New Ghost Stories Volume Three

By David Paul Nixon

Ghosts don’t care if you believe in them or not.

In these eight new cases, we meet ordinary people facing extraordinary nightmares. From burnt-out parents stalked by shadows, to social media stars discovering what else watches them, these are stories where the sins of the past never stay hidden. They always return to haunt the present.

Each story is transcribed from real witness accounts. These people truly believe they’ve seen ghosts and that their lives were never the same again. Will you give them the benefit of the doubt? Could you ever... believe them?

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Paul Nixon
• Release date: Oct 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781739821104

David Paul Nixon

Author David Paul Nixon has spent over a decade travelling the UK speaking to people who claim to have witnessed events that defy rational explanation.In most cases these stories have never been told before, because the subjects were too afraid or embarrassed to share them. Sometimes the events had been simply too painful to discuss.Are these the lies and fantasies of disturbed or deceitful people, or could they be the real thing? Genuine encounters with phenomena beyond our understanding.Only you can decide.

Book preview

NEW GHOST STORIES VOLUME THREE

First published in 2021 by DPN Books

© David Paul Nixon

By the same author

Eleven New Ghost Stories

Fourteen New Ghost Stories

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

reproduced for any purpose – excluding brief excerpts

for review purposes – without the prior

written permission of the author.

Cover design by

Vanessa Gordino

For Kate

With thanks as always to the Velkys, Vanessa Gordino, Marie Sloan, Steve Lownds, Helen Goddard, and everyone else who has given their time and support to the

project over the years.

For exclusive content, visit

davidpaulnixon.substack.com or download the New Ghost Stories Podcast, available from most podcast platforms.

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

COMING HOME

THE ACCIDENT

ROADKILL

AFTER THE FLOOD

NO GOOD DEED

HOW LONG WILL THIS GO ON?

VANDALS

A RHYTHM OF EIGHT

INTRODUCTION

Troubling times inevitably lead to more ghost stories.

It’s in the numbers. When we experience periods of crisis, when the world seems to be descending into chaos, supernatural sightings start to rise. We become more prone to seeing what should be impossible to see.

I was working on my previous collection, Fourteen New Ghost Stories, in the years running up to 2017. That age of turmoil was unsettling enough. Nations were turning inward. Anti-establishment forces were on the rise. Authoritarians were taking power. In the UK, the government was in gridlock, trying to work out what we actually wanted from a future the majority had been promised.

Those days were extremely troubling. But they offered few warnings for the predicament we find ourselves in today. Millions are dead from a pandemic that still surges. In Britain we have experienced three lockdowns; health restrictions have persisted for over 18 months. As I write, restrictions are being lifted, yet there is little sense of celebration. Virus variants may force us indoors again.

Perhaps when you read this, the world will be in a better place. As I write, normality is still far away. Inevitably more will die. There will be more suffering, more heartbreak. And there will be more ghosts.

We may never get the world back to the way it was. Maybe that will be a good thing. The stories collected for this volume of New Ghost Stories are broadly contemporary. With only one exception, they all took place within the last 12 years. As I sat preparing them for this release, I started to see them as a series of warning signs. They capture a world heading inexorably towards multiple disasters. We really should have seen it all coming.

Perhaps as we move forward, there may come a time of reflection, a period where we examine causes and consequences, and look towards serious and substantial solutions.

I’m not one of life’s optimists. But times do change. Things can get better. And within these stories too, there are signs of hope.

Some of the people you will meet are incapable of retrospection, or of taking responsibility. They either cannot or do not want to change. There are also stories of people who found the strength and resolve to overcome the challenges they faced. They have become better, stronger people because of it.

And though I lean towards pessimism, I have to acknowledge that I have been very lucky. I have been able to carry on the work that is most important to me through this age of uncertainty. I know many who have not been so fortunate. I know some who have lost a great deal.

All the stories you are about to read have been transcribed from real witness accounts. The only amends made by me have been for clarity, concision, and confidentiality.

I have scrutinised and investigated each account in an attempt to ascertain whether each witness – I call them subjects – is reliable or not. I have had each story told to me on multiple occasions, to try to discover whether there are inconsistencies present. I have requested corroborating evidence to confirm whether events as described took place.

I have not set out to prove definitively whether any account is true. What I have sought to establish is that the subject is being honest; that they truly believe the events they describe actually happened to them.

Whether they really experienced a supernatural event or not, remains unknown.

Some will exhibit behaviour you may find concerning; you will have good reason to doubt their reliability. But for the most part, they are all normal people; not so different from you and me. When it comes to believing in ghosts, I’m certain almost all of them were sceptical, until it happened to them.

You could argue that the rise in the number of ghost sightings during troubling times is telling. That the resulting stresses and turmoil makes people more prone to episodes of delusion or self-deception. And that’s a very reasonable position to take.

You might also argue that it is exactly because of losing the comforts of normality, that people start to experience the world differently. That they become receptive to that which they might never have seen or understood before.

When it comes down to it, I don’t really have the answers. All I can say is that my state of mind has certainly changed during these difficult times. I have never been more grateful for all that I have. And I have never been more happy to be alive.

Case no. 304

COMING HOME

I felt nervous putting the key in the lock. I’d been away for over a year. I was sweating, but that was probably from dragging the suitcases downstairs.

Nothing seemed to be wrong. I could see inside the flat by peering through the frosted glass windows. They blurred things, obviously; but you could still see quite a lot. Like whether you had clothes on or not in the hall. I’ve always been glad that the postie leaves the mail upstairs.

I turned the key. It turned smoothly with a few familiar clicks. So I pushed the door open.

The air wasn’t the same. It was a bit stale. You know how you never notice the smell of you in your own home, but you can always smell someone else in theirs? The flat smelt like someone else. It smelt musty; it was a man’s smell.

I moved my suitcases into the hall and closed the door behind me. I took a look around, trying to see if anything was different. What state had they left the place in?

They’d lived here for 18 months; there was going to be some new wear and tear. It’s amazing all the little things you remember. I could recall little dents to the skirting board and scuffs along the walls that had been there from before. And I could easily spot the ones that were new.

We probably weren’t going to go after their deposit. Not unless there was really something wrong. Nothing jumped out at me straight away. It looked like they’d made a decent job of leaving the place clean. There was a little dust, but they’d been gone a couple of days now, so that was forgivable.

The bedroom looked fine. There were no sheets on the bed, but the mattress protector was still there. One of my little suggestions; I was not going to sleep on other people’s stains and dead skin.

I opened up the closets; just the hangers were there. They clanged about as I slid the doors open. Parked up in the back were Pedro’s golf clubs; the one thing we couldn’t fit in the garage. The one thing I wouldn’t have minded disappearing.

It was cold and very quiet. I moved into the living room and noticed the new carpet. Not so new now: about a month after they’d moved in, we’d had an email to say they’d broken a bottle of wine and basically ruined the old one. They apologised and said they’d pay for a replacement.

We agreed, but it made us kind of nervous, them screwing up so soon. They didn’t really have any references; they were first-time travellers from Australia. We got on pretty well and decided to take a chance on them.

They sent us pictures of carpet samples to approve, then paid to have it fitted. Nothing else happened after that, which was a big relief.

It looked darker now I was seeing it in person. We’d rather have had hard floors anyway; we just didn’t have the money yet.

It’s a one-bed basement flat. The living room is long, so we have the sofa and TV at one end and the dining area at the other. I sat on the sofa and bounced up and down. It seemed ok. Comfy and familiar.

There was a ring mark on the dining table that definitely wasn’t there before. I think we’ll forgive them for that. It’s a cheap table anyway. We spent more on the sofa.

They’d given the kitchen a basic clean. The oven was filthy; was that too much to ask? Probably not, but I didn’t want to be vindictive. And I couldn’t remember if we’d cleaned it before they moved in.

My phone vibrated. Pedro was calling.

Hey, how’s it going?

Fine, thanks. I just got back.

How’s it looking?

It’s… fine…

You don’t sound so sure.

It’s good. I mean, nothing’s really changed. It just feels different. You know?

How so?

Just doesn’t feel like our home.

We’ve been gone a long time.

Yeah. But it’s, like, the atmosphere. I want to air the place out. It’s all stale. And smells a bit like man.

You don’t like man-smell?

Only when deodorised. Not their actual smell. You guys stink too much.

Well when I’m back next week, I’ll run around a bit for you. Get a sweat on and get out my Old Spice. How’s that sound?

Super gross, but thanks.

How’s the weather?

Frickin’ cold.

It’s only September.

It’s almost October. It’s England. It’s like 12 degrees. That’s the problem with airing the place out.

That’s not cold.

You’re close to the equator. You don’t know what cold is now. If I can stand it, I’ll open the windows for 20 minutes. Then put the heating on.

You want to put the heating on in September?

Yes-I’m-going-to-put-the-heating-on-in-September. It’s freezing. I’m not big and hairy like you.

Well, you know how much I appreciate that, right?

Yeah, you better.

So you remember how to set the dial on the boiler?

Yes, I remember.

I’m just asking.

I can handle the boiler, thank you.

Pedro is very technical. A real nerd. He knows how everything works. So he thinks I don’t know how anything works. This gets on my nerves real bad.

What time is it in Thailand?

Almost 4am.

You didn’t need to call me.

I just wanted to make sure you’re safe.

I’m only flying back to England. I can manage.

It’s nice that he cares and wants to look after me. But it bugs me. I texted him to say I’d arrived. What else did he need to know?

I tell him to get off the phone and get some sleep. All my winter clothes are in the garage. I wonder if I can pull some out without shifting tons of boxes.

I opened up the windows and went outside. It took a while to move things around in the garage and to get to my clothes. I pulled out a bag of winter coats and carried them inside before freezing my ass off.

I managed to set the boiler all by myself and then closed the windows. Wrapping myself up warm, I headed out to our favourite pizza place. But I was gutted to find out it was gone. It was a Thai place now, ironically. I was pretty sure Thai food was never going to taste as good outside Thailand. Exhaustion was catching up with me. I went to the supermarket and got a microwave curry and a few other supplies.

It was nice and warm when I got back. I didn’t stay up long. I ate my chicken tikka and caught up with British TV. I sent my sister a text; I was looking forward to catching up and meeting my baby nephew.

I thought I’d crash out pretty fast, but I couldn’t really sleep. It might’ve been the jetlag. But you know that relief you get when you return home from a long journey? I wasn’t getting that. Maybe it was because I’d been away so long. Somewhere else had started to feel like home.

It could’ve been because the flat was still empty of stuff. The atmosphere is different; your voice bounces off the walls. And that smell was still there. And it was still cold. I had to go back to the thermostat in the middle of the night.

I guess it was just going to take time for me to get used to everything here again.

Things were in different places than they were before, and some things were missing. When I wanted to make coffee in the morning, I couldn’t find where they’d put the kettle. The teaspoons were mixed in with the other spoons. Then I couldn’t find my favourite cereal bowl. I have a big bowl, because I’m always starving when I wake up.

The cupboard where we used to keep the cups now had saucepans in it. Which didn’t make any sense – you have your cups where your kettle is, right? But they’d put the kettle away, so maybe they didn’t like hot drinks. Weirdos.

I solved the cup and pan situation by quickly doing a swap, then I had my breakfast. Two bowls of Rice Krispies. They must’ve broken my favourite bowl and thrown it away. Bastards.

The broadband was disconnected – also really annoying. Couldn’t they have transferred it to us instead of cutting it off? I don’t know. It was just one more thing to sort out. I was liking them less now.

It was a classic overcast British day. I headed into town to sort out a new contract for my phone. I could tether that to my laptop to get online for now.

Things had changed more than I expected. There were always parts of town that were run-down, but there were even more shops covered in shutters and more businesses catering for the immigrant population. Nothing really wrong with that, I just wasn’t sure we needed more shops selling halal meat and shiny furniture.

Making it look worse by comparison were the new builds springing up. There were fancy flats and this thing called a box park. This was some kind of trend where you built shops inside of shipping crates, I guess because it was too expensive to run a normal shop now. If I ever wanted vegan sherbet or a Hello Kitty dreamcatcher, I knew where to go.

It was like one part of town was waiting to swallow the other. The new part would rise, the old part would die. Walking by an estate agent’s, I noticed how much house prices had shot up. That would make Pedro happy; he said this was a good place to invest. I hadn’t really wanted to move around here, because it was a bit of a dive. But everywhere gets to make a comeback I suppose. Pedro was right again.

I knew Pedro wanted kids eventually. I wasn’t sold on the idea. At least not yet. Getting a one-bedroom basement apartment made it seem like he wasn’t in any rush. I figured now we were both moving back, he might start asking again. He got so misty-eyed over pictures of Maxie’s baby. How long before that conversation was going to come up again?

I checked the mail when I got back. There were a few letters for our old tenants in the cubby. I had no idea if we had their forwarding address. I wondered what had happened to our post. We must’ve had some while we were away.

There was a lost-cat poster on the wall. I didn’t even know pets were allowed in the building. As I was reading it, the Puerto Rican lady who lives in the flat above walked by. She and Pedro would chat in Spanish sometimes. I was going to say hello, but she passed right by. Perhaps she didn’t notice me?

I started to unpack in the afternoon and got back online, messaging friends and arranging catch-ups. Pedro called in the evening. He was staying five days more to finish his contract.

Everything working?

Seems to be.

Did you master the boiler?

It’s working fine, I lied. Did Adam and Katie leave a forwarding address?

Yeah, I think so. I’ll forward you the email.

Looks like they got some bills. Hope they paid for everything.

They remembered to cancel the internet; I think they’ll have taken care of them.

No thanks to them for that. The 4G down here’s terrible. I sent you some price comparison stuff to look at by the way.

There’s no way Pedro would let me choose broadband on my own. He actually reads small print. He’s literally the only person who ticks the little box and is being totally honest.

What else you been up to?

Unpacking.

You been into the garage?

Just for some clothes.

Going to let me do all the heavy lifting?

He also has this thing about me leaving all the hard stuff to him. As if he’d let me do it anyway.

No, I’ll start bringing things in.

You sure? Don’t strain yourself.

First you don’t want me to leave you all the work, now you want me to wait. Make your mind up Pedro.

I’m not trying to make you do anything. Do what you can and we’ll take care of the rest together.

Maxie just emailed me. Looks like she can get away tomorrow night.

Get away? Don’t you want to spend time with baby?

Yeah, of course. But I’m sure she’s sick of the sight of him. Probably dying for a night out.

I don’t believe it.

Babies are noisy, poopy, screamy. And they have absolutely no banter.

But so cute.

I was saved from talking about it more when the signal dropped out and didn’t come back. I text him goodnight and got myself ready for bed.

I had trouble sleeping again. It wasn’t just jetlag; I’d forgotten how noisy it was in the city. I could hear police sirens, drunks in the street, and people coming in and out of the building. Phetchaburi was peaceful in comparison.

I kept hearing what I thought were footsteps. They didn’t sound like they were coming from the stairs though – they were soft, and there’s no carpet there. Could they be coming from the hall?

I didn’t really think anyone was there. But I couldn’t sleep, and it was distracting me. I went to check. I looked up and down the hall, and saw nothing, like I expected. It must be old building noise.

I went to use the bathroom. After I closed the door, I heard the footsteps again. They were louder, like someone running on tiptoes. I pulled the door open, but saw nothing. I turned on all the lights and checked the living room and bedroom. I was completely alone. I had to be.

I was so tired, maybe I couldn’t trust my senses. It all seemed very strange. I normally leave the bedroom door open, but I felt better closing it this time.

It was freezing again in the morning. The boiler was off; the timer had been wiped and the thermostat was way too low. What would make it reset like that?

The weather was still terrible, but I got to work on bringing in things from the garage anyway, starting with the rest of my winter clothes.

One thing I found, while I was shifting Pedro’s computer junk out the way, was the big Matisse print we’d bought together. I’d totally forgotten about that. On our first ever date we’d gone to Tate Modern and there’d been an exhibition of his cut-out work. After we got engaged, we’d passed an antique store and seen an old print we remembered from the exhibit. So we bought it and replaced the frame. We were going to hang it in the living room, but somewhere along the way we decided to work abroad, so it never got hung up.

I decided to surprise Pedro. Show him I could complete all kinds of simple tasks without his help. I figured I just had enough time before going out to meet Maxie.

It was pretty easy really. I got the picture wire and spirit level from his toolbox, used the tape measure to find the exact middle of the wall. It was heavy, so it was tough to get on the hook. But it wasn’t that hard, and it looked really good. I texted him a picture to show off my hard work before I headed out.

It was so great catching up with my sister. For some reason I thought she might not want to talk much about the baby, as she was with him all the time. But actually, that’s all new parents want to talk about. Because there’s literally nothing else going on with them.

Yes, I got to hold him and touch his tiny nose and hold his tiny hands. He was very baby-like. A good old-fashioned baby in every way.

It was so weird seeing Maxie all settled down. Who knew she wanted all this domestic stuff? I mean, good for her. I just wasn’t sure it was very much for me.

And she had to ask didn’t she? When are you and Pedro going to have kids? Because as soon as one person has a kid, everyone has to have one. Is it less special if you have children and everyone else doesn’t? Maybe it’s like getting drunk; it doesn’t seem a terrible mistake if everyone does it.

Once we got past that, it was a pretty good night. Not a rough night; Maxie was as tired as I was. We called it just after eleven.

I was a bit tipsy, but not very drunk. And then I arrived home…

I’d been robbed. I opened the door and I could see things scattered throughout the hall. The flat had been trashed.

Someone had gone through every cupboard, drawer, box, container. My clothes were all over the bedroom; some of them had been ripped up. My make-up was all over the bathroom floor. My books had been thrown across the living room. My laptop lay smashed by the dining table.

And the picture I’d hung up just that afternoon was face down on the floor. I could see broken glass under it. They’d left the TV alone; I suppose that was lucky.

I walked back outside and phoned the police. It was like, if I went out and then back in again, it might somehow not be as bad as it looked. Maybe I’d made some terrible mistake and it wouldn’t be my flat after all.

The police arrived – a man and a woman. They asked me if anything was missing. I hadn’t thought to check; I’d just seen the carnage and panicked. They said to think about anything that might be valuable.

I had my engagement ring on. I had no other expensive jewellery, and none of the rest seemed to be missing. My laptop was still there; the back was hanging off, but it still turned on.

The police said they might not have found what they were looking for. But they hadn’t just searched the place; they’d destroyed it. There were footprints on the back of the picture frame. Someone had literally jumped up and down on it.

Someone small, said the male cop. The prints were really small, they must’ve had tiny feet.

Did you leave the door unlocked? asked the female cop.

No, I had to unlock it to let myself in.

There’s no sign of forced entry. We checked it together; there was no damage. There was no damage to the windows either.

Anyone else have a key?

I shook my head, but then thought twice. What had happened to Adam and Katie’s keys? Had they sent them back to us? I didn’t have them, and I hadn’t seen them in the flat. Could they have given them to someone else?

The male cop said that if Adam and Katie had expensive things, someone might’ve broken in to rob them, not us. They were trying to think of a reason why we’d been targeted.

If they had a key, they might just’ve thought, why not? said the female cop. They could’ve trashed the place to make sure nothing valuable was hidden. But destroying books and pictures was just vindictive. And why not take my laptop or the TV?

It didn’t make sense. Adam and Katie wouldn’t just hand the keys over to anyone. They wouldn’t be stupid like that. Or would they? How much did we really know about them?

I called Pedro; I knew he’d be asleep, I just hoped he might not be. I left him a message.

The cops found no fingerprints or other clues. They said that wasn’t unusual; most burglars know what they’re doing. They left me with some paperwork and that was it. They recommended getting in touch with Adam and Katie. They said people desperate for money would try anything. Were they desperate?

I started cleaning things up, even though I was exhausted. I began with my clothes, getting them off the floor and back on to hangers. A dress I really loved had been ripped almost in half. Under that, I found my signed Maya Angelou book, that Pedro got me for Valentine’s Day, torn up. I started to cry. Why would someone do this? If you want to steal something, just steal it. Why be so fucking vicious?

When I cut my hand on broken glass, I knew I had to stop. I downloaded a meditation to relax me before bed, but I was too upset. Someone had been into my home, touched my things, attacked my belongings. And maybe they had a key.

When I thought of that, I got up and I dragged the drawers from my bedroom down the hall at three in the morning to block the door.

The thought that they might come back… would they try again? No, it made no sense to rob me twice. I was just shaken up, afraid.

I could hear footsteps in the night again. I was going to ignore them. I knew they were nothing. I heard a crack in the living room – something being stepped on.

I was out of bed so fast; I flipped on the light and looked across the horrible mess. My eyes hurt, but no one was there.

I barely slept a wink. Pedro rang me at 9 o’clock on the dot.

Are you all right?

I’m fine. It’s shaken me up that’s all.

Yeah, sure you are. Did they take anything?

No, that’s what’s so fucked up about it. They only trashed the place.

Maybe they were looking for something.

That’s what the police seemed to think. Maybe they didn’t know I’d moved back in.

You think they were after Adam and Katie?

Well why would they target me? I don’t have any valuable jewellery. The police said jewellery was a better return for burglars than anything else.

Did Katie have a lot of jewellery?

I don’t know, I said. Burglars don’t pick a house at random. They choose their targets.

Unless they’re opportunists. Did you leave any windows open?

In this weather?

Well how did they get in?

That’s the other fucked up thing; there’s no sign of a break in. They must’ve come in through the front door.

Did you leave it unlocked?

No, I didn’t leave it unlocked.

Are you sure?

Yes! I had to unlock it to let myself in.

How else could they get in?

If you’ll let me finish a fucking thought Pedro, I’ll tell you how I think they got in.

Ok, ok. I’m listening.

What did Adam and Katie do with their keys to the place?

They said they’d post them when they left.

I haven’t seen them.

Are you sure?

If he asked that again, I was going to lose it. They weren’t here when I got back.

Did you check the mail?

Of course I checked the mail.

Doesn’t make sense, why would they come back? Why trash our place?

Maybe it’s not them. Maybe somebody stole the keys from them.

Why?

Because they thought we had something worth stealing. Christ Pedro, I don’t fucking know.

I’m going to change my flight.

You don’t have to do that.

I’m worried. I want to be there with you.

Pedro, I don’t need you to come to my rescue. This is a shitty thing to happen. But I can take care of it.

I can catch an early flight; it’s not a problem.

You’re only there four more days. Just wait, ok. If you want to help, find Adam and Katie’s number and ask what they did with the spare key.

I have their emails. We must have their number somewhere.

Phone, email, just find out, ok?

I promised Pedro I’d call a locksmith. Maybe this had nothing to do with Adam and Katie’s key; lots of people had lived in the flat before it was ours. Perhaps one of them had a key and took a chance on finding something to steal. It was as good an answer as any.

I went to make myself a tea before taking a shower. As the kettle started to boil, I opened the cupboard to grab a mug.

It was full of saucepans.

I remember just staring at them, for quite a long time. I was so confused.

This was wrong. I’d moved the saucepans into the cupboard under the sink and I’d put the mugs back in the cupboard above the kettle.

I hadn’t imagined this. I’d done this less than 48 hours ago. How the fuck had the cups ended up back under the sink and the saucepans in the cupboard above the kettle?

I made the switch again, righting the wrong while the kettle went cold. Maybe I’d just thought to do it and hadn’t actually done it.

I needed my shower. Standing in hot water would make me feel better and soothe my aching head. I could handle this. Whatever the fuck it was that was going on.

After ten calming minutes, I stepped out the shower. I wrapped myself in a towel, then stepped on some lipsticks. They slid from under my foot and I fell hard – full legs up, arms in the air, hard. My right foot kicked the door frame; it was so painful.

I had, like… a real moment there, where I just… I had to let myself lose it. For a few minutes, I let myself scream and cry. I could’ve tidied the bathroom floor up last night, but didn’t. I was just shit out of luck.

When I was done, I sat up. I stared at my foot, wiggled my toes. Nothing was broken; it was just going to swell up and hurt like hell.

I could imagine the silent judgement on Pedro’s face. It was a look that said: You should’ve picked those things up already, shouldn’t you?.

Well I picked myself up and I hopped myself about. I put on my pyjamas, made that cup of tea, sat on the sofa and sandwiched my foot between a bag of ice and frozen green beans.

I was desperate to tidy up all the fucking mess, but there was just nothing I could do for now. I had to try and relax. I let the TV play whatever crap was on for a couple of hours.

My laptop was working, but the Wi-Fi was fucked. Finding a locksmith was not easy on my phone. Their websites – not great on mobile. Why was everything such a fucking nightmare?

Calling them out fast would cost a fortune. And I didn’t even have a job yet. When was I even going to get around to that?

What would Pedro do? Would he spend the money on getting one fast, or would he wait?

It was unlikely they’d come back having already found nothing. So I made the appointment for a few days’ time. The second thoughts came straight away. I could keep blocking the door, leave the key in the lock. But I wouldn’t be here all the time. What about when I was out? Could I even drag the drawers back to the door with my ankle in such a state?

To hell with it; I’d decided now. Pedro would be back soon anyway. Not that I needed him to look after me.

It would just be nice not to be alone.

I went on Facebook. I was trying to make plans to meet up with people. I thought that after a year away, my friends might be excited to see me. But everyone was busy. They’d all got plans already, or lived far away, or they’d got kids to look after now. So many baby photos in my feed…

I thought about messaging Maxie to let her know what had happened. But there was nothing she could really do. She had enough on her plate. And I was going to be fine.

I decided to look up Adam and Katie. I was wondering if they were the people we thought they were. What if they were druggies who’d come back hoping to find money? That would explain a lot. Aussies like to live large.

I couldn’t find Katie