“You think I’m going to die?” I was trying for light, but the question came off dire. There was definitely something up there, maybe it was a real possibility.
“I’ve seen a lot of movies,” she said, looking uncertain about my impending demise. “We shouldn’t split up.”
“Maybe it was nothing,” I suggested, knowing that saying it would not make it true. I was going to have to go up there.
“A nothing that screams and then crashes onto the floor.” Her face was pale and her body looked as if it was completely stiff. No one was sleeping here tonight if we didn’t figure this out.
I sighed, gripping the frying pan tighter and running a hand through my hair, undoubtedly sending it standing on end and pointing in all directions. “Okay. I guess we go up, then?”
She wiped her hands down the front of her jeans, took a deep breath and then met my gaze. “Let’s go.” She turned around quickly and picked up a butter knife. I didn’t comment. But I didn’t think the threat of being buttered was going to frighten even the wariest of intruders.
I turned toward the back stairway, and her arm caught my shoulder. Despite my fear, there was something nice about the way she grabbed me, the idea that she needed me.
“Hey, wait. All the lights are on now, right?”
“Power’s back on, yeah,” I answered.
“Good,” she said, whispering now, like she didn’t want whatever was up there to hear us discussing the house’s utilities. “Maybe we should take the main stairs.”
“You don’t want to surprise the murderous thing that is probably going to kill me?”
“I just . . .” She squeezed my arm, as if pleading with me silently. “It feels safer. The back stairs are so dark and narrow.”
“Sure.” I didn’t think it mattered much one way or the other.
Darkness hovered just outside the streaky windows of the first floor as we moved, and it felt almost like an entity watching us from out there. We moved to the foot of the stairs, the house moaning and complaining around us with each step as I shivered with anticipation and not a little fear. There was really no sneaking through this creaky old place.
Addison’s hand slipped from my shoulder to my elbow as I climbed the first stair, and she set herself right against my side. I turned to look at her, unsure whether to be charmed or annoyed by her appropriation of my arm, but she looked so frightened when she returned my gaze with those huge dark eyes, I just tried for a reassuring smile.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s fine,” I told her, and together, we moved as quietly as we could up the stairs. At the landing, darkness stretched itself down the hallway and crept into each of the four bedrooms. I reached for the switch, but nothing happened when I pressed it. I cursed myself for not trying all the switches earlier.
“Bulbs are out,” I suggested, wishing I felt half as sure as I was acting. Addie pulled her cellphone from her pocket and switched on the flashlight. The hallway was empty. Creepy as hell, but empty.
We continued toward the nearest bedroom, and I flicked the light on as we entered. I was relieved the electricity wasn’t out on the entire floor. The room looked exactly as it had earlier—dusty, but empty, the sagging old bed sitting against the wall looking sad. Nothing was amiss, and there was no ghostly presence screaming at us. I felt tension mount in my shoulders, wishing we could just find an easy explanation and get on with it.
We turned and investigated the next bedroom over, which was also empty of deadly ghosts or scary screaming things. The room I’d chosen as mine was in order, and the last bedroom—the master, where Addison would sleep—appeared undisturbed, except that her suitcase had fallen from the end of the bed where she’d set it, and the contents were scattered across the floor. The stress in my body dissolved.
“That explains the crash,” I said.
“How would that happen?” She stared at her upended bag.
“I guess it just slid off. The mattress probably isn’t flat, and the house shifts a little now and then, I suppose.”
She did not look sold on this suggestion, and if I was honest, it seemed far-fetched to me too. But what other explanation was there? Ghosts had pushed her things to the floor? I couldn’t believe that.
Addison dropped my elbow and moved to put a few of her things back into the bag. I caught sight of a flimsy-looking piece of pink silk tucked among her clothes and my stupid mind went off on a tangent, wondering exactly what that was and what it might look like on her.
I stood still, watching her move around the room nervously, righting her belongings.
“Hey, you know these work better if you inflate them?” I pointed to the air mattress that lay flat beneath the sleeping bag she’d unrolled.
“I couldn’t make it inflate. I felt stupid and didn’t want to ask for help.” She looked so sad as she told me this that my heart crumpled a little in my chest. Was I that much of a dick that she hadn’t felt comfortable asking for help with the air mattress? I stepped over to it and unscrewed the valve. The mattress made a gentle hissing sound as air began to push inside.
“Thanks.” She turned to face me, wringing her hands before her narrow waist. “So, what now?”
“Um . . . I guess we could plan which projects we’re going to approach tomorrow?”
She nodded. “So we’re going to pretend that whole screaming thing didn’t happen?”
“I’ll just check the attic.”
She waited at the bottom of the stairs as I checked the space above, and she seemed as relieved as I was that there was nothing there.
We went back down to the dining room, but the tension that had lain between us earlier had vanished. Instead, we fell into a comfortable togetherness, discussing the many projects ahead of us and talking about what would be involved in each. It was nice, if one could overlook the creepy factor of everything that had just happened. I had the sense that Addison and I worked well together, that we were compatible partners. It was nice—enjoyable, almost—not to feel challenged at every turn, which was how I’d spent my whole relationship and very short marriage to Shelly.
“So I guess it makes the most sense to get the place livable first,” she said, recapping what we’d been discussing.
“Tomorrow, we’ll clean. Once we can see what we’re really dealing with, we’ll get into the bigger tasks and figure out what we can do ourselves and what we’ll need to pay for.”
“Cleaning, I can probably handle,” she said, one side of her mouth pulling down doubtfully. “But I’ve never done any kind of . . . manual labor.”
There was something charming about her admission that she wasn’t much of a do-it-yourselfer, and I couldn’t help the smile that took over my face. I hadn’t really pictured Addison Tanner hanging drywall or pouring concrete anyway, but the fact she thought she should apologize for not knowing how to do any of that was cute. “That’s okay.”
“I mean, I guess I’m saying I feel like I might not be very helpful. Might not really pull my weight.”
“Maybe this is the perfect opportunity to learn a few new skills.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, I guess.”