had been there to witness anything. Jack was out of town; Shelly had been asleep and had heard nothing; Lilly and Alex had also been out; and Danny had been working late. No one heard anything – only Katherine. Once again, only Katherine.
She buried her face in her hands and started to cry. “Don’t, Kat, please don’t,” Danny said. She took deep breaths forcing herself to regain control, to act normal. She was thinking Danny sounded odd; even through her tears she could hear something was different, slightly off. And his arms didn’t feel right. His body felt stiff next to hers, foreign, as if the two of them might have been strangers. And there was something else, something she’d never seen before: He wouldn’t meet her eyes, as if he was feeling awkward. Ridiculous – her Danny awkward in her presence? Not possible. Her gaze shifted to the other two people in her room: her housemates, Lilly and Alex. They, too, were deliberately avoiding eye contact with her. What was going on? Katherine wasn’t especially alarmed, just confused. Why were they all acting so weird?
But she wasn’t to get any answers tonight. Lilly and Alex said their good-nights and left the room. Danny helped Katherine into bed. Everything was quiet and peaceful and, although there was nothing she could put her finger on, Katherine had the distinct feeling that everything was different, that as of this moment, nothing would ever be the same again. Danny undressed, got into bed next to her, and allowed Katherine to fall asleep on his shoulder, but when she woke up the next morning, he wasn’t there.
Downstairs in the dining room, Danny was just finishing breakfast. A place had been set for Katherine, but he had not waited for her. She was just wondering if he had allowed her to sleep out of kindness and concern or if there was something else, when she noticed his suitcase in the corner, near the door. His suitcase? Oh, she thought, his suitcase. In the time it took to absorb that one tiny fact, her entire world fell apart.
Danny’s face was a mixture of regret for what he was about to do and impatience to get it done. He had been with her through so many of these episodes before: nightmares, anxiety attacks, depression, bouts of insomnia followed by utter exhaustion, hallucinations, inexplicable crying jags, desperate demands that he do or not do something simply because of feelings she could not or would not explain, migraine headaches, self-imposed exile, claustrophobia, enochlophobia, and belief in things that went bump in the night ...
Each time he had done his best to support her, to understand why she could not bring herself to consult one more in a long line of ineffective professionals who tried to repair her damaged psyche but never could. She had always suspected that whatever was wrong with her was way out of the realm of their experience because they never seemed to quite get what she was talking about whenever she attempted to describe her symptoms, her feelings. Katherine had tried to explain this to Danny on more than one occasion, but she couldn’t make him understand, either.
He considered approaching her, taking her in his arms one last time, kissing her goodbye. Instead he tried to smile, failed, turned, and walked to the door and lifted his suitcase. With his back to her and one hand on the door jam he said, gently, so gently it was practically a whisper, “You’ve got talk to someone, Kat, a professional, someone who can help you. I can’t do this anymore.” And he left, without ever looking back.