Page 47 of We Live Here Now

46

Emily

I’m not even sure where I’m running to. I stumble down the drive, my face burning despite the freezing mist that scalds my lungs as I gasp. When I glance back, the fog is so thick the house is barely even visible, and for all I know the front door is wide open and whatever was coming down the stairs is about to reach out and grab me.

My leg screams at me to stop but I push onward, the white fire of panic fueling my adrenaline, and I wonder if I can get to Paul’s house before whatever or whoever it is catches me. I hurry down the lane, not caring about cars or even looking out for headlights, little half moans of fear escaping me as I manage some shambles of a run as far away as I can get from Larkin Lodge.

I barely see the figure coming the other way until I collide with him, and I let out a shriek of surprise, almost falling backward, my balance gone. I probably would have crumpled if he hadn’t grabbed my arm and kept me upright.

“Woah there, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” It’s a thick Devonian accent, and as my panic slows and he comes into focus I see a rough but concerned weather-hewn face looking back at me.

“Sorry, sorry,” I mutter, getting my breath back and taking him in. He’s wearing a red fleece and hat and has a bag slung over his shoulder. A postman. “I didn’t see you.”

“Can’t see a thing in this. Worst mist this winter. You need to take care on the lanes. I left the van at the last turn, otherwise I might have knocked you down.”

I apologize again, my heart slowing. I glance behind me but can see nothing. No monster. But who knows , my rebellious brain whispers. Maybe it’s waiting for you farther back. You can’t run forever.

“Were you coming down to check the postbox?”

It takes a moment before my brain, still focused on what may or may not be chasing me through the fog, recognizes what he’s said.

“What postbox?”

“You’re the new woman at the Lodge, right?”

“Yes, Emily Bennett.”

“You’ve got a mailbox on the lane. Just twenty yards that way. I’m happy to come to the front door, of course, but your husband told me to put the post in there.”

“Oh, of course,” I say breezily, as if I already know this. “I forgot. So much going on in a house move.” Freddie never told me about the postbox. And why would he put himself out when the postman would easily deliver it to the house? I look down at the keys in my hand. “I guess it’s one of these keys to open it?”

My heart’s thumping hard again, but this time with a very real-world fear. A truth in my gut that Freddie’s hiding something from me. And I’m starting to think I might know what it is.

“That small one looks like it. Do you want me to walk you back? It’s right against the wall just up there. Or are you going to carry on with your run?”

“No,” I say with a smile. “No, you’re right. It’s probably not safe in this weather.”

“I’ll keep putting it in the box then?” he asks. “Like your husband said.”

“Yes. Thank you, yes,” I mutter, already walking back the way I came. “That’s great.”

I stand at the open postbox for a long time, staring down at the collection of letters there. I’m aware of the caw of a raven overhead, and then the answering cry of another, and while the breath is knocked out of me from what I’m seeing, a small part of my brain wonders if the raven I released from the house has found a new love.

Maybe I need to find a new love.

My heart is heavy as I turn and head back to the only place I have to go, back home to Larkin Lodge. There are lights on inside—lights I’m sure I didn’t turn on—and now I can see it through the mist from the lane, guiding me back.

Oh, Freddie , I think, once I’m through the front door to find the smell vanished, the house warm, and no awful footsteps sending me running from the house. Oh, Freddie, what have you done?

It’s only later, when my mug of tea is cold and I’m staring at the pieces of paper around me, all the evidence I need, that I realize that if the house hadn’t terrified me so much that I ran out into the lane to collide with the postman, then I’d never know about the postbox and all this.

Maybe the house wanted me to know. I curl up, hugging a cushion on the sofa, holding it protectively against my stomach. Maybe it was protecting me. There’s no affirmation from the Lodge around me. The other alternative presents itself again—that maybe it’s all in my head—and this time it makes more sense. Maybe Freddie mentioned the postbox to me ages ago and I forgot. Maybe my subconscious drove me out of the house to find my answers. Right now, I don’t even care how I found out. I lie there, staring at the walls, waiting for Freddie to come home.