Pieter… and the girl! The girl at the clinic!
A wave of anger passed through Lotte’s astral incarnation, and for the briefest of moments she appeared as a ghostly shape, rippling and surging with energy, like a shimmering cloud flashing with lightening…
…while back in the parlour, tears appeared in the eyes of the reflection cast in the window…
In a fury, the apparition opened its mouth wide in a silent scream, but Pieter and the girl blissfully slept on.
A white miasma floated out from between its lips, like a cloud of condensation, and it twisted and snaked through the air, across the bedroom, and then slipped silently into the girl’s mouth.
Kaatje breathed in the ectoplasm, drawing it into her core.
◆◆◆
A shifting of the bed woke him and Pieter lay there for several moments looking up at the dark ceiling, his groggy mind slowly coming alert.
All was quiet around the house. There was a draught coming from somewhere, raising goosebumps on his bare arms, and he wondered if he had left a window open? Unlikely at this time of the year.
Rolling over, he reached for Kaatje, seeking her warm body. But when his arm touched the empty mattress alongside him he raised himself on one elbow, and twisted around to flick on the bedside lamp.
Blinking his eyes and scratching the stubble on his chin, he threw back the covers and came to his feet, wondering where on earth she was. The bedroom door was wide open, hence the chilly draught. She must have gone to the bathroom, he guessed, but she should have woken him. She shouldn’t be stumbling around in a strange house, not until she had a better sense of the layout.
“Kaatje!” he called, still half asleep, and he shuffled tiredly out through the door in his shorts and t-shirt.
The bathroom was next door, at the end of the passage and thankfully away from the top of the stairs, and he gently pushed open the door, softly calling her name. Pulling the light cord, he saw the tiny room was empty, and so he turned and headed along the landing. He walked by the doorway to the kitchen and around the wooden pommel at the head of the flight of steps, thinking she must be in the lounge: perhaps she couldn’t sleep and had decided to pour herself a drink.
He heard a faint noise then, a tiny scraping of bare feet on the carpeted floor behind him, and he was just about to turn back when there came a terrible screeching that made him jump out of his skin. His heart missed a beat, giving him a sickening feeling like the floor had just opened up beneath him, and he twisted just in time to see Kaatje launch herself at him from the kitchen doorway.
Her features were almost unrecognizable, all twisted with anger and her lips peeled back, and the bandage over her face was hanging loose so that he could see her stitched-up and watery eyes. She flew through the air towards him, and something in her hand caught the light from the kitchen and flashed brightly, and Pieter stumbled back and threw up a protective arm as he realized she was holding a knife.
She slashed down and the blade cut into his forearm, drawing a thin line of blood in the skin. Pieter twisted to the side as her feet landed on the floor, and he used his arm to swing her away from him, using her weight and momentum so that she tottered sideways.
It gave him enough time to duck as she swung the knife back towards the top of his head and the sharp blade embedded itself in the doorframe. Kaatje tried to tug it free but it was stuck fast, and Pieter hunched his shoulder beneath her slender frame and lifted her up. She lost her grip on the knife, and she screamed in frustration as he hefted her into the landing wall and pushed her down to the floor, his weight bearing down on her.
“Kaatje! God damn it! Stop!”
For half a second he wondered if she was sleepwalking.
“Wake up, please!”
Again her face twisted in hatred, and she spat and hissed at him.
Somehow she managed to lift her leg and plant her bare foot on his chest and he felt her push with superhuman strength, and then he was being propelled backwards, and he yelled in fright.
His back struck something hard and he realized it was the railing around the top of the staircase, the only thing that had prevented him from plummeting down to the floor below.
Badly winded, and still stunned from the suddenness of her attack, and wondering how the heck she could even see where he was, just like the patients at the clinic he thought, Pieter looked up.
Once again Kaatje was coming through the air towards him, her nightdress billowing around her.
Pieter rolled sideways and Kaatje landed with a grunt onto the landing floor. Quickly recovering, he slammed his elbow into her back to pin her there, and then he wheeled himself back over and lay across her body, using his arms to hold her shoulders and head down, the blood from his wound soon smearing her white nightdress red.
Kaatje kicked and twisted beneath him, bucking sideways to try and throw him off, but Pieter sprawled himself widely over her thrashing body, refusing to let her slip out from under him. He held on, hoping she would tire, for he didn’t want to have to hit her: the mere idea gave him a feeling of revulsion.
Leaning his face down towards the back of her head he whispered into her ear.
“Kaatje, stop now. Calm down. Wake up and stop struggling.”
Slowly her struggles grew weaker. Perhaps it was his soothing voice that had penetrated through to her, perhaps it was exhaustion, or maybe she just snapped out of whatever freaked-out spell she was under. Whatever it was, Pieter felt her thrashings and kickings gradually subside, become more
