I opened my eyes and the light from the overhead bulb stabbed into my brain. I shut them again. Next time I opened them I did it more cautiously, shading them from the glare. Mushroom brown walls, off-white ceiling with one recessed light which was still doing its best to drill into my head. I recognised nothing. When I pushed myself onto my elbows a rush of nausea had me clutching the side of the bed and desperately scanning the room for something to vomit into. I made it to the toilet, narrowly avoiding throwing up on the green linoleum floor. When finished I pulled myself upright with the help of the half screen and tried to figure things out.

What was the last thing I was sure of? I was on a train... no. I left the train and took a taxi to.... Meredith's flat. I let myself in, I made coffee and then?

Then what?

I woke up here.

I wobbled back to the bed and sat down. My head was thumping and my mouth tasted of old pennies. A bottle of water sat on a table next to me daring me to drink it. I reached out and found to my relief the seal was still intact. I cracked it open and took a long drink. Logic told me that just because the seal was intact didn't mean it was safe. It could easily have been poisoned via a hypodermic needle for example. It was not a convincing enough argument to stop me from drinking. On the other hand, I was not going to risk taking the two tablets left next to the water even if they did have 'paracetamol' stamped on them.

I tried to concentrate. So I was in Meredith's flat and then?

And then, there was a knock on the door and I went to open it.

Then?

Then... Then I'm struggling and I couldn't breathe and, that's it. I woke up here.

I look around the room. It was maybe nine feet by twelve. Apart from the bed and a bedside cabinet the only furniture was a small table and two chairs. No pictures, no windows, no home comforts, and no door handle. I stared at the door. Easing myself off the bed I managed to get to it without throwing up. Despite a closer inspection, there was no obvious handle, no hidden handle and no aperture for a missing handle. I don't panic easily but I was definitely beginning to panic as I hammered on the door.

'Hey. Hello? Let me out. Hello, anyone there? I'm locked in, let me out.'

'Ah, Miss Doyle, you're awake I hear.'

I spun around to face the room and clutched at the door to stop the dizziness. The room was still empty, other than the semi-transparent woman that had been sitting on one of the chairs from the moment I woke. It definitely wasn't her voice I heard. This was a man's voice. And unlike the ghost, he was smiling. I could hear it.

'May I call you, Grace? So much less formal.'

A fresh scan of the room showed me there was a small camera in a corner near the ceiling. The voice seemed to be coming from that.

'No, you may not. Who are you? Why am I here?'

'You are still looking a little fragile, my dear. Why don't you sit down and we'll talk.'

No need to cut my nose off to spite my face, I reasoned, so I lowered myself carefully onto the bed, avoiding the weeping woman.

'Answer my question,' I said putting as much demand into my voice as I could.

'Which one? Who I am or why you are here?'

'Both.'

'My name is Jeremy and you are here because I wanted you here.'

Obviously the wrong questions. 'Why do you want me? Why did you abduct me and bring me here?'

'Because of your gift.'

'My what?' I asked, but I knew what he was talking about. I just couldn't figure out how he knew about it.

'I hear from a mutual friend that you have unusual... abilities, Grace, abilities we are in need of.'

Meredith! I was going to kill her when I got out of here. So much for the hope she would raise the alarm when she found me gone.

'It's late, Grace, rest now and we will talk more in the morning.'

'No, I...' But the overhead light went out leaving only an emergency light which gave a faint glow. Probably just enough for the camera to spy on me. Even the weeping woman had blinked out and I was alone. I lay carefully back on the bed and tried to get to grips with what was going on. Assuming this was still Saturday, and my predicament was indeed caused by Meredith, then I could trace the beginning of this back to, Thursday, two days ago.

On Thursday afternoon I was on my way back to my car after doing a little shopping for Beatrice and Henry when my mobile rang. It wasn't a number I knew but then I don't have a wide circle of friends, in fact I have acquaintances, not friends. And I work hard to keep it that way. I suppose that's why my isolated home and way of life suited me so much. Anyway, I put the shopping into the car and answered my ancient phone.

'Is that Grace Doyle?' a female voice asked.

'Yes.'

'Hi, Gracie, this is Meredith Jansen. From way back. Remember?'

I remembered. How could I forget my only friend, even if I hadn't heard from her in years.

'I got your number from a little shop in Whitby that's selling your paintings.'

'You did?' I would have to remind them, again, not to give my number out.

'Can we meet for coffee do you think? And, you know, catch up maybe?'

'Catch up?'

'Yeah, a catch-up. It's been a while hasn't it,' There was a nervous little laugh.

'When?'

'Now? Are you busy?'

Now? Last I heard she had moved to Edinburgh or London or maybe it was Newcastle. As if she had read my thoughts she added, 'I'm in Yorkshire. I missed the moors. I have bought a cottage here. I visit as often as I can. I'm up here now and the woman in the shop said you were a local artist. So can we meet?'

Why did I hesitate? I don't know but maybe it was my learnt instinct not to get too involved with people. But this was Meredith. After a moment's thought I decided that it cut no slack and I put her off. 'Well, I am a bit busy today...'

'Tomorrow then? Eleven tomorrow morning at Patty's coffee shop? Great. It'll be fun.'

She hung up. I drove back to the big old house where Beatrice and Henry were waiting for me. Lady Beatrice and Lord Henry Pennington were the exception to my 'no friends' rule. They would once have been described as landed gentry, though now both their land and wealth were seriously diminished. Their old world manners were still very much intact however. I first met them three years ago when I came to view the studio flat above the converted stable block. Though I fell in love with it I had to reluctantly turn the offer down as I could not afford the rent on my limited income. They phoned me next day with a proposition. If I became an occasional companion and chauffeur, taking them to friends now and then they would class me as staff. Then I could live on the grounds at a seriously reduced rent. I jumped at the chance and have never regretted it. I enjoy their old world charm and manners and don't think I would give up my duties here even if I earned a fortune from my paintings. Apart from myself, the staff consisted of, Nancy, the cook who had been with the Penningtons' for many years and, Bell, a recent addition to the house. Bell did housework and helped with personal care. There is also a part-time gardener whom I often help from choice.

Beatrice and Henry were waiting for me with a pot of tea and looking forward to a chat. As we sat on the veranda and looked out over the gardens I could see the gardener, Joshua wandering around near the old hothouse. Joshua is the dead gardener, not the living one. I wondered what Beatrice and Henry would say if I told them I could see their long-dead gardener checking the non-existent vines. But as I loved my flat and the old couple, not to mention my hard-won reputation of being sane, I decided against it. The tea was poured from a beautiful china pot into delicate china cups and the conversation centered around their lives as a newly married couple and the many afternoon tea requests received. I loved to hear them talk of the past and as they spoke I was transported back as if reliving their gentle, ordered lives with them.

After our tea and sandwiches, I went back to the flat and quickly became so unsettled I wished I had met Meredith that day and just gotten it over. I roamed restlessly around. The flat is surprisingly roomy but not so spacious as to make roaming it a worthwhile occupation. The kitchen and living room are open-plan. There is one good-sized bedroom and an adequate bathroom. Henry loved to paint and years ago he converted three or four disused grooms lodgings and storage for a lot of hay into a guest house and studio where artist friends could come to stay. The old hayloft is my studio and the door which was once used for hoisting the bales of hay into the hayloft led out onto a balcony. Part of the roof and a great chunk of two walls had been replaced by glass to catch every bit of light the moors can offer. I love it and I am usually content there with my own company. This restlessness was new and unwelcome. There wasn't even a ghost to speak to as the regulars know I don't like them in my flat. There is nothing more unsettling than to wake up in the middle of the night to find a stranger sitting on the bottom of your bed. Alive or dead. Although the estate's ghosts usually stay out of the flat I still get the occasional visitor because of who, or should I say, what, I am.

Next morning I walked into Patty's at ten fifty-five. Meredith was already there. She was polished and well dressed. Her short blond hair and neat grey suit were immaculate and totally out of place in the homely cafe. I wore my usual jeans and shirt but in honor of the occasion I had sorted out some that weren't paint smeared. Having to walk through the studio to get to the living room was always risky in unmarked clothes. Not because I'm a messy worker. On the contrary, I liked everything to be in its place when I finished for the day. That way when I go back to it the order draws me into the work again. No, the danger comes from giving in to the urge to add just a splash of color here or finishing touch there. Before I know it I'm in full paint mode and my unmarked clothes are as paint-splattered as all the others. Anyway, Meredith was as well groomed and elegant as ever, though I couldn't help but notice she looked nervous. She waved to me as I walked in. She waited while I ordered coffee and then said that I looked great and my pictures were great and the town was great and it was great to see me.

Great.

So I said it was a surprise to see her and asked how she was doing. She was working as a journalist now, she told me, just as she had always dreamed of. She was on the trail of a big story that could make all the difference to her career. I congratulated her. It had been something she had wanted to do since we were kids. Then she led me down the 'do you remember when' road. And for a time I did remember. I remembered how close we had been. How it was such a relief having someone to share my secret with and who didn't giggle or freak out when she caught me talking to someone she couldn't see.

'Do you still... you know?'

'Yes.'

'Are there any here now?'

It was an old game we used to play. She would ask the question and by my reaction she would guess if a ghost was nearby and where it was. I vaguely wondered what was really going on. My expected answer was 'guess'. I obliged.

'Guess.'

'Hmm. No.'

'Wrong. There is a regular here that even Patty doesn't know about.'

'I am out of practice.'

'No, I'm just better at hiding it. Anyway, I am used to seeing Dot and she rarely bothers me.'

She smiled.

'Is there something wrong, Meredith? I don't mean to be rude but why get in touch after all this time.'

'I told you, I saw some of your work and thought it would be fun.'

I sighed. 'Right.'

'Okay. Actually, I need your help.'

'Oh?'

'I'm being haunted.'

'Is that why you asked me if there were any ghosts around?'

She shook her head. 'No. It never seems to follow me around. It's only at my flat.'

'Your flat? I thought you said you had a cottage up here.'

'I do but that's just for breaks. I still live in London. That's where my flat is.'

'Right. And it only ever bothers you at the flat.'

'Yes.'

'Then move.'

'I can't afford to and besides, it's a great flat. I thought if we could, you know, talk to it we could get it to... well, go on, or something. Besides moving out would just leave the problem for someone else to fix and a ghost who still, maybe, needs... help?'

'You know I don't do that kind of thing, Meredith.' I didn't add that I don't interact at all with the ghosts except on the most superficial level. It's too easy to be drawn into awkward situations in which the ghost sees you as a link to the living and a way to get one last message across. But very often it isn't just one last anything.

'Anyway,' I added, 'it's not that simple. Some of them believe they are here for a reason, some don't even know they are dead. Some seem to be in a time loop and just repeat the same actions over and over again. Too often it's the moment of violent death. They don't interact with anything but their own personal hell.' Meredith hung her head but I continued, 'Then you have those that are just so attached to a place they don't know how to move on, and wouldn't want to move on even if they got the chance.' She looked miserable and worried. I bit back another sigh. 'What makes you think your flat is haunted?'

She shrugged, 'Things get moved and I feel someone watching me sometimes. And there are strange noises.'

'Things that go bump in the night you mean?' I couldn't help myself.

'You can sneer, but it's creepy.'

'Sorry, Meredith, I didn't mean to make fun of you, heaven knows I've had plenty of that in my time. Okay,' I said feeling guilty at my petty jibe, 'I'll come. I'll have to sort a few things first though.'

'When?'

'Tomorrow?'

'I was going back to London tonight but I'll stay and travel down with you in the morning if you like.'

'No, I'll be fine. You go back if that's what you were planning. I'll see you down there.'

'Fantastic. Here, take the spare key and this is my address and phone number. I might be at work when you get there but just make yourself at home and get to know the-you-know-what. Put your things in the spare bedroom.'

She pushed a key and a bit of paper over to me.

'You were sure I'd agree then?'

She shrugged and had the grace to look a little guilty. 'I hoped you would, you know, for old friendship sake.'

This time I sighed out loud. Meredith grinned and almost hugged me.

Back at the house I told everyone I was going away for a few days. Beatrice and Henry were enthusiastic, they had been trying to get me to take a holiday for the last couple of years. Bell said I wasn't to worry and that she would pick up any shopping that was needed while I was away. Next day I put my current project on hold, packed a bag and caught the train to London. At Kings Cross I took a taxi to Meredith's flat. I let myself in, put my things in the spare room, made a coffee, answered a knock on the door and awoke here.