The Psychic Next Door

[First Draft] Chapter 20: Guest

"Tory isn't supposed to come today..." Luc mumbled to himself as he got up from his seat and headed for the door. He approached slowly, cautiously—seemingly fearful that whomever was on the other side might hear his movements and know he was there.

Polly and I held our breath; I could tell because there was no sound, no gentle breeze from inhaling and exhaling. Even though it was very unlikely, we were afraid that whoever was at the door could hear our breathing.

He peered through the peephole, trying to see who had interrupted our conversation. He hadn't been expecting any company. The light to the shoppe that showed that it was open for business hadn't been on for over a month. There was no reason we could imagine for anyone to be knocking at Luc's door. Or at least no good reason.

Who could it possibly be?

As the silence continued and the tension raised, I felt like screaming at whoever was lurking on the other side of the entrance to just go away and leave us in peace. I watched Luc, hoping to take my cue from his body language. But his shoulders relaxed and as he turned back to face us, I saw that Luc was laughing quietly.

"Oh god," Luc said, clutching at his chest, which I assumed was to calm his rapid heart rate. "It's the last day of the month isn't it?"

I blinked at him confused but nodded.

Luc shook his head and exhaled with a whistle. His face darkened for a moment,  "All this talk about Lillian..." he shook his head again, trying to push the unpleasant theory that was developing to the back of his mind. "Well, I'll continue in a second. Just give me a bit," he paused for a moment and laughed again, before turning back to the door and pulling it open.

I sucked in a cool rush of air in anticipation for the worst. Speak of the devil...

But there on the doorstep was no sinister being or even Polly's sister, back from the grave. It was Mrs. Malik, our squat and loveable landlady. She looked as darling as ever; she was wearing a sugary pink dress with a lacy apron and her plump figure made her look somewhat like a cupcake.

Though perhaps a soggy cupcake—her dress was dampened, darkened in splotches over her shoulders and bosom. I could hear the sprinkling of raindrops outside and felt a cool breeze slip through the open door. The weather was bad, but it felt good. It was surprising how much I missed the outside world.

"Heylo Mr. Couillard!" Mrs. Malik said, her voice thick with accent as always. "It is the time for a rent! First of the month,"

It dawned on me then what Luc had found so funny, a smirk drawing across my face. Our dark conversation had led us to believe that the villain of our story was lurking behind the door, waiting to pounce—but it had only been our landlady, looking for rent. It did seem very funny to go to the door, expecting to face something quite sinister, only to instead encounter a sweet old lady that resembled a confection. I heard Polly snort quietly to herself, obviously enjoying the amusement too.

"Right, right, sorry it was late today, Mrs. Malik," Luc apologized as he dashed over to the kitchen. He rifled through the drawers, searching for something. "Slipped my mind. Completely forgot to send my delivery boy..."

"Eet is no problem," Mrs. Malik nodded, her face still pleasant, waving her thick hand to simultaneously accept and dismiss his apology. A round of thunder rumbled outside behind her, and the sound of rain grew louder.

Luc was flustered; he had found his cheque book but he seemed distracted as he scribbled out the details of this month's rent. "I'll have it for you in another moment, please come in out of the rain—"

Polly and I both gasped the moment he said it. But all our words seemed to be sucked down our throats with the sharp inhale, so all we could do was stare at him. I saw on his face that he immediately realized his misstep too. It had been an accident, out of pure habit; Mrs. Malik may have been a familiar figure but he had just invited someone into our most sacred and protected area.