The Writer by Amy Cross Read Free Book Online Page A

Hannah’s room. I know I should just leave the door closed, but against my better judgment I reach out and turn the handle before gently pushing the door open and looking through at her undisturbed bed. The room is dark, but a patch of moonlight is showing through the window and casting light across the duvet. My instinctive reaction is to be relieved that there’s no sign of anything, but after a moment I realize to my surprise that a part of me is actually sorry: I’d love nothing more than for Hannah to come back to me, even if it has to be in ghost form, but I guess there’s no chance of that.
    “Night,” I whisper, before pulling the door shut.
    In the distance, I can hear a car pulling out of the next driveway. I guess John is heading off to his cabin, and I can’t deny that I feel a little less secure knowing that he’s away. Still, heading to bed, I tell myself that I need to be more independent. There’s nothing here that can hurt me.
    For the next few hours, I spent an increasingly fruitless time in bed, keeping my eyes closed and trying to find a comfortable position. Unfortunately, I can’t stop listening to the silence of the house, and although I don’t hear anything remotely out of place, I feel as if I’m completely awake. Eventually I sit up and look at the alarm clock by the bed, only to see that it’s barely midnight. Staring ahead into the gloom of the room, I can’t stop thinking about Jason’s comments when he was talking to me in the bookshop earlier, and in my mind’s eye I can see him standing over Hannah’s body on an emergency table, with blood everywhere and a nearby monitor showing a lack of heartbeat.
    Damn it, why did I have to meet him tonight? And why did he have to tell me who he was?
    Realizing that there’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep right now, I climb out of bed and wander over to the door. The house remains reassuringly quiet, and even as I head out into the corridor I feel as if I’m completely alone. By the time I’ve made a cup of tea in the kitchen and headed through to the front room, I can tell that I’m wide awake and that sleep is clearly many hours away, so I grab my laptop and set it down by the sofa, figuring that I’ll watch a show for a little while. Before I sit, however, I happen to glance over at the window, and that’s when I realize that there’s someone standing outside in the driveway.
    I pause, staring at the dark shape, telling myself that it’s a trick of the light. The front room is still dark, so I doubt the person can see me, but the more I stare the more I realize that it’s definitely a human figure, standing at the bottom of the driveway and seemingly staring straight at the house.
    Heading over to the window, I try to stay calm as I keep to one side and peer out. My heart immediately jumps a beat as I realize that not only is there a human figure out there, but there’s a second figure standing next to it, shorter this time.
    Like a man and a little girl.
    I stay completely still, convinced that at any moment the light will shift and I’ll realize that the whole thing is just some kind of illusion.
    The figures don’t move. They seem content to just stare at the house.
    “Go away,” I whisper. “Just -”
    Before I can get the words out, I hear my phone ringing in the bedroom. After staring at the figures for a moment longer, I hurry through to the corridor and then along to my room, where I see my phone vibrating and flashing on the nightstand. Picking it up, I see that a hidden number is trying to get hold of me. For a moment, I consider not answering, but curiosity gets the better of me and I hit the green button before raising the phone to the side of my head.
    All I hear on the other end of the line is a faint hissing sound, like distant traffic.
    “Hello?” I say after a moment. “Is anyone there?”
    The hissing continues.
    “Whoever you are,” I add, making my way back toward the front room, “I’m