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I’m getting undressed, that’s when I sense him the strongest, the bloody pervert. I used to love horror movies I did, the scarier the better. You know them Hellraiser films, Saw , that sort of thing. He’s put me right off them!”
    Ruby could tell as soon as she entered the house that there was no spiritual presence whatsoever and she was surprised. On this estate, calls to Psychic Surveys were normally well founded. So many of the people incarcerated at the Cromer Asylum had ended their pitiful lives on this ground and, on passing, had found themselves trapped between two planes: unable to believe that only love waited for them from hereon in, they were still reeling from the pain and terror that dominated their former existence. In dealing with them, she, Theo or Ness would often call upon spirit guides to come forth, to encourage them home – the battle-scarred, as she often thought of Cromer’s former inmates, limping onwards, bloodied and bowed by the horrors and confusion of mental illness and the surprising many who had chosen to abuse rather than help them. The atmosphere at No.13, however, was unusually light and unencumbered.
    “So, what or who do you think it is?” Mrs Atkins continued. “A former inmate or something? A schizo, perhaps? A mass murderer?”
    Blimey, thought Ruby, she really has watched too many horror films.
    Finishing the tea that had been offered to her, Ruby said, “I really can’t say Mrs Atkins, at least not right now. I need to do a walk-through first, if that’s okay, examine every room in the house, see if I can sense something.”
    “Oh, you’ll be able to sense it alright,” Mrs Atkins declared, “he’s relentless!”
    It didn’t take long to do the walk-through, Mrs Atkins’s house was one of the smaller ones on the estate; two bedrooms only, the second bedroom a guest room, plainly furnished, so no evidence of children either. Walking into the main bedroom next, Ruby winced. Not so plainly furnished, it resembled a tart’s boudoir: three walls painted deep red, plus a wallpapered feature wall; its flocked monochrome pattern a somewhat stark contrast. A pair of black fluffy handcuffs had been left brazenly on the dressing table alongside a packet of condoms – the ribbed variety, for extra sensation apparently. As Mrs Atkins shivered downstairs, Ruby shivered upstairs at the thought of the antics that went on in here.
    Returning to the kitchen, Ruby calmly met Mrs Atkins’s almost gleeful eyes. “I can sense no presence in your home at all, Mrs Atkins. You are not being haunted.”
    “Rubbish!” the woman screeched, as though she’d been expecting Ruby to say such a thing all along. “I feel him everywhere, I’m telling you. Do it again.”
    Normally, Ruby would do everything she could to appease a client: burn sage sticks in every room, recommend the use of crystals and the regular burning of candles or oils – eucalyptus, pine, lavender, all meant to cleanse and purify. Windows too, she would tell them, open them regularly; let the stale air out and fresh air in, keep the energy in the house moving. But she didn’t like Mrs Atkins’s attitude, it was no better than those who had failed the emotionally disturbed all those years ago.
    “Mrs Atkins, there is no need to do it again. I have carefully surveyed every room and there is no spiritual presence in any of them. I’m sorry to say I think your imagination might be the culprit here – perhaps from viewing one too many horror films? If you’re not happy with my assessment, I apologise, but there are plenty of other psychics you can call on for a second opinion. In my opinion, however, all is clear. As for today, I won’t charge, call it a goodwill gesture.”
    “Charge? Of course you won’t charge,” Mrs Atkins seemed to be unravelling before her, “you haven’t bloody done anything!”
    “The reason I haven’t done anything,” Ruby countered, edging her way towards the door and freedom,