My Little Haunting chapter 11 by Emerson Van Wie

The cold arrived in the middle of summer.

Seth first noticed it first in the hallway, a narrow strip of air that seemed to separate the living room from the stairs. When he crossed it, his skin prickled. His breath clouded in front of him.

He checked the windows.

They were closed.

He checked the heating system, though there was no reason to turn it on in July, but the cold remained.

That night, he placed a thermometer on the hallway table.

In the morning, it read twenty-one degrees. At noon, the temperature dropped to sixteen.

He wrote the numbers in his notebook.

He called a repairman, who arrived, inspected the house, and found nothing wrong.

“Old buildings do strange things,” the man said.

“My house isn't that old.”

“Then perhaps it's the weather.”

“It isn't cold outside.”

The repairman shrugged.

“Then I don't know.”

After he left, Seth stood in the hallway and waited. The cold gathered around him.

He could smell perfume, not strongly, only a trace, like something left on a scarf that had been stored in a drawer for years.

He turned toward the bedroom.

The door was open.

A figure stood at the far end of the hallway, almost transparent in the afternoon light.

He could see the outline of a face, the curve of a shoulder, a hand resting against the wall.

He took one step forward.

The figure vanished.

He ran upstairs.

The bedroom was empty.

On the dresser lay the amulet, the leather cord neatly coiled beside it. He had left it in his notebook downstairs.

He picked up the amulet..

For the first time, the inscription seemed perfectly clear.

“Memento Mori”.

He read it aloud.

The room grew colder.

“I know,” he said. “Remember you must die.”

The curtains moved, though the windows were shut.

“I know what you want.”

He waited. He stood so close now.

The cold pressed against his skin.

“You want me to admit it.”

He held the amulet in his fist.

“I let you die.”

The words came out louder than he intended.

Nothing happened.

He said them again.

“I let you die.”

The bedroom door creaked.

He turned.

A faint sound came from the hallway. It might have been a footstep, or the house settling, or someone shifting their weight on the stairs.

He stood very still.

Then, a voice whispered:

“No.”

He spun around.

The room was empty.

He searched the house until dark.

That evening, he wrote the word in his notebook.

“No.”

He circled it, underlined it, and wrote it again.

He could not decide whether it was a denial or an accusation.

Outside, the summer heat pressed against the windows.

Inside, the hallway remained cold.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

check out more creativity by Emerson at @evwphotos