Page 23 of The Shape of Night

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“My face. He touched my face.” I won’t tell her where else he touched me. Or how he pinned my body to the bed with his.

“You said on the phone you also smell things. Unusual odors.”

“It’s almost always the first thing I notice, just before he appears.”

“Odors are often described as sentinels of a supernatural presence. Is it an unpleasant odor?”

“No. It’s like—like a wind from the ocean. The smell of the sea.”

“What else do you notice? You said your cat sometimes behaves oddly.”

“I think he’s aware. I think he sees him.”

Maeve nods and takes a sip of tea. Nothing I’ve said appears to surprise her, and her placidity about what seems like an outlandish tale somehow calms me. It makes me feel my story is not so ridiculous after all. “What doyousee, Ava? Describe it.”

“I see a man. He’s my age, tall, with thick black hair.”

“A full-body apparition.”

“Yes, head to toe.”And more.“He wears a dark coat. It’s plain, unadorned. Like the coat Captain Brodie wears in his portrait.”

“Captain Brodie is the man who built your house?”

I nod. “His portrait hangs in the Tucker Cove Historical Society. They say he died at sea, which explains why I smell the ocean whenever he appears. And when he spoke to me, he said: ‘You are in my house.’ He believes it’sstillhis house. I don’t know if he’s even aware he’s passed on…” I am so anxious for her to believe me that when I look down, I see my hands are knotted on the table. “It’s Captain Brodie. I’m sure it is.”

“Do you feel welcome in that house?”

“I do now.”

“You didn’t earlier?”

“When I first saw it from the outside, the house seemed unfriendly, as if it didn’t want me there. Then I stepped inside and smelled the sea. And suddenly I felt welcome. I felt the house had accepted me.”

“You don’t feel even a little bit afraid, then?”

“I did at first, but not now. Not any longer. Should I?”

“It depends on what you’re actually dealing with. If it’sjusta ghost.”

“What would it be, if not a ghost?”

She hesitates, and for the first time I sense her uneasiness, as if she doesn’t want to tell me what she’s thinking. “Ghosts are spirits of the deceased who haven’t managed to fully escape our world,” she explains. “They linger among us because of unfinished business. Or they’re trapped because they haven’t realized they’re dead.”

“Like Captain Brodie.”

“Possibly. Let’s hope that’s all this is. A benign ghost.”

“Are there ghosts who aren’t benign?”

“It depends on what sort of person he was in real life. Friendly people make friendly ghosts. Since your entity doesn’t seem to frighten you, perhaps that’s all you have. A ghost who’s accepted you into his house. Who may even try to protect you against harm.”

“Then I have nothing to worry about.”

She reaches for her cup of tea and takes a sip. “Probably not.”