The House

Chapter 31 - Day 3: Touch the Sky

Sitting with my back against the wall, next to an open bathroom door, chatting with a man (who is virtually a stranger) while he's taking a bath is completely normal, or at least, that is what I keep on telling myself.

I do this every day, after all...

Well, I have talked to Craig through bathroom doors before. Things along the line of "Craig, if you clog my razor again, I'm shaving your head! Stop flexing in front of the mirror and come out; I have class in half an hour! That song has more than one line; please use the others too!" 

This is really not the same at all.

I'm constantly fluctuating between feeling ashamed, anxious and highly amused by my out-of-control behaviour. This situation is embarrassing, ridiculous and a little hilarious.

Seriously, I need to get a grip.

If I want an even remote chance at retaining contact with David after this adventure, I'm going to have to stop coming across as a needy lunatic. At this rate, he's going to make a swim for it, just to get away from me.

I do tend to be a little emotional at times, and I am rather sensitive to vibes and atmosphere and other people's moods and feelings, but I don't normally freak out about things like aggressive storms and sneaky branches and disappearing rooms.

Wait... I don't usually encounter things like that, so I don't have any historical responses to use as reference material on how I should react. Still, I need to get it together and start to make sense of things, or I am going to lose my mind... even more than I already have.

When my phone has a signal again, I'll google how to appear sane during insane situations. How to find that room you misplaced. The best defence against attacking branches.

"I'm really sorry that you're having such a bad experience here at our family home, Belle," David is saying, and I can hear him much better now that the wind and rain have decided to stop acting as though they were wolves in the story of the three little pigs, trying to huff and puff our house down. "I wish I could change that for you."

Actually, his presence has made a world of difference already. I would not have been able to handle this storm all alone out here, jumping at my own shadow, hearing noises where there are none... and I'm not even going to think about how I would've handled losing an entire room.

"Well, if I were a horror novelist, I would've been thrilled right now," I tell him, and he chuckles.

"You may not believe it now, but this is actually a really good place for artists to work. Many have come and gone; most said they felt inspired and did some of their best work up in that solarium." He is quiet for a few seconds, during which I don't even hear the splashing of water as he washes. "To be honest, there's been one or two who felt too creeped out or spooked to stay."

"Like me?" Golly, I'm not even special, then.

"No, nobody experienced lost rooms or noisy clocks... as far as I know."

Or sneaky branches and stalky feet...

"Did they paint in their sleep?"

"Don't think so..."

"That's a relief; I might be special after all..."

David chuckles softly, and then he falls silent, and now all I can hear is water splashing quite loudly. He is either rinsing his hair, or somebody is trying to drown him. I'll give him exactly one minute; then I'm checking to make sure it's not the latter.

"According to my grandfather, my grandmother used to spend a lot of time up there in the solarium, painting and drawing," he says when the splashing stops a couple of seconds before I'm about to rush to the rescue. I'm so ashamed to admit that I'm a little disappointed. Not that he is not under attack, just that I'm obliged to stay put...