3:00 a.m.

Cara was rigid, her fists clenched as she stared at the glowing numbers on the display beside her. It had just turned three o'clock in the morning, the dead of night - the witching hour. No matter the name, that time of night had now become the focus of Cara's existence. Bedtime had gone from unremarkable to an anxious waiting game for tiny lightsabers to change through their numerical sequence each night until they reached that time.

The door hinges squealed, heralding Cara's punctual visitor. Cara swallowed futilely against her stubbornly dry mouth. It was time. A resinous, musky fragrance swept Cara's senses adrift from the safety of her bed. The mattress springs whined in protest against something as it sat down. Cara clutched her throbbing head in anticipation as the quilted surface depressed immediately beside her. There it was. Loving yet unwelcome. Familiar yet threatening.

* * *

Cara woke with a jolt, alone, disoriented and confused.

'Finn?' she called.

Cara swung both legs to the floor and hunched, cradling her head between both hands. Squinting, she could see the sun peeking through a slit in the curtains as dust particles danced in the light. Cara glanced at the bedside table, surprised to see a copy of Time magazine where the alarm clock usually sat. These things happened sometimes. Lately, more often than not.

She cleared her parched throat and called out again, louder.

'Finn?'

The soundtrack of domesticity played somewhere in the bowels of the house. Coffee percolating. Talkback radio. Cara rose slowly to steady her shaking legs, determined to find her husband. Her eyes stopped on the dresser top. Her hairbrush, watch and medication usually sitting by the mirror were missing. Did Finn move my things again?

Cara crept barefoot along the hallway and became overwhelmed with a cloying fragrance; the same unsolicited bouquet that greeted her each night. She flinched as an overpowering thud filled her head. That was as far as she could make it that day. She recoiled and made her way back to the bedroom.

* * *

Two fifty-five in the morning and Cara was wide awake, expectant. She at least by that time had the luxury of knowing the order of it all. The pounding headache. The inability to turn her head, to tear her eyes away from that damn clock for even a second. The creaking door. The powdery scent. The weighted pause before 'they' would lie, not quite beside or on top of her, but almost at one with Cara. The futile attempt to wake Finn, who never, ever roused.

* * *

Cara sat up, rubbing her eyes as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. The clang of utensils in the kitchen sink downstairs reached her ears. She searched for the time on the bedside clock and saw it wasn't there. She got out of bed and went to the dresser for her gold watch, which was missing. How she hated waking in such a confused state.

'Finn?' Cara called loudly so he could hear over the dishes. She headed slowly down the hall, dizzy yet still determined. She ensured her feet hugged each carpeted step before descending to the next. Hand gliding against the banister like silk, she picked up her momentum. Reaching the doorway to the kitchen, she stood silently watching Finn; his back towards her as he stood at the sink handwashing two coffee cups.

'Finn,' Cara said.

He did not turn around.

'Finn!'

Nothing.

'Finn, we need to talk. I know this is going to sound crazy, but…I think the house is haunted'.

Finn whistled as he pulled the plug. He dried his hands, threw the towel down on the bench and walked out of the kitchen into the sitting room.

Cara stood and stared after Finn, unable to move. Did we argue last night? She couldn’t recall. Finn was childish sometimes and tantrums accompanied by silent treatment had not been rare occurrences over the years. But they had moved on from that, matured.

Cara followed Finn, who had just sat on the sofa to take a call on his phone. The ringtone had changed and the harsh, unfamiliar tune made Cara feel nauseous. Her head pounding, she could only garner fragments of the conversation.

'So late again?…I can't wait up…Love you, too…’

 * * *

The fifty-ninth minute took forever to leave the screen, almost lulling Cara into a false sense of belief she could reside in the security of limbo forever. She reached out to Finn, despite knowing he wouldn’t respond. It seemed like an eternity since he had acknowledged her touch. Countless headaches - legitimate and at times excusatory, predictability and hospital visits did that to couples. And yet Cara never held a grudge - no matter how desperately lonely her nights had become.

Unexpectedly, she felt courageous that night. Perhaps she would try communicate with her. Cara nodded in the dark. Yes - she was certain the presence was female. There was even something strangely familiar about her. The door squealed in anticipatory delight. Determined to finally meet her visitor face to face without shying away, Cara forced her eyes away from the clock. Every morsel of her being drenched in fear as she looked for the very first time. And then, she finally saw her in the dim hall light. A pretty, petite brunette dressed in scrubs stepped into the room and sat softly on the bed. Cara's nostrils flared involuntarily as musk filled the air. The visitor removed her shoes, sighed heavily and stood to undress. Embarrassed, Cara turned her head away. When she looked back, all previous bravado disappeared as chestnut hair fell towards her own head resting on the pillow.

Cara jumped out of bed, screaming at Finn to wake up. She searched for her phone, which again was missing from the bedside table. Shaking her head in disbelief and starting to cry, Cara tried to recall where she had left it. She hadn’t yet thought through who it was exactly she would call as she fled the bedroom. All she knew was that she needed safety - immediately. Cara ran downstairs, skipping two, three steps at a time into the kitchen. She rustled through the receipts and keys in a red bowl sitting on the bench top.

'Where is it, damn it?' she cried, desperation coursing through her veins.

Her mad dash through the sitting room proved equally unfruitful.

Cara suddenly had a moment of brief clarity shine through the stress of her impending sanity. She recalled her phone charging in the study and ran down the hall.

She entered the room and found her phone uncharged and completely flat sitting on the desk. Cara’s eyes then settled on some of her other belongings. The gold watch, her hairbrush! Some earrings she had forgotten she owned. A photo Cara had always loved of herself taken at her friend’s birthday party two years ago. The photo was printed on a little card. Underneath, Cara’s full name appeared. Her birthdate. And her date of death, all in the prettiest font she had ever seen.