Fifteen Years Earlier,

Natalie wore a faded blue boiler suit, covered with splashes of paint and smears of clay. She'd bundled her hair on top of her head in a messy bun, and a mucky rag hung from her back pocket. Ben wondered who or what she'd painted this time.

"Did I disturb you?" He followed her into the kitchen, dropping his keys onto the dining table on the way past and hanging his jacket on the back of a chair.

"I'm painting. At three-thirty this morning, inspiration struck. Besides, the house is too noisy and I can only relax inside the orangery."

"Guess what I brought with me?" He grinned at her and waved a plastic bag in front of her.

"Lunch." She grinned in return.

"Nope. It's better than that." He pulled the box out of the bag and placed it on the kitchen worktop.

Natalie stared at the Ouija board and shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"How else will we discover what Arthur wants?"

"So now you're on first-name terms?" She frowned. "I have to live here. Alone!"

"You don't have to live anywhere. You can always follow the doctor's advice and leave."

She sighed and crossed her arms. "I can't afford to move."

Ben figured she had little in the way of financial resources. After all, she was an artist. Whatever had possessed him to let his house to her? Oh, yeah. It was her vivid green eyes and attractive figure. "Surely your parents can help?"

"I have no family."

Ben stared at her, and for a moment, he felt a pang of sympathy.

"You should look for somewhere cheaper when your tenancy ends."

"Thank you, Ben. I may just do that," she snapped at him.

Ben shrugged. "Let's give this a whirl."

He set up the board on the dining room table and waited for Natalie to sit opposite him. He placed his finger on the planchette.

Natalie sighed and reluctantly placed her finger on the opposite edge.

"You call out." Ben didn't know how this worked. Or even if it worked. But 111 West End was his house and Arthur needed to crossover.

Natalie cleared her throat. "Doctor Arthur Bennet, are you here?"

The house remained silent.

"Call out again," Ben said.

Natalie wiped her palms on her boiler suit and, placing her finger back on the planchette, she tried again.

"Is there anyone there?"

Above where they sat, the ceiling creaked.

"Doctor, are you stuck here? Do you need my help?"

The door to the cellar rattled.

"Ben, you try."

"I don't know what to say." He straightened in his chair. "Arthur, do you realise this is no longer your house?"

Natalie tutted. "You can't ask him that."

Ben frowned and whispered, "Why not?"

The latch on the cellar door clicked, and the door silently swung open.

"This isn't working." Natalie rose from her seat.

A wisp of air rustled Ben's hair. "Wait!" He grabbed Natalie's other hand to hold her in place. "I think he's here."

The planchette slid across the board.

YES

Natalie's hand trembled in Ben's. "Why are you here?" she asked.

The planchette slid from letter to letter.

S-T-U-C-K

"You're stuck here?"

The planchette slid to YES.

"Why?" Natalie asked.

C-H-I-L-D-R-E-N

"What does that mean?" Ben said.

"Do you want to leave this house?" Natalie's voice was sympathetic.

NO

"Do you like being here?"

YES

"Why?"

M-Y-H-O-U-S-E

Ben took his finger off the planchette. "This is bullshit!" His chair scraped across the floor as he jumped to his feet. "This is my house! You're dead. You had your chance, and you blew it. I want you out!"

"Ben!" Natalie looked horrified at his outburst, but she hadn't invested over a million pounds into this house, and he sure as hell wasn't going bankrupt because Arthur didn't know when to leave.

Natalie let out a yelp as the planchette slid across the board.

L-E-A-V-E

A blast of wind rattled every window and door.

"Fuck this! Fuck you!" Ben shouted into the ether.

"I told you this was a bad idea," Natalie said, lifting her finger from the planchette and pushing her chair back. "It's okay for you, you'll go home to your nice quiet house and I'll be stuck here with a pissed-off ghost."

"Oh, give me a break. You've been living here for weeks and nothing horrible has happened. The odd cold spot and some random taps are nothing to worry about."

Natalie stood. "You don't know what he's capable of any more than I do."

Rain pattered against the glass roof.

"I think I should take the good doctor's advice and leave." Ben pulled his jacket from the chair and reached for his keys.

Natalie snatched the keys and held them behind her back. "You're not leaving me here on my own."

"Give me my keys."

"No. This was your idea."

Water trickled from the crest of the roof and dripped onto the floor in front of the cellar.

Natalie walked around the table and stood in front of him.

"Natalie, I want my keys."

The trickle of water dripped faster, the puddle spreading across the floor.

"I'm not staying here alone." She stepped back.

"You're crazy. Completely off your head." He lunged to wrestle his keys from her.

Natalie took another step back, her foot missed the top step of the cellar stairs. Ben's keys slipped from her grasp as she groped for the handrail, but her reflexes were too slow and the stairs were too steep.

Natalie hit the flagstone floor at the bottom of the stairs with a sickening thud.

At the top of the stairs, Ben wondered what the hell happened. One minute they were arguing, the next she fell. Did he push her? It all happened so fast. He dropped his jacket, flicked on the light, and ran down the stairs.

"Natalie," he whispered, praying she was alive. He crouched beside her and placed his fingers on her neck. Blood poured from the deep gash on the side of her head. "Oh shit! No, no, no, no!" Ben retched, the bile stinging his throat, he bolted into the laundry room and threw up into the sink. Shivering with shock, he tried to calm down.

Ben slowed his breathing and counted in his head.

One, it was an accident.

Two, he should call 999.

Three, what if the police didn't believe him?

Four, he couldn't go to prison.

Five, he would lose everything.

Six, Natalie had no family.

Seven, no one would look for her.

Eight, why tell anyone? Slowly, a plan formed.

Ben grabbed an armful of towels from the laundry basket and returned to where Natalie lay.

Blood covered his clothes as he wrapped the towels around her head, and pulling the rag from her boiler suit pocket, Ben wiped his hands, knowing they would never again feel clean.

A loud clatter came from his right. He turned, expecting to see Arthur. Instead, a shovel lay on the flagstones inside the strong room.

"Fuck you!" Ben hissed, and picking up the shovel, he climbed the stairs, opened the back door, and stepped into the garden.

He worked quickly, and with each shovel full of soil, Ben took back control.

In a few days, he would tell Anne that Natalie had done a moonlight flit, abandoning her possessions and leaving his house in a terrible state. He would say there was no forwarding address, as he hadn't bothered with references. That part was true. He hadn't asked her for references. A mistake he would never make again.

Sweat trickled from his brow, and he wiped his face with his sleeve. The grave he dug beside the pond was six feet by four feet and five feet deep. Driven by adrenaline, he hadn't stopped digging until his back ached and his hands cramped. Dropping the shovel, he returned to the house.

*

The Doctor

Arthur watched from the bedroom window as Ben lowered Natalie's body into the shallow grave and covered her over. He warned her about Ben. He told her to leave while she could. But although Natalie was one of the few who could hear him, she hadn't listened. Now she lay beneath the soil of 111 West End, and like him, she may never leave.