heard his light footsteps descend the stairs, hurriedly getting changed and sliding the knife into the left pocket of her slacks. Very quietly she had opened the door and tiptoed down the stairs, still unsure if he had left or not. It was normally a couple of minutes, no more, between him getting out of bed and leaving the house, and so she needed to hurry; on the other hand, what if she got downstairs and he was still there? A soft click answered her question, and she had hurried down, slipping running shoes on and stepping out of the house into the warm night.
As the door clicked shut behind her, she had realised with a shock that she hadn’t brought her house keys with her, and she had turned back desperately towards the house. From what I understood, from the disjointed way in which she told the story, this was the real start of her disorientation that night; she had decided to try and follow him in any case, stumbling down the path and into the road, narrowly avoiding a cyclist who swerved out of the way and swore at her, then looking both ways down the street and realising that Mark had disappeared. For reasons she didn’t clearly explain, instead of giving up, she had carried on blindly down the centre of the road, trusting her instinct rather than any rational plan to guide her, as the darkness of the night and the lateness of the hour engulfed her. If you know the area at all (and who knows whether you do or not, but I assume that there is a small chance) … If you know the area, then, you will know the dark, abandoned house at the bottom of the street; it was the one that Louise and Mark, in happier times, used to call the haunted house, and it was obvious why. Probably built three or four hundred years ago, in dark stone that was now cracked and crumbling, it had arched windows, turrets and towers; it had doors that creaked, breaking century old webs; it had an overgrown garden with broken storehouses; it had a huge, towering presence, which even seemed to cast a shadow in the darkness of night to create an absolute blackness. They had been walking past it one day with their niece and nephew (they had no children, if I haven’t already clarified that) and had teased these kids about it. Their nephew, being young and needing to prove himself, had marched up and lifted the ancient lion’s head door knocker, allowing it to fall back onto the door and send noise reverberating into the house. There was a sudden silence, even the birds seemed to stop singing, and then Mark was running up the wide driveway to the main entrance, picking up his nephew, slinging him over his shoulder and walking quickly back to the relative safety of the street. I had heard this story before, told jokingly over lunchtime drinks at their place. You could hear the slight anxiety in their voices, and I remember, as we drove back that afternoon, Sylvia and I stopped outside to examine the place, really for the first time. I mention it now because it was where Louise found herself, on her pathetically failed mission to follow her husband, somehow in front of the imposing mahogany front door, seeing it open, with a faint light coming from deep inside.
You didn’t actually go in there?
Well, of course I did. What do you take me for?
Not someone with any intelligence, that’s clear.
Darling (I hate it when she calls me that). I went after Mark. I ended up there, without knowing how. The door was open and there was a light on inside. After all that time! It was so clear that it was a sign.
You’ll be saying next that you believe Sylvia is really a vampire
Well, darling, she has been looking exceptionally pale recently. And I love her teeth.
This was a tale that was never going to end well, although probably not in the way that you would expect. She entered the house (bravery or stupidity? She admits she doesn’t really know, the combination of lack of sleep and a heightened sense of awareness from too much caffeine, ingested too quickly, made her mind wander into alleyways that she didn’t know and didn’t understand, connections made and then lost at an alarming rate) and she followed the light through the dimly lit hallways and up the gothic stairs, to a slightly open door at the end of a dark corridor at the top of the house, where the shards of light beckoned her, where a faint hum soothed her cracked nerves, where there were other noises, too hard to understand. Perhaps you understand this, I’m not sure. I still don’t quite get how it fits in, or how she came across that place, and I suspect you do more than me, and given what happened and what I saw after that, it has to be relevant, doesn’t it. And also, please understand – I am writing here what she described to me, nothing more, and yes, it is possible that she imagined this, of course it is, although, I suspect that maybe it has more to do with her sleep deprived and drugged state than that.
When she walked through that door she found herself in a huge bedroom, one that seemed to stretch for miles, though this was probably a trick of the darkness. From the way she described it, it was a loft room, probably stretching across the entire area of the house, with sloping ceilings that faded into darkness in the corners. In the centre of the room was a young woman, sitting on a low stool, under a single bulb suspended from the ceiling, which cast a ghostly light onto her. Her head was hung and her long blond hair almost obscured her face, but Louise could see enough to see the deathly pale skin and eyes that seemed to be on fire. She glanced at Louise with a look that seemed to resemble surprise, before turning back to the extraordinary thing in that room. Because by her side, stood obediently as the woman had her hand on its neck, was a unicorn. Louise stood transfixed as its eyes landed on hers; like the woman’s they appeared to be on fire, but unlike hers they burned with a malign yellow glow as they locked onto Louise and its whole body stiffened. It dropped its head and rubbed its hooves on the wooden floor. Louise shrank back against the door, her breath caught as it held her in its sight, shaking its head and tensing its body, preparing to charge her but the woman was on her feet, whispering into its ear and stroking its mane, and the pressure eventually left it; but it remained focused on Louise with its dark and malevolent stare. The woman looked slyly at Louise and spoke softly. How did you find us, she asked. When Louise didn’t reply, she smiled. You don’t know who we are, do you. You don’t know what this place is, and there was a flash and a moment of intense pain (at least that’s what Louise told me, I suspect it was nothing serious) and Louise found herself back in her bedroom, the wind blowing hard against the glass and the smell of blood in the air.
And you expect me to believe you’re not on drugs
Darling, it’s true! (she held my arm)
Unicorns?
A unicorn
I thought they were supposed to be friendly creatures, anyway.
So did I, darling, but you know what, I checked. There’s a lot about them on the web if you search. Even sightings, you know.
Really?
Absolutely. I mean, granted, not many, and there are never any photos, but…
Oh, well now I really believe them.
You should! It’s true! I saw one with my own eyes. Surely you trust me, darling? (Our hands wandered dangerously close)
Well… you did say the lack of sleep was making you…
And that’s the other thing! Since that night, I can sleep! No pills, nothing. In fact, I have been having trouble staying awake to see what’s going on with Mark. That’s why…
But… a unicorn? Have you gone back?
Back where?
To the house? You know, in the daylight? To see?
No… you think we should?
Not we, you!
But darling… surely you wouldn’t expect me to go back there by myself? Surely you would help me (she put her hand over mine)
Me? Why me? (I withdrew my hand suddenly) What about Mark? Why don’t you take him?
(She laughed). Oh, darling, what an idea! And how exactly would I explain to him that I was out in the middle of the night, checking up on him because I thought he was having an affair? Hmmm?
Well…
Exactly
Well… you could actually ask him
Ask him what, darling?
Well… if he was having an affair?
Brilliant. Mark, are you having an
affair. I can see it now. He’d tear me apart. He’d rip me to shreds. He’d…
You don’t think you’re being a touch over dramatic? I mean, this is Mark we’re talking about. I know him…
Yes! And you keep saying that you hate him. It’s for a reason, darling.
I never said I hate him!
(A soft smile). Darling, please.
Well. It’s not that I hate him.
Honestly, darling, it’s fine. I won’t say anything. But I would love it if you came with me, just to have a look.
But…
Look, why don’t we go over there now. We could slip out, we’ll be back in an hour…
Unless we’re speared by a unicorn…
Well there is that, yes. But look, come with me. It’ll… (she started pulling at my shirt)
Don’t be ridiculous, Louise. It’s your party. You can hardly just leave with me. I mean, people will think…
Ah, they’ll probably just think we are having sex somewhere secluded…
Exactly! I mean, Jesus, I’m a married man!
Well, that’s not entirely true darling, is it?
Well, no, but…
Hmmm (she studied me). Never mind. Look. Darling. This is why I need your help.
(I gave a long sigh). Really? To hunt unicorns?
No, no, we’re past that now. No, to find out if Mark really is having an affair.
You want me to ask him? (really not a good idea, I was thinking)
Gosh no! Please, please, don’t do that. No,