Chapter 22: NOW - The Safe Room

As the house is plunged into darkness, a high-pitched scream tears through the air. I’m on my feet, heart in my mouth. Sophie, Sophie, Sophie swirling around my mind. I have to get to her.

My shin hits a chair as I stumble through the lounge.

“Amber?” Emily calls. “Are you all right?”

I don’t answer her, careening into the hall, hands out groping in the dark. Something trips me—a shoe, maybe—and I fall forwards, hitting my chin on what must be the bottom step. I cry out in pain. There are footsteps behind me; Emily.

“Do you have a torch?” she asks. “I don’t have my phone; I left it at the house when I ran away.”

My phone. In the panic, I forgot. I grab it from my pocket and tap on the torch function. Then I climb to my feet, rubbing my chin, which will no doubt bruise. I kick the stray welly that tripped me up and make my way upstairs.

When I burst into Sophie’s bedroom, she’s sitting up in bed clutching her stuffed rabbit, tears in her eyes.

“Mummy, why did the lights go out?”

I grab her and pull her close. “It’s okay, sweetie, it’s just a power cut because of the weather. You’re okay.”

“I don’t like the dark, Mummy. I want Daddy.”

The words punch me in the gut. “Oh, sweetheart, I do too. I’m sorry.”

“Can I come downstairs with you?”

“Sure.”

I pull her out of bed and rest her against my shoulder, stepping carefully through the dark. I’m still hollowed out from fear. Hearing that scream was my worst nightmare. Thank God it was for a power cut and nothing more sinister. But now I need to figure out how to get the lights back on.

When I return to the living room, Emily is standing by the window with the curtain pulled open. My mind immediately jumps to there being someone on the property, but then she turns to face me.

“There aren’t any streetlights on, and your neighbours’ lights aren’t on.” She shrugs. “Looks like it’s an issue in the whole area, not just here.”

“I’ll grab some candles.”

Emily pulls the curtains shut. “Isn’t that funny? How we’re back here again with the candles?”

I almost stop to ask her why she wanted the candles during the daytime but then figure it was a precaution before evening fell. She was right to plan ahead in weather like this. Before I grab the candles, I decide to check online to see if the electric company has posted about any issues. I refresh my laptop on the dining table, but I can’t get a signal either.

Soon we have candles lit all around the living room and Sophie is bundled up in a blanket. The laptop still has battery, so I put Bluey on for entertainment.

Since the lights went off, Emily seems nervous. She paces back and forth for a little while, then sits and fiddles with the wedding ring on her finger. I sip the wine, trying to relax, telling myself that this is all par for the course living in a rural area. It was one of the few risks I was aware of when I moved in. The house is still safe. It’s still hard to break in here just because the lights aren’t on anymore.

“Maybe we should play a game,” Emily suggests.

Sophie claps her hands together already excited.

But I’m more dubious. “What kind of game can we play in the dark?”

Emily winks at Sophie and says in a dramatic voice, “What about two truths and a fib?”

Sophie clamps her hands over her mouth and giggles. “Lying is naughty.”

“That’s true,” Emily says, holding up one finger like she’s performing a scene. “But this is just a fib, it’s for fun! So, I would say, I had a pony when I was a little girl, I once went to Timbuktu, and I don’t like ice cream, and you’d have to guess which is the fib.”

Sophie, who is now delighted to be part of a game, is giggly and high-pitched when she replies. “Everyone likes ice cream! You’d have to be a weirdo not to like ice cream.”

“Are you saying that’s the fib?” Emily asks.

Sophie sits up straighter and narrows her eyes like she’s trying really hard to figure it out. “Yes, I think you’re fibbing. I think you love ice cream!”

Emily sits down on the footstool in front of Sophie and grins. “Okay, so I did have a pony called Brownie who loved sugar cubes.” She pauses and bites her lip. “But I’ve never been to Timbuktu. That’s the fib! I actually hate ice cream.”

Sophie’s jaw drops when she turns to me, as though to say, “How could anyone hate ice cream?”

“It’s true,” Emily says, laughing. “I don’t like how cold it is.”

Sophie’s little mind is blown. “Not even from the ice cream van?”

“Nope.”

“Not even with a flake?”

She shakes her head.

I’m grateful for Emily’s idea because of how it’s distracting Sophie from the blackout. I haven’t seen her smiling this hard since the birthday party this morning.

“Okay, Soph, do you want to give your two truths and a lie?” I say, wondering if she can play along.

Sophie closes the laptop and bounces her hands against her knees, giggling. I nod to her to have a go. Then she settles down and her expression turns so serious from concentration that I could burst out laughing.

“I don’t like butterflies because they’re too flappy.” She licks her lips, thinking hard. “I’m the fastest runner in my whole class. I met a ghost once and she told me I was pretty.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Emily bursts out laughing. “You met a ghost?”

Sophie nods proudly.

“What did the ghost look like?”

“Like… old.”

“Old?” Emily asks. “How old? Like a hundred.”

Sophie laughs. “I don’t know.” Then she smiles. “You and Mummy are old too.”

“Well that’s just charming!” Emily laughs.

I laugh too, but I can’t stop thinking about this ghost thing. I try to shake it off. Loads of kids say creepy things about ghosts or ghouls they’ve seen. It’s part of having a good imagination.

“So you can outrun everyone in your class?” Emily asks.

Sophie nods.

“Wow, that’s amazing. But you’re not scared of butterflies are you?”

“I don’t like them at all,” she says. “Their wings are all flappy and they… they fly around and you don’t know which way they want to go. I don’t like it.”

Emily places her thumb and finger under her chin as though thinking hard about the game. “Let’s see. I agree butterflies are very flappy. I can understand that. And I can definitely see you being the fastest runner in your class. You look fast, Sophie. So I think the lie is that you saw the ghost.”

Sophie laughs. “Wrong! I definitely did see a ghost.”

“Where did you see this ghost, Sophie?” I ask.

“At school,” Sophie says. “She was in the field next to the playground. She asked if I was Sophie and said I was pretty and had nice hair. I asked her who she was and she said she was a ghost. That no one wanted her around. Then she said not to tell anyone that I’d seen her.”

“When was this? Why didn’t you tell me?” I run a hand through my hair. I didn’t mean to snap at my daughter, but how could she fail to tell me about this?

“Are you mad?” Sophie’s voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper. “Did I do something bad?”

“No, Sophie. No, I promise I’m not angry at you I’m just concerned that a woman came to your school. What did she look like?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, clearly still worried I was angry. “I don’t remember.”

“Are you all right, Amber?” Emily asks.

Breathless with fear, I manage a nod.

“Have a sip of wine.”

I do as Emily suggests, feeling every bit of warmth as it goes down.

“Sophie, this is important. When did you see this woman?”

“Ghost, Mummy, she was a ghost.”

I sigh. “Okay, ghost. When did you see her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it before Christmas?”

She nods.

“What was she wearing?”

“A big coat. It was red.”

I lift my eyebrows. “Great, sweetie. You’re doing a great job. Now, did she tell you her name?”

Sophie shakes her head.

“What colour hair did she have?”

“Don’t remember.”

“Did she say anything else?”

Sophie screws up her nose as though trying to remember. “No.”

“She didn’t say anything about a man called Peter?”

“No. Who’s Peter?”

I notice Emily watching me with her expression guarded, like she’s trying to decipher my thoughts. This must be strange for her, seeing me react like this, and I open my mouth to explain, but think better of it. I don’t want to scare Sophie any more than I already have.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” I say.

Emily leans over and whispers, “She’s probably making it up. You know what kids are like.”

“Yeah,” I reply.

I sip my wine and try to push the worries out of my mind. But I can’t stop thinking about it. Has someone approached my daughter? And are they someone connected to Peter?