Bobby ran to his mother’s room, sobbing. Janet wrapped her arms around him until the storm subsided.
“He was there again! That man!” Bobby sniffed. “Standing there, watching me while I was in bed.”
Janet smoothed the boy’s hair. “I’m sure it’s just a dream, darling. Nothing but a dream.”
“But I wasn’t sleeping. I sat up and I watched him, watching me. He looks so sad, so sad. I wish I could help him and then perhaps he’d go away.”
“Now, darling; you must stop this nonsense. From now on, you shall sleep in here and I shall take your room. Let him show his face to me, this man of yours! I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”
“He’s not scary, not really. Just sad.”
“Hah!” said Janet bitterly.
“Who is he, Mummy? Why does he keep coming back?”
“Never you mind,” Janet tucked Bobby into her bed. She pulled on her dressing gown and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll go to your room; you’ll be all right. He won’t dare to come in here!”
In Bobby’s room, the man sat on the bed and sobbed, burying his face in his hands. Sometimes he could sense his son’s presence. The room was exactly how it had been before –
Sometimes, there was a definite chill in the air – like now. As if some malevolent entity had come in.
“If that’s you, Janet,” he spoke to the empty room, “I’ll never forgive you!”
There was no answer. The man went down to the kitchen to make a cup of tea to dispel the chill in his bones.
I ought to leave, he thought for the thousandth time. But how can I?
It was in this house my wife killed our boy and then herself. And I will never leave him alone with her again.