Katrina's evening routine, no matter what time she eventually went to bed, was always the same. She wandered the house turning off all the lights and making sure every door and window was closed and locked before making her way upstairs to the master bedroom that was now entirely her own. Despite the fact that she had given Randal full permission to come into that room whenever he wished, she hadn't changed her habits, quite an immodest little thing when that door was closed. Her clothes went straight into the hamper, and she would spend a few minutes in the bathroom with ablutions and all those little things women needed to do before they could settle down to sleep.
Then off went the lights, and she scrambled into bed, leaning across to switch on the radio at a low volume. She hadn't been able to sleep without some kind of background noise for years, though the radio was rigged to switch off after a couple of hours. Just on long enough to ease her into a deep sleep, flat on her back, and spread-eagled diagonally across the bed. Kit certainly ascribed to being comfortable over being attractive.
Oddly, she hadn't seen hide nor hair of the resident ghost in a few days - not since the night of the waltz in the piano room - despite his obvious loneliness and desire for companionship. Whether it was any fault of his own or not was unclear. He had told Kit that he was sometimes unsure when he could be seen and when he could not and that he didn't have any much control of his ghostly appearances as she might think. Despite that, the house had felt lighter since that night, less foreboding even to Kit, and there had been no strange noises, blinking lights, or unexplained voices since.
Randal's absence made her uneasy, sure that she'd upset him somehow, or that perhaps he had just decided not to keep his promise to come back and visit her again. It hadn't stopped her from talking as though he was there, chattering away, holding one-sided conversations while she was cooking or cleaning, or wrestling with the monumental task of clearing the attic. But in the evenings, it was lonely, knowing he was there and not choosing to even let her know he was watching, and often she found herself going to bed in a low mood. Tonight was no different - despite how quickly she fell asleep in the hour past midnight, her expression wasn't peaceful. Even asleep, she missed her strange new friend.
Perhaps it was the quiet, or maybe it was the music playing; perhaps it was the hour, as ghostly happenings tended to go on during the wee hours of the night, rather in broad daylight - whatever the reason, it wasn't until after Kit had fallen asleep that strange things started to happen. Whether they happened every night or just this particular night was hard to say, as she was usually in a deep sleep by now. The temperature in the room grew unnaturally chilly, as though a window was open, though it was not, and even the curtains stirred as if in a non-existent breeze. There were no footsteps or whispers or unexplained thumps, just a chill in the air that stirred the curtains and the feeling of an invisible presence somewhere close by, though she was unlikely to feel it while she was sleeping.
She sighed softly in her sleep, her head turning to one side, spilling dark hair across the pillow as one hand tucked the quilt a little higher over her chest. Oblivious to what was happening in the room, she seemed to stretch in her sleep, settling a little more comfortably in the embrace of her bed.
All of a sudden, there was a presence in her room, albeit a familiar one - a man with a military cap on his head, his tan uniform starched and pressed perfectly, the bars and brass indicating he held the rank of Captain in some military unit. She had not asked too many questions about the uniform or the job that went along with it, and he had not chosen to talk about it much the few times they had talked. Why he had appeared in her room at that moment was something only he could answer, but she had released him of the promise he had made to her grandmother - the master bedroom was no longer off limits.
The ghostly figure lingered there in the doorway for a brief span of time, a little lost in thought. This room had once belonged to him and his wife, and it held a mixture of memories both good and bad. It was not the room he would have chosen for Katrina, and yet, it was the largest of the bedrooms and probably the grandest. He wondered what she'd say if he requested she move to another room, one that held fewer memories for him, though the room had been completely decorated since then. He was almost afraid to step further into that room, afraid he might lose himself to the memories that flooded his mind and weighed on his heart, as incorporeal as he might be, but he found himself drawn to the sleeping figure on the bed, like a prince might be to a sleeping princess.
Katrina stirred once again, the flicker of a frown crossing her face as she rolled suddenly, one arm thrown toward the side of the bed as the covers tucked about her petite slenderness. He was not the only one discomforted by the room, but she had yet to pinpoint just what it was that seemed to be giving her restless nights here.
Isabelle's presence was strong in that room, even if she was as deceased as Randal. She had once been the mistress of the house and had tended to its care, especially when he'd been away at war or on business. Whether she'd been bold enough to have a lover in this room was hard to say, and it darkened Randal's heart to think of it. "Kit..." he called from where he stood, his voice quiet and little more than a whisper, waiting to see if she'd hear him or not. He could see the restlessness in her, even as she slept, and he wondered if she somehow felt the unrest and trouble that resided in this room.
She was deeply asleep, but some part of her responded to her name from his lips. Her outstretched hand opened in unconscious invitation as she nestled deeper into the covers, a low sigh slipping from her lips. "Randal ..."
Whether it was the fact that she was asleep and so not fully conscious or aware of his presence, or the fact that he was so bent on her not claiming this room for her own, he found himself drawn forward, his fingers sliding in that of her outstretched hand, as real and palpable as if he was of warm flesh and blood, if only for a moment. There was only one way to overwrite the memories and the events that had taken place in here and that was to give her the freedom and the trust to do what she wanted with the house; to make it her own, and yet, he wasn't sure he was ready for that just yet. He wondered at the brief touch of flesh, nearly moved to tears by the whisper of his name against her lips, his heart aching to touch her and hold her and love her as a living man might and knowing it was hopeless.
Kit seemed to stir once more as his hand slid into hers, hovering in the no-man's land between deep sleep and wakefulness as her fingers curled into his. Her body shifted, seeming to curl closer until her breath brushed his hand where it lay in hers. Asleep, she couldn't have known what was happening in that moment, how impossible it should have been to touch a ghost. All she knew was that someone she trusted was there, watching over her as she drifted in slumber.
Then off went the lights, and she scrambled into bed, leaning across to switch on the radio at a low volume. She hadn't been able to sleep without some kind of background noise for years, though the radio was rigged to switch off after a couple of hours. Just on long enough to ease her into a deep sleep, flat on her back, and spread-eagled diagonally across the bed. Kit certainly ascribed to being comfortable over being attractive.
Oddly, she hadn't seen hide nor hair of the resident ghost in a few days - not since the night of the waltz in the piano room - despite his obvious loneliness and desire for companionship. Whether it was any fault of his own or not was unclear. He had told Kit that he was sometimes unsure when he could be seen and when he could not and that he didn't have any much control of his ghostly appearances as she might think. Despite that, the house had felt lighter since that night, less foreboding even to Kit, and there had been no strange noises, blinking lights, or unexplained voices since.
Randal's absence made her uneasy, sure that she'd upset him somehow, or that perhaps he had just decided not to keep his promise to come back and visit her again. It hadn't stopped her from talking as though he was there, chattering away, holding one-sided conversations while she was cooking or cleaning, or wrestling with the monumental task of clearing the attic. But in the evenings, it was lonely, knowing he was there and not choosing to even let her know he was watching, and often she found herself going to bed in a low mood. Tonight was no different - despite how quickly she fell asleep in the hour past midnight, her expression wasn't peaceful. Even asleep, she missed her strange new friend.
Perhaps it was the quiet, or maybe it was the music playing; perhaps it was the hour, as ghostly happenings tended to go on during the wee hours of the night, rather in broad daylight - whatever the reason, it wasn't until after Kit had fallen asleep that strange things started to happen. Whether they happened every night or just this particular night was hard to say, as she was usually in a deep sleep by now. The temperature in the room grew unnaturally chilly, as though a window was open, though it was not, and even the curtains stirred as if in a non-existent breeze. There were no footsteps or whispers or unexplained thumps, just a chill in the air that stirred the curtains and the feeling of an invisible presence somewhere close by, though she was unlikely to feel it while she was sleeping.
She sighed softly in her sleep, her head turning to one side, spilling dark hair across the pillow as one hand tucked the quilt a little higher over her chest. Oblivious to what was happening in the room, she seemed to stretch in her sleep, settling a little more comfortably in the embrace of her bed.
All of a sudden, there was a presence in her room, albeit a familiar one - a man with a military cap on his head, his tan uniform starched and pressed perfectly, the bars and brass indicating he held the rank of Captain in some military unit. She had not asked too many questions about the uniform or the job that went along with it, and he had not chosen to talk about it much the few times they had talked. Why he had appeared in her room at that moment was something only he could answer, but she had released him of the promise he had made to her grandmother - the master bedroom was no longer off limits.
The ghostly figure lingered there in the doorway for a brief span of time, a little lost in thought. This room had once belonged to him and his wife, and it held a mixture of memories both good and bad. It was not the room he would have chosen for Katrina, and yet, it was the largest of the bedrooms and probably the grandest. He wondered what she'd say if he requested she move to another room, one that held fewer memories for him, though the room had been completely decorated since then. He was almost afraid to step further into that room, afraid he might lose himself to the memories that flooded his mind and weighed on his heart, as incorporeal as he might be, but he found himself drawn to the sleeping figure on the bed, like a prince might be to a sleeping princess.
Katrina stirred once again, the flicker of a frown crossing her face as she rolled suddenly, one arm thrown toward the side of the bed as the covers tucked about her petite slenderness. He was not the only one discomforted by the room, but she had yet to pinpoint just what it was that seemed to be giving her restless nights here.
Isabelle's presence was strong in that room, even if she was as deceased as Randal. She had once been the mistress of the house and had tended to its care, especially when he'd been away at war or on business. Whether she'd been bold enough to have a lover in this room was hard to say, and it darkened Randal's heart to think of it. "Kit..." he called from where he stood, his voice quiet and little more than a whisper, waiting to see if she'd hear him or not. He could see the restlessness in her, even as she slept, and he wondered if she somehow felt the unrest and trouble that resided in this room.
She was deeply asleep, but some part of her responded to her name from his lips. Her outstretched hand opened in unconscious invitation as she nestled deeper into the covers, a low sigh slipping from her lips. "Randal ..."
Whether it was the fact that she was asleep and so not fully conscious or aware of his presence, or the fact that he was so bent on her not claiming this room for her own, he found himself drawn forward, his fingers sliding in that of her outstretched hand, as real and palpable as if he was of warm flesh and blood, if only for a moment. There was only one way to overwrite the memories and the events that had taken place in here and that was to give her the freedom and the trust to do what she wanted with the house; to make it her own, and yet, he wasn't sure he was ready for that just yet. He wondered at the brief touch of flesh, nearly moved to tears by the whisper of his name against her lips, his heart aching to touch her and hold her and love her as a living man might and knowing it was hopeless.
Kit seemed to stir once more as his hand slid into hers, hovering in the no-man's land between deep sleep and wakefulness as her fingers curled into his. Her body shifted, seeming to curl closer until her breath brushed his hand where it lay in hers. Asleep, she couldn't have known what was happening in that moment, how impossible it should have been to touch a ghost. All she knew was that someone she trusted was there, watching over her as she drifted in slumber.