“Yes?”
“If we survive this, I’m banning puns.”
“You can’t silence me and my puns! That would be awind-sweptinjustice!”
I laugh, like an actual real laugh, even though the wind is screaming and the world outside sounds like it’s being ripped apart. He somehow managed to calm my panic withhorriblepuns.
He is completely committed to the bit now, telling another terrible pun each time the thunder cracks, I jump, or the wind howls a little too loudly.
Outside, the wind screams, trying to tear apart my home.
Inside, Ember’s heartbeat is steady against my cheek.
The lights flicker faintly under the door as the howling of the wind begins to finally die down, and the thunder grows more distant. Gradually, the storm moves on.
We stay in the closet a little longer than necessary, reveling in the quiet left behind. Ember’s chin rests on top of my head, and my hands are still tangled in his shirt. His arms are wrapped around me in a tight hug.
“Looks like weweatheredthat well,” he says after a long moment of blissful peace.
“…and the moment is over,” I groan into his chest.
The emergency alert on my phone chirps, letting us know that the storm is past us now.
When we open the closet door, I half expect the hallway to be gone. Or sideways. Or filled with dramatic debris or a rogue casket.
Instead?
Everything looks normal.
“That’s… anticlimactic.”
Ember steps past me, examining the area.
“I don’t remember the shutters being closed,” he says.
“That’s because they weren’t,” I mutter. “I swear this house is alive sometimes.”
“Alive?” he asks, incredulous.
“It tried to lock me out on my first day here. I had to have a whole conversation with it to finally let me in. Houses can contain the personalities of spirits that have passed, and I’m pretty sure that all the spirits that have passed through this place have brought this house to life.”
He opens the front door easily.
“I’ve never had that issue,” he says, smugly.
“I’ve never had that issue,” I mock in a deep voice, stepping out the front door to catalog the damage outside.
The sky is a bruised purple now, all signs of green gone. Rain still drips from the porch.
The funeral home is basically untouched.
All of the shutters are closed over the windows, protecting everything inside. Even the sign is still straight. The only blemish I can see is one gutter that hangs at a slight angle.
I exhale slowly in relief and make my way to the backyard to survey the damage there.
“Oh, no…” I breathe.
My garden.
