Knock Knock...Who's There

I heard it coming from afar; the siren telling of some poor soul's misfortune, and on a Friday evening, it was likely a driver in a hurry to get home to his family had run a red light...and as his kids sat awaiting his arrival, we finished our dinner.

Sam and Jenna, who were ten at the time, were a picture of beauty and innocence of which any father would be proud. Identical twins, who had both just washed their long blonde hair, were dressed in different sets of pyjamas because individuality is essential to those who almost no one can tell apart. Their PJs were worn every other weekend, as per the visitation schedule their mother and I had agreed on. And as the siren got closer, their brown eyes looked up to me for reassurance.

My ex-wife Linda had dropped the girls off after school, and as always, she looked great. Her short brown hair with a straight fringe, cut in a bob that she knew I loved. She wore a black and white check low-cut dress that I had never seen before and found so alluring. Each time I saw her, I had to face the reality that I was still in love with a woman I would never be with again, which cut me to the bone.

Linda made sure I got a good look at what I was missing as she bent over to kiss the girls goodbye. She displayed the fullness of her breasts, and, as she walked back to her car, the curves and swing of her hips related the story of you never know what you've got till it's gone. By the way she was dressed, and how good she smelled, I guessed she was going somewhere for early drinks, probably with her new flame Brad.

As the siren became louder, my jealous mind drifted off, imagining him slowly taking off her dress as they passionately kissed, revealing a new set of bra and panties HE had purchased. His hard-on, long and thick, Linda would look intensely into his deep blue eyes as she took him in her mouth, just as she had with me only a year before.

Brad would then lay her back, his tongue searching the soft folds of her immaculately waxed vagina. Her need increased as she opened her legs wider, taking Brad's dark curly hair with both hands and pulling him in, his tongue forced deeper inside. Loving the taste of her juices, Brad would sense her approaching orgasm as Linda selfishly grinds her pussy into his face. Moaning aloud, then screaming in ecstasy, her eyes roll and her back arches at an impossible angle as she comes into his eager mouth.

Sam brought me back to reality as she observed, "Dad, it's coming up our street."

It was a common occurrence; I didn't live in a good neighbourhood, at least, not since Linda and I had separated. Typically, the wailing would be faint, then grow louder before drifting off towards someone else's tragedy. But tonight, it didn't do the usual in-and-away scream and kept getting louder as it approached.

The girls stopped spooning their ice cream and shot me a look as the ambulance's siren and blue and red lights passed by, before stopping two doors away at Sandra's place. We made our way outside, with both girls clinging tightly to my sides.

All the neighbours came out to see what was happening, watching in disbelief as Sandy ran frantically out of her front door. Her screams were those of nightmares as she carried a bundle in her arms towards the awaiting ambulance. Her cries for help became a race to save little James's life.

Days later, I was told by a neighbour that Sandy had left James, who was two, and his four-year-old sister, Claire, in the bath when her phone had rung, becoming distracted by the conversation.

James was face down in the water by the time she had returned, while Claire continued to play with their bath toys. Sandy had scooped him out of the water, called 000, and began CPR, but all attempts to save his life were in vain.

They placed his lifeless body into the ambulance, and we all went back into our homes to continue our lives. A few weeks after the funeral, a grief-stricken Sandra moved out of the house, and I didn't see or hear from her again.

*******

About a year passed, and my friend Dom, who was into the occult, asked if I would go with him to see a medium called Peter Frost. Dom was a modern-day Don Juan. Tall and athletic, a former kickboxing champion who hadn't stopped training when he'd retired from his chosen sport.

Personal training had then become his calling, and having a bevy of admiring young women at his beck and call had undoubtedly played a part in his decision. He was charming, charismatic, and possessed killer looks. I often wondered if he had chosen me as a friend as a sort of beauty and the beast arrangement.

Of course, this was just insecurity playing havoc with my psyche, caused by the loss of everything and everyone I had ever loved. I struggled to understand why my life had fallen apart the way it had, and at times the pain was so severe, it caused self-doubt,
low self-esteem and jealousy.

All that negativity was directed at anyone who came into my life, even at times, towards someone as thoughtful and caring as Dom, who had supported me throughout my separation and divorce from Linda.

Dom told me all the good things he had heard about the medium, but I had no interest in such rubbish. However, because of everything he had done for me, I agreed to go. He paid for our tickets online, and I begrudgingly transferred the hefty entrance fee into his account. The event was being held the following week at a large auditorium in a neighbouring suburb.

When Dom arrived to pick me up, I said, "There had better be plenty of single women for the price of the ticket."

He laughed, knowing only too well of my desperation, and we set off on the twenty-minute drive to the show. My sullen attitude didn't reflect Dom's excitement, and the only thing keeping my hopes up for a good night was the chance of spotting some talent among the believers.

When we arrived, the car park was brimming and we were forced to park on the street. As we approached the main entrance, Peter Frost himself was there greeting the arrivals. His dark hair, perfect teeth and tailored blue suit saw the PR being well managed. Just behind the medium stood a woman in her mid-forties. She was plain, with greying dark hair, wearing a long blue and white dress, looking for all the world as if she belonged at an Amish fest.

I hardly paid her a glance as we approached; until it was our turn to meet and greet the celebrity bullshit artist. As we shook hands with Peter, the woman standing behind him began staring at me. Suddenly, I felt a cold shiver, as if someone had walked over my grave. All the while, the woman's intense grey eyes never wavered from my own. We entered the auditorium, an usher showed us to our places, and I was glad to be away from them both.

Once seated, I said to Dom, "That woman with Peter Frost gives me the creeps."

His reply was blunt, "Joe, after a divorce as messy as yours, all women should give you the creeps."

And with that, we settled in for the show.

*******

Peter Frost certainly knew how to work a crowd. Doing the usual, "Does anyone know a Roger?"

A well-practised routine; he would explain to the crowd that the spirit is happy and then suggest some random event, with the believers clinging to his every word. I don't think it hurt his bottom line that he was handsome, noticing a large proportion of attendees were female, which had my eyes wandering the crowd rather than paying attention to his readings.

As my eyes drifted over the sea of heads, I noticed on the left side of the stage the woman who had been staring at me earlier, and as our eyes met, I felt a chill run down my spine. I tried not to be obvious, but each time I glanced up, her eyes were still fixed on me. I became uncomfortable, shifting in my seat as cold sweat trickled from my neck down to the small of my back.

Intermission came, and not too soon for me, as people began to rise from their chairs and stretch their legs. Some headed for the exit doors, I assume to smoke a cigarette or get some fresh air. I bumped Dom with my elbow to let him know I was going outside, but he was deep in conversation with a lady in her seventies and completely ignored me. As I made my way through the crowd towards the exit, the woman who had been staring at me appeared out of nowhere, blocking my way.

I gave a half-hearted smile and tried to step around her when she said something that stopped me in my tracks. "I see a lady holding a baby." She then sneered, "He's dead!"

My blood froze, and my feet became glued to the floor.

Then, in a voice tinged with excitement, "I see an ambulance and the lady handing the baby to the paramedics."

My mind reeled. Thinking it was some sick joke Dom had set up and why he had brought me here.

Unable to contain her glee, she continued, "She killed him, you know." Revelling in sardonic mirth, she chuckled, and a crooked smile came to her thin lips.

I managed to stumble out, "Who killed him?"

Her smile increased, and she seemed to read my thoughts as my mind turned to Sandra.

She then whispered, "Claire..." Her voice trailed off into her own dark thoughts.

My anger rose. How dare this woman accuse Claire of such a heinous thing. Everyone knew it was an accident and that no one was to blame.

Turning, I noticed people returning to their seats, and when I turned back, the woman was gone. I was numb as I sat back down in my seat.

Dom looked at me, laughed and said, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Then, as the medium returned to his act, I heard three loud, evenly spaced thuds, like the heel of a fist hammering on a metal door.

THUMP...THUMP...THUMP.

I sprang to my feet, and Dom looked at me like I was losing my mind. Looking around the room, it appeared no one had heard. Everyone's attention was on the medium.

And again, THUMP...THUMP...THUMP. So loud, it was deafening.

Astounded as to why no one was reacting, I turned to Dom and said, "Where the hell is that thumping sound coming from?"

Perplexed, Dom fired, "What're you talking about, Joe...what thumping sound?" The way I was acting brought a worried look, and he consoled me, "Sit down and enjoy the show, mate. Relax, it's all just a bit of fun."

THUMP...THUMP...THUMP.

Suddenly, I heard a baby's cry, followed by what sounded like a child giggling, so faint I had to strain my ears to hear over the top of Peter's voice on the microphone.

Drenched in sweat, I looked around for someone to confirm what I was hearing. Still, everyone was watching Peter...everyone but me, standing there looking for all the world like a crazy man and the strange woman. I looked towards her as she smiled disdainfully.

Dom's hand grabbed me by the shirt, physically pulling me down and into my seat. His concern was rising, and he shot me a look that told me I was beginning to attract the attention of those around us.

On the edge of my seat and completely stunned, I again heard a baby cry. It only lasted a few seconds, and there it was again...a child giggling, only much louder this time. All the while, the medium continued performing his act.

Dom, who by now had become so concerned that all of his attention was on me, said, "Let's get out of here!"

*******

It took me months to get over the experience of that night, and even now, three years on, I still think about and question what I'd heard. But as time went by, the memories faded, and life went back to normal.

The girls arrived as regular as clockwork every second Friday after school, and I would drop them back to Linda and Brad's (they were now married) house on Sunday afternoon.

I stopped mentioning to anyone the events of that strange night. The way I had made a scene, then spoken to Dom like a crazy man on the way home, and as a result, in the weeks and months that followed, we drifted apart.

*******

When I first moved in two doors down from Sandra, she and Steve were still together, but they had separated a few months before the tragedy.

Before their separation, Steve and I would wave to each other if we passed in our cars, along with an occasional visit, where he would pop over for a quick chat, or Sam and Jenna would go and play with Claire and James, and I would go and tell the girls it was time to come home.

The latter didn't often happen because I considered the weekends the girls were over as our time, so I didn't encourage them to go. Also, the girls had mentioned Claire wasn't much fun to play with and that she didn't like sharing her toys.

Back then, Sandra and Steve appeared for all intents and purposes to be a happy couple, and the last thing I wanted to do was become the third wheel or cause any problems between them. I wasn't in a good place myself and stayed clear of them as much as possible for these reasons.

Then one Saturday night, when I didn't have the girls for the weekend, I was at a local bar when I bumped into Steve. I hadn't seen him since James's funeral over three years before, and immediately, memories of the evening James had lost his life came flooding back.

After some small talk, we decided to catch up over a meal from the bar's restaurant. Once our food had arrived, I asked Steve if he still had contact with Sandy and Claire. He stared off into space for a few moments before he answered.

"Joe, you were there the night James died, and I have always regretted that I wasn't...to do something to help him."

I tried to console him, saying, "There was nothing anyone could do mate, it was just a terrible accident."

His eyes welled with tears as he continued, "I haven't spoken to anyone about this since the coronial inquiry, but, even though it was an accident, there were some anomalies in the coroner's report, which to this day are unexplained."

"Anomalies...what kind of anomalies?"

His voice shook as he spoke, "The coroner found James died from accidental drowning, but there were some unexplained marks on his forehead; three significant bruises, which Sandy insisted weren't there when she put him in the bath. However, there was no conclusive evidence to indicate any foul play, and the matter was closed."

His tears flowed, "Joe, we never told anyone about this, but Sandy and I tried for years to conceive and never thought we would have a child of our own, so we decided to adopt...and when she later became pregnant with James, we were overjoyed."

I blurted out, "So, Claire isn't yours?"

At that, he broke down.

My mind went back to the night the sinister lady had accused Claire of killing James, and without thinking, I said, "Come on, mate, Claire was his big sister, she wouldn't do anything to harm him." Immediately regretting what I had said.

Steve looked at me incredulously, gasping, "What the hell do you mean, Joe? Claire would never hurt her little brother."

I apologised profusely for the insinuation, mumbling about the three unexplained bruises. Steve shook his head angrily and told me in no uncertain terms that it had just been an unfortunate accident.

I apologised again, Steve appeared to calm down, and he continued, "Six months ago, Sandy and I decided to tell Claire she was adopted. She asked about her real mom and dad, and when we called the adoption agency, they made contact with Claire's parents. Her father either wasn't listed or refused contact, but her mother agreed, and they arranged for a meeting. Since then, they've been in regular contact, with either Sandy or myself there to supervise."

Steve picked up his phone and began flicking through his photos, and when he found the one he was searching for, he stared at it briefly, before handing me the phone.

The picture showed an older Claire sitting on a park bench. Her grey eyes and slightly crooked smile stared into the camera. Beside her, with an arm around her shoulders, sat a lady around fifty, wearing a drab dress. The hair on her head matched the intense grey eyes that stared back at me, and a shudder went through my entire body.

Steve then said, "Claire's mother works for a medium called Peter Frost...have you heard of him?"