The Case of the Haunted Cot

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Miller had been surprised enough when he’d received another text from Price, asking to meet him here, followed by the obligatory insult. What Miller was really not expecting, however, was for Price to live in a council block, not unlike the Fullwoods. Miller had assumed Price had money, or came from it. Partly because if he had so much free time to investigate paranormal activity, he must have been getting money from somewhere to pay the rent. Besides, Miller couldn’t imagine Price surviving five minutes in south London at night with his people-skills.

Checking the text again to confirm the address, Miller followed the flats until he came to the number sixteen.

Before knocking, Miller took a moment to look out through the large windows in the stairwell at this part of the city, illuminated by the late-morning sun. It wasn’t the kind of area that was asking to be lit up. In fact, like a few of its likely inhabitants, this grey quiet neighbourhood seemed to be hiding while the lights were on. It was so still.

Miller hadn’t grown up in a dump like this, but in his later years he’d lived in a couple that weren’t much better.

Wanting to put an end to this before it sent him the wrong way down memory lane, Miller knocked on the door. Three short, light raps. Probably shorter than necessary; there was more than a small part of him that hoped Price wouldn’t answer the door. And he didn’t.

A short, late middle-aged Asian man with greying hair answered. Miller instinctively thought the man was Chinese, but he wasn’t certain.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Miller said. While it wasn’t entirely surprising, Miller hadn’t expected such a puerile prank from Price. ‘I’ve got the wrong flat. Sorry to have bothered you.’

‘Miller?’ the man said, speaking it slowly as if Miller was two distinct words.

‘Yes, how …’

‘Come in,’ he said, the words sounding more like a compromise than an invitation.

The man waved Miller into the flat, and Miller obliged, largely out of curiosity. Even if the greying Asian man hadn’t answered the door, there was no way Miller would have believed Price lived here. Never would Price have decorated with so many obvious Eastern influences. Again, Miller didn’t know any Asian cultures enough to be certain where exactly the man came from, but at this moment in time it wasn’t really the point. The point was: where was Price, and why had he led Miller into this man’s house?

The man himself looked filled with doubt at having allowed Miller into his home, and constantly stared at him with suspicion. Miller felt more like a trespasser with every step he took.

He was shown through to the living room, where Price was sitting on their floor, fiddling with a large stereo system that lay in front of him. Immediately Miller recognised the stereo as the same make and model as Sophie Fullwood’s. For a horrifying second he thought Price had stolen theirs, until he noticed several scuff marks on the side of the unit that had clearly been there some time, but definitely weren’t on the Fullwoods’ stereo. Static blared from it, making it all the more familiar. At least Price didn’t have the volume quite as high as Sophie did.

‘Glad you could make it,’ Price said, glancing up at him.

‘Why are you in their home?’

Miller subtly nodded over to the man now standing next to his wife by their sofa. The both of them were staring at what Price was doing. The wife appeared even more suspicious and frustrated than her husband. Miller had no idea how Price had managed to blag his way into their home, but it didn’t look like he would be welcome for long.