After

They sat on the wall for a long time before either of them picked up their phone.

Callum texted at half past ten: sorry had to go. emergency. you ok?

Dev replied: no thanks to you

Callum replied: what happened

Neither of them answered for a while.

They were sitting on the wall outside the park two streets from Wren Lane, the October sun coming out now, the world ordinary and bright around them. Marta still had the tin from the kitchen windowsill. She had not realised she was still holding it until they sat down.

She turned the tin over. It was lighter than it should have been. She shook it gently. Something moved inside. Not much. Just a faint shift, like a small weight rolling.

"It is not empty," Dev said, watching.

"No," Marta said.

Neither of them suggested opening it.

She turned it over in her hands. The label was completely faded on one side. On the other side, very faint, she could still make out the bottom of some letters. Not enough to read. Just marks.

"We should throw that away," Dev said.

"Probably," Marta agreed. She kept holding it.

"What was in the house, do you think?" Dev said. "Actually. Not a person."

"I do not know," Marta said. "I have been trying not to think about it."

"The door closing," Dev said. "The hinges not creaking. The kitchen door opening when we came near it."

"Stop," Marta said.

A pigeon landed on the wall further along and walked toward them and then changed its mind and flew away. Everything was normal and bright.

"I know," Dev said. "I know. I just." He stopped. "I want to explain it. I want there to be an explanation that makes sense."

"The door was old and the frame had warped," Marta said. "Warped frames stick. The hinges were dry not oiled, just so dry they had gone past the squeaking stage. The kitchen door moved because there was a draft from the gap in the boards. The eyes were a person, maybe on a ladder, maybe just very tall, maybe we were so frightened by then that we misjudged the height."

Dev looked at her. "Do you believe any of that?"

Marta looked at the tin in her hands.

"Not really," she said. "But I am going to keep saying it until I do."

Dev was quiet for a moment. Then: "That is actually quite sensible."

"I am a sensible person," Marta said. "I went into a haunted house on a dare but I am a sensible person."

"We both went," Dev said.

"We both went," Marta agreed.

She looked at the tin one more time. Then she put it on the wall beside her and stood up and they started walking and she did not pick it up again.

She put the tin on the wall and left it there and did not look back at it.

She walked home quickly, in the bright October morning, through ordinary streets with ordinary houses, and she did not go past Wren Lane.

She took the long way, adding seven minutes, and did not mind at all.

She did not go past Wren Lane for a long time after that. When she had to, eventually, she used the rule. Straight ahead. Through it, not at it.

She noticed, one morning in November, that the upstairs curtain was open again.

She walked faster and did not look back and did not tell Dev.

But sometimes, at night, before she fell asleep, she thought about the eyes at the window. Too high. Not moving. Patient in the way that things are patient when they have been waiting a long time and are used to it.

And she thought about the curtain that had been open when they arrived and closed when they left.

As if something inside had watched them go.

As if it had wanted to.

She thought that was the part she would never be able to explain away, no matter how many times she said the words warped frame and dry hinges and it was just a person, very tall, standing outside.

***The End***