Fourteen Days by Steven Jenkins

You haven’t unplugged it just in case your ghost sets it off, have you?” she asked, half-teasing, half-irritated.
    He didn’t answer. How could he? He could never make her understand what had happened, make her believe. He was having enough trouble understanding it, believing it himself.
    “What’s the matter with you?” she asked, sounding concerned. “I was only teasing.”
    “There’s no point,” he said.
    “No point in what?”
    He shook his head. “No point telling you why the smoke detectors are disconnected.”
    She scowled at him. “Have you been drinking, or have I missed something?”
    He got up and walked to the door.
    Standing baffled, she asked, “Where are you going now?”
    He left the living room and stepped out into the hallway. “Look!”
    Still grimacing hard, she followed him out. “What?” she asked. He pointed up at the ceiling where the detector had been removed. “I know it’s gone. I’ve already told you.”
    He marched past her and made his way into the kitchen, and then pointed up at the ceiling. Nicky hesitated for a second, and then followed him in.
    “What the hell are you doing, Rich? You’re being really bloody weird.” She glanced up at the ceiling, only to find another missing smoke detector. “You’ve pulled that one down as well. Is there something wrong with you?”
    He pointed past her, in the direction of upstairs. “And the one on the landing is gone too.”
    Frowning, she looked in the direction his finger was pointing. “Have you lost the plot or something? Why would you do that? What if there was a fire?”
    “I pulled them down because they were all going off—one after the other.”
    She gave him a doubtful look. “One after the other? That’s impossible. Are you sure?”
    His body filled with rage. “Of course I’m sure! I’m not bloody nuts! The one on the stairs went off. I pulled it down and took out the battery. Then a second later the one on the landing went off. And then a second after that,” he pointed to the ceiling, “this one went off. I’m telling you the truth.”
    She looked up at the ceiling, her face puzzled. “Calm down, Rich. I believe you. I know you’re not a liar, and I admit it’s strange, but—”
    “But what? What else could it possibly be? When are you going to accept that, just maybe, our house is haunted by Mrs. Rees?”
    She chuckled. “Who?”
    “Mrs. Rees ,” he snapped, irritated by her amusement and lack of empathy. “She used to live here and now she’s dead.”
    Shaking her head, she hesitated, clearly trying to find something appropriate to say. “Look, you’re never going to convince me that ghosts exist, no matter what happens.”
    “Then how do you explain this? A coincidence?”
    “Yes, I do think it’s a coincidence. Probably an electrical surge. The weather’s been bad lately.”
    Laughing in anger, he shook his head. “How could an electrical surge do this? They’re battery operated! Are you stupid, or what?”
    “Don’t talk to me like that,” she snapped. “I’m not stupid. Just because I can’t think of a logical explanation doesn’t mean there isn’t one. You of all people should know that.” She stormed out of the kitchen and headed for the stairs.
    “Where are you going now?” he shouted.
    “Away from you!”
    “Don’t be like that,” he said, walking over to the stairs. “This is serious!”
    She vanished from his sight.
    “And you better put those smoke alarms back up!” he heard her shout from the landing.
    Too proud and upset to follow, he remained in the hallway, leaning against the banister for several minutes before retreating back to the living room, slamming the door hard behind him.
    “Women,” he said through his teeth. Then he turned on the TV, still fuming as he sat back on the couch.

Chapter 9
Day 9: Wednesday
    R ichard had stayed downstairs all yesterday evening. His neck and back ached from sleeping on the couch. “Are you talking to me