It wasn't on the first day or the fourth of her husband's departure that Vanessa sensed a dark presence inside the house. But on the fifth night, as she lay in bed in solitude, the muted glow of the lamp keeping unwelcome shadows at bay, she heard the scratching. It emerged from the ceiling and suggested something burrowed under the roof. Her eyes frantically darted, screening the walls and ceilings for any indication of the source of the noise. It persisted. She stabbed a glance at the corner where the vanity stood, engulfed in soupy darkness. Her eyes wearily trailed the corner bead that ran from the top of the mirror to the ceiling. It came again – like nails on a chalkboard. She felt the sudden urge to sit up but couldn't muster the courage to compel herself. She thought about what Richard would say: "It's probably those birds again. Must have found a way to get through the crack in the sidings."
She knew for a fact it wasn't swallows nesting up there. She had made sure before summer had withered that Richard sealed it shut. He had climbed the roof, and precariously hung his head from the edge to ensure the reinforcement was secure. He had hammered in a few extra nails for good measure. Since then, she had often gone out to ensure that the swallows hadn't found a way to invade their residence. She had been relieved to not notice any signs of foul-play, until now...
Again, the scratching pierced her ears. It moved from the corner of the ceiling, inching closer to the side wall. Her feet shifted under the blanket with unease, as if whatever lurked behind the sheetrock could pounce at any moment and devour her toes. She clutched at the cross resting on her chest, fidgeting with it nervously between her forefinger and thumb.
"Alexa, turn on the light," she cautiously whispered at the black cylinder on the nightstand. An orange ring swirled on its surface. What a terrible time for it to lose connection – she thought. The toy poodle, sequestered between pillows at the edge of the bed, picked up its head now, sensing her anxiety. Hannibal got up and sauntered closer to her, his apricot hair blue tinged from the lamp's glow. The poodle burrowed its furry head between the crooks of her elbow and nuzzled against the warmth of her body. It was enough to soothe her. The scratching didn't register anymore. She allowed the weight of her lids to shutter her eyes as she fell back into a deep slumber.
She was jarred awake in the middle of the night by vociferous barks from the foyer. Her head pounded from the disruption. She sprung up and ambled out of the room. Somewhere between her blurred vision and the stabbing glimmer from the glazing of the front door, she could make out the poodle's silhouette. She rubbed her eyes, and as the vagueness died, the poodle's petite figure took shape. He stood erect before the door, a heightened tension palpable in his posture.
"Hannibal? What are you barking at, boy..." her voice trailed before being swallowed by a yawn. She picked up the dog, struggling to restrain his aggression against whatever lurked beyond the door. She cast a glance through the glass and saw nothing, save for snow flurries and an absolute whiteout. Too groggy to investigate further, she went back to bed. No sooner did her head hit the pillow, than the doorbell chimed. She was wide awake now, jolted back to consciousness by the second chime, and then the third.
She wondered who was out there in this inclement weather, at this hour of the night. Her misgivings stifled her curiosity to answer the door. It chimed again! This time, she reluctantly got up, clutching Hannibal between her arms. She tiptoed around the room, like a stranger in her own house. She twisted the knob. The door flung open before she could pull it ajar. A daunting gust struck her body. There was no one there. She shuddered, not from the cold, but from the fear that welled up inside her like an invasive shadow unsettling her soul. She sensed the hairs on the nape of her neck bristle from the realization that someone or something had rung the doorbell, and had vanished into thin air.
She felt Hannibal wrenching in her arms and growling at the void. The moment of apprehension had passed, replaced by that of self-preservation. She quickly slammed the door, bolting it shut with utmost swiftness, then darted back to the sanctuary of her bed, seeking refuge under the blanket. Her heart thundered. The thought did occur to her that it was quite silly for a thirty-year-old to be frightened so irrationally, but she could not dismiss what her ears heard, or what her eyes saw or did not see.
Again...the door chimed, incessantly this time. She was on the verge of declaring lunacy.
"Leave me alone!" she cried into the darkness, "Whoever you are..." her voice withering to a tone above whisper.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Richard's avatar embraced the screen. She picked it up.
"Open the door. It's me, you silly..." came his voice from the other side.
"I-I tho-thought you won't be back till tomorrow..." she stammered, startled.
"Got done with the conference early, so thought I'd surprise you. Now, open up. I'm shivering out here..."
At this, her anxiety vaporized. She attributed the recent episode to nothing more than a case of insomnia or some other "somnia" that her body wasn't privy to. She could make out Richard's shadow beyond the threshold as clear as day. As soon as she opened the door, Hannibal leapt from her arms, forced into a frenzy of vicious growls. He had always behaved himself with Richard, so the poodle's sudden outburst seemed quite uncharacteristic.
"Hannibal! You rude lil pup. Aren't you happy to see daddy?" she hoped to pacify the canine with her child-like voice, but it failed to acquire the desired result. Hannibal continued barking, blocking Richard's path.
"Sorry, honey. He has been on edge all night. Let me go put him in the laundry room."
"He must be sniffing other folks from the flight..." Richard smiled.
"Well, hurry up. Get in! You must be exhausted."
The wind howled outside as Richard entered. Behind the closed laundry room door, Hannibal whistled and whined, utterly displeased with the separation.
The red glow of the clock read 3:00 AM when Richard got into bed with her. He shared stories of the conference all night while she shared how she had spent most of the days baking and crafting paper-mâché. She felt safe in his embrace. An erotic fire swelled within her from the days of solitude. His eagerness to please met hers, as they doffed their pajamas and made love under the blankets. The eruption was swift and inevitable due to Richard's boisterous giddiness to finally feel the warmth of her body after five days of separation. He collapsed on top of her shortly after.
She lay on his chest now, his breath grazing her forehead. Unlike him, she couldn't fall asleep so quickly. Her thoughts drifted. She was filled with despair at the way she had treated him before his departure. Her mind wandered the events of that day now...
"Are you seriously leaving me again?" It wasn't a question, but a tongue-lashing that she had directed at him as she powered off the food processor. The oven beeped, alerting her to rescue the casserole but she paid no heed to it.
"You were on a work trip last month...and now..." her voice trailed off; the disappointment palpable in the way her words lost their venom. Smoke permeated from the oven and embraced her nostrils, to which she seemed oblivious.
Richard rounded the kitchen island and extended his hand to caress her shoulder, "But honey..." which she swatted off immediately.
"Don't! Don't give me that bullshit!" Tears beaded on her eyes. "I am not blind. I saw the hair on your car seat." She craned her neck to emphasize the gravity of this discovery. "You're clearly not going on a work-trip. You're going on a trip with your mistress..." She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, the absurdity of the accusation dawning on her.
"For Chris sakes!" snapped Richard, retreating a few paces for fear of what his wife might hurl at him from the counter. "You are so delusional. How many times must I remind you that it was your hair. Sorry to disappoint, but I am not cheating. Never have, never will..." he said earnestly.
This blunt affirmation seemed to quell her momentarily. But it was a mere reprieve from the harangue that followed.
"Oh, I am the delusional one? My insecurities do not stem from delusions. If you have nothing to hide, then why don't you take me with you, huh?"
He refused to surrender to her hasty accusations. "Well, like I said, I am not cheating. If you are that insecure, let me book your flights. You can sit through hours of boring conferences with me."
This finally consoled her. "I-I..." she stammered, startled by his invitation. Her thoughts scattered as she grasped at words, "Well, I was just testing you. I don't care for boring conferences..." Her frown dissipated.
An intense beep pierced the air. Smoke bellowed from the oven, swallowing the surroundings. The house resounded with the cacophony of fire alarms. The noise alerted Hannibal as the dog sprung from its cozy bed and zoomed around the kitchen, barking with vicious intent. Vanessa rushed towards the oven, opening the door, only to be struck by a thick blanket of smoke. Her breath choked in her throat as she burst out into a violent coughing fit.
"Fu-uck! Get away, honey. You'll burn your hands." Richard stepped in and withdrew her hand before she could reach inside. He swung open the cabinet doors above and retrieved a pair of oven mitts. He carried the burnt casserole to the patio and hurled it into the snow-covered yard. Vanessa scurried through each room and opened the windows.
"Honey? Could you open the front door?" came her voice from upstairs as she struggled with the latch in the guestroom.
"Yes, dear..." he cried from the foyer. He turned the knob to the door and muttered, "For fuck's sake!" under his breath. The door opened merely a crack, and the poodle dashed across the lawn before Richard's summons could register: "Hannibal! Get back here!"
"Aargh! Fuck me!" muttered Richard, vexed by the canine's disobedience, as he scurried after the poodle, his slippers leaving fresh prints on the snow alongside his dog's meager paw-prints.
The ominous beeping gradually subsided as the fresh mountain breeze invaded the warmth of their residence. It was not a modest house by any means, when compared to other residences on the block. The balcony overlooked the backyard, which stretched towards the alpine vegetation that lay dormant at the foot of lofty mountains. It was the middle of November, and the landscape had been rendered a pristine white. The snow soared to the mountain peak, the expanse of a cerulean-blue sky in its wake. However, the serenity outside masked the chaos that ensued inside.
"Alright, I think I got all the windows," she heaved as she met Richard at the bottom of the stairs. Her gaze wandered to his snow-clad pajamas. "What happened to you?"
"What do you think? Hannibal..." he gestured with his eyes at the poodle nestled between his arms, its apricot hair coated with snow.
"Who's a naughty baby..." Vanessa's voice mutated to that of a child, her lips pursed. She caressed Hannibal, the poodle eager to nuzzle her hand.
Richard departed Denver for Chicago on an afternoon flight. Vanessa had the house all to herself, with Hannibal to keep her company for an entire week.
She looked up at his resting face, regretting her words. It was morning already. Light filtered through the venetian blinds, casting a rectangular shadow across his face. He opened his eyes. His face beamed with the brightest of smiles to greet her.
"Hello, beautiful," he said, peering into her eyes.
"Morning, handsome," she greeted back.
"Well, I'm going to go on a run..."
"In the snow?" she raised her brows, surprised.
"Don't want your husband to turn into a couch potato, do you? I have been gorging on too much food the past few days. Need to cleanse myself. You...stay here and wait for daddy to get back." He touched her nose with his forefinger. The casual charm in his voice elicited her consent.
"Alright then, don't take too long. Could you let Hannibal out on your way out?"
"I sure will, honey."
Having been awake almost all night, she fell asleep on her tummy.
Her phone buzzed. She lifted her head from the pillow and looked at the clock. It read 11:30. She swiftly got up and picked up the phone. She could hear Hannibal whistling from the laundry room.
"God damn it. Didn't he let Hannibal out..." she muttered.
Her sister-in-law's avatar appeared on the screen. Her eyes rolled back as she answered.
"Vanessa! Thank God! I've been trying to reach you all night! Why didn't you pick up?" came Mona's anxious voice.
"Slow down. I did not see your call come through..." she flipped through her history to confirm and was shocked by what she discovered. There were 20 missed calls recorded from Mona.
"Whaat's...going on?" her voice trailed.
She now heard sobs on the other side, at which she rolled her eyes again. She was not a big fan of Mona.
"It's Richard...he-he..." she wheezed.
"What's with Richard. Tell me clearly," she pressed, vexed by the sobs.
"Richard's plane...it crashed last night. He's dead..." her voice took on a hushed tone before breaking out into mournful howls.
"How could that be? He is here with me..." she said, shocked.
"What?" Mona's voice regained some vitality at this. "He's there? Where is he?"
"He went out for a run this morning but hasn't returned..." her eyes drew towards the clock once more, wondering what he would be doing out so long. Suddenly, she questioned her reality.
"Vanessa, they found his body in the wreckage..." she howled again.
The truth confronted her. It crashed into her soul like ocean currents against a rocky shore. The phone dropped from her hand. She was puzzled and rushed to the foyer and opened the door. The storm had subsided. Her eyes darted for any signs of her husband's presence. There was none. Her gaze traveled along the pathway for footsteps in the snow. None appeared. In the grips of a mad mania, she rushed to the back porch, hoping that he had used the back door to leave. No such signs of footprints there either - the snowy surface as smooth as butter. In that grim moment of harsh realization, Richard's beaming smile registered in her mind. That was the last thing she remembered.