One of the women at the table began to groan. The camera spun to face her. “…Laughing Lady, is that you?” gasped one of the others at the table. “Laughing Lady, come back. Join us in this circle, gathered here in your honour. In life, your powers condemned you to the bedlam. In death, you found freedom. Share your wisdom with us!”

Cackling suddenly blasted from the speakers. Jon was surprised to feel the hair on his arms lifting. A howling wind extinguished the on-screen candle. Jon took up the remote and pressed the Information button:

HAUNT OF THE LAUGHING LADY/1958

CAST: JAYNE VANCE, CYRIL DONNELLY. DIR. JACQUES PEPPET.

Jon had never so much as heard of the film or any of its talents. He switched off the set and reposed for a few moments in the unlit stillness.

His trance was broken when a pair of headlights brightened his window. He listened intently but heard no car moving down the lane. The lights dimmed then dissipated. Jon went to the pane and peered out. The moon was now masked by clouds, so only hints of the environment were visible: the skeletal trees, the vague lay of the path, his and Teddy’s vehicles reposing side-by-side. Had Teddy’s jeep also been a gift from Paige, Jon wondered?

“We need to talk.”

He hadn’t even noticed Paige entering the room, so her voice startled him. He had to squint just to pick up her reflection in the glass.

“I don’t feel like talking.”

He returned to the bed and lay down again. Paige continued to speak, even lecture, but Jon did not listen.

What he did listen to were Teddy’s and Alicia’s voices as they leaked through the wall that divided their quarters from his and Paige’s. The exact words were instantly interred in the dividing wall, but Jon could tell that their conversation was, if not heated, then certainly emotional. At one point he heard their door close, then heavy footsteps on the stairs. He strained to pick up any further sounds; hopefully the closing of the house’s main door, the sound of Teddy’s jeep engine. But the only noises were those of Paige readying herself for bed and, later, the faint rumble of her snore. Jon knew that for him sleep was far off, if not altogether impossible.

Another pair of lights suddenly brightened the window. Though these lights were somewhat murkier than the first, their hue was unusual—red-tinged, like two signal-lanterns glowing wanly by some rustic stretch of railway. Again, these lights arrived noiselessly, but this time they lingered.

Jon rose and moved to the glass.