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dying from causes that could not be explained.” She hesitated, not wanting to scare them but knowing she had to tell them.
    Taking a deep breath Debbie continued. “They were found to have died from heart attacks even though the tests my father and his staff did showed no heart problems. No one knew what had caused their deaths so there was an investigation into it. They came up with nothing but because of that my father’s hospital was condemned and closed down. I think a lot of people suspected father for the deaths, but he was adamant it was not him who killed them. My mother believed him. She loved him, as if that was some kind of proof for her. If she loved him then he couldn’t have been responsible. What she seemed to forget is what he did to her and I know domestic abuse doesn’t mean he would be capable of murder but he was a very cruel man. Even if he had been allowed to keep his practice running I think he would have lost most, if not all of his patients. Their families would not have let them stay when their doctor, a murderer or not, had lost every ounce of respect from the community in which he was once an upstanding and extremely well liked member. Mother told me things happened that couldn’t be explained and as we know, we can all vouch for that.” They were nodding in agreement and before they had chance to think of what had gone on that day Debbie began speaking again. “She believed it was the unexplained occurrences that had terrified the patients to the point of heart attacks. She felt and heard things that she could find no rational explanation for. She wanted to move but my father said he wasn’t going anywhere. It was like the house had a hold on him. He loved this place, more than me or my mother it seemed. My mother used to tell me that he belonged here when I’d plead with her to leave. She said it would destroy my father if we left. I have always hated this house and I always will, but at least we can sell it. Maybe a doctor will see the potential and want it for a practice.” Debbie finished her coffee and got up from the table on shaky legs. Talking about him always seemed to take its toll on her and she realised how exhausted she was. Still, she had things to do. The house wouldn’t sell itself. She put her mug in the sink and headed out of the kitchen calling over her shoulder as she went that she was going to ring an estate agent.

14
    She walked into the large hall to the phone stand at the bottom of the long winding staircase. Her shoes scuffed the worn and tattered rug that adorned the floor. Stepping off the rug and onto the tired and dull wooden parquet floor she instantly tip-toed without giving it a second thought. As a child she was always made to walk silently across hard floors because it riled her father if she made a noise and she would be punished. Her mind flitted back to the time when she was about three years old. She knew a lot of people believed memories from so early on in life could not possibly be remembered, but Debbie remembered it well because it was the first time she had been locked in the closet under the stairs. She had been playing with a toy and had accidentally dropped it from her chubby little baby fingers. He had been so angry he snatched her up roughly from the floor and locked her in the tiny room. She had been beyond terror there, alone in the pitch blackness, a frightened three year old with a snotty nose and bloody lip from her fall to the floor as he threw her in. When her mother was finally allowed to unlock the door she found Debbie curled in a little ball, fast asleep from sheer exhaustion and terror, her tiny body still heaving from her sobbing. Her mother had rocked her all night, crying into her child’s soft downy hair that smelled of sweat from her panic. 
    Wiping a welling tear of anger away, she walked to the phone and took a moment to compose herself. Just before picking up the receiver she glanced up to the top of the stairs.