The Richmond Haunting (COMPLETED)

Chapter 30

Angela was an hour late.

Annoyed by that. Fiona wanted to say something, but she held back. It was best not to rock the boat. It wouldn't help in the long run.

Sat on the sofa, facing Angela. Fiona could see her writing notes down. Her pen whisked across the sheet of paper.

Fiona didn't know — what Angela was writing down, but every now and again, she would look up, and Fiona would get a bad feeling.

'She thinks I'm guilty.'

She wanted this moment over and done with. And so it began with the social worker asking pointless questions.

Questions; she already knew the answers to. But still had to ask because it was council policy.

'You live here with your husband and two children?'

'You know I do.' Fiona snapped.

Angela ignored the outburst and went on with her questions.

'And you've been married?'

God almighty, her voice was so robotic; Fiona wondered for a moment if she was programmed by a machine.

'Eight years in October, I think.'

'You think?'

'I'm terrible at remembering years and dates. Steven is the brain box for that department. I just hope for the best.'

'Well, that's different, usually; it's the man who forgets.'

'Not in this house.'

'And your relationship with your children?'

'You mean if we get along?'

'Something like that, yes.'

'We're like every family. We have our moments, but all families do.'

Angela, taking a great interest in the answers given to her, would write down what Fiona said. Writing it in shorthand.

'And these moments, do they ever make you feel angry — violent? Like you want to lash out at somebody?'

A full stop suddenly came into the front room. Fiona mulled for a second, she could say yeah to the question asked or go with the next choice; deny it. She went with the first.

'Sometimes, yeah, but it's not like super fucking nan. You might have the children messing about, and you just want to go to sleep. So you lose it.'

'In what way?'

'I don't know. You make empty threats. Tell them off.'

'Empty threats?' Angela asked, a curious look in her eyes.

'That they won't be watching T. V for a week. But you never go through with it because you won't get any peace if you do.'

'And what about corporal punishment?'

'No, never.'

'Never, but the marks on your daughter.'

'I know how it looks, but it wasn't us.' Fiona said, wanting so much to tell the social worker about the old man.

But no way would this woman believe her! She was an outsider, looking in from the outside. Somebody who, by the look of her, didn't believe in ghosts and demons. That a devil had been knocking Harmony about.

'You think we're guilty.'

'That's not for me to say, but I can imagine what it must be like raising children.'

'How? Do you have children?'

'No, but.'

'Then, how could you possibly know.'

'I didn't mean to offend you; perhaps I should start looking around.' Angela said. Would that be okay?

'Be my guest, but I still don't understand why you have to look around the house. It's not a palace, but it's not dirty. It's just lived in.'

'Routine policy, many parents we investigate, their children don't have beds to sleep in. They go without food and clothing. I'm here to see your children don't lack any of these.'

'Well, you won't find any of those problems in this house.' Fiona said with a great deal of confidence.

'Let's hope not, eh.' Angela said, smiling for a second, but then it was gone. And she made her way around the house, silently inspecting each room. The girl's bedroom to begin with - looking inside the girl's wardrobe. Inside the drawers. A nosey bitch.

Fiona, watching the social worker do her grand tour, felt as though her privacy was being invaded. But most of all, she wanted to know what Angela was writing down.

'I will give you a copy before I leave.'

'Make sure you fucking do.' Fiona thought to herself. Angela asked where the kitchen was?

'Downstairs, where it's normally kept.'

Again the smile from Angela, a smile you couldn't trust, and it went away as she made her way downstairs into the kitchen. Looking in the fridge-freezer, the cupboards. Taking notes, writing shit down.

By the time she finished inspecting each room around the house. Fiona felt exhausted and cheated.

She thought the old man would come out and show himself, but he never did.

And much later that afternoon, Fiona, reading the assignment sheet left by the social worker, thought for one crazy moment. The old man had packed up and gone.

But the old man hadn't because from out of the sofa, a single-arm shot out, curling itself around Fiona's throat, choking her.