The narrative thus far…

Johanna, a woman burdened by the sorrow of losing her children, encounters Kate at a support group for survivors, agreeing to share her tale.

Johanna recounts her desperate attempt to end her life following the tragic loss. Amidst her struggle with profound grief and depression, she learns that her husband, Stuart, has taken his own life while incarcerated.

Yet, a flicker of hope arises when Johanna finds out she has inherited a cottage in Melbourne, presenting an opportunity for renewal. However, upon her arrival, she becomes tormented by strange sounds, unsettling nightmares featuring an unknown woman, and unwelcome visitors…

One week later…

A gentle knocking echoed at the front door.

After a long workday, I had just returned home and poured myself a glass of wine, eager for a peaceful evening with only my book for company.

Pulling back the curtains, I groaned.

An elderly woman of unclear age stood outside, dressed in a shapeless black coat over a long brown skirt. Her gardening shoes were caked with mud, and she wore a floppy-brimmed hat. Perhaps if I ignored her, she would leave?

The old woman knocked again, this time with more urgency. “Hello?” she rasped. Footsteps approached the porch, followed by a sharp tap at the window. “Can you hear me? Is anyone there?”

I sighed; escape was not an option. I ran a hand through my hair, forced a smile, and stepped into the hallway to open the door. “How can I assist you?”

The woman grinned, revealing a set of teeth resembling jagged, grey tombstones. “I’ve meant to come by and introduce myself. I’ve seen you while tending to my flowers out front. I live just down the street.” She gestured towards a small, untidy cottage behind a brick fence.

She wants me to invite her in, I thought with dismay. “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?” I offered, fulfilling my good deed for the day. I opened the door wider and extended my hand. “I’m Johanna Barton.”

The woman bowed her head and shook my hand. “I’m Hester. Hester Collins.”

“Come into the kitchen,” I said.

Hester trailed me down the hallway. Upon reaching the kitchen, she paused and craned her neck to peer down the hall toward my bedroom.

“Please, take a seat,” I suggested, noting her nosy demeanor reminiscent of a curious magpie.

I turned on the kettle and gathered cups and saucers from the dresser. “How long have you lived in this area?” I inquired, attempting to feign interest.

Hester Collins smiled. “Long enough to recall when there used to be a small field at the end of the street, where the auto repair shop now stands. The McNulty family kept chickens and pigs there.”

I poured boiling water into a teapot and set it on the table alongside milk and sugar. “How do you take your tea, Mrs. Collins?”

“Hester, please. Just a splash of milk, dear. Thank you.” She leaned forward, dumping four sugar sticks into her tea. She grinned at my observation, exposing her tombstone teeth once more. “I prefer my tea sweet,” she declared, stirring slowly. “When you moved in, I was quite surprised. The house had been vacant for years. Tenants have come and gone, but they never stayed long—usually leaving within a month or two.”

Intrigued, I asked, “Do you know why?”

Hester shrugged, sipping her tea. “It’s an old house, and the condition—some floorboards have rotted completely, and there’s terrible salt damp. I can’t fathom why they allowed anyone to move in; I suppose it was cheap.”

“Did you ever converse with any past tenants?”

“Occasionally, but they weren’t very friendly. Just a wave over the fence—” Hester’s voice trailed off, her face paling and her eyelids fluttering.

“Hester? Are you all right?”

Her eyes shot open. “I apologize, dear. I sometimes feel this way. I’m highly sensitive to auras—it drove Arnold mad—my husband, may he rest in peace. He’d say I was like one of those delicate Victorian ladies having a fit. He’d tell me to take an aspirin and lie down, then bring me a nice cup of tea… just like this.”

Leaning in, I asked, “Hester… did any previous tenants mention issues with… pests?”

“What kind of pests?”

I coughed, feeling embarrassed. “Well… rats, to be honest.”

Hester waved her hand dismissively. “There have always been rats in this area. Back in ’49, there was an infestation. They were everywhere. I even found one hiding in the bread tin! I caused such a scene that Arnold thought I was being murdered.” She chuckled.

“More recently, did anyone mention a rat problem?” I pressed.

“Not that I recall… wait, something does come to mind. There was a young couple—university students, I think. One night, I heard the girl scream late at night. She dashed outside, sobbing on the front porch. The boy followed her. I couldn’t catch what he said, but I’m certain she mentioned seeing a rat—”

Suddenly, Hester’s head snapped up, her demeanor shifting as if sensing danger. Her eyes darted around the room. “Something feels off here,” she declared.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you seen or heard anything unusual?” Hester’s tone resembled that of a detective questioning a suspect.

“Well, yes… sort of… I thought I did…” Should I reveal to Hester my nightmare involving the woman, the dead rats, and the tin of poison I discovered in the kitchen cupboard?

“I’ve never liked this house,” Hester interrupted my thoughts. “But it’s worse now. I can feel it.”

I tensed. “What do you mean? What do you feel?”

“If violence has transpired in a place, some remnants remain. The individuals involved can leave behind potent emotions—like hatred, terror, or pain. It’s a type of energy—real as light or gas—but it doesn’t vanish with the person upon their death.”

I crossed my arms defensively. “What on earth are you talking about, Hester?”

“I’ve always possessed this ability to sense things. Some say it’s a gift.” She scrutinized me with narrowed eyes. “I believe you have it too.”

“No.”

Hester ignored my denial. “People like you and me can perceive this energy. Sometimes it even feels as though it’s happening to us.”

I shook my head, my disbelief evident. I had abandoned belief in the supernatural long ago, but as much as I hated to admit it, I had felt something—whatever ‘it’ was—upon entering the house.

Hester’s gaze hardened. “I can sense many things about you, young woman. You’ve experienced tragedy, endured much pain… and it’s not over yet… but there’s something more…”

I felt a surge of anger. How dare this eccentric old woman make such assumptions about me? She didn’t even know me!

“I think I’d like you to leave now,” I said through clenched teeth, placing a hand under Hester’s arm.

Hester shrugged it off, standing and trembling.

“Terrible things have occurred here,” she whispered. Her eyes lost their sharpness, becoming glassy. “Get out! Return to Adelaide.”

I flinched; I hadn’t told Hester where I was from. “What are you saying? Why must I leave? I don’t understand!” I wanted to shake the old woman until her teeth rattled.

“Death,” Hester said dully. “It’s here—surrounding you.” She shuddered again, her eyes rolling back as she collapsed to the floor with a thud.

When Hester regained consciousness a few minutes later, she had no recollection of the incident. I assisted her to her feet and walked her home. I offered to call someone for her, but Hester waved me off. Feeling oddly guilty, I departed.

The Present

By the time I finished recounting my story to Kate, the bottle was empty.

Kate reached across the table, grasping my hand, her shock palpable. “Johanna,” she whispered. “I had no idea. Why you… of all people?”

I brushed aside the peculiarity of her question. “Why not me?” I replied lightly. “I used to hear about awful tragedies and count all the reasons it could never happen to me. But I’ve discovered that the unimaginable can happen to anyone.” I shrugged. “I suppose I was just unlucky, or maybe I made the wrong choices.”

“We’ve all made choices we regret…” Kate shook her head. “You’re incredibly brave, Johanna… to endure all that… and survive.”

I let out a brief, bitter laugh. “In a manner of speaking—” I paused as warmth flooded through me.

“Johanna?” Kate’s expression was creased with concern.

“It just hit me that while I was sharing my story with you, I actually felt something. For so long, I’ve existed on the outside but felt dead on the inside… as if I’ve been adrift on an endless river, indifferent to my direction. But I’ve just resolved to step off that boat and return to the land of the living. And it’s thanks to you, Kate. You’re the one who’s helped me realize this.”

“Really?” Kate’s smile radiated warmth. She patted my hand, though I sensed her mind was elsewhere.

“You have that look on your face again, Kate.”

“What?” She laughed, shaking her head. “I was just pondering your house… the strange noises, the rats, your nightmares. It seems to me your house has a past.”

“So?”

“I’m a writer, remember? I adore a good mystery. Why not research the history of your house? It’ll keep your mind occupied when you’re not working, and who knows? It might even give you a reason to rise in the mornings.”

To be continued…

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