Dream House by Marzia Bisognin Page B

picnic?”
    â€œNot if you bring lots of blankets!” he responds cheerfully.

    We agree to meet at 7:00 p.m. by the gate and both bring some food and things to drink. Excitedly, I walk back inside the house and start preparing some simple dishes for us to enjoy. On the menu: toasted bread and smoked asparagus. I’m about to take some candles from the drawer where I found the others, but it occurs to me that it makes things a bit weird if I try too hard to create an atmosphere, and so I leave them on the countertop.
    Next, I take a long shower and dry and brush my hair into place for the first time.
    I put back on my dirty clothes—which quickly spoil all my efforts at making myself look presentable—and as soon as the clock strikes seven I pick up the dishes I’ve prepared and make my way outside.
    When I reach the back garden, I’m happy to see that the gate between the two houses is open and a red-and-white-checked blanket has been laid neatly on the ground. There’s a basket placed in the middle of it, and I can see the hot steam from the food Avery has cooked rising up into the evening air, giving off a delicious smell. He hasn’t seen me walking towards him yet, busy as he is with his efforts to light a small tealight, but once he hears me coming he jumps up and invites me to take a seat.
    We’re sitting facing one another across the threshold between our respective gardens, but I feel incredibly happy that the physical barrier which was keeping us apart has been removed.
    And without further ado, we tuck in to a thoroughly enjoyable meal, devouring every last morsel of the dishes we have prepared, from the appetizers of toasted bread and sliced salami, which are as simple as they are delicious, to the home-made chocolate pudding that Avery produces as a dessert.
    As I run my finger round a plate to collect the last few crumbs, I become conscious of how late it has got. The sky is dark, the first few stars have come out, and the cold air is making my nose tingle.
    Even though I’m freezing cold, our being here together like this more than compensates for the fact. But when he notices me shivering, Avery says, “We should probably get going—it’s pretty late, you know.”
    Secretly wishing that he hadn’t spoken those words, I nod and reluctantly get up and start gathering the crockery and cutlery to take back to the house. Before I can leave, though, he says, “It was nice to spend some time with you.”
    I simply nod my head mutely up and down to let him know I feel the same way.
    â€œIf you ever feel lonely, or you just want some company,” he continues, “flick the lights in the house on and off a few times, and I’ll show up out here. You don’t have to be alone.”
    â€œIs this your way of letting me know that you’re still spying on me?” I smirk, and we both laugh.
    â€œMaybe,” he says, with a wink.
    I wish him goodnight and leave, happy to have spent an entire day with him.

DAY 14
    I T’S THE middle of the night, but someone is knocking repeatedly on the front door. I ignore it at first, but then start wondering if maybe there’s the slightest chance that it’s Avery who’s standing out there.
    I leave the lights off while I walk down the dark corridor I am by now so accustomed to until I approach the source of the sound.
    Knock . . .
    Knock . . .
    Knock.
    The noise is slow, yet loud, and so eerie that I daren’t get too close to its source. It goes on and on for several minutes. And suddenly, the unexpected happens.
    The doorknob starts turning by itself, warning me that whoever was wanting to attract my attention is now going to get it.
    The hinges creak eerily as the door gradually opens and a tiny hand appears around it, followed by the rest of the body to which it’s attached.
    It’s the old lady—the one who keeps appearing and pointing at me.
    And I