In the Shadow of the Past

by Janice

Author’s notes: This story was submitted as part of Fright Night 2. Required elements are at the end. I won’t promise it’s scary in the traditional sense. It’s really scary in another sense, but I’ll let you find that out for yourself. *eg* Let’s just say that my imagination has been running away with me, again. Far away.

Thanks go to LoriD for another wonderful job at editing.

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Summer 2004
Crabapple Farm

Sighing deeply and pushing her curls off her forehead, Trixie Frayne turned away from the tomato sauce she was making to check on her two youngest children. Through the kitchen window she could see ten-year-old Alex throwing a ball to eight-year-old Elizabeth. Satisfied that all was peaceful for the moment, she turned back to her work.

I guess it’s just about ready, she thought, feeling relieved. The jars should be hot, too. A quick check in the oven confirmed that. She set them ready on the counter and turned back to the stove. I wonder what I’m supposed to do, now? She frowned at the spidery handwriting of her great-grandmother’s recipe. It gave very little clue. Outside, the children were talking excitedly, but they sounded further away than they had before.

Crick! Tinkle!

Trixie turned around. The jar on the left had broken into three or four pieces. Muttering under her breath, she turned back to the pot, hoping that the remaining jars would hold all she had made.

Crack! Crick!

She turned again. Now two jars were broken. What’s happening? she wondered, staring at them in surprise. In the next instant, her mouth dropped open.

Crack! Tinkle!

Cr-r-r-ack!

Crick! CR-R-ACK!

One by one, the remaining three jars seemed to fall apart before her eyes. Trixie walked over to examine the wreckage. Stupid jars, she thought, wondering what on earth she was going to do now. It’s not like they were overworked. I only used them once. With another deep sigh, she began to clean up the debris.

As she was trying to remember just where she had put the rest of the jars, the front door opened and the sound of teenage voices drifted through the house. By the sounds of things, there was another argument going on. With an effort, she put on her best respect-your-mother look and turned to greet the voices’ owners.

“Well, I can’t think of anything worse than having brothers,” said a petulant female voice, as the door slammed loudly.

“How about pneumonia?” said a male voice.

“Or the chicken pox?” said another.

The three came into the kitchen, each of the boys heading for the refrigerator while the girl sank down on a kitchen chair and rested her chin on her hands. Her eyes fixed on her brothers and she did not even seem to notice the destruction which had just befallen the row of jars.

“Hi, Moms,” she said, looking at once glum and annoyed.

“Oh, yeah. Hi, Moms,” the boys said, in a rather confused chorus.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said, once she had greeted them. “I’ve had a little disaster with my canning jars. Scott,” she said, looking at the older and taller brother, “could you take a look in the top of the pantry? I think there are some spare jars up there.”

“Sure, Moms,” he said, gently pushing past his brother. “They’re a bit dusty. How many do you want? Five?”

“Yes, thank you. And can you wash them please? I don’t have time to wait for the dishwasher. Nicholas, could you finish cleaning up the mess?” The fifteen-year-old, so much like her brother, Mart, at that age, gave a grieved look to the apple he was about to eat, but complied without protest. “Don’t forget to stir the sauce every now and then. And, you’ll need to warm the bottles in the oven before you fill them. Can you handle that?”

“Yes, Moms,” the two chorused, an amused look on seventeen-year-old Scott’s face and an annoyed one on that of his younger brother.

“Now, Christie,” said Trixie, turning to her daughter, “There are some things that need to be done in the guest room before your brother gets home.”

“Too late,” said Christie, her gloomy face suddenly creasing into a scowl. “They’re outside right now. They got here before us, even.” ‘They’ referred to her eldest brother, Anthony, and his new wife.

“Then we’d better hurry,” said her mother, leading the way out of the kitchen. “The bed still needs to be made and I want the floor swept.” She gently shut the guest room door behind them before continuing in a softer voice. “And, while we’re doing that, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Why am I cursed with so many brothers?” Christie asked, as her mother turned her back to sweep the far corner of the room. “I mean, really, Moms. Nobody needs that many kids. You could’ve skipped Scott and Nicholas and moved straight on to me.”

“I’ve got three brothers,” Trixie said, trying to keep a straight face. “Hard as it seemed at the time, I survived.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, Moms,” said her daughter - and Trixie could hear the scowl - “but I’ve got four. That’s got to be a million times worse. And the only decent one - well, at least, I thought he was the decent one…” She sighed. “Oh, Moms, why did he have to get her pregnant?”

“I don’t think he meant to,” Trixie said, keeping her tone light and her back turned to hide the smile she was trying in vain to suppress.

“Moms!” said Christie, screwing up her nose. She plopped down onto the bed, creasing the sheet which she had just pulled straight. “I meant, of all the girls that Anthony knows, why did it have to be Lauren that he got pregnant? I don’t like her, Moms, and now she’s married to him and they’re going to live here.” She slumped forward. “It was bad enough having to go to the wedding, but now I have to put up with them kissing all over the place. As if they hadn’t done enough of that already. Honestly, Moms, I must be cursed.”

Trixie’s brow furrowed at this confused piece of logic and she sat next to her daughter while trying to find a response. There didn’t seem to be one.

“Cursed?”

“Just look at this hair,” Christie said, starting off on her usual list. “Red and curly. I mean, I got the worst from both sides of the family. Then,” she said, standing up to emphasize her point, “there’s this figure. Moms, I look like a boy. I swear, if I didn’t have long hair, you’d get me confused with Alex. Which reminds me of brothers-”

“I think we’ve covered that one already,” Trixie interrupted. “What else about you is cursed?”

Her daughter sighed and leaned against the dresser. A moment later, her shoulders started to shake and Trixie crossed the room to put her arms around her.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered, gently stroking Christie’s back. “Just give Lauren another chance. You might even like her.”

“Why did it have to be Anthony?” she asked, between sobs. “This is so stupid. Of all my brothers, why did it have to be him?”

“Heaven knows, we warned him,” Trixie muttered. It’s not like we wanted history to repeat itself, she added silently, her mind going back nineteen years to her own Senior Prom.

The tears abruptly stopped. “I wish someone would just tell me the joke.” Her mother did not respond. “Ever since Anthony told us that he and Lauren were having a baby all the adults have been acting weird. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.”

“I don’t think you want to know,” said Trixie, suppressing another smile. “Too much information about your parents.”

“And sex? Forget I asked.” She shuddered, eloquently.

“Well, let’s finish making this bed. Those newlyweds will want to get in here sooner or later. We’d better get it ready. And give her another chance, okay?”

“Okay, Moms, I’ll try.”

“Package for you,” said Trixie to Nicholas, as he arrived home the following afternoon. He, and his brother Scott, had been out riding. “From Uncle Mart, I think.”

“Yes!” he replied, scooping it up. “I’ll be in my room, Moms.”

His mother shook her head and returned to the study with the coffee she had just made. A few minutes later, she looked up in irritation from the document she was studying. When it came to bands, The Cure had never been near the top of her preference list. Hearing them, loud and distorted, from the small, inexpensive speakers in her son’s room did nothing to improve them. Even from here, she thought she could make out some of the words: Spiderman is having me for dinner tonight.

Tossing her pen down in annoyance, Trixie left the study and headed upstairs. The noise increased as she approached and pictures rattled on the walls. He must have it turned up all the way, she thought, irritably. Reaching the right doorway, she pounded a fist on it, to be heard above the music.

“Turn it down!” she yelled. “Or, I’ll break it in half.”

There was a sudden reduction in the noise level, and her third son’s head peeked out through a crack in the door. “Moms! You’re no fun,” he said, putting on a pout. “Didn’t you ever want to listen to stuff really loud?”

“Not when other people are studying,” she replied.

“It’s not my fault if other people don’t appreciate good music,” he said. “Uncle Mart’s new wife must be nuts to make him get rid of all this stuff. I don’t think I’ll ever get married, if that’s what happens to you.”

“Just as well you don’t have to decide those sorts of things now,” his mother said, grinning. “You might just regret that.”

“Yeah, right, Moms,” he replied. “I’ll be a good boy and keep the volume down. You can get back to your skeleton-in-the-closet hunting.”

Trixie smiled and started back downstairs. As she neared the bottom, the guest room door opened and her eldest son stepped out. She stopped, watching him as he turned to his new wife. He’s so much like Jim, she thought, catching her breath. His hair, his face, that look of concern that he’s giving her. Times like these, I don’t see anything of me - only Jim.

“You okay, Moms?” Anthony asked, suddenly noticing her.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she said, putting on a smile. “I just thought of something.”

He nodded, and walked away. Lauren turned a faint smile on her mother-in-law. Long, dark brown hair framed a pretty face, tiredness evident in every feature. Trixie remembered all too well the fatigue which comes with early pregnancy. She wondered how Lauren would look in a few months’ time. Her slim build and petite stature would probably mean that she would start looking expectant far earlier in the pregnancy than Trixie herself ever had.

Better her than me, she thought, going back to the study. Without another thought, she went back to her work.

The old house had settled into a peaceful silence. Earlier in the morning, the place had been bustling with activity. Lauren did not know where everyone had gone, but was grateful for the quiet nonetheless. She sat down at the desk in the guest room, opened her journal and took up her pen.

‘Saturday, August 7,’ she wrote. ‘I’ve been feeling a lot better, lately. I’m still very tired, but I don’t want to just sleep all the time now. The nausea-’ A paper-clip dropped onto the book in front of her with a soft tap. For a moment, she just stared at it, before her eyes were drawn upwards. There was no sign of where it had come from. She turned back to her writing. ‘-has almost completely gone now. It still doesn’t seem-’

Something tapped her on the shoulder. Looking around, she saw another paper-clip on the rug just behind her. A shiver ran down Lauren’s spine. I’m imagining things, she told herself, firmly. Paper-clips don’t just materialise out of nowhere. She took up her pen again. ‘-real, yet. I don’t look any different on the outside. I’m not sure that I’m-’

Two or three more paper-clips skidded across the desk, causing her to jump backwards. There was no mistaking it, this time. They had fallen from somewhere above her, but the ceiling gave no clue as to where. This is too weird, she decided, gathering her diary and pen. I’ll do my writing outside. At that, she fled the room, not even daring to look back.

Breakfast was in its usual state of barely-controlled chaos. Sibling rivalry was never far away in the Frayne household and this morning was no exception. Lauren sat quietly in her seat, somewhat lost in the confusion.

“What have you done with my baseball?” Alex demanded of Elizabeth. “I know it was you, so you’d better own up.”

“I wouldn’t touch your dirty old baseball if you paid me,” she replied. She held a hand out to admire her pink nail polish. “You probably left it in the mud.”

“Give it back, Lizzie,” he sneered.

“My name,” she ground out, “is Elizabeth.”

“Lizard breath.”

“Ha ha,” she said. “That’s really funny, Alex.” She turned away, dramatically.

“Why don’t you look in your room,” Anthony suggested, absently. “Leave your sister alone.”

“Why don’t you butt out,” his youngest brother returned, under his breath.

“Well, I think Alex has a point,” said Christie, frowning at her new sister-in-law. “Someone’s taken my watch.”

“I can’t find my sneakers,” someone added.

“Or my new CD of The Cure.”

“That’s no loss.”

“If you all spent a little more time looking,” their mother interrupted, “and a little less time accusing, you might find all those things.”

“What I’d like to know,” one of the boys said, regardless of the dark look he received, “is who tracked mud into my room - and it wasn’t me.”

“No mystery there.” The remark was met with a chorus of sniggers.

“I want to know who keeps playing that creepy song all the time.”

“Well, it’s not me,” said Nicholas. “I told you: I can’t find it.”

“It’s not playing by itself.”

“Whoever took it would be the one doing that.”

“Well, it wasn’t me.” That, of course, triggered a round of denials.

“So, who was it, then?” Nick demanded. “You’ve all said it wasn’t you.”

“It wasn’t!” they all replied.

“Well, whoever it was,” said Trixie, “please, put it back in Nick’s room and we’ll consider the matter ended, okay?” She looked around the table, feeling uneasy. Trouble is, she thought, I believe them all.

“Anyone home?” Lauren called, as she let herself in through the kitchen door, groceries in hand. There was no answer. The old farmhouse seemed deserted. “Great,” she muttered, annoyed at having to deal with her purchases alone. She set down the first two bags and trudged out to collect some more.

Quarter of an hour later, the job was completed. Food was safely stowed in its accustomed places and the empty bags were in their place as well. With a sigh of satisfaction, Lauren left the kitchen and went into her room for a rest. Her eyes were drifting closed and she was stretched comfortably on the bed when a slight sound caught her attention.

Cr-r-r-r.

She sat up with a start. The room was still; nothing was out of place. For several moments, she watched, uneasy, before easing back into a prone position. Still, she did not completely relax. Five minutes passed. Lauren was just beginning to regain her previous state of sleepiness when it started again.

Cr-r-r-r. Click!

Once again, she sat up. Across the room, a small table stood. It was serving as a makeshift dresser until they could find another which would fit in the small space. Anthony had, apparently, emptied his pockets onto it sometime earlier in the day. Carefully, she studied the arrangement. Had one of those items moved? The tiredness was almost overwhelming, now. Her vision was starting to blur and she started to slump back onto the bed.

Cr-r-r-r. Scrape. Cr-r-r-r. Scrape. Cr-r-r-r-crash!

Before her eyes, a small screwdriver had jerked across the table, dropping over the edge and into Anthony’s half-open umbrella, causing it to slide onto the floor. Lauren jumped off the bed, a shriek leaving her lips unnoticed. For a long moment, she stared at the end of the screwdriver’s green handle, which peeked out from between the black folds. All was still and silent. In one fluid movement, she leapt towards the door and threw it open.

At first, the house seemed quiet, just as it had been when she arrived. Gradually, other noises became apparent: voices outside, the thump of a car door, footsteps on the back porch. The kitchen door opened, admitting Christie, Nick and Scott. They were, as usual, arguing.

“The least you could do is keep the volume down,” the young girl was saying. Her tone changed. “Oh, hello Lauren.”

“Hello yourself,” she replied, angrily. Suddenly - irrational as it was - she was certain that her sister-in-law was somehow responsible. Lauren felt angry and alarmed and embarrassed, all at the same time. “Excuse me. I think I need some air.”

The door closed behind her and she slumped into the porch swing. She blinked away tears as a whispered conversation went on inside. Why did I agree to live here? she wondered. Nothing good is going to come from this.

“Lauren?” called Anthony, from their tiny ensuite. “Have you seen my shampoo?”

“It’s in the shower caddy,” she replied, impatient. “I haven’t touched it.”

“It’s not,” he said. “Can you come and find it for me?”

She heaved a sigh and stomped through the open doorway. “Look, it’s right- oh, actually, you’re right. It’s not there.”

“So, can you find it for me?” he asked, from within the glassed-in cubicle. “I don’t want to drip everywhere.” She was already searching. “Hurry up, will you?”

“It’s not here,” she said. “You must have taken it somewhere else.”

“Of course, I didn’t,” he said. “You must have moved it.”

She turned on her heel and re-entered the bedroom. A minute later, she returned, shampoo bottle in hand. “Here. You’d put it on the floor, next to the bed.” Without waiting for a reply, she was gone.

Fifteen minutes later, Anthony was clean, dried and dressed. He found his wife on the back porch, sitting on the porch swing.

“I didn’t move the shampoo,” he said, the intervening time having done nothing to calm him. “I don’t know why you did that. It’s bad enough, having to live in such cramped conditions. The least you can do is make it easier on us.”

“It wasn’t me,” she said, between clenched teeth. “And you could have the decency to take your own advice. I can’t find my necklace, and my shoes keep appearing on the other side of the room from where I left them.”

“Well, I didn’t do that,” he said, his hot temper beginning to show. “Next thing, you’ll be saying I hid your necklace deliberately.”

“Oh, don’t be so-”

The screen door opened, banging against the wall as Scott and Nick bounded down the back stairs. They shouted to one another, tossing a ball back and forth, as they moved around the corner of the house, out of sight. The tension, which had been building, was suddenly broken.

“I’m sorry,” said Anthony, taking his wife’s hand. “I know you’re not trying to annoy me. The sooner we get our own place, the better.”

“I’m sorry, too,” she replied. “I couldn’t stand it if we fought, too.”

“I promise, I’ll try to make it easier for you,” he said, seriously. “I don’t want you to suffer, Lauren. It’s just, I can’t afford to support you just yet.”

“I know. I’m grateful to your parents for letting us live here. I just wish…”

“Don’t say it,” he whispered. “Remember, I’m here for you.”

Bright morning sunlight was shining through the kitchen windows, as Christie took her turn at loading the dishwasher. Breakfast at Crabapple Farm had been a messy business for as long as she could remember. It had not improved, lately, with the addition of an extra person to the household.

There seemed to be an endless supply of dirty dishes. They spread across the big, old kitchen table and over the counter tops. Frowning in distaste, she started scraping the bacon rinds and other leftovers off, before stacking the plates in the rack. The first one was almost full when a noise from the doorway caught her attention.

“Have you seen my watch?” Lauren asked, tentatively. “I think I might have left it on the counter.” It had been her turn to cook that morning.

“No,” Christie replied.

Without another word, Christie began rummaging through the pots and pans. Her rough actions dislodged something, which rolled off the edge and landed on her foot. Lauren, just behind her, let out a squeak of fright.

“Ouch!” cried Christie. “That hurt!” She frowned at the screwdriver, which lay on the floor in front of her. “Will you get that for me?”

For some time, Lauren just stared. Finally, she stooped and picked it up, holding it as if it might bite her and dropping it back onto the counter as quickly as possible.

“Never mind about my watch,” she said, quickly, backing away all the while. “I’m sure it will turn up.”

She planted that in here, Christie thought, feeling angry. She did that on purpose.

Half an hour later, the kitchen was clean and Christie had found Lauren’s watch. The intervening time had done nothing to soothe the anger that she felt towards her sister-in-law; in fact, it had done the opposite. She marched into the living room to look for her.

“Here,” she said, tossing the watch. “I found it. Right next to the screwdriver you left there.”

“I- I-” Lauren stuttered, stunned. “What do you mean? You were the one who dropped it. It wasn’t there when I was working there.”

“Would you both be quiet?” Scott said, irritably. “We’re trying to watch this.” He gestured towards the television, which he, Nicholas and Anthony were gathered around.

“That’s because you planted it there for me to knock onto my foot,” said Christie, as if her brother had not spoken.

“Me? It was you. You’re the one who put it there. You’re only mad because it landed on your own foot.”

“If I’d put it there, I’d have known not to do that, wouldn’t I? I know it was you. There’s no use denying it.”

“Shut up!” Lauren yelled. “Just leave me alone and stop playing these childish tricks!” She almost ran from the room and, a moment later, the guest room door slammed.

“Good going, Christie,” said Anthony, his voice dripping sarcasm. “You always know the right thing to say.” He stood, towering over her. “The next time you want to pick a fight, make it with me, okay? Lauren’s got enough to cope with, without that sort of thing being thrown at her all the time.”

“She started it,” the younger girl responded. “If she wouldn’t-”

“I don’t care who started it. You should stop it.”

“Oh, great. Now you’re going parental on me.” She shoved him roughly, with very little effect. “It just gets worse and worse.”

Suddenly, Christie turned and fled towards the sanctuary of her room. Scott and Nicholas looked at each other in confusion, while Anthony’s brow creased with deep thought.

“Someone should go after her,” he said after a long pause, “but not me. How about you, Scott?”

“Uh uh,” said his brother. “No way am I going up there. Send Nick.”

“Not me,” Nicholas said, taking a step back. “She told me last night that the next time I so much as knocked on her door, she’d tell Moms about that time we snuck out and went to that party at the Duncans’.”

“What sort of threat is that?” asked Scott. “Moms knows all about that, for sure. You go and talk to Christie.”

“Moms doesn’t know what I did there,” hissed Nicholas. “So, no way am I going to risk it. You talk to her.”

“Do I have to think of everything?” Scott muttered. “Moms! Are you here?” Her voice answered from the laundry. “Christie’s gone off in a huff, again. Can you talk to her?”

A moment later, their mother passed them on her way up the stairs. “There’s a load of washing ready to be hung out and another to be put in. Yesterday’s clean wash isn’t sorted yet, either, so that needs to be done, too, and the place needs to be tidied and swept. You three can handle that can’t you?”

“Yes, Moms,” they chorused.

Unseen by any of her kids, Trixie smiled. With the right management, the rest of that task would be handled by her three older boys and she would not set foot in the laundry again until tomorrow. Now, if only the problem with Christie was as easy to solve. Reaching the door of her old room, she knocked gently.

“Christie? Are you in there?”

“Come in, Moms,” said a tearful voice.

She opened the door and stepped inside, gently closing it behind her. From the far side of the curtain partition, she could hear soft sobbing. This room, which once had been hers alone, now had to be shared between thirteen-year-old Christie and eight-year-old Elizabeth. That five year gap had seldom seemed wider than it did now. The near side of the curtain was decorated in myriad shades of pink and adorned with frills and ribbons. Trixie pushed through the slit and found her older daughter lying face down on the bed.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” she asked gently, sitting down next to her. “I heard the fight.”

“Oh, Moms, I just can’t seem to do it,” Christie said, the words broken by little hiccuping sobs. “Whenever I talk to her, I just feel like she’s ruining his life. She doesn’t belong here.”

“Where do you want them to live? Should your father and I have just turned them out on the street? Is that what you’d want to happen to you in that situation?”

“I don’t think I’d ever do that,” her daughter said, sounding utterly indignant. “And even if I did, women these days work when they have babies. It’s not like it was a long time ago, like when Anthony was born.”

Trixie giggled. “Anthony was born in 1986,” she said. “I chose to stay home with him. My mother was from the generation that was frowned on for working after having children. I always had the choice, and I still do. Of course, none of my friends have jobs as demanding as what I do here.”

“I know, Moms,” Christie said, her voice filled with affection and her tears seemingly forgotten. “I don’t know anyone whose mom could run a household of nine people and plan a wedding and prepare for a new baby, all at the same time, and still keep up everything you do for the historical society. And I’m sorry that I’m making it worse, but I just hate her. I hate her and I can’t help it.”

“Have you really given her another chance?”

Christie sat up and turned to the window. She shivered, despite the warmth of the summer day. “Granddad’s new gardener is down here, again,” she said, changing the subject. “I don’t like him, either.”

“Have you ever talked to him?”

“Sorry, Moms,” the girl replied to the unspoken question. “I guess I was jumping to conclusions. He’s probably just leaving more plants for you.”

I wonder who I could get to plant them for me, Trixie thought, casting her mind around for unoccupied offspring. “How about if we go and see?” she said, fixing on Christie. “Some gardening will keep your mind off things.” Her daughter nodded and dried her eyes.

When they opened the kitchen door, they found that Christie’s guess was correct. There on the porch was a tray of seedlings. The gardener was disappearing up the path, limping heavily.

“Thank, Jerry!” Trixie called, waving. To her daughter, she added, “He must have planted these before he knew that your grandfather hates marigolds. I think they’ll go nicely in that bed over there, but it’ll need some digging, first.”

Soon, the two were busy preparing the bed for the new plants. For a long time, Christie remained silent, seemingly content to let her suspicions rest. Finally, she spoke.

“He gives me the creeps.”

“Who? Jerry?”

“Yeah. I think it’s his eyes. You know, how they don’t look in the same direction.”

“He can’t help that,” her mother chastised. “You can’t just judge people by how they look.”

“Did you ever?” There was a note of defiance in her voice.

“Did I ever what?”

“Judge people by their looks.”

Trixie cast her mind back, reviewing some of her most disastrous first impressions. “How do you think I know that you shouldn’t?” she suggested, grinning. “Of course I have. And I probably always will, but I remember, now, that what I think first might not be right.”

“Yeah?” Christie now sounded disbelieving. “You have an example?”

“Dan Mangan. We hated each other, at first.” She grinned. “Of course, Di thought he was gorgeous, right from the moment she first saw him.”

“Love at first sight?” Christie asked. She had known Dan and Di all her life and had been flower girl at their wedding. She considered their children like cousins, since her own uncles and aunt had failed to produce any offspring to date. “Did they know right away that they belonged together?”

“Not at all,” Trixie replied, patting down the soil around a seedling. “That came much later - more than ten years.”

“But you’d stopped hating Dan before that, right?”

“Long before. It only took me a couple of weeks to see my mistake, that time.” There was a little pause while she took out another seedling. “You know, I think it might be the same with you and Lauren. If you could get away from hating her, you might just find that she’s not so bad.”

“It’s just so hard. I don’t think I could ever like her, Moms. I just don’t.”

“I know it’s hard,” Trixie replied. “All I’m asking is that you try a little harder.”

“I’ll try,” said Christie. “I don’t know what good it’ll do, but I’ll try.”

Thunder rolled, not too far away. Outside the window, heavy rain was falling. Lauren’s eyes popped open. She did not know how long she had been asleep. The room was so dark that she could not make out anything around her. What was that sound? she wondered, sleepily. A moment later, the room was lit by bright and sudden light. Barely a second passed before the thunder sounded, again. Storm. And it’s close. Sighing, she settled back down to sleep.

The air filled with a loud sound like static, white light flooded the room and the rumbling started again, loud and drawn out. It completely masked the squeal of fright she let out and sent the window panes rattling in their frames. This time, Lauren sat straight up. All thought of sleep had left her.

That was so close, she thought. It was practically on top of us. In fact, it probably hit the house. She shivered, wondering whether there had been any damage.

“I hope that wasn’t one of Granddad’s prized fir trees,” said Anthony, beside her. “I know he always worries when we have some sort of storm.”

“I thought it was closer than that,” his wife responded. “Like right on top of us.”

“Nah,” he replied. “Plenty higher than us. Like Granddad’s firs.”

The next strike seemed just as close. It threw the room into a jumble of light and shadow, before plunging them back into complete darkness.

“Did you see that?” Lauren’s voice sounded faint.

“What?”

“It was there - on the wall.” The next crash almost drowned out her words. Even over the thunder, her bloodcurdling screams could be heard. “No!” she cried. “Mom!” The next thing that Anthony knew, she was crying, uncontrolled and inconsolable.

“What did you see?” he asked, over and over. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

For ten minutes or more, Lauren’s whole body shook with her sobs. Nothing seemed to get through to her. A small knot of people had gathered at the doorway, attracted, apparently, by the screaming. Finally, she calmed enough to talk.

“It was there,” she said, pointing. “I saw its shadow there on the wall. It was falling and I knew that if it did-” Once again, tears overwhelmed her.

“What was falling?” Anthony asked, softly. He held her close, gently stroking her back.

“The screwdriver,” she whispered, so only he could hear. “It’s what killed her.”

The following afternoon, Christie found herself at loose ends and went down to the kitchen in search of a snack. She had not slept well the night before, and was feeling particularly grouchy. She was less than pleased to find two of her brothers already there. Anthony was beginning to prepare dinner and Nicholas was making his daily assault on the fruit bowl.

“What’s for dinner?” she asked, trying to curb her annoyance.

“Spaghetti bolognaise,” Anthony replied, not even bothering to look at her.

“Fine,” she said, taking the apple from her brother’s hand. “Thanks, Nick. I owe you one.”

“That’s mine,” he said, snatching it back. “Get your own fruit.”

“Children,” their eldest brother said, irritably. “If you want to fight, do it somewhere else.”

“Didn’t you sleep well, last night?” Christie asked, her voice sickly sweet. “Or are you this cheerful all the time?”

“What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” he asked in icy tones.

“Don’t know if you noticed,” she said, matching the chill of his words, “but someone practically screamed the house down last night. I thought, maybe, you might have heard her, since it woke everyone else.”

“That’s got nothing to do with you.”

“It does when it keeps me awake nights,” she snapped.

“Stop it, Christie,” Anthony yelled. “Just stop it. You’ve never given her a chance. You’ve never given her the least opportunity to make friends with you. All you’ve done is make her life miserable, ever since you first laid eyes on her. It has to end. Right now.” He dropped his eyes, half-turning away. “If I have to make a choice between my sister and my wife, I’ll choose my wife. Please, don’t make me do that.”

She drew a shaky breath. The room was swimming through unshed tears. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to support her. I’ve ruined everything, she thought, brushing a hand across her eyes. I’ve got to get out of here. Without another word, she turned and ran.

The sun was low in the sky as Christie stumbled along the path. The only thing in her mind was getting away from brothers in general, and Anthony in particular. Without really meaning to, she soon found herself on the Wheeler property, quite close to the lake. The path suddenly emerged from between the trees and the water stretched out in front of her, cool and inviting.

With a start, she realised that she was not alone. A single figure sat, arms and chin resting on raised knees, at the end of the dock. Late afternoon sun glinted off short, honey brown hair and Christie knew that she had found someone who would understand.

“Aunt Honey!”

“Hi, Christie. Care to join me?” Her niece’s face creased into a tentative smile as she walked towards her. “How are things?”

“I’ve got some spare brothers, if you’d like them,” she said with a scowl. “Though, maybe it would be better if I left them here and went to live with you.”

“That bad, huh?” Honey looked so calm and untroubled as she looked out over the water. “Who’s been bothering you now?”

“Anthony. Well, Lauren, mainly, but why did he have to marry her? Oh, and Moms and Dad. And Scott. And Nick. And, well, everyone, really.” She sighed deeply. “Are you sure I couldn’t just come live with you? You’ve got such an exciting life.”

Honey laughed. “It’s not, really. Most of the time, it’s pretty tame.”

“Yes, but, you’ve been all over the world - Moms told me some of it. The Middle East and Africa and Eastern Europe.” Christie sighed once again, thinking of her aunt’s exciting career in television journalism. “And, now you’re a household name. Everyone knows who you are.”

“There’s nothing exciting about that,” her aunt replied, dryly. “I have to be very careful of everything I do and say. There’s no such thing as ‘privacy’ when you’re in my position.” It was Honey’s turn to sigh. “And, sometimes, it’s pretty lonely.”

“I’m sorry,” Christie said at once. “I’m just so mad at Anthony.” She looked across at her aunt, whose hazel eyes revealed nothing. “Do you regret the path you chose? Or, do you ever wonder what it would have been like…” Somehow, it seemed cruel to finish the sentence. How do you ask, ‘Do you wish you’d gotten married and had kids?’

For a long moment, Honey simply smiled sadly. “Yes, and no,” she said. “It would have been different if Anthony hadn’t come along when he had. Your mother and I were going to be detectives.”

“You were?” Christie’s eyes were wide. “What happened?”

“Well, I don’t know if I should tell you.”

“Now you’re doing it,” the younger girl said, frowning with annoyance. “Ever since this whole thing with Lauren started, all the adults keep acting weird. And, now you’re doing it. I suppose it’s the same thing, too. Whatever it is that you’re all not telling us, it must be pretty funny.”

Honey put an arm around her niece and squeezed. “Sorry, sweetie,” she said. “I just don’t know if it’s my place to say.” A moment later, a thought struck her. “Why do you think it’s funny?”

“Well, you know my Uncle Brian, don’t you?” A strange look passed across Honey’s face, but she nodded. “You know he’s usually pretty serious, right?” Another nod. “Well, when he came over that time and Anthony told him that Lauren was pregnant, Uncle Brian asked him when the baby was due. When he heard it, he turned to Dad and said ‘Senior Prom?’ and Dad nodded.”

“What happened then?”

Christie’s face showed her bewilderment. “Uncle Brian laughed and laughed. I’d never seen him laugh so much in my whole life.” She frowned at Honey’s obvious amusement. “Then, he said something to Dad, like, ‘Serves you right,’ or something. And Dad said, ‘Thank you for that pronouncement, Doctor Belden.’ Only, he said it like it was an insult. And then, Uncle Brian laughed some more.”

“So, what do you want to know?”

“What does it all mean?” the younger girl cried. “Why was he laughing? Why does everyone think this is all so funny, when my life is so completely messed up?”

Honey squeezed her once again. “Your life isn’t messed up. It’s just rearranged a little. Anthony and Lauren will want to get their own place pretty soon and everything will be okay. Maybe you’ll even get your own room.” She smiled reassuringly and continued. “As for why it’s funny, do you understand the concept of poetic justice?”

“The same thing happening to you that you’ve done to someone else?”

“That’s right.” She took a deep breath. “That’s what he was laughing at. How do you think Brian knew when the baby was conceived without having to make lots of calculations?”

“I don’t know. I kind of thought it was a doctor thing.”

“He’s an orthopaedic surgeon, not an obstetrician. There’s a far simpler explanation than that. Whose birthday is around the same time?”

“Anthony’s, Nick’s, Elizabeth’s…” Christie started listing on her fingers.

“And your mother and I graduated from high school in 1985.” Honey waited while Christie worked that one out.

“That can’t be right,” she said finally. “Anthony’s five years older than me, so he was born in 1986. How could Moms have- oh.” Behind her freckles, she turned a little pink. “You mean that Daddy took Moms to her Senior Prom, and afterwards… she got pregnant with Anthony?”

Honey nodded. “And now Anthony’s done the same thing.” A soft smile crossed her face. “Before, you were asking me about my career choice. Do you really want to know what I think would have happened if your mother’s and my places were reversed?” Christie nodded. “I’ve wondered about that, too. I think your mother would have been a good detective. She would’ve gone to college without me - just like I went without her - and she would’ve started the agency, just like we planned. And I would’ve gone to college and graduated before I even thought of having a second child.”

“And who would have been the father of that child,” asked Christie, her troubles forgotten. “Anyone I know?”

“Yes, it’s someone you know - your Uncle Brian.”

“Oh!” said Christie. “You mean - you - and he - dated? - and that’s why - oh, but-” She took a deep breath and tried to rein in all of the ideas. “Moms told me once that he’d let the woman he wanted get away and that’s why he wasn’t married, and she was talking about you, wasn’t she?”

“What makes you think that? It was only that one date. She could’ve been talking about anyone. He’s had plenty of girlfriends.” Even to her own ears, Honey sounded defensive. She sighed heavily. “Of course, you had to inherit the detective instinct.”

“I did?”

“Definitely. That was an enormous leap. You know, you’re about the right age. All you need now is a girl-next-door.”

“A what? Why do I need a girl next door? And what next door? Your father lives next door to us, and there’s nothing on Daddy’s land on the other side. No other houses near at all, really, so where would she live?”

“That is a little bit of a problem,” Honey conceded. “I meant, like your mother had me. When I was just about your age, my parents bought Manor House and I met your mother and right away we started on-” Christie’s eyes were wide. Her aunt’s voice held a note of surprise as she continued, “You don’t know what I’m going to say, do you?”

“Please, tell me.”

“Your mother never told you about our mysteries?” The younger girl shook her head. “Well, I guess I could tell you a little.”

“Moms!” yelled Christie, banging the screen door behind her. “Are you here?”

“Upstairs,” came the reply. Christie bounded up the stairs and turned towards the room shared by Nick and Alex.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that you were a detective?” she demanded, meeting her mother in the doorway. “How could you keep that a secret from me?”

“There are lots of things about me that you don’t know. I would have told you if you’d asked.”

Christie frowned. “Moms,” she said, her voice sounding a warning. “That doesn’t help.”

“I meant, if you’d ever asked me about my teenage years,” Trixie replied, grinning. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t expect you to have ESP or anything.”

“It would sure help, sometimes,” her daughter muttered. “So, when are you going to tell me? Aunt Honey says there were heaps of cases, but she only told me about a couple.” She stood tall as her mother contemplated her. “Well? I need to know, Moms. Really.”

“Okay, okay! I’ll tell you… while you help me prepare dinner.”

“I knew there’d be a catch,” Christie groaned, heading for the kitchen.

After dinner, Christie went up to her room to digest all of the information she had gathered that day. The stories her mother had told had been hair-raising, though she knew instinctively that the accounts were incomplete. There were some things that her mother would never admit to her, of that much she was sure. Even so, they made her wonder if she really knew her parents at all.

Her mind went further back, to the conversation by the lake. Ever since she could remember, Christie had loved her talks with Aunt Honey. Her job had meant a lot of long absences, but it also gave her the luxury, sometimes, of time to spend with her extended family. There was nothing that they could not talk about and, no matter what anyone else said, she could always be relied upon to spill the beans. On this occasion, she had outdone herself. There was, however, something which she had not explained.

I completely forgot to ask her about the ‘Doctor Belden’ bit, she thought, frowning slightly. And I can’t exactly go over and ask her now. The thought of waiting until the next day - or longer, if her aunt was suddenly called away - was excruciating. But, maybe there’s another way to find out. Shoulders squared with resolve, she went downstairs to look for her father.

She found him in the study, an L-shaped room which opened off the living area. When she was younger, this room had been strictly off-limits. It held her mother’s research area - a small desk and some storage, crammed into the space around the corner of the “L” - and her father’s work area. He was sitting there now, an open book in front of him and a notebook to one side.

“Have you got a moment, Dad?”

“Just give me a minute,” he said, still writing notes. “I’ll be through with this soon.”

Christie sank down onto the arm of the comfy chair which filled the only remaining space and absently rearranged the pillows. For several minutes, her father continued to read and take notes. Finally, after what seemed an eternity to the teenager, he set down the pen and turned towards her.

“Now, what can I do for you?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something… something you said to Uncle Brian. I’ve been kind of wondering about it for a while now and it’s been bugging me.”

“Yes?”

“You remember the day that Uncle Brian visited us a few weeks ago?” He nodded. “Well, I was talking to Aunt Honey and she told me a little about why Uncle Brian thought it was funny, you know, about Anthony and Lauren and the baby.” Her father looked distinctly uncomfortable. “She didn’t explain the bit where you called him ‘Doctor Belden.’”

“Ah, well, that’s between him and me,” he hedged. “Let it go, please, sweetie.”

“If it was between you and him, why did you say it in front of me?” She picked up a pillow and threw it back into place. The glass-fronted cabinets which lined the walls rattled ominously.

“That’s a fair point.” He considered for a few moments. “He reminded me of the mistakes that I made. I reminded him of the sacrifices I made because of them.”

“Huh?” she said. “I get the first part: ‘Serves you right.’ But, how does - what did you say? ‘Thank you for that pronouncement, Doctor Belden’? - how do you get that meaning out of those words?”

Her father’s face creased into a frown and he turned away. “I told you, it was between him and me. I never expected you to understand it. I’m not sure that you ever could.” She could see his hand shake as he gripped the back of his chair.

“Daddy?” she asked, suddenly timid. “Are you angry at me?” He turned at once, surprised.

“No, of course not. I just… don’t want to think about it.”

“You mean, the sacrifices you were just talking about? Do you… regret-”

“No,” he interrupted, quickly. “Maybe I’d better just explain. When I first met your uncle, we both had ambitions in mind. He wanted to be a doctor and I - I had something else in mind.”

“You didn’t want to be a teacher? What were you going to do?”

“It doesn’t matter. What’s important is, when your mother told me she was expecting a baby, I had to make a decision. I could continue with my education and leave her to fend for herself, or I could sacrifice my ambitions and support her. You know what I chose.”

“But couldn’t you go back later and finish whatever it was? It’s not too late, is it?”

“It is, for me,” he replied. “That dream is dead. I made my choice and I can’t imagine what my life would have been like if everything had gone the way I planned. I don’t regret anything. I love my job, my family, and my life.”

“But-”

“There is no ‘but’,” he said. “Please, Christie, try to understand. I made my choice. The resources that I would have used to achieve my goal were put to a different use. I made new plans. Brian didn’t. He did almost exactly what he’d planned all along. I guess that’s what it meant, really.”

“And you won’t tell me what it was that you were going to do?”

“Please, please, don’t ask Honey,” her father asked. “Let sleeping dogs lie.”

“Okay, Dad,” she said, grudgingly. “And, thanks for talking to me.”

“Anytime,” he replied, watching her go.

It was mid-afternoon on a hot and steamy day. Christie was beginning to feel as if she would melt if she didn’t get cooled down soon, but the lake seemed so far away. With dragging steps, she made her way into the kitchen to find something cool to drink.

“That’s a good idea, Hon,” she heard her mother say into the phone, as she entered. “I’ll get back to you about a date, if that’s okay?”

A few minutes later, the call concluded. Christie perched herself on the kitchen counter, taking a bite out of an apple from the refrigerator. A glass of cold water sat beside her. Her eyes followed her mother, silently asking a question.

“That was your Aunt Honey,” her mother said, stating the obvious. “She thought that we might have dinner with your Granddad and her sometime. I suggested it would be easier to have it here, rather than herding the whole lot of you up the hill.”

Christie grinned. Aside from Christmas, when her mother really laid down the law, family dinners at the Manor House were notorious for poor attendance. Someone always found a way to be late enough to skip right to dessert.

“All we need now is a date.”

“We could have them at the same time as Uncle Brian’s coming,” Christie suggested, gesturing to the wall calendar. “That way, you’d only have to gather us all once and make one meal.”

Trixie groaned. “No way. Haven’t you noticed by now that we don’t ever invite those two together?” She sighed. “You’re right, though. It would be a whole lot easier to do it once, rather than twice.” She sighed again, deeply. “Wishful thinking.”

“It can’t be that bad, can it? After all, there’ll be-” (she silently counted) “-ten other people present.”

Her mother looked thoughtful. “I wonder if I could get away with it,” she mused, almost to herself. “Okay, Christie, we’ll do that. But, I hope you’re feeling brave. I’m sure there’ll be some fireworks.”

Later that afternoon, Christie lay on her bed, watching fluffy white clouds floating outside her window. It was one of her favourite ways to think about things that were bothering her. And there were plenty of things bothering her at the moment.

I wonder what Moms meant about ‘fireworks’, she thought, remembering their earlier conversation. I thought Aunt Honey admitted that she and Uncle Brian kind of went out once. They can’t hate each other that much, can they? It didn’t seem likely to Christie. I’m sure she’s just exaggerating.

I don’t know what to do about Lauren, though, she thought, frowning up at the sky. I can’t stand all that screaming she keeps doing. You’d think there was something wrong with her. ‘All that screaming’ was something of an exaggeration. It was true that Christie had heard Lauren scream two or three times, but her little sister screamed at least twice a day. Somehow, Christie managed to ignore that fact.

A sudden thought came to her. Maybe it’s a pregnancy symptom. Somewhere, her mother had a book on pregnancy. Still feeling lethargic because of the heat, she dragged herself downstairs to look for it. Luckily, no one else was in the living room and she was able to take it back to her room, unseen.

Now, what does it say? she thought, turning to the index. There was nothing listed under ‘screaming,’ or ‘fear.’ Frowning, Christie turned to the contents. Oh, the symptoms are listed by when you get them, she noticed. But, how far along is Lauren? Two months? Three months? She decided to check each of the first three months.

I am not EVER getting pregnant, she thought, snapping the book shut. If that’s what happens just at the beginning, I don’t even want to know what happens after that. She shuddered at the very thought. But, at least that one problem is kind of solved. Fear was listed as a symptom - when connected with the baby, or the pregnancy. It didn’t exactly explain what was happening with Lauren.

Maybe there’s really something wrong with her, Christie thought, as she surreptitiously returned the book. Maybe she has some sort of dark secret. Once it entered her mind, the idea was very hard to shake. After several failed attempts to forget about it, Christie decided to put her mind at rest. I’ll just make sure, she thought, seating herself in front of the computer. I know she grew up in Sleepyside and I’m pretty sure that the Sleepyside Sun has an online archive I can search. If it was anything really important, it would be in there.

Finding the site did not take long. Remembering how to spell Lauren’s maiden name took a little longer, but eventually she settled on ‘McNamara’ and clicked ‘Search.’ After a short wait, article titles began to appear, starting with the newest ones:

Mayor says ‘No’ to New By-pass
Land Prices Soar
Three Killed in Head-on Smash

The list went on and on. Most of the articles, she bypassed without another glance. It was unfortunate that the Mayor was also named McNamara - though, no relation to Lauren. Many of the references were to him, or his family.

Finally, at the very limits of the archive, Christie found what she was looking for: an editorial from almost a decade ago. It was headed ‘Better Safe Than Sorry.’

‘Last week, I’m sure you all know, the coroner handed down his findings on the tragic death of Patricia McNamara. Mrs. McNamara was carrying out repairs on her family’s Sleepyside home, when a humble screwdriver fell from her grip. That should have been the end of the incident. There should have been no need for the matter to be reported in the paper.

‘Unfortunately for Mrs. McNamara, the instrument fell into the upturned end of a leaf blower. The result was terrible. Poor Mrs. McNamara was killed, right in front of her young daughter, Lauren. Attempts to save her were in vain.

‘Now, you may say, this was a terrible accident, but it could never happen again. The chances of the screwdriver falling in exactly the right place are very slim. That, of course, is true. It is also true that unlikely things happen all the time. We all need to be vigilant.

‘The McNamara family has suffered a terrible loss and I extend my sympathy to them. In the light of these events, I issue a challenge to all of the residents of Sleepyside: What are YOU doing about electrical safety on your property? Anyone can be electrocuted and it only takes a fraction of a second. Please, be careful when using electrical appliances and never do repairs yourself. Always call a qualified electrician.’

Christie stared at the screen in surprise. To begin with, she could not help thinking the article was little more than an advertisement for the brother of the Sun’s editor, who happened to run the town’s largest electrical firm. A moment later, the truth of the matter began to sink in. Surely, this article must be about Lauren’s mother’s death.

Maybe the news article’s here, too, she thought, clicking ‘Back.’ She scrolled down, finding herself at the bottom of the list. No! Why couldn’t they have a few more issues online? Now, what will I do? She laid her head down on the desk. At least I have the basic facts, she consoled herself. Maybe, if I think about it, I can figure out a way to find out more. For now, that would have to do.

“Mrs. Frayne?” asked a tentative voice, from the kitchen doorway. Days had passed, and the planned family gathering would take place the following evening.

Trixie put down the recipe book she held and smiled at her daughter-in-law. The kitchen table in front of her was littered with books and papers. “You don’t have to call me that, you know,” she said, not for the first time. “I’d rather you called me ‘Trixie,’ actually. ‘Mrs. Frayne’ makes me feel old.”

“Sorry,” the younger woman replied. There was a long pause, but she did not continue.

“Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea,” Lauren said, all in a rush. “I’ll just leave you to it.” She backed towards the doorway, but did not go through. “It doesn’t matter, really.”

“Are you up to facing food at the moment?” Trixie asked, keeping her voice casual. “I could use some help finding recipes for tomorrow’s dinner.”

“I’m feeling a lot better, now, Mrs. Frayne - I mean, Trixie,” Lauren replied. She took a few steps forward. “I haven’t had any nausea for days, now. What did you want me to do?”

Trixie halved the stack of cookbooks and pushed one pile across the table, along with a sheet of paper. “That’s what we’re looking for,” she said. “I haven’t the faintest idea which of these books the recipes are in. If you find anything like them, show me.”

Lauren nodded and set to work. After a few minutes, she started to relax. “Has this house been in the family for a long time,” she asked, almost shyly.

“Generations,” Trixie replied. “In my family, that is. Jim and I bought it from my parents about fourteen years ago, when they moved into town. I don’t think it’s what they’d planned, but none of my brothers showed much interest.”

“None? I thought you had two brothers,” her daughter-in-law said, frowning. “I’ve only met two, haven’t I?”

“That’s right. I’ve got another brother, Rob, who’s younger than me. He does a lot of travelling and he doesn’t always tell us where he’s going. We couldn’t track him down in time to invite him to the wedding. In fact, he still doesn’t know about it.”

“He didn’t want to live here?”

“None of them did. When my parents wanted to move into town - Rob was in high school then, and they were having trouble getting him to attend - Mart already had his farm and Brian told them that he didn’t intend to marry or have children and that he wouldn’t want to commute, anyway. Jim and I were feeling kind of crowded in the house we lived in then, so Moms and Dad sold the farm to us.”

The younger woman looked thoughtful. “And you feel comfortable here? You like to live here?”

“I’ve always loved it here. It needed a few things to make it right for us, but I think it was the best decision we ever made.”

“What about the history of the place? Isn’t there anything that ever happened here that makes you shiver?” She was probing now, but for what?

“Like the day my little brother was bitten by a copperhead? Or, the time my friend, Di, tripped on the stairs when she was eight months pregnant? I guess so, but in all the time I can remember, nothing really bad has happened here. Rob and Di and the baby were all fine.”

“What about before? Aren’t there stories?”

“You’re asking if anyone has died here.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. No. More than that. Has anything happened here that was… I don’t know, tragic, I guess.”

“My great uncle fell off the roof,” Trixie said, screwing up her face in thought. “He died later, though, and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t here at the time. And, there’s a story of my great grandmother falling over dead while scolding my great grandfather for muddying an entire day’s washing. I didn’t know any of them, though, so it’s not anywhere near as real to me.”

“Has anything ever happened in our room?”

“The guest room? No, it was only added after my parents got married. My father’s parents lived here, too, for a few years. Nothing bad has ever happened there, to the best of my knowledge.”

“But, what was there before?”

“Come back there and I’ll show you,” Trixie said, pushing the books aside. “It’ll be easier to explain that way.” The two made their way into the guest room. “See this beam here? Imagine a line from there, right across the room. That was the original wall of the study. If you add that bit to what’s there now, you get a rectangular room, instead of the strange shape it is now.” Lauren nodded and they both turned. “The ensuite was the old pantry. Join those two together, and you have the original outer wall.”

“An inside corner?”

“Exactly. If you go outside and look, you can see where the extension is, because they used some of the boards again. And, of course, they extended it right up to the roof. So, if you can imagine what’s exactly above you, it’s all in the newer part, too.”

“And you’re sure that nothing… sinister ever happened in here?”

“Positive,” said Trixie. Then she paused. “Unless that was the spot where my great uncle fell off the roof, but I don’t think that it was. I’m pretty sure it was out the front.”

“Well, thanks, Trixie,” Lauren said, looking anything but happy. “That makes me feel a little better, at least.”

I wish she’d just tell me what the matter is, Trixie thought, as she went back to the kitchen. She just doesn’t trust me yet, I guess.

The following evening, Trixie made sure that the whole family was ready to greet their guests when they arrived. It made for a good deal of tension in the living room, but she felt it was worth it, simply for the fact that it put all of her kids in easy reach whenever she wanted any help. She smiled to herself, as she heard a familiar argument start up.

“You could take less time in the bathroom,” Nick was saying, apparently to Christie.

“I don’t take any more time than you do,” she replied. “At least I’m not trying to shave off a non-existent beard.”

“No, you’re shaving off your real beard,” he said, setting the younger kids laughing.

There was the sound of an impact, closely followed by stomping footsteps, which quickly approached the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Christie asked, leaning sulkily against the counter.

“Not at the moment, thanks,” her mother replied. “I think I’ve got everything under control for now, but I’ll need some help when it’s time to serve the meal.”

“When will they be here?” Christie asked, sounding impatient. “I don’t know how much more brother-time I can take.”

“Any minute now,” Trixie soothed. In confirmation of her words, they heard the crunch of gravel in the drive. “In fact, that sounds like somebody, now.”

The car stopped and its door was shut. A moment later, the front doorbell rang. Christie peeked out of the kitchen doorway, trying to see who had arrived.

“Hello, everyone,” her Uncle Brian said. “How are you all?”

There was a babble of predominantly male voices, punctuated by the shrill exclamations of Elizabeth. Christie could hear her uncle trying to respond to everyone. The result was a confusion of sounds, over the top of which, the doorbell rang once again.

“I’ll get it,” someone said, loudly. “Oh, hi, Aunt Honey. Hi, Granddad. Come on in. I think you already know our Uncle Brian.”

“Yes, of course,” her grandfather said. “Nice to see you, Brian. It’s been a long time.”

Even from the kitchen, Christie could feel the tension which had engulfed the living room. There was a kind of stillness, which had not been there before, hanging between her uncle and grandfather’s polite words. For reasons she did not understand, she dreaded setting foot in the room.

“Come on,” her mother said, softly. “Let’s go and say hello to everyone.”

“I don’t think I want to,” Christie replied. “Can’t I just stay in the kitchen?”

“No,” said Trixie, cheerfully. “You suggested this. It’s time that you found out why we don’t ever ask them both together.”

Dragging her feet, Christie followed her mother into the other room. On one side of the room, her grandfather and uncle were talking with Anthony and Lauren. In the furthest corner, her aunt was talking to Elizabeth, back turned to the rest of the group. Between them, her father was entertaining the rest of her brothers.

On their arrival, a fresh round of greetings began. Honey turned a brittle smile on her best friend and niece, before resuming her former conversation. Brian was a little less formal than he tended to be, and gave each of them a kiss.

Oh, boy, am I in trouble, Christie thought to herself, as she tried desperately to think of safe topics of conversation. Moms was right: we never should have asked them together. What are we going to do?

It seemed like an eternity before her mother declared the food ready to serve and started issuing orders. Christie was enormously relieved to be allowed back into the kitchen to help carry dishes. Of course, that meant that they were soon all seated at the same table. From there, the tension was only going to rise.

“Well, this is lovely, Trixie,” her father-in-law said, filling an awkward silence. There was a general murmur of agreement. “You’ve done a wonderful job, as usual.”

“There’s nothing quite like a home-cooked meal,” added Brian. “I must admit that I miss that, living alone.”

“Of course, you don’t have to,” said Honey, looking at a picture over Brian’s left shoulder. “It’s quite possible to cook for one. I certainly do, when I have the time.”

“It’s not the same,” he replied, addressing his remark to the salt shaker. “You can’t have these sorts of dishes, when you’re alone. You’d never eat all of them.”

“It’s just a matter of planning,” she said, her eyes on her own plate. “Or, you could invite guests.”

“Who has the time to prepare this sort of feast for guests, when you’re working long hours and are liable to be called out at any time?” he said, apparently talking to a pitcher of water.

“Are you very busy at work, at the moment, Brian?” asked Jim, hoping desperately that someone would back him up.

“Do you do a lot of cooking for yourself?” his wife asked Honey, almost at the same time.

Christie breathed a silent sigh of relief, as two separate conversations developed. Why did I ever suggest this? she wondered. I was wrong. They DO hate each other. She sank down in her seat and waited impatiently for the course to be finished.

“I’ll help clear the table,” said Honey, putting on a bright smile, as her best friend rose to do that task. Arms laden, they went into the kitchen. “Trixie, get in here,” Honey whispered, grabbing her arm. She pulled her best friend into the walk-in pantry and pulled the door almost shut. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Well, I was kind of thinking about dessert,” Trixie replied. “Seems, I prepared some earlier and that, since the main course is finished, it should be served somewhere around now.”

“You know what I’m talking about.” In the dim light, Honey could be seen to place a hand on her hip. “You know, Trixie.”

“Please, Honey,” she finally replied. “Don’t go into this now. I’m sorry. I should have told you he’d be here. I thought that maybe, after all these years, you could put aside the whole don’t-you-dare-come-near-me-Brian-Belden-or-I’ll-deck-you thing.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Honey said, in a tone that belied her words. “It’s not like that. We just have… differences.”

“What you have is unresolved sexual tension,” Trixie suggested, cheekily. “Now, let me out of here. I have food to serve.”

“Only if you promise never to do this to me, again,” her friend replied. “What I told you way back then still stands: I don’t want to ever have to see him, again. Understood?”

“Okay, okay!” said Trixie, pushing past. “I get the picture.”

“Promise me, Trixie.”

“Not on your life,” she said, with a big grin. “Now, about that dessert; if you’ll help me carry everything in, I think we’re ready.” She loaded Honey’s arms with bowls, picked up the rest herself and led the way back into the dining room. “I’m sure you all know what to do,” she announced, taking her seat once again. “Serve yourselves whatever you’d like. Just don’t take more than your share,” she added, for the benefit of her younger children.

For the next few minutes, the tension eased to a bearable level, as everyone occupied themselves with serving and eating the delicious desserts which Trixie had prepared. Plates were emptied and some of the younger generation went back for seconds. Finally, even the teenage boys had eaten their fill. An uneasy silence descended.

“Let’s move into the living room,” said Jim, mindful of the mounting tension. “I think we’d be more comfortable there.”

“I’ll help clear the table,” said Brian, gathering some plates. He piled them carefully and took them into the kitchen. A moment later, he and his sister found themselves alone there.

“Just leave them there,” she said, indicating a spot. “I’ll load the dishwasher later.”

“I thought I told you never to ask us at the same time,” he whispered. “I have nothing to say to her. I can’t begin to tell you how uncomfortable this whole situation makes me feel.”

Trixie looked long and hard at her brother. “You’re a grown man,” she said, “and it’s been almost twenty years. I think you’ve had sufficient time to get over it by now.”

“It’s not about ‘getting over it’,” he said, through clenched teeth. “It’s about the fact that I don’t want to talk to her.”

“Or look at her, or agree with her,” she added. “I think it’s time that you did get over it. It would make my life a whole lot easier, not having to make arrangements for the two of you.”

“Making your life easy is not my problem,” he said. “Please, don’t do this to me, again.”

“You’re a big boy, now, Brian,” she said, with a grin. “I think you can look after yourself.”

She turned on her heel, heading back to the dining room for another armful. When she returned to the kitchen, her brother was still there, a thunderous look on his face.

“If you want my advice - which, quite obviously, you don’t - just tell her you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry? I think those should be her words.”

“That’s right,” she said. “Just leave off that second sentence.”

“Trixie,” he said, grabbing her arm. “I’m not going to apologise to her for- for-”

“I know what you’re not apologising for,” she said, wrenching herself free. “I meant for your behaviour over the last however many years. Brian, you’re acting like a jerk. It’s time you faced up to the fact.”

“If - if- she ever apologises to me, I’ll consider forgiving her. But nothing and no one could make me apologise first.”

“You’re being childish,” she threw over her shoulder on the way back to the dining room. “The pair of you.”

“Next time you decide to do something like that,” Jim said to Trixie, as he climbed into bed that night, “don’t.”

“Didn’t you enjoy the evening?” she asked, curling up next to him, after turning off the light. “I thought it was very… enlightening.”

He snorted. “Enlightening? More like torture. You’d better face it, Trixie. They’re never going to get on together.”

“Fifty bucks says they will,” she replied.

“Not a very tempting bet,” he said, “considering that I’ll be supplying the money, no matter who wins. And rather open-ended. The way you worded it, they could both be ninety-something and neither remember who the other is.”

Trixie thought for a moment. “If, by the time the baby’s due, they’re civil enough to share a room without protest,” she said, “you’ll give me two free, totally uninterrupted hours, at the time of my choice, to use as I see fit. Otherwise, I’ll give the same to you.”

“Deal,” he said, shaking her hand. “Those two hours are as good as mine.”

“We’ll see,” she replied. For a few minutes, they settled into a comfortable silence. “Are you asleep?”

“Not yet.”

“What do you think is the matter with Lauren?”

“What makes you think there’s anything wrong with Lauren?” There was a pointed silence. “Okay, I admit that she’s not exactly what I expected in a daughter-in-law.” Another silence. “And there’s definitely something going on down there in the guest room.” A further silence, this one accompanied by a gentle dig in the ribs. “I don’t think it’s any of our business.”

“This is our house,” his wife replied, indignant. “Of course it’s our business.”

“How would you have liked it if my parents had pried into our affairs so soon after we’d gotten married?”

“I’m not prying.”

“No, of course you’re not,” he teased. “You’re going to leave them alone. When they need our help, they’ll ask.”

“But-”

“Trixie,” he warned, “don’t make me stop you.”

“And how would you do that, Mr. Frayne?”

“You’ll see.” His hand travelled up her side, tickling as it went. “Or, would you like a practical demonstration?”

“I’ll give you a ‘practical demonstration,’” she replied. “But this matter isn’t over. Just you wait and see.”

“I’m riding my bike into Sleepyside, Moms,” said Christie, on her way out the door. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

Her mother nodded absently and Christie kept walking, hardly able to believe that it would be that easy. She had decided that the only way to satisfy her curiosity about the newspaper article she had found online, was to check the library. Sometime, long ago, she remembered her mother telling her that the library had a room downstairs, where they kept copies of newspapers, bound into large books.

She got her bike from the old barn, which served as a garage, and started down the driveway. As she rode, she went over the plan in her head. I’ll have to talk to the librarian, she thought. I guess I’ll need to tell her what it is that I’m looking for, too. Maybe I should say I’m helping Moms with some research. She quickly put that out of her mind. Her mother always did that sort of thing herself. How about, Moms told me about something she’d researched and I wanted to see the articles about it. She nodded, satisfied. Then, all I have to do is find the right article.

Some time later, she arrived at the library and put the chain on her bike. The front door opened with barely a sound. The librarian was standing at the counter, talking to a man whom Christie did not recognise. She timed her approach to end as he turned to leave.

“Hi,” she said, to the friendly-looking woman on the other side of the desk. “I was kind of wondering about old newspapers. My mother told me you had some downstairs somewhere.”

“That’s right,” she replied. “You’re one of the Fraynes, aren’t you?” Christie nodded. Plenty of people in town knew her family. Few of them ever remembered her first name. “I’m afraid that they’re in a bit of disarray at the moment. We’re in the middle of resorting them. If you don’t mind that, you’re welcome to look. But, please, put them back the way you found them. Also, there are no copying facilities down there. If you want anything copied, leave it down there and let me know.”

“I don’t think I’ll need that,” said Christie, suddenly nervous. “But, thank you, anyway.”

“Let me know if you need anything else,” the woman said, opening a door with a key.

Christie thanked her and slowly descended the stairs. The door closed behind her with an ominous click. The room she entered was dimly lit. She silently debated with herself over whether she should try to turn on more lights, worried that she may accidentally leave herself in the dark. It’d be hard to find what I want without more light, she decided, looking at the deep shadows that engulfed the farthest corners of the room. Resisting the urge to cross her fingers, she flicked a switch. To her relief, the room flooded with light.

Oh, no, she thought, a moment later. This place really is a mess! How will I ever find anything? She took a few steps forward, looking around for somewhere to start. To the left, the shelves were neatly presented. Straight in front of her, a large table was piled high with books, many of them with tattered edges poking out between the covers. The area under the table was littered with the general rubbish of the repair and re-filing process. Over the remainder of the area, books were tattered and torn, and tightly packed. Groaning deeply, Christie began her search.

It only took fifteen minutes to find the right book in the part which had not yet been re-filed. The only table being fully occupied, Christie sat down on the floor to read. Her eager fingers rifled through, looking for anything relevant.

It’s just got to be here, she thought, starting to feel desperate. She had started with the newest papers in the file, working backwards, and was nearing the end of the book. Oh! Here’s an article. She read it quickly:

‘Investigations are continuing into the tragic death of Patricia Louise McNamara, who was electrocuted last weekend. Police have declined to comment, but it is believed that Mrs. McNamara’s daughter was witness to the event.

‘Questions have been raised over the whereabouts of Mrs. McNamara’s husband at the time of the incident, due to a discrepancy between his account and that of their da-’

The article ended abruptly, in a torn edge. Christie quickly checked through the rest of the book, her frustration growing with every turned page. The rest of the page was nowhere to be seen and there were no other relevant articles. She reached the end of the book and turned to reach for the next volume. It was not directly next to the one she had been reading. She searched for several minutes, without success.

It doesn’t WANT to be found, she thought, rather irrationally. It’s hiding from me on purpose. What am I going to do now? She sank back to the floor and thought for a few minutes. Though, I think I’ve got enough facts, now. It’s kind of strange that Lauren and her father said different things. She frowned, tapping her fingers on the floor. Maybe, one of them was lying. Maybe, Lauren knows what really happened, but she didn’t want to say. Maybe, she knew that her father put the screwdriver there - oh! he might have done it on purpose, to get rid of her and Lauren knew, so she tried to cover it up!

She took a deep breath and stood up, checking quickly that everything was as she’d found it. I’ve got to get home and think through this properly, she decided. Then, maybe, I’ll be able to figure out why she’s playing those tricks.

Over the next few days, Christie took a lot of time to think about the things that she had recently discovered. By the time the following weekend rolled around, she had come to the conclusion that the only way forward from here would be to confront her sister-in-law. It would need to be in private, though, and that was a rare commodity in a household of nine people and a house of this size. It took some days before an opportunity presented itself.

“I have something to say to you,” she said to a surprised Lauren in the kitchen one morning. “In private.”

“Okay,” the other girl replied, looking nervous. “My room?” Moments later, the door closed behind them.

“I know,” Christie said, simply.

“What?” It was barely above a whisper.

“I know about your mother. I know that you didn’t tell the truth when they asked you about it. And, I know that you’ve been causing all of the accidents and the disappearances.”

“I have not! For all I know, it was you. You’re just trying to cover up after yourself. You never liked me and you’re trying to scare me away. You know what? It’s not going to work.”

“I hate you!” Christie cried. “You’re ruining my brother’s life and you’re proud of the fact.”

Lauren’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe you’re not playing tricks,” she said. “Maybe you’re causing a different kind of disturbance.”

“What do you mean by that?” It was a demand, not a question.

“Well, let’s see,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Things move by themselves. Things disappear. Things break, for no apparent reason. Sounds to me like a poltergeist.”

“There’s no such thing.”

“You know everything, do you? You’ve got it all figured out, I guess. Bad, evil Lauren comes along and seduces your sweet, innocent brother. Then, she moves into his parents’ home and causes trouble. Well, it’s not like that.”

“That doesn’t mean there are ghosts,” Christie countered. “Besides, you have to have murders or tragic deaths to get ghosts. Everyone knows that.”

“Not poltergeists,” said Lauren. She gave the younger girl a pointed look. “You just need an angry kid. And how do you know that there’s never been a tragedy here? This is an old house. Anything could have happened here.”

The other girl laughed, but without humour. “You really think that? Did you even ask Moms?”

“Yes, but she wouldn’t necessarily know.”

“Do you have any idea what it is that she does when she goes into the study?” Lauren shook her head. “She researches the history of buildings for the historical society. She’s done a complete history on Crabapple Farm. If you ask her, she might let you read it.”

“She still might not know,” she replied, sounding uncertain.

“We don’t call it ‘skeleton-in-the-closet hunting’ for nothing. She’s really good at finding those sorts of things. She found out plenty that her own parents didn’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter. We’ve still got the angry kid - you - and we’ve still got some kind of supernatural disturbance-”

“We do not!” Christie yelled. “There’s nothing supernatural going on. If you thought about it, you could find an explanation for everything that’s happened.”

“Then why,” asked Lauren, in a cold, quiet voice, “am I being haunted by screwdrivers? If you ‘know’, like you say, you’ll know the significance- And, what do you mean, I lied?”

“You saw the whole thing. You know what really happened, but you didn’t tell,” Christie said, sneering. “I’d say that would be lying. And you’re not being haunted. You’re imagining it - or making it up.”

“I am not,” Lauren ground out, through clenched teeth. “My mother’s death was an accident. Somehow, you are reminding me of it, constantly.”

Christie turned away. “I know that you were protecting your father. I don’t think he even appreciated it - otherwise he wouldn’t have thrown you out when you told him you were pregnant.”

“Leave me alone!” the older girl yelled. “Can’t you let me have a moment without reminding me of all the things I’ve lost? Don’t you think I might-”

The door opened and Lauren broke off abruptly. Christie turned to see her mother, a thunderous look on her face.

“You - come with me,” she said. Meekly, Christie followed. Moments later, the door to her room was closed behind them. “I think it’s time that you took a step away from this.”

“What do you mean?” Christie asked, suppressing a shiver at the strong emotion she could see in Trixie’s face.

“This has gone far enough. I think you could benefit from a little time away.” There was a long pause, which Christie dared not interrupt. “I think I’ll call your grandparents and ask them if you can stay for a few days.”

Helen and Peter Belden had, a few years previously, moved into the smart new retirement village on the other side of town. Their villa had its own guest room, which was occasionally used to house one of their grandchildren.

“Okay, Moms,” Christie said, feeling terribly ashamed. “I’ll stay here until you let me know.”

Half an hour later, the arrangements had been made and Christie was on her way. The house settled into a peace which it had not had in weeks.

Three days later, Lauren was beginning to feel as if she might like living at Crabapple Farm. The time without Christie had been, if not peaceful, less stressful. Scott and Nicholas still made as much noise and mess as the rest of the household put together, but she could handle that. Everything changed, however, when the other girl returned.

Lauren was sitting in the living room, folding laundry when the car pulled into the drive. Beside her, a neat pile of towels was growing, while the basket slowly emptied. Never completely silent, the house started to feel a little noisier.

She could hear one or another of the boys teasing his sister already. They never seem to let up, she thought, with a little shiver. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that. For a moment, her mind drifted back over her childhood. Her life, as an only child, could never compare to the upbringing her husband had. It made her wonder what was in store for the child she now carried.

The kitchen door opened, hitting the wall with a bang. Someone chastised Alex, who shrugged it off with ease. A moment later, Lauren’s world shifted under her: at the very moment that Christie was entering the house, a screwdriver appeared out of nowhere and rolled gently across the floor. She let out a shriek.

“You!” she yelled, pointing to a bewildered Christie. “You’re doing it again!”

All protest was in vain, as Lauren fled to her room and locked the door behind her.

“Yoo-hoo!” called Honey, through the kitchen doorway. “Anyone home?”

“Of course, I’m home,” Trixie said, from three feet away. “I invited you, didn’t I? You just never want me to forget that I suggested that, do you?”

“It’s a best friend’s prerogative to remind you of anything and everything you might want to forget,” she said, pushing the door open and entering the kitchen. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Is the coast clear?”

“Absolutely. I’ve packed them all off in different directions. They probably won’t even notice that I’ve got the place to myself.”

“I never knew quite how devious you were until you had a whole houseful of kids,” Honey said, giggling. “You never seem to be as busy as I am, and yet this house runs like clockwork. I’m sure it’s even cleaner than your mother kept it.”

“I have more kids than she had. I have to make some use of that fact.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” her friend responded. “Unless I marry a man with six kids, I don’t think I’ll ever know.” She took a sip of the coffee, which Trixie had made without even asking. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Some strange things have been happening, lately. Maybe I’m a little too close to the problem, but I just can’t quite get a handle on it,” said Trixie. “I thought, maybe, if I told you about it, you could give me your perspective.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“I think it all started the day that Anthony and Lauren arrived home from their honeymoon.”

“If you can call it that,” Honey interrupted. “If I ever get married, I want more than a few days at the Croton Gardens Hotel.”

“You’re not eighteen years old and pregnant,” Trixie replied. “Now, can I continue? Good. Right from the time that the two of them arrived home, everything started to go wrong. Things broke, or disappeared, or moved around. At first, I thought it was just because we’d done some rearranging to fit everyone in-”

“If you’d let me pay for an extension-”

“I don’t want an extension,” said Trixie. “I like the squashed-in feel. It’ll make them find their own place sooner.”

“I knew you were devious.”

“Anyway, then I noticed that there was something wrong with Lauren. She screams, at all hours of the day and night, but won’t ever explain why. Then, she asked me a whole lot of questions about the house - like if there had ever been a tragedy here.”

“You think she’s seeing ghosts?”

“I’ve never seen a ghost here and you know how long I’ve lived here. You’d think that, if there was one, I’d know about it.”

“Maybe it doesn’t like her.”

“Well, whatever it is that’s scaring her, it’s creating a big disturbance. Between that, all the accidents and Christie’s recent behaviour, I’ve hardly had a moment’s peace in weeks.”

“Christie’s not handling this well, is she?” Honey asked. “The couple of times I’ve talked to her lately, she’s said things that make me wonder about how she’s coping.”

Trixie grimaced. “To say she’s ‘not handling it well’ would be a mammoth understatement. I don’t know what to do about her. She’s constantly baiting Lauren, which can’t do that situation any good, and she’s fighting more than usual with her brothers.” She let out a sigh. “The whole time she was away, there wasn’t a single incident.”

“You think she’s doing it?”

“No! Yes. I don’t know. I don’t want to think so, but what sort of choice do I have? It started when they got back from the honeymoon. It stopped when Christie wasn’t here. It only ever happens when the two of them are under the same roof. There has to be some sort of connection.”

“And nothing happened before the wedding? She was staying here, wasn’t she?”

“Only for a little while. We really couldn’t fit her in without letting Anthony share a room with her and Jim didn’t want to do that. When her father hadn’t let her go back to him after a week, we got her a room at the Glen Road Inn.”

Honey’s face took on a guarded expression. “I’ve thought of another explanation,” she said, “but I don’t think you want to hear it.”

“It can’t be any worse than some of the ones I’ve thought of already,” Trixie replied. “Go ahead.”

“What if Christie’s inviting… something? A spirit, of some kind. Or, using some kind of force - like telekinesis. Subconsciously, I mean,” she quickly added. “I know someone who investigates that sort of thing. If you want, I could ask her to look into it.”

“I’ll have to talk to Jim about it,” Trixie said, after a long pause. “I’ll let you know.”

When the house had settled into its nightly quiet, Trixie broached the subject with her husband. The two were in their room, with the door closed, preparing for bed.

“I had a talk with Honey, today,” Trixie said, trying not to sound tense. “She had an idea about what might be up with Christie.”

“Oh?”

“Jim, do you believe in…” - she trailed off, only to finish her sentence in a rush - “supernatural disturbances caused by a child’s difficult transition into adolescence?”

“We don’t have a poltergeist,” he said, his voice firm. “What we have here, is too many human agents in close proximity. Period.”

“But I’m worried about Christie.”

“So am I,” he sighed. “I don’t really think she’s responsible, but I can’t help wondering.”

“At least, let’s rule the possibility out. Honey knows someone-”

“If it’s that Pritchard woman, I don’t think we should let her into our house. At least not when the kids are around. I don’t want them to know about it - especially Alex and Elizabeth.”

“I can arrange that - except, I think she should see Christie. And Lauren, of course.”

“You can arrange that?” He turned and looked at his wife, as if he had never seen her before. “Trixie, not even you could arrange that. It just isn’t possible.”

“So, do we have a deal? I’ll tell Honey to arrange a visit from the investigator and I’ll work it that no one knows, except Christie and Lauren.”

“If you can,” he said, still skeptical.

“I have my methods,” she replied, smiling. “Just you wait.”

A few days later, Trixie’s plans came to fruition. The house was empty, except for Lauren, Christie and herself. As far as she knew, nobody had suspected a thing. Minutes after the last of her brood had left the house, a car pulled into the drive. It was soon followed by the sound of the doorbell.

“Hello, Trixie,” Honey said, as the door was opened. “All clear? This is Julia Pritchard. She’ll be doing the investigation today. Julia, this is Trixie Frayne.”

The tall, dark-haired woman that Trixie greeted was not at all what she had expected. There was nothing remotely mystical about Ms. Pritchard. In fact, she looked like an ordinary businesswoman. Her briefcase surely did not hold any of the strange equipment that Trixie had seen in movies.

“Where would you like to start?” Trixie asked, as she led the way inside.

“I sense a disturbance,” Ms. Pritchard said, closing her eyes. “I think it would be best for me to sit for a few minutes and attune to it.”

“We’ll be in the kitchen - right through here - if you need us,” Honey said. “Do you need anything else?”

“Thank you, no.”

“What are you doing?” Trixie asked, in an angry whisper, after her friend had practically dragged her into the kitchen. “I want to see what she’s doing.”

“You can see later,” Honey whispered back. “Right now, I need to talk to you. I’ve been doing a little digging on your new daughter-in-law and I’m beginning to see something fishy. Take a look at this.” She handed her friend a copy of a newspaper cutting.

“I knew about this,” Trixie said, skimming it quickly. “She told us, after the big fight with her father, when we were deciding where she would live until the wedding. Oh, I guess this must be a very early account.” Her finger tapped the page. “This isn’t quite how she told it to us.”

‘A woman was killed while carrying out repairs on her home in Sleepyside late yesterday. It is believed that Patricia Louise McNamara was standing on a metal ladder, when it came into contact with a faulty appliance. She was treated at the scene by paramedics, but was unable to be revived.

‘Police spokesman, Sergeant Wendell Molinson, said that the victim’s husband and daughter were close by, but neither witnessed the tragedy. “While we have no eye witness accounts, it is believed that the death was entirely accidental,” he said. “Information from the scene suggests that it is fortunate that no one else was injured.”’

“Now, look at this one,” Honey said, handing over another article. “I, of all people, know that you can’t always trust what the media tells us, but this is a little too much to dismiss, don’t you think?”

‘A ruling has been made on the recent death of Patricia Louise McNamara, who was electrocuted while working on her Sleepyside home. The coroner, Justin Williams, found that the death was accidental. He issued a general warning to the community, suggesting that care be taken while using metal ladders near power sources, including electrical appliances.

‘The only witness to the accident was nine-year-old Lauren McNamara, who stated that her mother had placed a garden blower, connected to the power, at the foot of the ladder before climbing. On reaching the top, she accidentally knocked a screwdriver into the appliance. The ladder became live, and caused Mrs. McNamara’s death.

‘This is not the first tragedy for the McNamara family. Last year, the victim’s husband, Douglas James McNamara, was involved in a fatal two-car accident on Old Telegraph Road, outside Sleepyside. The driver of the second vehicle, Gerald Michael Vanderhoef was seriously injured, when Mr. McNamara’s vehicle failed to negotiate a bend. Kellie Anne Larson, a passenger in Mr. Vanderhoef’s vehicle, was declared dead at the scene. Mr. McNamara, who was allegedly drunk at the time of the crash, escaped injury.’

Trixie looked up, a worried expression on her face. “We’re going to have to investigate this,” she said. “Maybe Christie isn’t responsible. Maybe it’s Lauren - or her father.”

“I’ve also got a copy of the coroner’s report,” Honey began to say. Soft footsteps approached. Honey stepped through the doorway, meeting Ms. Pritchard before she could see what they had been looking at.

“I am ready,” she said. “May I take a look around the house now?”

Leaving Trixie in the kitchen, to ponder this latest development, Honey took the investigator on a quick tour. Ten minutes later, they returned and Trixie knew from the look on her sister-in-law’s face, that she would not like what was about to happen.

“Julia needs to do the interviews, now,” she said, projecting what Trixie knew to be a fake calm. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll sit in on the one with Christie. I think she’d be more comfortable that way.”

She thought for a long moment before answering. On the one hand, Honey’s words were absolutely correct: Christie would far rather have her aunt present than her mother. On the other, Trixie was loath to let her little girl go that easily.

“Only if I can stand right outside the door,” she said, finally.

Apparently, that was an acceptable answer, because it was only a few minutes later that the interview commenced. Trixie strained to hear what was going on, but most of the time could hear very little. Every now and then, Christie’s voice rose - mostly to protest her innocence. If there had ever been any doubt in Trixie’s mind as to Christie’s intentions, it was now gone.

An excruciating ten minutes later, the door opened and the investigator stepped out. “Mrs. Frayne,” she said, softly, “I would like to ask your permission to take the interview to the next step. I don’t think we can achieve anything further by asking your daughter more questions - except under hypnosis.”

“I can’t make her-”

“She, herself, has given permission,” the other woman explained. “I would like your consent.”

“Would I be present?”

“She has asked for Ms. Wheeler to be present.”

It went against every desire, but Trixie swallowed her pride and gave consent. With barely a word, Ms. Pritchard reentered the room. Throughout the next ten or fifteen minutes, Trixie strained to hear, but could make out so little as to make no difference. Finally, the door opened and the two women emerged.

“She just wants a little time alone,” Honey explained, as she led her friend away. “Julia’s going to talk to Lauren, now, so we’ll just go back to the kitchen.”

A short time later, the two had coffees in front of them and the investigator was safely out of hearing.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened?” Trixie demanded, feeling that she could wait no longer. “Did she find anything out?”

“Well,” Honey hedged, “yes and no. Julia thinks that there’s a disturbance there, just outside the edges of what she can find out, so to speak, but she couldn’t find any reason to say that it’s causing the problem.”

“What does that mean?”

“That it’s inconclusive? I don’t know, Trixie. I heard all the same things that Julia did and, honestly, I couldn’t tell you how she came to that conclusion. To me, it just sounded like the same things Christie told me when we talked.”

Trixie let out a long breath and ran a hand through her curls. She had no idea of what she would tell Jim when he got home. She only hoped that the rest of the investigation would yield more clues. As it was, the whole thing seemed like a waste of time.

The two had finished their coffee when Julia reentered the kitchen. From her guarded expression, Trixie gained a small amount of new hope. Her words, when she spoke, gave a little more.

“Is there somewhere we could speak in private?”

“Come into the study,” Trixie suggested. The door closed behind them and Ms. Pritchard began to speak.

“I am fully convinced,” she said, “that there is some sort of paranormal disturbance in this house. I am not convinced, however, that it is being caused by your daughter, Mrs. Frayne.” Trixie breathed a silent sigh of relief. “The other young woman was not nearly as cooperative, unfortunately, so I cannot make a full assessment of her involvement in the matter.”

“Do you think she might have something to do with it?”

“Oh, undoubtedly, her arrival was the trigger. Of that much we can be fairly confident. Whether she, er, brought something with her, or awakened something that was already here, I cannot yet say. At this point, I am leaning towards the idea that we are dealing with a spirit, rather than telekinesis.” She paused. “There is also a possibility that the paranormal disturbance is not in any way connected with your present problems. I would like to be able to rule out that possibility, but it is extremely difficult to spot a fraud when the details of the incidents are not available.”

“What do you suggest as a next step?”

“Can you be sure of the privacy of your mail?”

“Certainly,” replied Trixie. It was a strict rule of the household, that each person’s correspondence was private.

“I shall post you a written report, when I have had time to consider the options.” And, with a few more conventional parting phrases, she was gone.

When Jim arrived home that afternoon, he found his wife sitting quietly on the back porch, a thoughtful look on her face. The house was in its usual state of bustling activity, with children and teenagers hurrying in all directions. She was paying them no heed.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked.

“I don’t know if it helped,” she said, out of all context.

“What?”

“She’s been here. She talked to both of them. She wasn’t sure who was causing it.”

“What are you talking about, Trixie?” he said. “Oh! You mean Honey’s-” He broke off, unsure who may be listening. He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “When I said you should arrange it without anyone knowing, I didn’t mean that you should include me.”

She shrugged, smiling for the first time since he had arrived. “I’ll tell you the whole story later,” she said. “Right now, I need a little time to think.”

“Oh, finally, you’re here,” said Trixie, as her best friend approached. It was late afternoon, and she was waiting for her friend in a hidden corner of the yard. “I thought you’d never get here.”

“I ran all the way,” Honey replied. “You’re just lucky I keep fit. I might have had a coronary, or something. Now, what’s so urgent? Why couldn’t you just tell me on the phone?”

“Watch.” A ladder leant against the side of the barn, with a garden blower balanced at its base. Trixie picked up a screwdriver.

“No!” cried Honey. “Don’t do it!”

“It’s not plugged in,” her friend replied, pulling on the power cord. “There’s nothing to worry about.” She placed the screwdriver on one of the rungs and then gently pushed it off. “See?”

“What am I seeing?” asked Honey.

“Look inside.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“This is the same sort of blower and the same size screwdriver as was involved in the accident.” The report, which Honey had left, included measurements and model numbers. A short search had located both items in the vast toolshed at Manor House. “I’ve tried it every way I can think of, but I can’t make the screwdriver contact anything that would cause it to become live.” She paused, dramatically. “Except, if I put it like this.” She tipped the blower to an impossible angle, holding it up with one foot and a nearby brick. “And there you have it.”

“It can’t have happened like that,” said Honey, frowning. “The description of the scene was clear on that point. It was leaning against the ladder. There wasn’t anything holding it up.”

“Which means,” said Trixie, “it wasn’t the screwdriver.”

“Then what was it?” Honey asked.

“Exactly what I was wondering.”

It was dark. Beside her, Lauren could hear the gentle sounds of Anthony’s breathing, slow and even. No sound penetrated, from beyond the closed guest room door. Everything appeared to be peaceful and, yet, she felt uneasy.

Should I turn on the light? she wondered, fear clutching at her heart. Should I wake Anthony? She decided not to, feeling more than a little silly. Instead, she reached over to the lamp and flicked the switch. Nothing. The darkness still surrounded her.

‘Leave.’

It was so quiet, she wondered whether it had been real, or was the voice inside her head?

‘Leave.’

She sat straight up, straining to see something in the darkness. Was there someone in the room with them? Her hand moved towards Anthony, but never reached him. No matter how hard she tried, she could not reach.

‘You do not belong here. What you have will be gone.’

“Who’s there?” she asked. She could almost make out a figure, standing at the foot of the bed. It seemed almost black, against a background of darkness; human-shaped, though strangely vague.

‘Be gone from this place.’

The figure was more defined, now. It stretched out a hand towards her, and she knew that it was reaching for her unborn child. She shrank back in fright. The figure’s arm swung upwards. Above her, glowing with its own light and spinning gently, a screwdriver appeared. She watched it, mesmerised, for what seemed like minutes, before it suddenly plunged towards her, point downwards.

“NO-O-O-O-O!” she screamed. Her eyes squeezed shut and her knees reflexively moved up to protect herself.

“Lauren?” her husband asked, sleepily. He switched on a light. “Are you okay?”

For several minutes, he could make out nothing intelligible from her babbled account. She was crying too hard to say more than a few jumbled words.

“There’s no one here,” he said, rubbing her back. “Just you and me.”

“Did you see him?” she asked. “Where did he go? Where’s the screwdriver?”

“There’s no one here,” he repeated. “Shh, Lauren, it was just a dream.”

“It wasn’t,” she insisted. “He wants me to leave. He’ll hurt the baby if I don’t.”

“We can’t leave. You know we can’t. Nothing’s going to hurt you here. You’re safe.”

“I’m not,” she said, turning away from him. “Just wait and see.”

Early afternoon was a good time to think, Trixie had found, since so many people liked to go places after lunch. It made the house seem so much more peaceful. She closed the study door with a satisfying click and sank into her chair. The bundle of reports was hidden, almost in plain sight, and she reached for them with one hand.

Now, to settle those next few points, she thought, opening the envelope. For several minutes, she studied the documents, taking her time. If Lauren’s father wasn’t responsible, she thought, the current must have come from somewhere that he wouldn’t see. Her finger traced a line around the edge of the roof, on the supplied plan. If the person was around the corner, they wouldn’t be seen. She tapped a spot. Here. If he climbed this tree, he could attach something to the gutter. The ladder rested against it and the current would have gone to earth there.

She felt sickened, knowing deep down that she was right, but also knowing that there would never be any way to prove it. There would have been little to no evidence at the time. Now, close to a decade later, there would be nothing.

One thing left to do, she decided. If we’re going to settle this, we’ll need to know who did it. What possible motive could there have been? She took up a pencil and paper, jotting down such ideas as ‘money,’ ‘hate’ and ‘her husband’. By the association of ideas, her mind went back to the newspaper article, which mentioned an accident. I wonder if there could be a motive in that. The blunt end of the pencil tapped against the plan.

What if it wasn’t meant to be her MOTHER, but her FATHER? she thought, circling ‘her husband’ on the list. If he was the intended victim… the murderer could have been connected with the accident. Jerry and Kellie.

She cringed, slightly, at the thought of her father-in-law’s new gardener. Of course, she had known him from school, long before the accident which had disfigured him. They had not liked each other in those days, but Trixie had a soft spot for the disadvantaged. Her mind turned to pretty Kellie Larson, who had died that night, almost ten years ago. Kellie, whose father had killed himself a year later.

That’s it, thought Trixie, stunned. Unprovable, probably, and sickening, but that’s it.

Without really thinking about it, she found herself walking towards Manor House. The need to establish the truth burned within her, even though she was already sure that she had it right. Within minutes, she had found Jerry.

“I’ve got something to ask you,” she said, her face grim. “I doubt that you want to hear it, but I need to know.” He nodded, strangely calm. “I’ve been thinking about Lauren’s mother, Kellie’s father…”

“You want to know if he did it?”

“Do you know?”

“I think he did,” said Jerry. “I doubt it can ever be proved, but Kellie’s brother, Mike, practically told me so.”

“Thanks, Jerry,” said Trixie, patting his arm. “That’s all I needed to know.”

“Mail’s here,” said Anthony, on his way into the kitchen one day. “Some for you, Moms.”

Trixie turned and smiled at her son, before retrieving her letter. A quick examination told her that it was the response she was waiting for from Julia Pritchard, but she feigned indifference. At the first opportunity, she retreated to the study and locked the door behind her.

‘Dear Mrs. Frayne,’ she read. ‘After studying your situation carefully, I have chosen two options for your consideration. The first is that you do nothing at this time. I believe that if left alone, the magnitude of the disturbance will probably increase. When the disruption becomes too great, you may contact me, again. Greater disturbances are very often easier to pinpoint and, so, the problem may be solved.

‘The second option, which is the one I would recommend, involves the gathering of some additional information. I propose that, unknown to any other member of your household, we set up some surveillance of the premises. Of course, only the most public areas would be suitable - perhaps, the living room and the kitchen. Once we know more, a solution may present itself.

‘Please contact me with your decision, at your earliest convenience.

‘Sincerely,
‘(signed)
‘Julia Pritchard’

I need this, Trixie thought, her eyes tight shut and thinking hard. I need to know whether to look for the trickster among the living or the dead. There was, of course, an issue of trust here. Privacy was a very important commodity when you were a teenager. When there were five teenagers in your household that fact needed to be in the front of your mind. Could she give some advice to her family and disguise it as something else? A smile crossed her face. Of course she could.

The next morning at breakfast, Trixie laid down the law. “Anthony, Scott, Nicholas and Alex, right after breakfast, I want to see you all in the study. Christie, Elizabeth and Lauren, don’t go anywhere, because you’re next.”

The gathered family mumbled a confusion of answers, mostly drowning each other out. Their mother smiled inwardly. Still have the touch, she thought. Now, I just need to word it so that they won’t be suspicious.

After the meal, her four sons assembled in the study. The door closed behind them and they all shuffled uncomfortably, obviously wondering what, exactly, they had done wrong.

“I want to talk to you,” she said, in forbidding tones, “about the difference between public and private spaces.” That’s got them wondering, she thought to herself. They’re all looking at each other to see who did something wrong. “Now, I don’t mind - within reason - what you do in private. When you’re in the public parts of this house - the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, any of the hallways or the stairs - I expect you all to act as if you were really in public. That means, no wandering around in your underwear, or behaving in any way that you wouldn’t want someone else to see. Understand?”

“Yes, Moms,” they chorused, obediently.

“You all need to remember that this is a two-family house, now. If we’re going to get along, we need to respect each other. Okay. You can go now, and send the girls in.”

The four shuffled out. Trixie suppressed a laugh, as she heard the whispered accusations start when they were barely out of the door. A few minutes later, the three girls were in front of her.

“In the interests of fairness,” she said, “I’m going to tell you the same thing that I told the boys.” For several minutes, the three girls listened while Trixie repeated what she had told her sons, adjusting the content slightly to suit her audience.

“I don’t know why the boys want to walk around with hardly any clothes on, anyway,” Elizabeth commented, when her mother had finished. “It’ll be much better if they stop.”

Trixie was torn between a desire to laugh at the observation and one to shake her head at this pink-clad little girl, who was her daughter. It never failed to amaze her that she had produced such a feminine little creature, with long blonde hair, big blue eyes and a passion for wearing pink, frilly clothes. She was ever grateful for the help from Honey and Di, in filling her younger daughter’s wardrobe. It was a task for which she was hopelessly unprepared.

“Is that all now, Moms?” Christie asked, taking sidelong looks at Lauren. It was clear that she wanted to be as far away from her as possible.

“Yes, I think so,” Trixie replied. And now to the next stage, she thought, as they left.

The equipment provided by Julia Pritchard was quickly and easily installed the next time that the house was empty. Trixie did a quick check to make sure that it was all working before carefully concealing any trace of its existence. She stood back and admired her handiwork.

Perfect, she thought. I just hope this is worth the effort.

The days passed slowly. The tension between Lauren and Christie, which had always been uncomfortable, boiled over into fight after fight. And Lauren continued to scream, without ever explaining why.

At the end of an uncomfortable week, Trixie had another meeting with Ms. Pritchard, this time at Manor House. She bounced up the front stairs, just as she had done countless times before, and rang the bell.

“Come in, Trixie,” Celia said, with a smile, as she opened the door. “They’re in the library.”

Trixie thanked her and let her go, making her own way through the familiar rooms. For a moment, she reflected on how much had changed here, over the years that she had known this house. Her late mother-in-law had redecorated numerous times, often on a whim. In the five years since her death, the decor had remained the same. Knowing her father-in-law, it would probably stay that way for as long as possible.

Most of the staff had changed, too. Tom and Celia were still here - though in different roles - but all of the others had moved on, retired or passed away. Somehow, Trixie felt, the house had a different feel now that Celia ran the estate.

Reaching the door of the library, she pushed away those thoughts and gently tapped. Through the thick wood, she could hear an instruction to enter. She opened the door to find Honey and Ms. Pritchard already in conversation.

“Oh, good. You’re here,” said Honey. “Julia has some information for you.”

“What can you tell me?” Trixie asked, perching on the arm of Honey’s chair. “Have you got any evidence yet?”

“Nothing substantial, as yet,” she replied. “The motion-sensor cameras captured two incidents. I have some still images here.” She laid a series of grainy black and white photographs down on the low table between them. “As you will see, both of them involved Lauren.”

Honey and Trixie traded a glance. In several of the shots, a screwdriver could be clearly made out. It appeared to be the object of Lauren’s frightened stares.

“You will also notice,” continued Ms. Pritchard, “that in both cases, the same item is involved. I would suggest that either that particular screwdriver has a sinister past, or that this young woman has reason for an aversion to them in general. If it is the latter, I think you will probably need some further assistance. Otherwise, I would suggest that you simply dispose of it - immediately.”

“I was just telling Julia that you and I could handle that part of the investigation,” Honey said, casually picking up one of the images. “Don’t you think so, Trixie?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied, absently. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t think we need any more surveillance at the moment.”

“Then I shall leave you to it,” Ms. Pritchard said, smiling. “Please, let me know if you need any more assistance.”

They made arrangements for the return of the equipment, and Honey showed her guest to the door. When she returned, she found her friend deep in thought.

“What are you up to?” she asked, instantly suspicious.

“Just wondering,” said Trixie.

“Are you going to tell me what?”

“Wondering how easy it would be to fake this.”

“What’s the answer?”

Trixie turned to face her. “Let’s just say, I think I’ve got some recalcitrant children to discipline.”

“Not Christie,” said her friend, her voice pleading.

“No, not Christie. She’s not that good at keeping secrets.”

“She’s too much like you,” Honey giggled. “On second thought, she’s a lot like Jim, too. He can’t keep a secret, either.”

“Oh, look who’s talking,” Trixie replied. “You’re the one who keeps letting cats out of bags to my kids. Honestly, Honey, I sometimes wonder if you need to be supervised around them.”

“Probably,” she conceded, utterly unrepentant. “It sure makes me popular, though.”

“I bet it does.” She sighed. “You should have some of your own.”

“And who, pray tell, would be the father? No, wait! Don’t answer that. I know exactly what you’re thinking. As Christie would say, you have some spare brothers that I could have.”

“Christie’s been offering you her brothers?” Trixie asked, screwing up her nose.

“Not that way!” Honey cried. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m talking about your brothers, whom you keep trying to foist upon me.”

“I do not,” her friend objected. “I have never tried to foist Rob upon you. I don’t even know where he is. And Mart is happily married, as far as I know, to the little girl from the farm next door.”

“She’s not a little girl, Trixie. She’s twenty-four years old and I think she’s perfect for him.”

“She was a little girl when he first moved there,” she stubbornly persisted. “It’s almost the same thing. And Kacy is kind of a little-girl name.”

“Speaking of little girls,” said Honey, peering down next to her chair, “I have some things for your very own.” With a flourish, she produced a small paper bag. “I saw them and immediately thought of Elizabeth.”

“They’re hideous,” said Trixie, pulling out a pink, ruffled hair clip. “She’ll love them.” She gave her surprised friend a quick hug. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Honey. I really don’t.”

The study door closed with a click and Trixie sank into a chair in relief. If there was one rule that her children never dared to break, it was that a closed study door remained closed. Here was an opportunity to think, uninterrupted by all of the problems she was supposed to magically fix.

Stretching her arms and legs, before curling up in the chair, she cast her mind over the problems of the moment. This would be a whole lot easier, she thought, if I could just get Lauren to admit what was bothering her. Otherwise, it’s like finding a needle in a haystack.

For a long time, she simply waited for an idea to materialise. It did not. There must be some way of catching them out, she thought. I wonder if… She stood, suddenly sure of her next move. Most of times she’s screamed, it’s been when she’s in the guest room, she recalled. If I wanted to play tricks on someone in the guest room, I’d find some places where the walls were thin… or the ceiling.

Her first stop was an upstairs closet, which someone had apparently cleaned in the recent past. She had noticed the fact almost immediately, but never gave it any significance. Now she was wondering.

Now, what’s under here? she thought, pulling the few boxes from the bottom shelf. A loose board? Underneath was a flashlight and a smooth, cold object, which fit in the palm of her hand. Turning the flashlight on, she found that it was metal. A few paper-clips clung to it. She recognised it as belonging to Alex. At the end of the cavity which adjoined the outside wall of the house, a small hole was visible. Faint daylight showed through, but nothing else. Trixie deduced that something must be underneath, perhaps some moulding.

Drop the paper-clips into the hole, use the magnet to move them, she decided. A rain of paper-clips. Kind of weird, but not really scary. This must have been an early attempt.

A little further thought took her back to the study. She knew that the wall between the two rooms was thin. By comparing distances on each side of the wall, she found the place where a small table stood. Taking a few books from the cabinet, she applied the magnet to the wall and heard something shift on the other side.

There’s even a dirty mark, where they rubbed the magnet on the wall, she noticed. I bet that’s where the screwdriver came into things: Anthony had left it there. He’s forever leaving them around the house. They must have taken advantage when they saw how scared she was and repeated the trick. The thought made her feel slightly sick.

Next stop was the kitchen. The house’s original pantry had been shifted to make room for the guest room when it was added. The new pantry shared a wall with the guest room. A few minutes’ search, however, convinced Trixie that her trick-players had left it alone. She concluded that the risk had seemed too great.

The final stop on her tour was the guest room window. She began her search with a careful check of the garden bed under the window. Evident, even after last night’s rain, were some deep, rectangular impressions.

Ladder, thought Trixie, looking up at the window. They used a ladder. The sun shining on the panes of glass caught the edge of something. It appeared to be a piece of clear plastic. She did not hesitate before rushing off to get a ladder for herself. Minutes later, she was looking at it up close: the shape of a screwdriver, cut from self-adhesive plastic and stuck, slightly crooked, on the window. It wouldn’t be visible from inside the room, but strong light would cast a shadow on the wall. Not long ago, she had found a few fragments of this same plastic on Elizabeth’s side of the girls’ room. It was all the evidence she needed.

Trixie closed the study door with an ominous thump. Her two youngest children both jumped at the sound, just as she had intended. Alex’s face held a look of defiance, which sometimes slipped into sheer panic. Elizabeth’s big blue eyes were wide with fright.

“I’ve found a few things,” said their mother. “I’m wondering if you know anything about them.” She placed the exhibits, one by one, along the edge of Jim’s desk. “Do either of you have anything to say?”

“We didn’t mean-”

“I was just-”

“-frighten her-”

“-not anything-”

They talked over the top of one another, in a nervous babble. At Trixie’s frown, they both stopped.

“We’re sorry?” suggested Alex. “We won’t do it again?”

“You’d better not do it again,” said Trixie. “I haven’t decided what to do with you, yet. I think it might be best if you told me everything, though, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Moms,” they both said together, heads bowed. Over the next few minutes, they gave a jumbled account of falling paper-clips, moving screwdrivers and shadows on the wall. “And we didn’t really mean to scare her that much,” Alex concluded. “Just enough to make her go away.”

“That wasn’t a very hospitable thing to do, was it?”

“No, Moms.”

“I’ll have to discuss your punishment with your father,” she said, sternly. “Before that, though, I think you both owe Lauren an apology. I’d like to hear you say you’re sorry, as soon as she gets back this evening.”

The two exited, thoroughly chastised, closing the door behind them. Trixie sank into a chair and sighed. I’m glad that’s over, she thought. Now, I just need to settle things with Lauren.

Late in the afternoon, rather earlier than expected, Lauren returned to the farm. The first person she encountered was, rather unfortunately, Christie.

“And where have you been?” the younger girl demanded, as a weary Lauren tried to enter the house. “I thought it was your turn to prepare dinner.”

“I switched with… someone. Nicholas, I think,” she said, looking distracted. “Maybe, it was Scott. I’m not sure.”

“The least you could do is keep all of our names straight,” the other girl replied. “It’s not like we’re strangers.”

“It’s not like you’re family, the way you treat me. I’m tired. I’ve had a difficult day. I don’t think I owe you anything, so - let - me - through.”

“I think you’d better find out who it was you switched with,” Christie persisted. “After all, it’s your turn. It’s your responsibility. Whoever he was, he’s not here.”

“Why didn’t you ask them?” Lauren demanded. “You seem to know everything that’s ever happened in this house. You should have been able to figure out that I must have traded places with someone. If you’d asked-”

Christie suddenly felt as if the house was too small. Without a backward glance, she fled, pushing past Lauren and out the kitchen door, taking the bicycle path which led up the hill to her grandfather’s house. Somewhere on his extensive grounds, she should be able to find some privacy. Nearing the house, she turned her steps onto one of the smaller paths, knowing that it ran along the edge of the woods, but stayed quite near the house.

She pushed her way between thick-growing shrubs, looking for a space in which to sit, unobserved. Finally, she found one. Green leaves arched over her head as she sank into the leaf litter below. She gazed up at slivers of blue sky, trying to clear her mind of all thoughts. Time passed, slowly.

It was, perhaps, half an hour later that she received a rude shock. From out of the blue sky came a shower of water. Christie shrieked in fright and stood up, coming almost face to face with the gardener.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, turning his hose in a different direction. “I didn’t know you were in there.”

“I- I- didn’t know I was so close to the edge of the garden,” she said, shrinking back. His lopsided face had an almost leering expression on it. “I- I’ll just be going.”

“Let me help you,” he said, reaching for her. “You’ll get even wetter if you go that way.”

“No, thanks. I’ll be fine.” She stumbled slightly, losing her balance.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “Here. Give me your hand.”

“O- Okay,” she replied. It would have seemed rude to refuse. A moment later, she was safely on the lawn. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Now, would you like to explain what you were doing in the garden?” At once, her face took on that deer-in-the-headlights look. “You weren’t running away from home, were you?”

“No, of course not,” she said, hotly. “I just didn’t want to be there with…”

“Lauren.”

“How do you know? Have you even met her? Don’t you like her, either?” His face had taken on such hostility, that she couldn’t help but wonder.

“Now, I don’t have anything against her, personally,” he was quick to explain. “Her family and mine just don’t get along.” He looked at her, the leering expression returning. “Why don’t I just tell you about it? Maybe, then, you won’t try to run away every time you see me.”

Immediately, Christie felt ashamed of her past behaviour. It was true that Jerry had frightened her from the moment she had first seen him. The thought had never occurred to her that he would have noticed.

“The McNamaras lived in the next street from my family, when we were growing up. I didn’t know them personally, but I knew who they were. Everyone in the area knew that her father had a drinking problem. I just never thought it would affect me.”

“Did it?” she asked, spellbound.

“I wasn’t born like this,” he said, gesturing to his face. “About ten years ago, my girlfriend and I went to a party and I was designated driver. We’d already dropped our other passengers home and I was taking her home when this other vehicle came out of nowhere. Next thing I know, almost two months have passed and they tell me that Kellie’s dead. Half my face was smashed up and my body was messed up so bad they thought I’d never walk again.”

“And Lauren’s father did it? While he was drunk?”

“Yup.” He looked at her, hard. “You’ll know about her mother’s accident, too, I’ll guess. A lot of bad things happen in that family. You’d best keep your distance.”

“I think so, too,” she said. “I’m sure it wasn’t really an accident, though. I just can’t figure out what really happened.”

“Never sounded likely to me,” he said with a shrug. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it, especially not to you. I’ll get in trouble with your mother.”

“I won’t say a word,” she said, grinning suddenly. “And I’m sorry I was frightened of you. I didn’t know that you’d had an accident. I just thought you were looking at me funny.”

“That’s okay,” he said, beginning to limp away. “I don’t like the look of me, either.”

So Lauren’s father killed someone, she thought, as she walked back home. I bet it WAS him who set up her mother’s accident, too. I wonder how I could find out? By the time she was home, a plan was set out in her mind.

As darkness fell, Christie made sure that everything was set. Her backpack was filled with needed supplies and all of the family were doing the things they normally did. All it took was a little good luck and some patience and she was outside the house, completely unnoticed.

Her bike was just where she had left it, hidden at the edge of the bicycle path. One quick glance backwards assured her that she had not been observed. A moment later, she was off, heading towards town. Lauren’s father’s house was easy enough to find. She left her bike leaning against the untidy hedge of a nearby house and crept forward.

He’s in there, she decided, seeing a shadow against one of the windows. I’ll have to be careful. She peered around, looking for something to hide her as she approached. A soft footstep sounded behind her and she turned in fright.

“And what do you think you’re doing, young lady?” Trixie said, in a tone that screamed ‘You’re in trouble, now!’

Christie squeaked in fright. “Moms! What are you doing here?”

“Exactly what I’d like to know about you,” she replied, eyebrow slightly raised.

“Just taking a look around?” She could tell that her mother wasn’t buying it. “I thought, maybe, this might have been where I dropped my watch last week.”

“Get in the car.” Christie looked around in confusion. There was no car in sight. “Around the corner. Now.” She did as she was told, quickly collecting her bike and stowing it in the back. The doors closed behind them. “I think you’d better tell me the truth.”

“I don’t want to,” Christie said, looking miserable. “If I tell, you’ll make me stop and I don’t want to.”

“I understand that,” Trixie said, with a sigh. “Really, I do. I just think you might be in a little deeper than you know.”

“How would you even know how deep I’m in?” she demanded. “You don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Don’t I?” her mother asked. “You read the newspaper accounts of Lauren’s mother’s death and something didn’t ring true. You figured out that you would be extremely unlucky to be electrocuted by a screwdriver falling into a garden blower. Now, you suspect that Lauren’s father had something to do with the death.”

“How-”

“I told you that I used to do what you’re doing now. Don’t you think that your father and I - of all people - would recognise the signs?” Christie’s face turned sheepish. “The other thing that you’ve failed to notice, is that if your theory is right, Lauren’s mother was murdered. As much as I hate to say it, that’s a matter for the police.”

“But, Moms-”

“But, nothing. You’re going to drop this, right now. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Moms.” Her head hung down and she turned away to hide the tears. “Am I in trouble?”

“Not this time,” Trixie said, gently. “Let me take you home. We’ll talk about it later, after I’ve had a talk with Lauren.”

Christie groaned. “Do you have to?”

“Of course, I have to. If anyone has the answer to this problem, it’s her. Considering your past record, you have no chance of getting that information from her.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “I’m going to get everyone out of the house for it, too. The way you’ve all been fighting, lately, she’ll never be calm enough if someone else is there.”

“I’ve really messed up, haven’t I?”

“You’ll learn,” Trixie replied. “It’s just a matter of experience.”

“Are you sure you want to handle this alone?” Jim asked, in a whisper, as he paused near the kitchen door. “I can stay if you want. I could just drop Alex and Elizabeth at Dad’s instead of going there with them.”

“I’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine,” his wife replied. “I’m just going to talk to her. We both know that there’s nothing supernatural going on. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Jim nodded. “If you’re sure,” he said. His face creased into a grin. “You don’t want me to shadow Christie instead? She seems to have inherited the Schoolgirl Shamus gene. She might try sneaking off again.”

“She’ll be fine,” Trixie replied. “She’s going to Aaron’s place.” At once, the smile left his face and it took on a look of fatherly concern. “And she’ll be fine there. I’ve spoken to his mother and she agrees with us on the topic of bedroom doors and friends of the opposite gender.” Still, her husband looked unconvinced. “Go!” she told him. “At this rate, everyone will be home before I convince you to leave.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Trixie,” he said, as he stepped out onto the porch.

“Of course I do,” she said, brimming with confidence. “See you in a bit.” Now, she thought, turning back to the task at hand. Let’s settle this, once and for all.

She went back into the living room, where a nervous-looking Lauren sat, waiting. It took all of Trixie’s resolve to keep going at this point. The young woman looked so tired and, perhaps, vulnerable, that it almost seemed kinder to just drop the subject.

“Can we talk?” she asked, softly. “They’re all gone, now.”

“I guess,” said Lauren.

“I think it’s time that you admitted that you’ve been having some problems; that you haven’t been happy living here.”

“No, really, I’m okay. It’s nothing.” Her eyes would not meet her mother-in-law’s. “I’m fine. Really.”

“We both know that isn’t the truth,” Trixie said. “Things have been happening lately, that have been scaring you. Objects have been moving. Shapes have appeared on the walls.”

“No! I- It- I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong!”

“You’ve seen things that remind you of something you don’t want to think about. Things that you can’t explain.”

There was a long pause. “Nothing,” Lauren ground out, “is happening. I’m fine.”

When her mother had made the decree, Christie had called her friend, Aaron, asking if she could visit. Her brothers had dropped her there on their way to see friends of their own.

“Thanks for letting me visit,” she said, on arrival. “Moms shooed us all out so fast, I hardly knew where to go.”

“That’s okay,” he said. He led the way into the family room. “There’s this great show on. You’ve gotta see it. It’s just about to start.”

“Okay,” she replied, meekly. She sat down in the corner of the sofa in front of the television. Her friend occupied the opposite corner. “What’s it about?”

“Shh!” he said. “You’ll see.”

Christie settled back to watch, her mind in turmoil.

Maybe, if I try a different approach, thought Trixie, she might let me help her. She had come to the conclusion that just asking was never going to work. Maybe, if I tell her what I know, she’ll open up to me.

“I know what happened,” she said. “I know about what’s been happening here and what happened to your mother.”

“Leave my mother out of this,” Lauren cried, her earlier anger replaced by an overwhelming sadness. “This has nothing - I mean it, nothing - to do with her.”

Trixie took a step back. Why, why, WHY didn’t I get Honey to do this? she asked herself. What I need now is her legendary tact! It was too late to stop now. “I also know why you didn’t tell the truth when the police asked.”

“Why do people keep saying that?” the younger woman asked, tears starting to roll down her face. “I said what I saw. I don’t want to remember anything about that day, understand? Leave me alone!”

Maybe I should call Honey now, Trixie thought, regretting that she ever had this idea. We’re getting nowhere. Aloud, she said: “Sometimes we have to do things that we don’t want to. If you’ll just talk to me about what happened-”

“What’s that smell?” asked Lauren, her voice faint. “Can you smell something? Like perfume?”

“Maybe it’s flowers,” said Trixie. “I think I just felt a breeze.”

Lauren shook her head. She turned towards the guest room, staring at its half-closed door. Trixie turned and looked in the same direction. A faint bluish light shone from inside, almost like a television in a dark room. Must be moonlight, Trixie decided, putting it out of her mind.

At Aaron’s place, the program that he and Christie had been watching came to an end. She glanced across at him, as he read the end credits, looking for what, she did not know.

“That was a great show,” he said, leaning back, as a commercial came on. “I’m glad we could watch it together.”

“Me, too,” she replied, though she had not been particularly interested. Any time she spent with Aaron was time well spent, in her opinion.

“You want a snack?” She nodded and he rose, returning a few minutes later with a bowl of corn chips and some salsa. The two began to eat.

“I just don’t get this show,” he said, as a new program started. “Do you mind if we just turn it off.”

“Fine with me,” Christie said. “I think I’d rather just talk, anyway.”

“Okay,” said Aaron, a minute later. “What should we talk about?”

“Moms sent us all out of the house,” she said, softly. “I’m pretty sure that the main person she wanted out was me.”

“Is that so bad?”

“Depends what she’s saying to Lauren now,” she replied. “I wish this had never happened. I wish Anthony and Lauren had never gone to the Prom together ’cause this whole thing would never have happened, otherwise.”

“You don’t know that,” he replied, smiling at her shyly. “They could have - well, you know - any time. It didn’t have to be then.”

He’s so cute when he’s embarrassed, she thought, feeling her face redden. She said, “You know what I mean, though. I can’t help feeling like this is a huge mistake and that it never should have happened. She’s ruining his life.”

“You make it sound like it’s all her fault.”

“Well, it is,” said Christie, then stopped. “Well, I keep thinking like it is, anyway. I mean, if it hadn’t been for her… I’m being horrible, aren’t I? It’s not really her fault.”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Fifty-fifty, at least. ’Cause, if I was taking a pretty girl to the Prom - let’s say, I was taking you - and you were wearing a nice dress and everything…” He trailed off, unable to find a suitable ending to the sentence he had gotten himself into.

“I never thought of it that way,” she replied, blushing all over again. “And she probably planned to go to college, too. It’s not just Anthony whose life is messed up. I guess I should apologise to her - well, to both of them, really.”

“I think it would help,” said Aaron, leaning over to pat her hand. The two gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment. Christie felt shivery all over. “I’m glad you see it that way.”

“Can I call my brothers?” she asked, though reluctantly, a moment later. “I think I’d better go home.”

Close, thought Trixie. So close. Now, how do I get her to believe me? She said: “I know that you don’t want to talk about it, but I think that you need to. The things that have been happening around here lately-”

“I’m not going to stay,” Lauren interrupted. “No one wants me here. It would be better for everyone if I left.”

“Now, that’s not true,” said Trixie. “Anthony wants you here. Jim and I certainly want you. I don’t think that Scott and Nick have any objection to you being here. And, as for the others, I’m sure they’ll get over it.”

“Someone else won’t.”

“There isn’t anyone else,” Trixie said, feeling exasperated. “If you’d just let me explain-”

“I don’t want to hear the explanation,” said Lauren. “I know what’s happening. It’s better if I just leave.”

Now what? Trixie thought. How do I get her to listen to me?

“Moms is going to be mad at us,” said Scott, irritably, as Christie climbed into the car. “She told us to stay away longer than this.”

“I know,” she replied. “I just really need to get home. I’ve been horrible to Lauren and I need to apologise, right away.”

“You’ve been horrible to her ever since you met her,” Nick pointed out. “Why do you have to say sorry now? An hour isn’t going to make any difference.”

“It will make a difference to me,” said Christie. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do this right away.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Lauren, beginning to sound hysterical. “There’s nothing to say. It’s over.” She began to pace across the room, back and forth. A rhythmic, rocking sound began. Lauren’s face filled with terror. “No!”

With one final rock, the object fell from the shelf above the fireplace and rolled right to her feet. She let out a piercing scream. It was a screwdriver.

“It’s okay,” Trixie soothed, trying to pull her away. “You’re okay.”

“It’s following me!” the young woman said. “I can’t get away. It killed her and it’s after me next.”

“It’s a coincidence,” said Trixie. “This time, it’s just a coincidence. The other times have been tricks - cruel tricks - played by Alex and Elizabeth. Later, they’ll tell you what they did and I hope they’ll apologise, too. This is probably just a leftover. Are you listening to me, Lauren? You’re not being haunted and the screwdriver didn’t kill your mother.”

“It did,” she insisted, through tears. “I saw the whole thing. Dad leant the garden blower against the ladder and turned around to get something else. She climbed up the ladder. She knocked down the screwdriver and it fell into the blower and it electrocuted her.”

“No, it didn’t,” Trixie said, gently. “Tell me again, exactly what happened. From the time that the screwdriver fell.” No answer. “Please. It’s important.”

“It fell. It landed in the plastic tube-bit of the blower. She said something, like ‘Damn it,’ and then, before she can climb down, she’s-”

“You can stop there,” said Trixie. “That’s enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“If it had been the screwdriver, she wouldn’t have said anything.”

“But-” Lauren’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “I thought-”

“You thought your father had put the screwdriver and blower there deliberately.”

She nodded, shamefaced.

“Where was your father through the whole thing?”

She closed her eyes and thought. “A few paces away, looking for something, I think. He had his back towards us.”

“Not actually near the house? Or anything that led to it?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, slowly. “No. I’m pretty sure that he wasn’t.”

“It wasn’t him,” said Trixie, as gently as she could. “Someone did it, deliberately, but it wasn’t him. And, I doubt that she was the intended victim.”

“Dad,” said Lauren, her voice hard. “It was meant to be Dad. If he wasn’t-” She broke off, suddenly.

“Drunk?” The younger woman nodded, ashamed, once again. “Did your mother tell him not to climb the ladder again?” Another nod. “Do you know what I think the reason was?”

“The accident,” Lauren replied, head bowed. “It must have been to do with the accident.” Suddenly, she looked up. “The man who did it killed himself, didn’t he?”

Trixie only nodded.

Unknown to the occupants of the living room, some other members of the household had arrived home. Anthony, Scott, Nicholas and Christie had quietly let themselves in through the kitchen door and were seated at the kitchen table while the latter part of the conversation had gone on.

“What have I done?” Christie whispered, almost to herself, as she heard her mother’s conclusions. “She’s been dealing with this and I’ve done nothing but torment her!” She stood up and strode into the other room.

As soon as she got there, she knew that Trixie and Lauren had no idea that they were not alone. The fact was written clearly on both of their faces. Her steps faltered for a moment, before the shame of her actions drove her forward.

“I’m sorry, Lauren,” she said. “For everything. I’m so sorry about your mother, and that I tried to find out about her, and for being so mean to you all the time, and for blaming you for ruining Anthony’s life, when it was probably more him than you, anyway. And, I’m sorry for blaming you for all the tricks. I didn’t know it was Alex and Elizabeth.”

The shock on her sister-in-law’s face turned to confusion and then to guilt. “I thought I was going mad,” she said. “Or that everyone had it in for me. It was horrible.”

“I’m sorry,” Christie repeated. “Do you think, maybe, we could start again?”

“Yes,” said Lauren, beginning to smile. “Yes, I think we could.”

Unnoticed by the two young women, the whole house breathed a sigh of relief.

Epilogue: The following February

“Knock, knock!” called a male voice at the kitchen door. “Anyone home?”

“You don’t have to knock, Brian,” said his sister. “Just come in.”

“Hi, Trix.” The screen door opened and he entered, dressed casually and bearing a beautifully wrapped gift. “Are the new parents around at the moment? I’ve finally brought this for them.”

Trixie shook her head. “Lauren’s upstairs, asleep, and Anthony’s at work. He’ll be back in an hour or so. You want coffee? I was just making some.”

“Thanks,” he said, setting the present down on the counter. “So, what’s it like having another baby in the house? Are you all coping?”

“Jim’s over the moon,” she said, with a smile. “Elizabeth acts like the baby is one of her dolls. Scott and Nick say it’s not as bad as they expected - they’d both sleep through an earthquake, I think. Alex says babies are boring. Christie, when she found out how long Lauren was in labour, declared that she’s never having one and once the baby was here, she hasn’t wavered from that view for a second.”

Brian laughed. “Which leaves you, and the proud parents.”

“They’re too exhausted to know what they’re feeling, just yet,” she said. “And, as for me, I’m just glad that it’s someone else’s baby.” She set the coffee cups down, along with a plate of homemade cookies. “Overall, we’re doing fine.”

“And that… other matter?”

“All cleared up,” his sister said, with confidence. “Not a single occurrence since Christie apologised to Lauren. They’re the best of friends now, believe it or not.”

Brian nodded and let the topic slide. “Turning into Moms?” he asked, holding up a cookie.

“I am Moms,” she replied, indignantly. A moment later, she laughed. “Okay, I confess. The cookie gene must skip a generation. Christie made them.”

“Tell her for me that they’re delicious,” he said, around a mouthful. “Just like Moms used to make.”

“Who do you think taught her?” his sister replied, grinning. “I think Moms has high hopes for Christie. She keeps telling me that I should hand over the family recipes.”

“Maybe you should. I don’t really see you wanting to use them.”

“I’ll have you know that I made great-grandma Belden’s tomato sauce last summer - successfully, I might add.”

“Okay, don’t hit me!” he said, holding up a hand, in defence. “It was just a suggestion.” There was the sound of young, female voices in the yard and he turned towards the door, expectantly. “Sounds like you have another visitor. That’s not Elizabeth, is it?”

“That’ll be Natalie Regan,” said Trixie, without turning. “Her family moved back here in time for the start of the school year. She and Christie were best friends on sight.”

“Should I be worried?” he asked, grinning. “Thirteen years old… another girl moves in next door…”

“We’re keeping an eye on them,” his sister replied. “Nothing to worry about just yet.”

“School’s out,” announced Jim, from the doorway. “How are you, Brian?”

The two men exchanged greetings, while Trixie poured another cup of coffee and set it on the table.

“Trixie says that you’re enjoying being a grandfather,” said Brian, smiling.

A soft smile crossed Jim’s face. “It’s good,” he said, simply. “I like having a baby in the house again, and since Trixie-”

“Leave me out of this,” she said, standing up. “I promised Lauren I’d look in on the baby every now and then. Be good while I’m away.”

Brian looked across at the worn and scratched wedding ring on Jim’s hand, then at the shiny band on his own left ring finger. “You always seem to be so far ahead of me,” he said. “I find it pretty hard to believe, these days, that I’m older than you.”

Jim shrugged. “You’ve established a career for yourself. You’re successful. I’m just a school teacher.”

“You’re not just a school teacher,” said his friend, amazed. “I can’t believe that you’d say something like that.”

“And a grandfather, five months ahead of turning forty,” Jim added. “Not that it’s something of which to be particularly proud.”

“I don’t think it matters so much, anymore. At least you’ve got a family. I’ve spent most of those years alone.”

“You’ve got a wife, now,” Jim replied, grinning. “What are you waiting for?”

“I’ll reserve comment on that one,” said Brian.

“Well, in any case, you’re always welcome here,” said Jim. “We’re not running short on family, just yet.”

“I don’t think you’ll ever do that again, Jim,” his friend replied. “I think you’ve got enough family to keep you occupied for years to come.”

“I’ll just look in on Thomas,” said Jim, as their guest drove away. “Come with me?”

Trixie smiled indulgently and followed him to the guest room. She watched as he leant over the crib, his face graced with a look that she found very familiar.

“He’s very cute,” he whispered, pulling her into his arms.

“He is,” his wife agreed.

“I like babies.”

“I’ve noticed,” she replied. A little too much, she added, silently. Here it comes…

“Sure you don’t want another?”

“I’m not falling for that again, Mr. ‘Just one more’ Frayne,” said Trixie, firmly. “Next, you’ll say that seven is such an uneven number… that the little one will be lonely… that you’d love another girl - or boy, as the case may be.”

Jim snuggled closer, as a gentle breeze shifted the curtains. A long, thin shadow passed across the baby’s face. “Don’t forget how adorable you look when you’re pregnant,” he said, sliding his hand over an imaginary bump. “But, if that’s your final answer…”

“You know it is.”

“We could at least keep in practice.”

Trixie grinned. “I might just take you up on that.”

The End

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