Sitting with my back against the wall, next to an open bathroom door, chatting with a man (who is virtually a stranger) while he's taking a bath is completely normal, or at least, that is what I keep on telling myself.

I do this every day, after all...

Well, I have talked to Craig through bathroom doors before. Things along the line of "Craig, if you clog my razor again, I'm shaving your head! Stop flexing in front of the mirror and come out; I have class in half an hour! That song has more than one line; please use the others too!" 

This is really not the same at all.

I'm constantly fluctuating between feeling ashamed, anxious and highly amused by my out-of-control behaviour. This situation is embarrassing, ridiculous and a little hilarious.

Seriously, I need to get a grip.

If I want an even remote chance at retaining contact with David after this adventure, I'm going to have to stop coming across as a needy lunatic. At this rate, he's going to make a swim for it, just to get away from me.

I do tend to be a little emotional at times, and I am rather sensitive to vibes and atmosphere and other people's moods and feelings, but I don't normally freak out about things like aggressive storms and sneaky branches and disappearing rooms.

Wait... I don't usually encounter things like that, so I don't have any historical responses to use as reference material on how I should react. Still, I need to get it together and start to make sense of things, or I am going to lose my mind... even more than I already have.

When my phone has a signal again, I'll google how to appear sane during insane situations. How to find that room you misplaced. The best defence against attacking branches.

"I'm really sorry that you're having such a bad experience here at our family home, Belle," David is saying, and I can hear him much better now that the wind and rain have decided to stop acting as though they were wolves in the story of the three little pigs, trying to huff and puff our house down. "I wish I could change that for you."

Actually, his presence has made a world of difference already. I would not have been able to handle this storm all alone out here, jumping at my own shadow, hearing noises where there are none... and I'm not even going to think about how I would've handled losing an entire room.

"Well, if I were a horror novelist, I would've been thrilled right now," I tell him, and he chuckles.

"You may not believe it now, but this is actually a really good place for artists to work. Many have come and gone; most said they felt inspired and did some of their best work up in that solarium." He is quiet for a few seconds, during which I don't even hear the splashing of water as he washes. "To be honest, there's been one or two who felt too creeped out or spooked to stay."

"Like me?" Golly, I'm not even special, then.

"No, nobody experienced lost rooms or noisy clocks... as far as I know."

Or sneaky branches and stalky feet...

"Did they paint in their sleep?"

"Don't think so..."

"That's a relief; I might be special after all..."

David chuckles softly, and then he falls silent, and now all I can hear is water splashing quite loudly. He is either rinsing his hair, or somebody is trying to drown him. I'll give him exactly one minute; then I'm checking to make sure it's not the latter.

"According to my grandfather, my grandmother used to spend a lot of time up there in the solarium, painting and drawing," he says when the splashing stops a couple of seconds before I'm about to rush to the rescue. I'm so ashamed to admit that I'm a little disappointed. Not that he is not under attack, just that I'm obliged to stay put...

Yes, there's something wrong with me!

"Oh, I didn't know that your grandmother is an artist!"

"She was," David mutters. "She passed away last year."

"I'm so sorry..." What do I say to that? I could hear the sadness in his voice. "I agree that solarium is perfect for working. I've already made one pretty good painting... Well, I was asleep at the time, but still..."

"You said earlier that you've been sleepwalking. Does that happen often?"

"Not that I'm aware of... and I've certainly never painted in my sleep before."

"Belle," he says in a low voice. "I've been thinking about it, and I do remember my grandfather saying that when he lived here after his marriage, they had to move into town because my father got terrible nightmares and sleepwalked a lot as a child. He was apparently always complaining about a woman wanting to take him away, saying he was her child."

Oh, wow! That is not creeping me out at all!

"That's... uhm..." I swallow, unsure of what to think now, struggling to process this new information. I appreciate his honesty, but...

I can hear the water draining from the tub.

"Oh, crap!" David exclaims, and that is definitely not something I was hoping to hear. I'm immediately on alert and almost pop my head into the bathroom. Fortunately, I'm not in the right position to do that very easily and am still struggling to my knees when David explains. "I didn't pack a towel. Belle, could I borrow yours, please?"

"Sure," I say, getting to my feet and then it hits me that my towel is in one of the bathrooms upstairs. I glance at the stairs leading into the dark unknown. "Really! You tell me that scary story, and then you send me up the stairs to go get my towel..."

I swallow nervously, taking one tentative step and then another.

"Oh, right, sorry, I wasn't thinking," David says, suddenly looking at me from around the door, causing me to jump at his unexpected appearance. "It's okay; I'll see what I can do with what I've got."

Is he going to towel himself dry with his dry clothes or his dirty, wet ones?

"No!" I say, taking a stand... after bending over to grab one of his shoes. He's done so much to help me; it's my turn now. "I'm getting my towel, and I'm taking this weapon."

"It's okay..."

"No!" I say again, holding up the shoe. "I'm ready!"

David is grinning at me, and that grin is making my heart gallop, and a song rise in my throat.

"I'm gonna sing all the way there and back," I inform him... or warn him... I'm not the best singer. "If I stop singing, you come rescue me."

"Okay," he says, and the fact that he is more amused than worried is making me feel a lot more courageous.

"Right!" I say and defiantly turn towards the stairs. "When the cold wind is a-calling, and the sky is clear and bright, yada, yada and sis boom bah! I will riiiiiide, I will fly! Chase the wind and touch the skyyyyy! I will flyyyy. Chase the wind and touch the skyyyyyy!."

https://youtu.be/NvR9YOpDG4A

I'm running up the stairs, halfway to the landing, and I can still hear David laughing at the bathroom door. I look down to see him looking up at me, his head and one muscled shoulder visible, the door hiding the rest of him. With that attitude, I'll sit here on the steps and watch him till he's dry. Maybe he'll get bored and show me his other shoulder too.

I'm not that cruel, and he'll start to feel cold again really soon hanging around wet and naked, so, after giving him a withering look, I continue my flight and my song, completely mangling the lyrics and tune of the song from the movie Brave, but what can I do? It's the only courageous song I almost know.

I'm not feeling even remotely brave when I leave the stairs and hesitantly cross the landing to the furthest bathroom from the stairs. Well, yes, when I chose that one as my main bathroom, I was thinking of its proximity to my bedroom; I didn't know that one day I'd be spooked and freaked out, worried about an intruder while singing my heart out on a quest for a friggin' towel!

My song ends in an ear-piercing shriek when I open the bathroom door, and the nautical clock joins in, belching a string of dings and dongs violent enough to make me stagger and my ears scream in pain. I've never been this close to it when it rang before. I can imagine a solid wall of sound fighting against my entry into the bathroom.

I have a mission, and debilitating sound is not going to prevent me from completing my mission. I am Princess Merida of DunBroch, the brave and rebellious archer! I don't have red hair, a horse or a bow and arrows, but I have her song and everything, dammit! Well, most of it...

Breaking through the sound barrier, I charge into the bathroom and grab my towel hanging on the rail near the door. Right now, I'm more afraid of losing my eardrums than being attacked by a stalker... at least, I think I am.

"Belle!" I hear David's voice above the rampant clock noises and am surprised to hear him that clearly until I leave the bathroom and almost run into him. I jump back with a startled yell, and then my eyes nearly fall from my head.

He has a long-sleeved grey t-shirt tied around his waist like an apron, and the rest of him is clad in supple muscles and sun-kissed skin. My initial shock gives way to incredible joy, and I know I'm now grinning like a pervert. I can't help myself, so I do the most logical thing I can think of, I drape the towel over my head.

"Uhm... I think you meant to do this!" I hear David laugh as the noise starts to fade away and then the towel is no longer on my head but in the process of being tied around his waist. He drags the shirt free and depresses me by pulling it over his head, making all those lovely muscles disappear, and wet blotches appear on the grey material as it soaks the water from his skin. "Thanks," he says, his smile changing into a frown when mine disappear and my eyes grow in size.

"Please tell me that is your ringtone," I beg as the bongs and dongs and dings dissolve, and the only sound remaining is the tinny notes of a haunting melody I've never heard before. David shakes his head slowly, and I grab his arm when he turns to look down the length of the dark corridor leading to the study.

He starts to move in that direction, as curious as I am to know where the music is coming from, and so many uncomfortable and frightening scenarios crowd for dominance in my thoughts.

The sound seems to be coming from the room across from the library, the one with the furniture ghosts.

"David, this would be so much better if you weren't wearing something you could lose any second."

He turns his head to look at me, a teasing grin touching his lips. Seriously, doesn't anything faze this guy? I'm nearly making a puddle on the threadbare carpet with anxiety, and he is grinning at me.

"I thought artists liked naked people."

"Only when we're going to draw them," I say with a shrug. "I'll draw you later; for now, I think pants will be best and a better weapon than this." I hand him his shoe, and after standing in the dark hallway, looking at the closed door for a few more seconds, David shrugs.

"The music stopped anyway," he says, putting an arm around my shoulders and steering me to the staircase. "Okay, I'll get dressed and dry my hair first."

☼☼☼