Darren Holt made the usual evening cups of tea and joined his wife, Heather on the sofa. After long days, working office jobs they disliked, they would flop on the sofa every night to watch distracting television.

‘What are we watching tonight, then?’ he asked.

They tended to watch all kinds of programmes, from reality TV, that Darren sensed were as scripted as soap operas, to detective shows, that all seemed to start the same way. These cop shows would open with a dishevelled officer staring down at a body, usually on a beach.

In answer to his question, Heather nodded to the screen. On television, spooky music played as the credits rolled over a back-drop of creepy deserted houses. Darren rolled his eyes. This Haunted House was Heather’s new favourite show. She was instantly gripped by the show, sitting forward, eyes locked on the screen. In the programme, a team of so-called expert ghost hunters went around houses that were supposedly haunted.

Heather loved the show, finding the supernatural investigations fascinating. Darren couldn’t stand it. There were certain shows that just wound him up. Another example was a programme where contestants had to evade capture, while another team of experts tried the hunt them down. Both these shows were just so lame. How did people watch this drivel? Darren just couldn’t get his head around it.

The presenter on-screen turned to the camera and explained how they were outside of the most haunted house in the North of England. Darren tutted, yeah of course they were. Let’s see if they find anything.

He half watched the television and half watched Heather. She was already completely invested. These shows were absolute tosh, all spooky music and atmospheric camera angles.

As the show went on, the team went through the abandoned old house, in the darkness, Heather was engrossed, eager to see if the ghost hunters would make a supernatural discovery. Darren waited until the commercial break to voice his opinions.

‘You can’t believe all that rubbish.’

‘You won’t be saying that if they find something.’ she replied.

‘If there was anything to all this, then it would have been discovered well before now.’

The advertisement break finished, and the brave experts continued their torch-lit investigation. On screen, there was a noise. The hunters shrieked, their hand-held cameras darting left and right. They went charging through the old house in the direction of the sound.

‘See?’ Heather said, pointing at the TV. ‘What was that? That could have been a ghost.’

‘Come of it! That was a crew member kicking a bucket over.’

‘You’re so cynical.’

‘This is as fake as wrestling.’

Heather shook her head, and turned her attention back to the screen. Darren shook his head, saying nothing. He knew that if he were to continue to protest about the awful show, Heather would kick-off, accusing him, possibly rightly, of not being able to let her enjoy anything.

He shrugged, grabbing his mobile phone and scrolling through social media. He occupied himself with the messages, posts and clips of online pranks. At least the awful show was only on once a week. For the other evenings, they would watch anything, from the latest BBC drama, to a repeat of a classic comedy on one of the Gold channels.

That night just as Darren was drifting off to sleep, he felt Heather moving in bed, beside him. He opened an eye. She was sitting bolt upright, peering around the dark room.

‘Did you hear that?’ she whispered.

‘What?’

‘A banging noise, sounded like it was coming from downstairs.’

‘I didn’t hear anything.’ He said. ‘It was probably a car door slamming shut up the street.’

Heather said nothing, wringing the duvet between her hands.

‘Are you sure you should be watching that TV show? It puts ideas in your head. You’ll be telling me next that you think this place is haunted.’

‘Don’t say that, love. Please.’ she said.

Darren simply growled that she should get some sleep, before rolling over and closing his eyes. As sleep was washing over him once again, an idea occurred to him. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if he pranked Heather, if he tricked her into thinking their house was haunted? What a giggle that would be. And it would be easy enough. She was half convinced already.

Early the following morning, while Heather was still fast asleep, Darren crept downstairs. He moved quickly and quietly, and moments later, was slipping back under the duvet, beside his wife.

As usual, she woke at the alarm and hit the shower. Once she was out of the bathroom. Darren would go in and shower. The morning routine ticked on, with Heather heading downstairs to put the kettle on and the bread in the toaster. While he was dressing for work, Darren smiled to himself. This was going to be classic. Any moment now. Then it happened.

The usual morning subdued peace, was shattered by screaming. Darren forced the smirk from his face, and rushed downstairs. He found Heather in the kitchen. She was standing in the middle of the room, frozen by fear.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘just look.’

Darren turned, in mock confusion. Every single cupboard and drawer had been flung open. It just looked so strange. One open unit would appear like carelessness, but for every single thing to be open, when, apparently, neither of them had done so, just seemed so creepy.

‘Why is everything open?’ he asked.

‘I honestly don’t know. I can’t explain it.’

Instead of admitting that he had crept down while she was sleeping, he shrugged.

‘I’m sure there is a logical explanation.’

A shiver went through Heather, her mind racing. She was reminded of a horror film. Indeed, the same scene in the film had given Darren the idea. He told her not to worry and that it was probably just one of those things, before going to put the kettle on, closing the cupboards and drawers as he went.

Once the room had returned to normal, Heather seemed to relax a little. She sighed and sipped her tea, chewing on her toast, at the kitchen table. She shook her head, as if to dispel the thoughts of what had just happened.

As he left for the office, Darren gave Heather a hug and told her to take care. He climbed in the car, chuckling to himself. This prank was going to be priceless. Her face when he finally revealed his elaborate joke would be brilliant. He had played some tricks over the years, but this could be the best one yet. She would laugh and declare she would never watch that silly show ever again. She would tell her friends how he had played this joke on her, how scared she had been. He would tell his mates, and the lads would be so impressed.

The following night, around one-thirty in the morning, Darren and Heather were woken up by noise from downstairs. They both sat bolt upright. Was that the television?

‘I’ll go and check it out.’ he said.

He padded downstairs, going into the living room. The television set was on, a children’s show on screen. A kid’s TV show blaring out in the middle of the night would be really quite frightening, unless you’d set the timer yourself. Grinning, Darren grabbed the remote and hit cancel timer.

He returned to Heather in the bedroom, rubbing the back of his head in pretend confusion.

‘What was it?’

‘The TV was on, showing some old kid’s show. Very odd.’ He shrugged.

‘How can the TV just come on all by itself?’

‘I don’t know. Let’s try and get some sleep. Things will seem different in the morning.’

Darren rolled away, to hide the smirk on his face. He knew that nothing worried Heather more than if he was worried.

For the second morning, Darren studied Heather in the kitchen, as she tried to block out the weird happenings from her mind. She mentioned that there was a craft fair at the train station that weekend.

‘Maybe we should go.’ she said.

Darren nodded, sounded like a plan.

The kid’s TV show in the middle of the night was clearly playing on her mind. It had been a master stroke.

Heather finished the last of her mug of tea and rubbed her face.

‘I don’t like all this, you know?’ she admitted. ‘Spirits are attracted by certain auras. There are things we shouldn’t be dabbling in.’

‘Heather, have you heard yourself? Auras? And we’re not dabbling in anything. You really do watch too much of those spooky shows.’

Heather said nothing, gathering up the breakfast things and tossing them in the sink.

That night, Darren was woken by Heather shrieking from the landing. Excellent, he thought, she’s found it. He rushed across the room and out onto the landing, feigning panic.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

With trembling hands, she pointed to the thing on the floor. Standing upright, in the middle of the floor, wearing dungarees and a sinister grin, was a child’s doll.

‘What is happening to us?’ she cried.

She crumpled to the floor, her eyes not leaving the doll. Darren snatched the doll and marched downstairs.

He returned moments later and told her, he’d thrown the horrid thing away. He hugged his wife as she lay in bed trembling. As he drifted off to sleep, he told himself that he’d tell her in the morning. It was time to come clean. He’d had his fun. She would call him names, laughing, and give him a playful dig on the arm. He would explain how funny it had been, how she should have seen her face, the doll being worth every penny of the eleven pounds he’d paid for it.

He woke and showered the next morning, as usual. He could hear Heather downstairs. When he was dressed, he headed down for the usual tea and toast before work. Heather was in the living room, putting her coat on. She looked exhausted, her normally styled hair was scraped back, tight in a pony-tail. Darren pointed to the sports bag at her feet.

‘What’s all this?’

‘I can’t stay here, not while all this is going on. I just need to get out of here for a while. I’m going to stay at my sister’s for a few nights.’

‘It’s me.’ he said.

Heather stared at him in confusion. Darren went on.

‘It’s me. It was a joke. It’s all been me, everything.’

Tears streamed down her face as she glared at him, eyes wide in anger and disbelief.

‘It was just a joke.’

‘Do you see me laughing?’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you would do that to me.’

‘It was a joke.’

‘Stop saying that. Hiding my tea mug, that would be a joke. What you have been doing to me, it’s messed up.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘I can’t believe this.’

‘You brought it on yourself.’ He said. ‘All that rubbish about ghosts.’

‘I deserved it? Really? And, if that’s your idea of a joke, then you need help.’

‘It was just-’

‘Don’t you dare say banter.’

‘I am sorry.’

Still reeling, she shook her head.

‘I’m going to stay with Daisy for a while.’

Darren went to speak but the look Heather gave him made his pause. There was clearly nothing he could say. He had gone too far this time. Heather picked up her bag and told him she’d be in touch. Darren nodded, giving her a wink that he hoped expressed he wanted to see her soon.

He watched her pull off the drive. She headed down the road without a backward glance. Darren turned back to the house, swearing and kicked over a garden gnome by his doorstep.

All that day at the office, he would reach for his mobile phone, checking for a message or a missed call alert from Heather. When there was no message or alert, he would debate calling or texting her. Should he drop her a message saying, he was sorry, saying he hoped she was okay? Every time he debated it, he decided to leave it. Maybe she needed time to calm down. If he pestered her, he could make things worse.

On the drive home, a sad song came on the radio. The female singer lamented a lost love. Darren was surprised by the sudden tears in his eyes. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and switched the radio off. He drove the rest of the way home in silence.

It was strange to be in the house without Heather. They had been apart in the past and it hadn’t bothered him, but the circumstances in which she’d left made this time seem different. He was sure they’d sort it out. He would apologise and she would calm down. He had been a complete idiot, but, he hoped the damage could be repaired. He had let his weird sense of humour sway him and had really upset her. It wouldn’t happen again. His humour would be narrowed down and restricted to knock-knock jokes. He would promise there would be no more practical jokes. He wouldn’t even tip a glass of cold water over her while she was in the shower.

He spent the evening trying to concentrate on the Champions League football game, but his head wasn’t in it. He wasn’t even bothered if his hated Liverpool scored a dozen goals. At half-time he grabbed another beer from the fridge and tapped out a short message to Heather. He said he hoped she was doing kay and finished with sorry again, Dx.

Just before the end of the match, his mobile phone pinged. Hello, you. I’m going okay. Daisy is making me watch those awful house renovation programmes.

Darren was tempted to reply that it was better than the haunted house programmes, but decided it was too soon. He responded, could be worse, I’m watching the Liverpool game. He text that he hoped she has a good night’s sleep. Her response came straight away. You too, hope the ghosts don’t get you xxxx. The kisses at the end brought a tear to his eye. The fact that she was making light of his stunt suggested that she was already on the way to forgiving him. He raised his can of lager, cheers love.

After watching the end of a gangster film, just before midnight, he went to bed. It did feel odd to be going to bed on his own, but, he told himself, Heather would be back soon. He would call her in the morning, keep it nice and light, have a laugh, make small-talk, and he’d apologise again. He would suggest a takeaway, maybe even a meal out somewhere, and then hopefully, a line would be drawn and they could move on.

He pulled the duvet up around him and made himself comfortable. Still thinking of the reconciliation, he drifted off to sleep.

He sat upright in bed. What was that noise? Sometimes the most ordinary thing during the day, seemed terrifying at night. He listened in the dark room, his heart pounding. Perhaps it was the fact that he was sleeping alone for the first time in ages, perhaps it was all the spooky things he’d been thinking of lately, but right then, in the darkness, in the middle of the night, he found he was actually frightened. He listened for the sound that had woken him. Just when he was wondering if he had dreamed it, he heard the sound again. There it was.

He felt sick. The sound coming from the landing sounded like children laughing. The cheerful, sing-song laughter made him go cold. He gripped the duvet tight as he listened, terrified, as it sounded like a group of young children were playing, singing and laughing on the landing.

How could this be happening? He did not believe in ghosts or the supernatural, but how else could he explain the chorus of little children outside his bedroom door? A shiver went through him. What if Heather had been right about dabbling in things? What if by his actions, by Heather’s sensitivity and interest, they had unsettled something, and crossed some unseen line.

The sounds coming from beyond the bedroom door, would have been more at home coming from a nursery playground, and, the fact that they were coming from the landing, when he was home alone, in the middle of the night, was utterly terrifying.

He slipped out from under the duvet, and crept, slowly, quietly, towards the bedroom door. He moved as though he was the intruder in the house. He reached the door, the children were now singing a nursery rhyme.

Darren felt like he was dreaming, maybe he was in the midst of a nightmare. He reached out a shaking hand, and snatched the door open. He stared out at the dark empty landing. There was nobody there. The singing and laughter had ceased. The house was dark and quiet once again. He ran a hand through his hair. What was going on? He sighed in the darkness, long shadows all around him. Was this how Heather had felt, how he had made her feel? No wonder she had been so infuriated with him.

He leaned against the doorframe, looking, listening. The world seemed to be as it should be. A car whizzed along the road outside. A dog barked somewhere in the night. Had he imagined it? Had he been still dreaming and not fully awake? He massaged his temples. There would be a logical explanation for all of this. Perhaps all this with Heather had disturbed his mind. Yes, he decided, that was what it must be.

He would wash his face, then go back to bed. After a good night’s sleep, he could get things back on track.

He moved though the darkness, for the bathroom. He tripped over something, losing his footing. He tumbled and landed on the carpet. Rubbing his elbow, he got to his feet. He flicked the light on, to see what he had tripped over. Once his eyes had adjusted to the glare of the light, he looked down. He screamed and cried out in terror. What had tripped him was lying just outside his bedroom door.

It was a child’s shoe.

By Chris Platt