"Maybe your sleepwalking self wanted to be less formal..." David says, wincing at his own words.

"Yeah, let's go with that," I grin, really not wild about the idea of trying to figure out why I would sign my paintings as Belle when I don't know that I'm painting. I am not schizophrenic. There is only one me... and she is becoming a handful.

Since I stepped inside this house, I've become even nuttier than usual. My nuttiness levels were always adequate; it did not need ramping up.

I'm still searching for possible explanations for the strange signature scenario when the air around us explodes with sound. To my credit, I just shrink into the blanket and, pulling it over my head, press my hands over my ears. I don't run away screaming, and I don't crawl into the corner and cry. I do, however, almost fall off my chair when the dead cuckoo clock, gleefully joining in the noisy fun, spits out its chewed-up wooden bird with such force that it whizzes past my head, striking one of the overhead pots with a loud clang.

"Really?!" More angry than frightened now, I turn and snarl at it. "You couldn't do that earlier when you ever so cheekily shouted 'cuckoo' right after your brothers and sisters went quiet?! You had to wait until this very moment and almost hit me in the head?!"

I cannot really hear him well, but I think David is laughing; at least, that's what it looks like. He is getting to his feet, and his feet are taking him away from me, and I really don't like that! I'm about to pounce on him, but he stops and crouches down at his bag, which he'd brought from the bathroom with him and left on the floor near the entrance to the hallway.

He opens and digs around in it before rising and turning to me. "Here," he says, holding a tough-looking flashlight out to me. "In case the lights go off again... or you need a weapon."

Wow! That was really reassuring!

I automatically take the flashlight, the words 'why' and 'where are you going' still forming on my lips when he leaves the kitchen, sprinting down the short hallway to the foyer.

"Why? Where are you going?" I ask the empty kitchen, hoping that nobody replies in a low gravelly voice, hoarse with disuse. We never did finish our intruder hunt, and the last time I was alone in this kitchen, someone said my name. I did not just imagine it.

I can hear my own breathing above the noise of the storm and the clocks. Well, I think it's my breathing. I cannot be in this house by myself; I just cannot. I rise to my feet, clutching the ends of the blanket and the flashlight protectively to my chest, but I only make it as far as the entrance to the hallway before I freeze.

I also cannot be with someone else in this house. I nearly killed David earlier. When he left the kitchen just now, he ran with a bit of a limp. I really hurt him!

I glare at the door of the tiny closet, acting like a barrier between me and the foyer. I'm waiting for it to open and swallow me into oblivion, the way it did with the room that used to be there. Hearing a sound behind me, I spin around to see the mangled wooden bird lying on the floor, wobbling as if it had just landed there. I think it rolled off the table where it fell after connecting with the pots.

"Took your sweet time!" I shout at it (I might be developing some anger issues), not wanting to speculate about why it took a few minutes to make it to the floor, and then a loud crash causes me to jump and trip over the section of the blanket dragging on the floor. I fall down hard, pain shooting through my buttocks and an elbow, I slammed into the floor. I try to scramble to my feet, but the blanket keeps on getting in my way, and finally, I just scurry away from where the noise came from, stopping only when my back presses up against the storage seat that had been my bed earlier.

On the floor between the pantry and the door leading down to the cellar lies what is left of the cuckoo clock. It fell off the wall and smashed to smithereens. It will never shout 'cuckoo' or spit birds at people ever again. I now feel kinda bad about yelling at it...

It was David's clock! If he had it repaired, he could've made good money for it if he decided to sell it off to annoy someone else, but the thing was a blooming menace, mocking me, attacking me... or, well, maybe just doing clock things in an obnoxious way.

Still, even dying, it scared me half to death. I glance up at where it came from and see that the nail that held it tore out of the wall, which is why it fell. David's removal of the clock earlier must've loosened it, and perhaps the violent spitting was that one thing too many.

If that clock ticks or goes cuckoo-cuckoo again... I'm burning it!

The racket died down a while ago, and I'm still sitting on the floor, clutching the flashlight, staring at the cuckoo clock remains, when David joins me in the kitchen.

"It misbehaved?" he chuckles upon seeing the clock, and I just turn my eyes to glare at him. He is not fazed at all. How can he be this calm?

"It killed itself; I swear," I tell him, watching him cross to the clock and reach up to touch the empty nail hole in the wall.

"So, I see," he says, and then he turns, and I notice the dead crow he has by the feet. I squirm away from him in horror, looking up into his face with shock.

"Found the crow that scared you," he explains and crossing to the back door, he puts it on the floor. "I'll bury it as soon as I can go outside."

"You killed it?" I ask, sounding a little hopeful that I'd been attacked by at least one live bird and not a murder of dead crows... Or would that be past tense... a murdered of dead crows?

"It died long ago," David says, destroying my hope. "It is quite dry," he adds, moving to the sink to wash his hands with some dishwashing liquid.

Oh, good, we're not going to have it for breakfast, then.

"I think it got trapped up there in that room, poor thing. It was probably lying on top of that pillar because I found it tangled in the sheet I pulled down earlier."

Now I feel bad for the crow, even though it multiplied after death and tried to peck my eyes out and caused me almost to kill the nicest man I've ever met.

"The music box is not in that room," David sighs, drying his hands on a piece of paper towel he tore from the roll. He leaves the sink to join me, where I'm still sitting in a broken heap on the floor. "You okay?" he asks, helping me to my feet.

"Yeah, tripped over the blanket and fell on my butt," I explain, giggling, when David instinctively pats down my bottom, probably trying to assess the damage. He realises what he's doing and gives a short, embarrassed laugh, hastily letting go of me.

"Sorry," he says and once again takes his seat at the serving island to drink the last of his lukewarm coffee.

"So, no music box?" I ask, sitting down as well.

"There is something, but it's in the locked room next to the one we thought it was in," David sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He looks exhausted. "The nursery."

Oh, joy! Of course, it is!

I take my phone from my skirt pocket to check the time and realise that it is quite black. The battery died probably ages ago already.

"What time is it?"

David takes out his phone to check and makes a surprised sound. "It's 1:23 am."

No wonder he looks half dead on his feet. He didn't take a nap when I did, and earlier, he'd been attacked by a harpy wielding a fireplace poker.

"You should sleep. I can see you're very tired. I'm sorry I kept you up so long, or was it the coffee?" I smile, glancing at his empty mug.

"We were having an adventure," David grins, making me feel better. "I can drink an ocean of coffee and sleep like a baby," he assures me. "Please don't let my presence keep you up. I'll bunk down here on that." He nods towards the seat I'd used to nap on. It's way too small for someone as tall as he is to sleep comfortably.

"No, I'll sleep on it; you can use the bed upstairs."

"No way!" David exclaims, and I can see that he is not going to budge on the issue. He can be quite stubborn when he wants to be. I reluctantly hand him the blanket I've been huddling in and, shivering, turn to face the hallway leading to the foyer.

There is no way I'm going out there alone!

"Will... will you please walk up with me?" I'm being such a baby and a big fat nuisance, but I cannot help myself; my throat is closing up with dread.

"Of course," David says; rising from his chair and grabbing his bag, he steps into the hallway. "I want to brush my teeth and change into my sweatpants; it's more comfortable to sleep in," he explains when he sees me looking at his bag. Honestly, I was just wondering if he was planning on running away. I wouldn't blame him.

Nodding, I take the blanket he is holding out to me and wrap myself in it again. David doesn't seem to be feeling the cold, and I'm shaking like a reed caught in a storm. Then again, I am a reed caught in a storm.

I follow him up the stairs, pausing at the bathroom. "Let's do the bathroom things first," I suggest and agreeing, David opens the door to the bathroom closest to the stairs, and I open the one nearest my bedroom. He is not entering his bathroom, he is waiting for me to check mine out first, and when I give him a little nod, he smiles.

"Doors open or closed?" he asks, and to his credit, he is not mocking me.

"How about halfway?"

Oh my word, I am so ashamed of how needy and scared I am! I'm not usually like this. Normally, I go to the bathroom with the door closed, and I don't drag strange men to my bedroom... I also don't hang out in spooky old houses that may or may not have black mould or something that drives people nuts.

They didn't want her here? They who?

Not knowing is really freaking me out more than I care to admit. I do think that Iris simply didn't want to be here. Fixing the place up and selling it was going to take years rather than days. The place isn't even in David's name yet. Perhaps she had an ambitious idea in her head that didn't seem quite as realistic once they were actually here, putting it into practice.

Did she lie? Did she make up her stories to excuse herself?

Maybe David was just really tired after doing hard labour all day, and that is why he passed out as soon as he got into their bed. Maybe he didn't find her exciting at all... Yes, that is the jealousy rearing its ugly head again.

My mind is running away on many tracks while I go through my bathroom routine, and by the time I join David in the hallway, I'm a ball of nerves again, glancing up and down the hallway and up the stairs to the solarium. We should go check it out, but I really don't want to. I want to lock myself in the bedroom as soon as we know that it is clear.

In the bedroom, David patiently opens closets and cabinet doors while I look under the bed and wardrobes, and we finally agree that we are the only human beings in the big room.

"Maybe we should go sleep in the bathtub," I tell David, and he tilts his head, giving me an amused grin.

"Is that something you do often?"

"No," I whisper, trying to pretend that I'm not here and didn't just say something extremely stupid. "It just suddenly seemed safer but made no sense when I heard it out loud."

"It's all good, Belle," David smiles his warm smile, causing me to feel a little better. "We're alone in this house. When I came up here to look for the music box, I popped into the other rooms and upstairs, and it was all empty."

I am relieved to hear that, but I'm not sure I believe him. "You searched the entire study? It's huge, and the bottom floor was quite dark the last time I was in there. Did you find the light switch for it?"

David is frowning at me now. "The study is locked. It's always been locked."

"It wasn't locked yesterday," I admit, wondering if I'd been in there today. I cannot remember. I never told David, and now I feel guilty, but then again, he could've been the one who unlocked it. Ron doesn't know everything David does and doesn't do... "Is it locked again now?"

"I didn't even try the study door," he shrugs. "I thought it was locked."

"Maybe it is," I say anxiously. "Maybe it's not even there anymore... I won't be surprised."

David turns to the bedroom door, and I cringe at the idea of exploring the study now. I'm tired, and it's late. Every shadow is extra dark, and the storm is relentlessly throwing tantrums outside. He might feel the same way as I do because he turns back to me, smiling.

"I'd love to explore it, but not now," he says to my relief. At the moment, I don't even care if there's someone hanging out in there. I'm really tired, and the atmosphere in this room is very different from the rest of the house. It is peaceful somehow. I've slept very well in this room... for as long as I stayed in the bed.

"Come on," David says gently. "I'll turn my back while you get ready, and I'll sit with you until you fall asleep."

That seems too cruel. The man is dead on his feet.

"Do you see any weapons in here that I might use against you?"

"Huh?" It might have sounded like a weird question, but it really wasn't one.

"You could sleep in here too if you're sure there's nothing I can attack you with."

David chuckles, running a hand through his hair.

"Okay," he says, taking the blanket from my shoulders. "I'll take the floor. Go ahead."

He turns his back, and I change my skirt and top for my pyjamas. I drape my discarded clothes over the vanity stool, grateful that I didn't leave my underwear on the floor and that I made the bed this morning. The room is fairly neat and tidy. It doesn't resemble a den of iniquity at all... My bedroom usually does.

"There are actually a few things I found that I need to show you," I inform David. "I forgot about them in all the... excitement of dead birds and living clocks."

"Sure, you can show me tomorrow... today... later," David sighs, and when I tell him that I'm decent, he turns, searching the floor for the best spot to sleep in.

"This is ridiculous," I tell him, looking at the bare planks and moth-eaten rugs. I cannot do this to him. "I can't take the most comfortable bed in the world and let you sleep among the dead mites and dust bunnies."

"I'm not taking the bed and giving you the floor... I'll rather give you the bathtub," he adds with a grin when I just blink at him.

"Very funny," I say, lifting the covers and climbing into the bed. "This bed can sleep about fifty people if they like each other enough. I'm sure we could share it without running into each other along the way."

David narrows his eyes, trying to process my sentence, and then he just gives up with a grin and shrugs. "Sure, besides, if I lay on top of you, you won't be able to sleepwalk," he tells me, and the twinkle in his eye is giving away the fact that he is teasing me again.

"Hmm, maybe I should let the dust bunnies have you," I frown, shifting to the far side of the bed to make room for him. "I promise that I won't attack you in your sleep... at least not while I'm awake. Please lock the door."

David doesn't move; he continues to gaze at me where I'm sitting in the bed, wearing my very decent-looking PJs. It is a fresh set; I've left the sea- and paint-stained pyjamas in the pantry with the idea of scrubbing them later. My current PJs consist of a grey T-shirt sporting the words: Just five more minutes and an image of an alarm clock. The irony of having a clock on my PJs is not lost on me. The green three-quarter pants is covered with tiny versions of the big clock on the t-shirt.

Very cute, very respectable. No seductive qualities at all.

"I was really only trying to demonstrate my superior level of French earlier," I assure David. "It wasn't a proposition. I had no idea we'd end up in this situation later, I promise. Besides, didn't you say that when you get into this bed, you turn off like a light?"

"That was then-"

"See, all good."

"Belle, the last time I shared this bed with someone, she had nightmares and ran away... And it wasn't because I was a horrible lover..."

His words did make a shiver of fear ripple through me at first, but now I'm on the verge of giggling, wanting to tease him, and I have to bite down on my lip, not to say any of the words bubbling up in my brain.

"It wasn't!" he laughs, apparently reading my mind.

"Let's see how it goes," I shrug, not half as confident as I sound, but what is the alternative? "I don't think it could be worse than the nightmares I've been having while awake today. Besides, I..." My words catch in my throat, and looking up at him, I realise how true they are. "I feel safe when I'm with you."

For a moment that seems to stretch on and on without end, David and I just stare at each other.

"That's only because I don't have a poker," he finally grins, bringing us back to the present and laughs when I make a disgusted face. "Okay," he says, making up his mind. He turns away to lock the door and wraps himself in the blanket he is still holding in his hand. "You can have the duvet; I'll use this," he tells me, walking towards the bed.

Good idea! Create two compartments. And if he mummifies himself like that, things will stay nice and PG-rated because he is very possibly never going to be able to free his body parts from their confinement again. The bed moves slightly under his weight when he joins me.

"Want to leave the bed lamp on?" he asks, and I shake my head.

"Not unless you do."

"No, I'm good."

"Is my phone still charging? Sometimes it gives up and stops."

"It's still charging," David assures me, placing his own next to mine on the nightstand.

Oh, goody, he has his arms back!

"Good night, Belle," he whispers and switches off the light, wrapping us in a cocoon of impenetrable darkness.

"Don't let the bed bugs bite," I tell him, even though I know I'm the thing most likely to do some biting.

☼☼☼