Eyes On You

Chapter 3-3

“What time is it?” Aimee asks, her words stifled by a loud yawn.

Squinting, I check the clock on the mantelpiece. The only light in the room is coming from the TV and the hallway, so I have to lean forward to read it. “Ten to twelve.”

“s**t, it’s late.” She gets up off the couch, Luna still asleep at her feet. “Where does the time go?”

“I know.” I switch the TV off with the remote and then follow her up, yawning as I straighten. “What’s your day like tomorrow?”

“Busy,” she replies. “I’m working down the Bridgend office in the afternoon. They’re understaffed. Again.”

“I hope they’re paying the fuel costs. Bridgend’s a good twenty-five miles out. It’s a bit of a trek.”

I follow Aimee out of the living room, into the hallway. “Of course they are,” she reassures me. “Seventy pence a mile.”

“That’s s**t. What about the wear and tear of your car? And your tyres.”

Aimee turns to me and smiles. “What, would you prefer that I take your reliable car instead?”

I chuckle. “I’ll swap if you like.”

“Ha! I’ll never get to work with that rust-bucket.”

Just as we reach the bedroom, an ear-piercing hissing sound bursts out of the living room—followed closely behind by Luna. We leap out of the way as he darts past our feet, disappearing into the bedroom.

“Luna,” Aimee softly calls out to him. “What’s wrong, boy?”

“Stupid cat,” I say, shaking my head in annoyance. “The world’s first feline to be scared of the b****y dark.”

“Check the living room, Matt,” Aimee says, following Luna into the bedroom. “Maybe he saw a mouse.”

I make my way over to the living room. “A mouse? There’re no mice in here. Maybe a spider or—”

Suddenly the entire flat comes alive with a loud, heavy thud.

What the f**k was that?

Frantically switching on the light, my jaw drops wide open in horror. Our fifty-inch plasma TV is lying facedown on the carpet; the cables hanging loosely from its back, wrenched out of the wall and DVD player. I kneel down next to the TV, as if tending to an injured person.

“What the hell happened?” I hear Aimee ask from the doorway.

“I don’t know.” I take hold of the edge and lift the TV up to inspect the screen. There’s a large c***k running down its centre. The sight is almost too much to stomach.

I prop it up against the cabinet and stand back.

“How did that manage to fall?” Aimee asks.

I don’t answer; just shake my head in astonishment. Can’t seem to be able to form any words. Any explanation. Any thoughts. Just…

“Maybe someone from downstairs?” Aimee offers. “Maybe someone hit the ceiling with something.”

I turn to her, grimacing. “The downstairs flat is still empty. There’s no one living there. It was your b****y cat.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Matt. How could Luna push that massive TV off the cabinet? He’s only small.”

“Well why else did he make that hissing noise and then run out of here like that?”

“I don’t know,” Aimee replies. “Maybe he saw something.”

“A mouse didn’t push the TV over.”

“I didn’t say it did.”

“Then what, Aimee?” I snap. “A ghost?”

Aimee says nothing, just gives a subtle shrug.

“There’s no ghost living in this flat,” I announce with conviction, “and there never will be.”

“Look, even you have to admit that there’s been more than a few occurrences since we moved in.”

I snort. “Occurrences? A few broken things, a spooked cat and a cold draught is hardly a job for Mulder and Scully.”

“What draught?” she asks with intrigue, as if she’s stumbled upon a clue to a murder mystery.

“It’s just a little breeze coming in, that’s all.”

“I take it you couldn’t find the cause,” she says, “otherwise you wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Aimee, can we focus on the problem of the smashed TV, please? This is far more important than some stupid ghost.”

“Have you seen anything?” she asks, completely ignoring me. “Heard something maybe?”

I reply with a pissed off groan. The very notion that a ghost is the cause of all these things is complete and utter nonsense. There was nothing sitting in the backseat of the car. No one whispered ‘I see you’ to me, and no b****y ghost pushed over my precious TV.

It was stress, the wind—and that b****y cat!

“Must have been a tremor,” I lie. She’ll only get upset if I blame Luna again.

Aimee chuckles sarcastically. “A tremor? Like an earthquake? Well, that says it all.”

“Says what?”

“That you’re full of shit.”

“No I’m not,” I snap, checking that the DVD player isn’t damaged as well. “I just don’t believe in ghosts, so just drop it now!”

Aimee sits on the couch, her breathing shallow, like she’s just about to cry.

“I’m sorry,” I say, walking over to her. “I didn’t mean to sound like a d**k. I just don’t know how we’re going to afford another TV.” I sit next to her and put my arm around her back.

Aimee turns to me with worried eyes. “Doesn’t it frighten you at all?”

“What would I be frightened about?”

“The ghost for Christ’s sake!” she barks as a teardrop runs down her cheek. “What’s wrong with you, Matt?”

A short chuckle unconsciously slips out, so I retract it immediately.

“You might not give a s**t,” she continues, “but I do. If we do have a spirit, then we’ve clearly pissed it off.”

Okay, I’ll give her the TV, but I don’t know how dangerous a draught and a broken jar of beetroot is. “Look, we’re seeing your parents on Sunday. Why don’t we ask for their opinion?”

Aimee sniffs loudly, wipes her eyes with her sleeve, and then smiles. “Good idea.”

I return a smile. “Come here,” I say, pulling her in for a hug, one eye still on my smashed TV.

Ghost.

At least her parents will make her see sense.