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He listened as his friend’s phone rang, his heart pounding as he hoped for a miracle.
The line clicked as someone picked up.
“Hello?” Adam said. “Hi, hello?”
There was a breathy sigh.
“I can hear you breathing. I want my phone back, please. If you found it, I will happily give you a reward—”
The person laughed, a sharp and wild giggle that was instantly unnerving, and then the call ended.
Well.
At least now he knew it had definitely been taken by an asshole.
Adam left his friends to head back home just before closing time at the bar. He had a blast and had forgotten all about the weirdness at his house. His only concern now was using his computer to report his phone as stolen and try to get a new one as soon as possible. He was already planning to stop by the provider store first thing tomorrow when he walked in on something most unexpected.
His phone, right there where he’d left it, on the bedside table charging.
Adam realized he must have not even brought it with him earlier. He had been in such a hurry to leave that he’d walked right out without it. Although he was relieved that he wouldn’t have to worry about getting a new phone, his blood froze as a much more startling realization came over him.
If Adam’s phone had been here the whole time, then who answered it?
Fuck.
There was no way he had imagined the phone call. He could see it in his call history and that it had lasted twenty-one seconds. The logical conclusion was that someone had been here and answered his phone, but that in itself wasn’t logical at all.
Adam ran for his closet and then grabbed the first weapon he could find—a tennis racket.
Better safe than murdered in the middle of the night.
He spent at least thirty minutes thoroughly searching the entire house with his trusty tennis racket, but he found no sign that anyone had been in or out except for him. The windows and doors were locked and there was no evidence of anything being disturbed, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he wasn’t alone.
That giggle was certainly not a figment of his imagination.
His buzz had worn off, and he headed to his freezer to grab a bottle of coconut rum. He skipped the glass, taking a few swigs on his way to the bathroom. He wanted a hot shower and sleep.
He paused in the hallway.
There was a picture of his mother and father there, and he had certainly not hung it upside down.
Whatever.
He’d fix it later.
Adam stepped into the bathroom, flipping on the light and tipping the bottle of rum back. He eyed the rainbow jellyfish shower curtain suspiciously. He used the very tip of the tennis racket to slide the shower curtain to one side, his heart pounding in his ears.
The shower was empty.
He laughed, nearly hysterical at how ridiculous he was acting. He was a very fit six-foot-one man just shy of two hundred pounds. He could handle just about anyone who was stupid enough to break into his house.
Unless it was a ghost, his brain supplied unhelpfully.
Ghost or otherwise, Adam decided to leave the tennis racket on the sink within easy reach from the shower.
He took a few more swigs of rum before stripping down. He threw his clothes in the hamper and then turned on the water, waiting for it to warm up so he could get the shower going.
“Fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself, rolling his eyes. “House isn’t haunted.”
