The First Night

I don't know what woke me. It could have been the unfamiliar bed or the mangled springs in the sofa sleeper. It certainly wasn't those ghost stories. I don't believe in ghosts. Yet the room was cold and the air conditioner silent.

I snuggled deeper into the blankets and willed sleep to return while the darkness pressed against my eyelids. I had almost succeeded when I heard it: The creak, creak, creak of the bentwood rocker in the corner.

"The house is haunted," my hostess had asserted over dinner. "The dog refuses to go into the kitchen unless she's at a dead run and even then she hugs the walls to get out the back door."

"Haunted," I scoffed. "More likely the dog is nuts."  The black Labrador whined from under the table. "You do tend to pick the strangest animals."

"I don't pick them, they pick me." She calmly spooned more broccoli onto her plate. "Animals are sensitive to the paranormal. Besides how else do you explain her standing in the doorway of the kitchen, hackles raised, fangs bared and barking for all she's worth?"

"Someone could be in the alley." I said, the voice of reason.

"The house is haunted. I've seen the ghosts."

"So now there's more than one?"

"I've seen a girl standing in the hallway and a man laying on the couch you'll be sleeping on tonight."

"You were dreaming." Dreaming, my earlier scorn mocked my racing heart. I wasn't dreaming. I was wide awake. Sweat pricked my forehead, adrenaline galloped through my heart. There had to be a logical explanation behind the rhythmic movement. The answer came to me in a flash. My hostess, of course. She'd never forgiven my disbelief. It would be just like her to creep into the livingroom at night and sit in the chair to give me a start. I sat up, primed to catch the trickster.

"You didn't this would actually-" 'Scare me' died unspoken in my throat. The rocking chair was empty. Empty and moving to the soft rhythm a mother uses to lull her babe to sleep.

If the girl ghost could stand in the hallway then she could also sit in the rocker and make it move. I swallowed the lump of pride in my throat. I was man enough to admit I was wrong about the ghosts, but sleeping with one in the same room was another matter. I tossed aside the covers and leapt out of bed. A heartbeat later the rocking chair rose off the ground and tipped over. Glowing eyes floated above my bed.

"Woof." The Labrador glanced at the fallen chair then jumped onto the bed. Springs creaked. My heartbeat slowed. It had been the dog. The dog had caused the chair to move.

"You stupid mutt." I said, slowly sitting back onto the bed. "Scaring me like that." I wiggled into the warm spot and snuggled further under the blankets. At least my canine trickster would never tell of his success. "Go to sleep," I yawned.

The dog sneezed then rested his head on my hip. Hackles raised, he stared at the kitchen door. I closed my eyes and chased a good night's sleep.

I don't believe in ghosts. The dog's low whine rumbled across the blankets as she pressed closer to me.Would I say the same thing at the end of my stay?

Day Two

"Tired?" I asked my hostess as another yawn stretched her face. It had been her third in as many minutes. I clamped my jaws tight as one threatened to overtake my own face.

"Yes, but not too much." She tugged her drink out of the its holder and sucked air through a straw. Disgusted, she tossed the empty cup into the back seat. It rolled across the paper bag stamped with a one dimensional image of the Grand Canyon and came to a rest next to the sleeping dog.

"Do you want me to take over the driving?" The Interstate stretched into the blackness beyond the headlights. In the distance taillights gleamed like red stars. The car vibrated in protest as it drifted across the solid line and onto the arm of the road.

"Perhaps, it's best." She yawned, shook her head and pulled the vehicle back onto smooth blacktop. "I don't think I can handle Bumble Bee."

"Stop at Camp Verde. I'll pick up another soda, stretch and drive the rest of the way to your house."

She smiled as she hit the blinker and eased the car onto the off ramp. Neon lights blasted 'OPEN 24 HOURS' at the passing cars. "You sure you don't want me to drop you at a hotel."

"I think I can handle it." I refused to blush. The story of last night's events had been good for a laugh. I accepted the car keys while she filled up the tank. After paying the cashier for the gas and my 64 ounces of caffeine, I stepped into the night. The clock edged closer to midnight. The witching hour.

"There are no ghosts." Last night had proven that. I smiled as I slide behind the wheel and pointed the car home.

The sign pronounce Phoenix in 33 miles. My stomach squirmed. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel as the speedometer counted down the miles. It was the caffeine that caused these jitters, nothing else. Her house is not haunted, I told myself. Relax. "There's no such thing as ghosts."

"What?" She blinked at me.

"We just past Sunset Point," I lied as the haze of city lights glowed in the distance.

"Oh," she nestled further into the seat and dozed off again.

The clock turned 1:30 as we pulled into the drive. I stared at the house. Inside a light burned, illuminating the living room. Nothing unusual but the events of last night replayed in my mind.

"It's the power of suggestion. Nothing more. Nothing more."

"Home so soon." She stretched and righted her seat back.

"Yep." I got out of the car and pulled my bag out of the back seat. The old Lab snuffled at the ice chest before lumbering onto the driveway.

"Just leave the rest." She slid out of the door. "We can get them in the morning."

 The purse that she'd used as a pillow plopped onto the bucket seat and hurled it contents across the floor board.

"Okay." I slowly shuffled to the door. The Lab had stopped beside her master to stare at the house. It's stance raised the hair on my arms. Dogs are sensitive. I stared at the glowing windows. What did the dog see that I did not? "Do you need some help?"

"Unlock the door, will you?"

"Sure." I swallowed my reluctance and walked to the door. As I drew abreast of the big picture window, movement snagged my attention. I stopped and looked through the lace curtains. A young man was stretched across the sofa, sleeping. "There's someone in there."

"Don't be ridiculous." My hostess chucked a handful of makeup in her purse and closed the car door with her hip.

I looked again. He was there. His blond hair stark against the blue cushion. His stockinged feet propped up on the arm of the couch. This was not my imagination. "He's there."

"Where?" She hustled to the window as I hurried to the door.

I checked the doorknob. Locked. How had he gotten inside? "Recognize him?"

"I can't see anything."

The keys rattled as I unlocked the door. I quickly hurried inside, scanning the room as I went. No one was there. My eyes focused on the couch. I skimmed my fingers over the cushions, followed the fading dip. Instead of warmth, they were cold to the touch.

"Well?"

"I'll check out the rest of the house." Methodically, slowly, I went through the bedrooms, dining room and living areas. Everything was locked. Nothing was out of place or open. I had seen him, hadn't I? "Guess I'm more tired than I thought."

"It has been a long night." She didn't say anything but trudged to her room and dropped into bed fully clothed. The dog sprinted after her.

I locked the front door and quickly changed into my sweats. "It must have been the late hour and the long drive. What else could it have been?" I quickly willed my brain into silence. There were some questions best left unanswered. Especially when I occupied the very spot my figment had vacated a scant 15 minutes ago.