Wendy was a sweet, stereotypical 'little old lady.'

Grimsby was a small town, even taking into consideration the way it joined with neighbouring Cleethorpes along a street. Together, they couldn't put much of a footprint on the shoulder of the country. It meant you were always prone to bump into an acquaintance at some point. Sometimes, you'd be pleased to. Sometimes not. In the past, his interactions with Wendy had been nothing but pleasant. She was nice. A little nosey, wanting her share of local gossip. She would always comment on how much he'd grown from when he used to deliver her copy of the Grimsby Observer as a boy. She would always invite him in for a cup of tea. He would always decline.

It wasn't because he wanted to be rude or she smelled a little too 'old.' He didn't mind her questions either, the familiarity in the way she'd ruffle his hair. It was more that she seemed lonely. If he accepted, it would become expected. She'd see him and he'd be inside with the rich tea biscuits, waiting for the kettle to boil and the tea to mash before he had a chance to escape.

Wendy never complained at Cassidy's refusal. She just smiled, nodded, and probably thought 'next time.' On this occasion, he contemplated accepting. Why not? It would give him a reason to stay away from his house for longer. He could talk about nonsense and listen to her stories. There'd be biscuits. Freshly baked scones with lashing of proper butter. Tea brewed in a pot and served in her best cups.

But no. He'd chosen his path when he answered Amy's first message. Going home was his only option. Anything else was an excuse.

"Thank you Wendy," he said, smiling broadly. She deserved a friendly smile and would always return it. "I have to be getting home."

"That Elise has you on a short leash," Wendy said disapprovingly. "You know I'm not keen on her."

"I'm not with Amy anymore," he said.

"Who's Amy?"

Cassidy blinked. Erm... Amy? He didn't say 'Amy,' did he?

"Sorry, I meant Elise. We're not together anymore."

"Well, perhaps that is for the best. Find yourself a girl who makes you happy. I never thought that Elise did."

She did, Cassidy thought. To begin with, at least.

"Maybe this Amy?" Wendy continued expectantly.

"No," he said, trying to keep the grim shadow from his voice. "She's someone I've just met. I'm not interested in her like that."

"Maybe not yet, but don't burn your bridges before they're built."

Cass laughed as genuinely as he could. No, that ain't happening!

"No, if anything, we might be friends. She's..." What was she? "I'm just helping her with some stuff. I've got my own issues to deal with."

"I don't doubt it, young man. You're a good boy."

If only that were the truth.

"Thank you, Wendy. Now, I really have to get off."

"Of course. I'll see you soon."

"See you soon."

They separated, and Cassidy walked back towards the main road. He glanced back at Wendy in case she was doing the same. His hand was raised in preparation to wave farewell. She wasn't looking, though. He saw her talking to another young man he didn't recognise. She reminded him of an older version of his mother. She'd speak to just about anyone, able to strike up conversations with the most random, and sometimes unsavoury, of people.

Then he rounded a corner, and she was out of sight. With her disappearance, a sense of dread began to edge closer to him. He could feel its icy touch easing into his body. Was going home such an ordeal?

No. Even if it was, it couldn't be, so wasn't. Amy needed to speak to him. He wanted answers, primarily why she tried to kill him. He wouldn't leave, no matter what she tried, until he had them.

He was home sooner than expected. If felt as if only minutes had passed since he had spoken with Wendy, and there he was, standing on his doorstep. Perhaps his need had spurred him on. He'd have preferred his journey to take longer, so he had time to think through how he was going to tackle his house guest. As he'd walked, however, he hadn't really been thinking of anything. He tried to focus on Amy. He wondered what she looked like. Sounded like. What sort of person she was – or had been. He'd tried to picture her, but his mind wouldn't remain concentrated on her conjured image. It kept drifting off, sliding towards Elise or Ethan. He thought about work and his last holiday. What he'd eat for dinner. Whether he'd shower or bath. Anything but Amy.

Was she somehow diverting his thoughts? If she could push him down the stairs and make him levitate before hitting the floor, a clear threat, who knew what she was capable of?

Go on then! You've said you're going to face her, so do it! Unlock the door. Go in, go upstairs and tell her. Say you're not taking any more shit. She doesn't scare you (you can lie) and you want answers! Do it!

The pep talk wasn't as ineffective as Cass expected. He shoved the key in the lock, turned it and pushed the door open before he could convince himself not to. He locked it again to prevent his potential escape. This was it.

The first step was the most difficult, but a little mental push was all that was needed to take it. The house might be haunted, but he wasn't in a movie. He wasn't afraid. He was not afraid.

Not afraid.

Not afraid.

With each individual stair, he repeated the phrase, a mantra to help him ascend to the landing.

Not afraid.

Not afraid.

He definitely was afraid, and no amount of trying to deny it could change that. It wouldn't prevent him from reaching the top or entering his bedroom. As he put his weight on step seven, it didn't creak as expected. Cassidy frowned. He wasn't counting, but the lack of noise when it should be there piqued his curiosity. He lifted his foot and placed it back down. Still no sound.

While, normally, a non-creaking staircase would be preferable, he quite liked the fact this one voiced its welcome to his using it. He couldn't really place why, apart from a warning if he was being burgled. Something like that had never occurred to him before. Once inside his home, wherever that might have been, he had always felt safe and secure. Windows and doors would be locked, unless he was in the room and the window was opened for air flow. The potential to be robbed was always there, the reality of it happening was fairly slim. As prevalent as the act was, it was something that rarely entered his head. It was the same, he supposed, with driving. The chance of an accident or breakdown was real, but if you worried about everything happening, you'd never go out or do anything.

Oh well, he still had nine.

Was his concern about the step a deliberate ploy to delay him? No, of course not. Not at all...

He restarted his climb, putting his full weight on the step. Instead of the usual creak, it sounded as if it was grumbling loudly. He paused and bounced slightly to test it, and there was a sudden crack as the wood beneath the carpet snapped.

Cassidy, taken by surprise, was thrown off balance and began to fall backwards. He stumbled down a couple of steps, only just grabbing hold of the banister to catch himself from a repeat earlier, without the invisible safety net.

Shit!

Was that because of his previous fall? Had he somehow hit and broken the step?

Pulling himself upright, he moved his feet to the stair below the broken one. Great. Just moved in and something has gone wrong already!

He sighed and finished the last few steps, ignoring seven's damage and nine's concerned creak while trying to settle his heart rate.

He could see the lettering before he could read it. Words formed as he walked into the bedroom, its movement irritating the corners of his eyes

Ignore it!

Like that would be possible.

Face it!

Yes. He had to.

I'm sorry.

Cass stared at the words. They could only mean one thing, and he'd thought he would have a battle on his hands for the admission of guilt. He expected more reticence, going by their previous interactions. She wasn't very forthcoming.

She had to be apologising for pushing him down the stairs. For holding him in place too, and messing with his head and perception of reality.

He was fighting with the facts. They didn't fit in with his known acceptance of the world and were skewing his views. He had to give in, until a more plausible explanation showed itself. Something was going on. Somehow, Amy, if the person was really called Amy, was writing to him on a simple mirror. Somehow, she had launched him down the stairs and, somehow, had made him float above the floor. Movies and books couldn't help him now. Those fictional worlds were just that. Fiction. This was real life.

Or death, if Amy could be believed.

I'm sorry.

For what? For trying to kill him?

https://youtu.be/j5-yKhDd64s

Given the title of the chapter, how could I use any other song?

Wendy is the 'sweet little old lady' from my book Hollow. If you know, you know...!