The terror began immediately.
Scratching at the bedroom window, icy chills, voices speaking in empty rooms.
Then Fiona begins to suffer from blackouts - medical experts can't explain. Her eldest daughter, Harmony, is threatened by the appearance of...
At first, he tried to rule out the possibilities; the presence he felt belonged to his imagination. But after hearing that booming voice, he knew it wasn't. There was definitely a feeling. It came from the end of the hallway, the bedroom that had once belonged to Harmony.
Closing his eyes, he waited for the moment when the dead spoke to him. Ignorance to the faint giggling sound that came from the bedroom facing him.
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As Sam began his investigation, Chris offered to make everyone something to eat. It was going to be a long night.
'My mother taught me how to cook when I was a kid. Dad used to say cooking was women's work; imagine saying that now? You'll have a riot on your hands.'
'She sounds like a good woman.' Fiona remarked, still struggling to scratch her broken arm; she was using a wooden spoon, the idea from YouTube. But it was doing nothing to ease the itch.
'Worst feeling that,' Lisa said. 'I broke my arm when I was a kid.'
'How?'
'I was on my bike, and this car came speeding around the corner.'
'You were knocked over.'
'Well, not exactly; my bike was — I just went flying.'
'Christ, what happened to the driver; did the person stop?'
'No, he drove away, as for me. I ended up with a broken arm.'
'You were lucky.'
'Yeah, apart from my broken arm itching like hell.'
'I know the feeling.' Fiona said. Saying okey-dokey to Chris as he excused himself and went into the kitchen. There to make something to eat.
Nothing major, just pasta with meatballs. Bringing the food in when it was cooked. Some of it put aside for Sam. Fiona wanted to know how many cases he had worked on.
'Quite a few, if I'm, to be honest. I first got into this business when I was a student.'
'Why, what happened.'
Chris forking the pasta really didn't want to go into his story.
It was old news, yesterday, headlines. But Fiona sliced through his modest attitude.
'Oh, come on, you can't leave it there.'
Taking a mouthful of pasta, Chris, balancing the plate on his lap, began to tell Fiona what she wanted to hear.
'There was this guy; I shared a flat with him. Sometimes I would wake up and see him standing on the window ledge, swaying backwards and forward.'
'He slept walked?'
'All the time, well, this one night — I woke up to hear him leaving his room. I'm a light sleeper; anything can wake me up. But it's what I smelled that caught my attention.'
