Fourteen Days by Steven Jenkins

lifted from his entire body.
    Exhaling in relief, he watched her walk toward him, smiling, yet clearly exhausted.
    “Hi, babe,” she asked, greeting him with a kiss. “What are you doing in here?”
    Beaming, he shook his head. “Nothing—just waiting for you to get home.”
    Scrunching her face up in repulsion, she pulled away from him. “Have you been drinking?”
    “Yeah. I had a couple of bottles. So?”
    “You had more than a couple, your breath stinks of lager. How many have you had?”
    “Nice to see you too,” he said.
    She dropped her handbag onto the table, then sat heavily in one of the chairs, putting her feet up on the dreaded chair. “I’m worn out. I’ve had such a lousy day.”
    “How come? Is your sister all right?” he asked, eyes locked on the dreaded chair.
    “Well, she’s gone back to him now. I’m not surprised though.”
    “Already? How long for this time?”
    “Exactly. And my mum’s been doing my head in—fussing over her too much. I’m just glad to be home. So what’ve you been up to today—apart from getting drunk?”
    He managed to shift his attention away from the chair. “I’m not drunk. I hadone or two.”
    “I’m teasing. I don’t care what you do, as long as you take it easy.” She got up from the chair as if she weighed a ton, and moved over to the fridge. “See any ghosts today?” she asked, using a quivery voice.
    “Very funny.”
    “So your fancy-woman hasn’t come back for revenge then?”
    Fake-smiling, he left the kitchen. “Why, jealous or something?”
    “Yeah, right—in your dreams,” she retorted, chuckling as she pulled out a large bowl of stew from the fridge.
    Richard entered the living room and sat back on the couch, relieved that his wife was home. All of a sudden the house wasn’t such a cold and frightening place.
    But what had changed? Why did his house feel so different? And why did he need his wife home to feel safe? Was it the smoke detector going off for a third time? No. It was faulty. It must have been. Maybe it was the TV coming on like that—after all, it even gave Nicky a scare. Maybe his lack of sleep? And he hadn’t so much as heard, let alone seen, the woman in the white dress again. His dreams didn’t count.
    But he was safe again. Safe from his fears. Safe from his wandering mind, his vast imagination. Safe from irrational thoughts… for now at least.

    Richard came down from the bedroom to see who the female voice belonged to. Opening the living room door, he saw his wife sitting on the couch next to one of her friends, Karen Leigh. She was a short, thin massage therapist, with long brown hair down past her shoulders. She seemed at ease, as if without a care in the world as she sat smiling, sipping a cup of tea.
    Nicky’s face lit up when she clapped eyes on him. “There he is, Karen.”
    “All right, Karen. How’s things?” he asked, regretting coming down.
    “Good, thanks,” she replied in a soothing tone.
    “I was just telling Karen about your little ghost problem.”
    Frowning, he shook his head. “Babe, why did you have to go and tell the world? It’s embarrassing. And for the last time: we don’t have a ghost problem.”
    “I’m sorry, it just came up. Karen’s into ghosts and witchcraft and all that stuff, too.”
    Karen turned to her. “Witchcraft? You make me sound like a devil-worshiper or something.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    “If you mean the spirit world, then yes, I am into it.” She redirected the conversation to Richard. “So tell me, what’s been happening?”
    “Look,” he said, watching Nicky hold back her laughter. “I’m not going to say anything in front of you. You’ll make fun of me again.”
    Nicky put her hands up as if to surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m leaving. I’ve got some washing to do. So I’ll leave you two ghostbusters alone.” She stood to leave. “Have fun!”
    Rolling his eyes in annoyance, he sat on the single sofa chair. “Sorry about her. She