Free The Grieving Stones by Gary McMahon Page B

less tense. “I’ll talk to him in the morning, clear the air. I’m a little stressed.”
    “You don’t say.”
    He laughed, and it was a good and natural sound, if a little strained.
    Alice felt the house shifting around her. It was not a great movement, but she was aware of the motion of the bricks settling and the timbers flexing as the roof adjusted its weight like a sleeping giant and the walls bowed incrementally to accommodate this slight motion.
    The house was relaxing. The house felt comfortable with her inside it. There was nothing strange or even supernatural about this: it was merely a fact. Houses were alive, they had dreams and memories. They felt bad when they were neglected and happy when someone entered them who fit in, somebody who felt truly at home within their walls.
    This old house, along with whatever forces it held tight within its embrace, was more than happy to have Alice come to stay. Indeed, she felt compelled by Grief House to change her status from guest to resident.
    The electric kettle clicked loudly, prompting Clive to make the coffee. He carried the cups through into the main room and they both sat down on the sofa, taking an initial sip in silence.
    “It’s good,” she said.
    “Just cheap instant stuff, but right now it tastes like nectar.” He raised his cup in a salute and took another mouthful.
    “There’s something I should probably tell you. About earlier.” She examined his face but he gave nothing away, just looked at her with an open expression. “When Moira was walking in her sleep… it was weird, but I didn’t feel alone.” She regretted telling him as soon as the words left her lips.
    “What do you mean?”
    “I… I’m not sure.” She paused to sip her coffee. “That room, up there in the roof. It isn’t empty. There’s some kind of energy, I guess you’d call it – a weird energy, up there.” She glanced upwards, emphasising the point.
    He put down his cup on the floor and leaned forward in the sofa, then turned to face her directly. “Do you mean… ghosts? Is that what you mean? Do you think this house is haunted?”
    She watched him; his mouth, his eyes. He wasn’t mocking her, she could tell. “No, not exactly. Well… I’m not sure what I mean. There’s something in the house with us, but I have no idea what it is. I don’t believe in ghosts…” It was a weak way to end the sentence, but it was also true. Alice had never believed in anything that she couldn’t see, touch, smell, or taste. She hadn’t been prone to flights of fancy before Tony’s death; she had always been grounded in the real world. But lately she’d been sensing other things, creases and wrinkles in the skin of her previously ordered life.
    “You’re tired. We both are. Maybe we should talk about this in the morning, when we’re thinking straight. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not dismissing what you’ve said. I just think we need to get some rest before discussing something this… this nebulous.”
    She nodded. She opened her mouth and almost said more, but then thought better of it. Now wasn’t the time to tell the rest of her secrets. He’d just told her as much. She should listen to him and keep her mouth shut.
    “Okay,” she said. “As usual, you speak a lot of sense.”
    He twisted his torso, bent over, and picked up his cup. For a moment she’d thought he was leaning in for a kiss.

CHAPTER NINE

     
    Back in bed, Alice thought about the conversation she’d just had with Clive. It was more about what she hadn’t said than what they had talked about. The gaps, the pauses, the things she’d left out. She hadn’t really been trying to tell him about the things she’d felt since coming here; she was building up to telling him something else.
    The punch dummy had moved again. She was getting used to its roaming.
    “I know you’re there,” she said. “I just wish I knew who you were.”
    She got out of bed and walked over to the dummy. Its pink latex