― Suzanne Finnamore
I must confess I was nervous being alone in the house that night, even with Raj surveilling the property from a nearby hill.
I was beginning to think my theory about Emma trying to psychically contact me was a little insane. I mean, I’ve always had this romantic readiness to latch onto the smallest things and imagine a girl is interested in me.
But I’ve never tried to arrange a séance to contact a living soul—even that was going too far for me.
I sat down at my desk to write knowing I’d end up writing about Emma and even still, I admit it, I was hoping to channel her spirit.
If you’re a writer, you know how time flies by—two hours can feel like only a few minutes—and when I glanced at the clock I realized it was near midnight.
I had no idea whether Raj was still out there in the dark monitoring the house for otherworldly activity, but I was tired and decided to call it a night.
Ten minutes later, I was lying in bed thinking of Emma—trying to picture her face.
Obviously I was obsessed because her face was the last I saw each night before sleep.
I blush to admit it but every night for last six months I’d face away from the window and lie on my side and Emma’s eyes would stare at me from the darkness.
If this was simply imagination, all I can say, is it was working overtime.
Some time passed and I could hear the grandfather clock downstairs softly chiming one a.m.
That’s when I head the whisper again.
Michael, it implored softly.
IThere was a note of urgency in the voice this time and it wasn’t coming from inside my head but outside, in the gloom of the hallway just outside my bedroom door.
There was no mistaking what the voice wanted. I was being summoned into the darkness.
Without even a moment’s pause I got out of bed and answered the call.