Chapter 7 #2
Satisfied it’s as safe as I can make it for tonight, I head upstairs, pushing one of the end tables in front of the bedroom door and balancing a bottle of shampoo precariously on the edge.
It won’t stop someone from getting in, but it will wake me up from a dead sleep and give me a heads up that I'm about to get murdered.
Too exhausted to change into something more comfortable, I flop onto the bed fully dressed, my eyes falling shut before my head even hits the bare mattress.
I slept so long that grogginess weighs me down even after the most luxurious shower of my life. Only thing that would have made it better is a towel, but naturally, I didn’t think about that little problem until after I was soaking wet, stuck using my dirty clothes to dry off.
“Still worth it.”
Freshly dressed in jean shorts and black tank top, I tuck my damp clothes under my arm as I unbar the bedroom door, dropping them off in the washing machine on my way to the kitchen.
I round the corner, and all traces of hunger and grogginess vanish in an instant, the sight of my computer and bags stacked in the middle of the empty living room rooting me to the spot.
Icy dread spreads through my veins as I let fear take root for ten heart pounding seconds before I get my shit together and snap into motion.
I’m desperately regretting giving Arson his knife back as I grab a screwdriver from my work bag.
Better than nothing, but far from a good option.
I strain my hearing for any creaks, but it’s eerily quiet as I search the house room by room.
Every one I clear that has no one inside gives me a mixture of relief, and ratchets up my anxiety another notch.
By the time I’ve searched the entire house, I’m an adrenaline-riddled mess.
Moving onto the traps next, I check each one carefully, my frown deepening as I find them all still in place.
When I’ve finished my rounds, I do another, nothing making sense.
If someone broke in… why would they have unloaded my stuff instead of stealing it? How the fuck did they get in when every piece of tape on the windows is still in place and the piles of salt in front of the doors are undisturbed?
The feeling of being watched intensifies, and a cool chill stirs my hair like a breeze… despite all of the windows being firmly shut. “Holy fuck, this place really is haunted,” I whisper.
Another invisible caress trails down my arm before backing off. My legs threaten to give out on me as I slide down to the floor in the middle of the kitchen, putting my head between my knees until my breathing levels out.
Okay, don’t freak out. I knew there was something off about this house and bought it anyway.
Hell, I practically thanked the ghost for letting me know the catch about this place up front yesterday, even if I wasn’t serious at the time.
But it brought all my shit in from the car while I slept in; that’s pretty sweet.
Already a more considerate roommate than Adam ever was.
All things considered, this is kind of the best case scenario, actually.
Imaginary friends are way more convenient than real ones. And this one does free manual labor.
“Thank you,” I croak, clearing my throat when it cracks and infusing it with confidence I don’t really feel.
I’m way out of my element here, but I already signed on the dotted line.
I’m committed to putting down roots, and if those roots go six feet under, well, that just means the universe is making sure I keep the promise I made when I threw that dart.
“You didn’t have to bring my stuff in, but I really appreciate it. ”
The hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end as ghostly fingers tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, tracing the line of my jaw with a featherlight touch before disappearing again.
I swallow hard, but force down my nerves.
The fact of the matter is there are only three options here.
Either there’s another way in and out of this house I don’t know about, I’m a very productive sleepwalker, or ghosts are real.
Option one can’t be ruled out, but I’d be lying if I said a secret part of me wasn’t hoping for number three.
I’ve lived my entire life immersing myself in magical worlds, more at home there than trudging through the monotony of adult life.
Whether that’s video games or a book, I’ve always been desperate for something more.
If ghosts are real, magic might be too. And maybe if I’m nice enough to my new houseguest, he’ll whisk me away from the land of taxes and day jobs to tame a dragon or attempt to assassinate a broody fae prince with a ten inch dick that’ll fall helplessly in love with me. I could get behind that.
“So, we should probably lay down some ground rules.” Plucking a meal at random from the freezer, I pop it in the microwave. “No spying on me in the bathroom. I don’t care how helpful you are, that’s just creepy, so keep it in your ghost pants.”
I swear I hear a snort, but it’s so faint, it could have been my imagination filling in his part of the conversation so I feel less ridiculous.
The microwave beeps, and I peel off the plastic, moving on to scavenge through the drawers and crossing my fingers the previous owners left some more presents behind besides the box upstairs.
A soft whoosh has me spinning around to see a drawer rolling open, full of miscellaneous junk, but there’s a pair of cheap chopsticks from some to-go place I happily pull out of the paper sleeve. Better than eating mashed potatoes with my fingers.
“At this rate, I’m going to have to avenge your death to repay you for all your help. Thanks, Casper.”
I ramble on about nonsense for one-sided conversation as I finish my depressing lunch before I can’t put it off anymore. “Wish me luck job hunting. I'll see if I can pick up a Ouija board while I'm in town or something so we can talk, okay?”
Naturally, I don’t get a response as I finish lacing up my shoes and sling my purse over my shoulder, triple checking that I have my keys before setting the door to lock behind me.
“See you tonight, don’t burn the house down.
” The sensation of my hand being squeezed is brief before the feeling of being watched completely disappears.
Memories of Arson’s indignant face when I let go of his hand during our hospital escape flicker to the forefront of my mind, and I can’t help but smile.
I shake my head to clear it, annoyed at myself.
I just got out of a relationship, even if my heart hadn’t been in it for months.
And I’m determined to make this place my home.
If I have another bad break up, I’ll be forced to bump into him around town or deal with him showing up at my house.
The police around here clearly don’t take their jobs seriously, so I can’t count on them if shit hits the fan.
I pause as my SUV comes into sight. “Oh come on.” I glance back towards the house. “Any chance you know how to change a tire, Casper?”
Crickets. Ditched by a dead guy. That’s a new low even for me.
Sighing, I bring up a how-to video on my phone, but thanks to the spotty service, it won’t load. Tossing my purse on my seat, I pull out the spare and jack, grateful for the clear trunk now more than ever. “I’ll just have to figure it out. How hard can it really be?”
Impossible apparently, because I swear, these rusted old lug nuts are super glued in place.
With a frustrated huff of defeat, I toss the tire iron on the ground and resign myself to walking aimlessly around town until I stumble across someone that’ll take pity on me and point me in the direction of a tire place I can beg for help.
A faint clatter pulls my attention next door, and I glance down the small hill to the massive truck parked in my neighbor’s driveway.
Hiking boots poke out from beneath the front, and I take it as a sign the old man from the gas station was right.
Sometimes the universe isn’t a total dick and puts help within our reach, if only we’re brave enough to take the leap.
“Come on, Ev,” I mumble, psyching myself up. “Part of putting down roots means making nice with the neighbors. If he’s a jerk, you can just walk away and avoid him the rest of your life. Piece of cake.”
Tossing my purse over my shoulder, I cut through the grass instead of taking the long way around. Rock music pounds louder the closer I get, and after three failed attempts to get the man’s attention, I grab the bluetooth speaker off the ground and hit pause.
“Sorry to bother you.”
A clang is followed by a sharp curse as he smacks his head, rolling out from beneath the car with a fierce scowl. “What the hell-” his eyes widen as he spots me, nostrils flaring, “-lo there.”
Ellis was right; I won the neighbor lottery.
The man is a powerhouse of muscle, his shirt holding on for dear life.
Wild dark brown hair is tied back with several strands escaping, nearly brushing his shoulders.
I’ve never been crazy about facial hair before now, but I’d buy this man a thank you card for the beard burn.
A shade darker than his hair, it’s neatly trimmed, closer to five-o-clock shadow than a full on beard.
He grabs a rag to wipe off his hands as he gets to his feet, towering over me.
Slowly craning my neck up, I meet hazel eyes staring back at me with equal intensity and swallow.
The guy’s built like a viking. If he does his yard work shirtless, my realtor is getting one hell of a gift basket.