The guest who wouldn’t leave

all night, I prayed I just had mice. But when I finally fell asleep, I dreamt of curses and poltergeists. Next morning, I went up to the small attic room. I checked everywhere. The backs of drawers and cupboards. Nothing. No sign of mice. ‘I’m going mad,’ I told myself. At the time I was working as a TV producer, making Haunted Homes on ITV. All those tales of ghosts and ghoulies must have finally got to me.

At least, that’s what I was trying to convince myself.

But the atmosphere in the house felt heavy. And I felt watched.

Terrifying

The next Monday in the office, I mentioned it to one of my colleagues.

She was a supernatural advisor for the show.

‘I’m probably imagining it all ,’ I forced a laugh. ‘But I don’t feel like my home’s my own anymore.’

‘Samantha,’ she said,

My guest

‘Yes,’ I nodded. My elderly friend, the psychic. We’d met a year before through work.

She’d published a book about being psychic and was meeting with journalists and telly people to discuss possible opportunities.

‘Your work sounds amazing,’ I’d told her. That’s how we became friends. She lived outside London, but the book meant she was getting more work in the capital.

‘Could I stay with you when I’m next in town for a meeting?’ she asked one night on the phone. ‘Of course,’ I said. I cooked dinner, got a bottle of wine, made up the

The atmosphere in my house felt heavy