Chapter 14.1

 

The house looked different.

Not visibly — not in any way she could point to — but Roisin felt it the moment she stepped through the gate. The air around the building was thicker, heavier, as though the night had pooled against the walls and refused to drain away. The windows were dark, but not blank; they seemed to hold a faint sheen, like eyes adjusting to the dark.

The assistant stopped at the edge of the property but leaned forward. It was reminiscent of someone at the British Museum straining against the ‘Do not touch the Display’ ropes strung around the fossilised lizards. “I’m not going in.”

Roisin looked past her. The road was quieter than usual. She’d expect to see some traffic going past and the usual people giving their dogs an evening walk or popping to the local shop for cigarettes, but apart from the two of them, the road was empty. “Why?”

The assistant shook her head. “Because whatever’s following you… it won’t cross with me here.”

Roisin felt her pulse quicken. “You think it’s out here?”

The assistant didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The silence around them was too complete, too deliberate. Even the wind had stilled. Even the noise from the dual carriageway on the Stafford Road had gone silent.

Roisin felt like there was something blocking her ears; a pressure similar to that she experienced on the one and only time she’d been on an aeroplane to Spain when she sixteen. She swallowed as her the beat of her pulse echoed through her head. “What do I do?”

“Go inside,” the assistant whispered. “Close the door. Don’t turn on the lights right away.”

Roisin frowned. “Why not?”

“Because you’re already used to the dark and you’ll be able to spot anything if it’s waiting for you.”

Roisin felt a chill crawl up her spine. “Wouldn’t I see it even better with the lights on?”

“No. It would be like looking into a dark garden from inside a well-lit kitchen. You wouldn’t be able to make out any details, and all you’d probably see is your own reflection in the glass of the kitchen window.”

Roisin stared at her. “You’re telling me to walk into a dark house with something following me.”

“I’m telling you to get inside before it gets closer.”

Roisin looked back at the street.

The shadows along the pavement seemed to lean toward her. A hundred metres away, a streetlight fizzed, sparked and died. The lights between it and town were unlit. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed before. Walking without the illusion of safety in the  pools of streetlights would have freaked her out once.

She took a breath, stepped onto the path, and walked toward the door. Glancing back, she saw the assistant had stayed where she was, watching, her posture tense, her eyes fixed on the darkness behind Roisin.

Roisin unlocked the door with shaking hands. The key scraped against the metal, louder than it should have been. She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The hallway was dark.

Still.

Waiting.

She turned back.

The assistant raised a hand — not waving, not gesturing, but holding it up like a warning.

Roisin closed the door.

The click of the latch echoed through the house like a heartbeat.

She stood in the dark, her breath shallow, her pulse loud in her ears. The echo inside her chest vibrated harder now, spreading through her ribs, her throat, the base of her skull. It felt like something was trying to align itself with her heartbeat — or replace it.

She leaned against the door, eyes closed.

The house was silent.

Too silent.

She opened her eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the dark. The faint outline of the hallway emerged — the coat rack, the stairs, the narrow strip of carpet leading toward the kitchen. Everything looked normal.

But nothing felt normal.

She took a step forward.

The lobby tiles clicked under her heel — a familiar sound, but tonight it felt amplified, as though the house were listening.

She took another step. Her hand brushed against the cardigan she’d left here – was it only yesterday – still damp from the soaking rain and now giving off a very faint smell of bread left too long in the plastic wrapper.

The echo pulsed.

A faint pressure brushed the back of her neck, like a breath that wasn’t hers.

She spun around.

Nothing.

Just darkness.

She swallowed hard and moved toward the stairs. Her legs felt unsteady, her breath shallow. The echo vibrated through her bones, stronger now, almost rhythmic.

She reached the bottom step.

A light flicked on upstairs.