The Haunted Traveler December 2017 Edition

112
was divided into fifteen minutes of allotted time. She was rigorously organised.
Samantha drew a bath, popped downstairs to the kitchen and put a goat’s cheese and
spinach quiche into the oven. She opened the window, to stop the smoke alarm from
going off. The aroma from the jasmine bath bomb and the cooking food, started to
make the house feel a little warmer, like it was lived in again. The silence amplified the
sounds from next door: the drone of radio four, the humming of the fridge and Mrs.
Jenkins’ monologue on the telephone, a consistent mumble. Occasionally phrases from
her conversation would stand out.
Just before Samantha closed the kitchen window, she heard, Mrs. Jenkins declare,
“She, she is in for a sharp shock!” and then a pause.
Samantha realising that she was straining to hear the rest of the conversation, had a
word with herself and closed the window quickly. For the rest of the evening though,
the mystery of who was in for this shock and why, re-occurred in her thoughts.
Suddenly a shadowy figure lunged up on to the kitchen window sill.
It startled Samantha at first, only to realise it was Sheba, her Alsatian dog.
The pet had the run of the large garden and of an evening slept in the kitchen. On
the odd occasion, Samantha would smuggle Sheba upstairs and here the dog would lay
sentry like under the bed, head just out by the side.
During the night Samantha would reach her arm over the side of the bed and stroke
the hounds head. Sheba may lick her hand, such a gentle dog considering her size.
Samantha found this reassuring and comforting. Partly the reasons why Samantha’s
parents had no hang ups about leaving their sensible teenage daughter alone was that
the house was well secured and Sheba was a trusted guard dog.
And of course as Samantha’s Mother was prone to remark to anyone who would
listen, in a clipped put on English accent, “ It’s Woolton, NOT Walton, dear.”
A half bottle of sparkling wine was in the fridge. Her Mother, the dad nicknamed
The Prosecco Princess, did not have a drink problem! Oh no Samantha’s mum was not
like her, but she enjoyed a glass of fizz or two, thinking that the sparkles made it less
intoxicating.
Tonight, Samantha decided to pour herself a flute of “fizz” and took her quiche
and rocket salad on a tray into the bubble bath with her. Decadent, why not she was
the only one in the house. The wine was a mistake, as a sip of it seemed to hit the back
of her throat and as she was not used to drinking, the bubbles came through her nose.
Samantha enjoyed her luxurious dinner for one and discarded the tray to the side of the
bath. She decided to stay in the tub a while longer, running the hot tap some more. She
washed her long blonde hair and submerged her head under the water.
There appeared to be a loud scratching sound and she jerked her head out, sitting up,
shocked. Splashes lapped over the tubs edge and splattered foam along the floor tiles,
like a Jackson Pollock painting.
Complete Silence! It was not like Sheba to scratch at the backdoor. Perhaps she was