Haunted by Love

Chapter 3: Mysterious Morning

Warmth: it's nice to feel warm and dry. And safe too, especially after that weird dream of cold, wet, terror. I drift, floating between sleep and wakefulness, the occasional soft sound of rain against the window no doubt the trigger for my dreams.

The mattress below me is firm but comfortable, the covers are soft and the person, Rick obviously, snuggled against my back wonderfully warm. Something nudges my drowsing brain, a sort of 'What's wrong with this picture?' puzzled thought. My eyes open slowly and focus. I sit bolt upright, stiff muscles complaining, my right hand bandaged and sore. "Where am I?" I exclaim as I take in my surroundings. It is a large kitchen that simply has to be called a 'farmhouse kitchen'. However, it is a kitchen being worked on as I notice wires protruding from holes in the walls and ceiling and patches and lines of fresh plaster. There is also a row of modern, albeit suitably styled, kitchen cupboards being fitted along the wall under the window, with a large Belfast sink in the middle.

In front of me is an old but solid looking table with three chairs while to my left is a large, black cooking range with a pile of smouldering ash in the grate. The room is tidy and swept clean but the paintwork and walls are patchy and peeling in places. The mattress is just that: simply a mattress laid directly on the stone-flagged kitchen floor. This is nowhere I recognise.

I turn apprehensively and beside me it isn't Rick but an attractive, dark-haired woman, opening her eyes to look at me, a nervous half smile on her face. "You're... you were in my dream!" I gasp. If she's here and real then it wasn't a dream. She half sits, propping herself with her elbows behind her, making the covers slip from her and revealing enough to shown she is topless. Now I'm really worried.

"Please, don't be afraid; you're quite safe," she tries to reassure me, my fear obviously showing. Her voice is gentle, calming and with a very slight West Country accent. "You turned up on my doorstep in the middle of the night. Proper frozen you were and wetter than a fish. All you said to me was 'I'm here,' and then you fainted." She looks a little awkward. "I, er, I had to warm you up so I took your wet things off and put you into bed. I got in with you to help heat you up a bit: You were so cold you weren't even shivering and I know enough first aid to recognise hypothermia and, besides, I haven't anywhere else to sleep."

"Thank you." I can't think of what else to say, sat here in just my bra and knickers, even if it sounds like this woman may have saved my life. I can see my left hand is dirty, although my right has been washed beneath the bandage, and my hair feels matted... so my memories weren't a dream, even if I can't be sure how much was real and how much was panic-induced imagination.

"So, what were you doing out on the Moor at night? You didn't much look like you were dressed for walking."

"No, I wasn't walking... well, I was but only because my car broke down and I couldn't get a signal on my phone so I tried walking up a hill, to see if that helped."

"I bet it didn't; can't use a mobile phone around here more'n ten percent of the time. I have one but it's more use as a clock than anything, when I can charge it. So, what happened?"

"There was something..." No, I can't tell her I was chased by some evil shadow; she'll think I'm on drugs or some kind of escaped lunatic. "It was the dark and I... I guess I panicked. I fell into a bog and nearly sank. I was so scared..." My voice cracks as the terror of last night comes flooding back and I'm sobbing. I feel the woman's arms around me, warm, safe and comforting, and it helps as I strive to control my crying.

I look over her shoulder at the door to the outside, nervous as if at any moment it might fly open and the darkness from the Moor flood into the room. The door remains reassuringly solidly closed and, the fear passes as do my tears. "I'm sorry," I tell her, "I'm not normally like this and certainly not with someone I don't even know the name of." Her arms carefully release, as if she expects me to dissolve into tears again at any moment. I don't and, after her hands give my shoulders a final, reassuring squeeze, she lets me go. "I'm Bethany, by the way, Bethany Cooper."