The Bottom of the Sea

Part 5: Charm Offensive

I blinked a few times but forced myself to keep staring. It certainly looked like a woman, although of course there was no one there. There couldn't be; that was not possible.

I gazed up at the window, trying to figure out whether it was the curtain that looked like a cascade of thick hair and the matronly curve of a hip, or if it was the glinting of the late-day sun. Because it had to be one or the other — a trick of the mind. There was no other explanation.

Then it moved.

Fear shot through me like ice. Whatever I was looking at seemed to turn and move fluidly from the centre of the stained-glass window just to the right. It was the ordinariness of the scene that spooked me, it looked as though someone got tired of standing there and decided to go do something else.

I felt goosebumps prickle my skin, from my calves all the way up to my scalp. I walked slowly up the stairs and unlocked the front door, setting my bag down. The familiar tick of the grandfather clock was comforting, and I felt my tense body relax just a bit. It was just a trick of the light; late-day shadows messing with my mind. I'd been on edge since I arrived, worried about Shane and what he might do. The constant stress was starting to get to me. Still, I dreaded having to climb the stairs to the second floor to check it out.

I hesitated, looking up the staircase. Nothing seemed unusual. The familiar silence of the house closed in around me and I felt calmer. I didn't believe in ghosts, not even a tiny bit. But I don't like it when things don't make sense.

I tried the first step; the creak was like a shout piercing the quiet and it startled me. For a moment, I didn't want to go any further. Nope. It was a visceral reaction, like my body was separate from my mind and refused to obey the direction to move forward.

Then I thought about Shane and the real-world threat that was lurking out there, capable of doing real harm to me. Whatever was in my bedroom, I knew that Shane was worse.

I got moving, slowly. When I reached the top of the stairs, and peeked into the bedroom, everything was fine. It was clean and neat, just as I'd left it. I once worked in a hotel and I knew how to fold those corners right and I liked to be tightly tucked in when I slept. Besides, a job worth doing is worth doing well, my father always said.

I let out a sigh of relief and went over to the window. I stood in the place where I thought I'd seen the woman. The curtain was hanging at a weird angle, caught on one of the comfy reading chairs placed there. That must have been what I saw. I straightened it out, turned and ran a hand over the perfectly made bed before heading downstairs to make some tea.

I slept like the dead that night, undisturbed by what I thought I saw. I was getting used to the house, its familiar creaks and groans and the way the light played across its surfaces in the morning. Despite my brief scare, after a couple of weeks the house and I were getting along just fine.

Now that I was settled in, I had to check into that job. No more putting it off.

I showered and dressed in the most professional looking outfit I had. It wasn't much — slim navy dress pants and a nondescript white blouse. I didn't bother to take any accessories with me when I ran, so I couldn't even throw on some earrings or a statement necklace to jazz it up. I always found the concept of a statement necklace strange. What kind of statement would it make? Please hire me. I'm broke and desperate.

Nothing could be done about the hair. As part of my brilliant disguise, I'd hacked off my blonde ponytail in a panic at the gas station before dying what remained that awful black. I tried to trim it up as best I could, so it didn't look like such an obvious hack job, but the results were not great.