From the previous chapter;
 
As she floated along the hallway, Samantha felt a sense of freedom for the first time since she died. She could actually feel the wind wafting through the window as it lifted her long, blonde hair from her shoulders and it fanned out behind her like a ghostly veil. As she luxuriated in the fact she could stand at the window and feel the warm summer breeze, Samantha wondered if this could be another means of escape should the hellish transporter return. At least she couldn’t fall to her death, she mused with a silent chuckle. What was the worst that could happen? Determined to find an alternative escape route, should the necessity arise, Samantha willed her translucent body to float through the window.




 
Her body weightless, Samantha took flight across the carpark like a bird on the wing, dipping and diving as she made her way towards the ground. When she eventually landed beside the recycling bin at the rear of the building, she looked down at her feet and marvelled at the fact the impact had caused no sensation. Was this payback for being a ghost for so long? She certainly hadn’t had this much fun since she’d died. She did a couple of floating twirls before looking up at the back of the building that had imprisoned her for nearly six years.

     Catch me if you can, she thought defiantly when she remembered the ghostly voice she’d heard earlier in Igor’s room. As far as she was concerned she had never done anything bad enough to justify being dragged off to hell, and as much as she loved Andrew, the man who had been the centre of her universe, the thought of him linking her to such a horrendous fate created a need inside her to fight back. All she’d done was love someone, so she didn’t feel guilty about believing Andrew when he told her his marriage was over. If he lied, then why should she be eternally damned because of it?

     When she heard the muffled cry for help, Samantha nearly jumped out of the skin she no longer owned.

     ‘Igor?’ she gasped as she floated towards the grill in the wall.

     Two hours before, she had watched him walk out of his room when he insisted on walking Catarina home. Why was he now calling for help? There was no doubt it was him, of that she was sure—but where was he? His room was on the second floor, and a quick glance up at his window confirmed the lights were off, so why was he calling out from somewhere near the car park?

     The fact she hadn’t worked out how to pass through solid objects frustrated Samantha for the second time that day. As did the fact that the only way she could communicate with the mortal race was by interfering with the electricity supply of inanimate objects.

     ‘I LOCKED IN CHILLER…’ she heard Igor call out, which made her stand back from the wall and stare at the metal grill where his voice had come from. Was this some kind of game he was playing? If it was, Samantha wasn’t impressed. She half expected to see him staring back at her when she pressed her face up to the bars so she could look beyond them, but she couldn’t make out anything except the metal blades of a fan.

     Resigned to the fact there was nothing she could do, Samantha floated back up to the hallway window of Laura’s flat.


   

Igor had given up. When he’d managed to remove the first blade of the fan, he had renewed hope that he might be able to make contact with the outside world and not be reduced to the icy state that would lead to his death. An hour on, he realised he was doomed. Beyond the second fan blade, there was a third, and there was no way he could reach it. Now with no feeling in his hands or feet, he felt his eyes closing, the tears he had shed earlier crystallised on his cheek. Was he going to die? He could only assume so. His voice was hoarse with calling out, and he slid to the floor as he felt his legs buckle beneath him.

 


Samantha still didn't know what to do. Igor’s calls for help had stopped permeating the air outside the grill at least half an hour ago, and her last foray to the carpark had greeted her with nothing but silence. If being locked in the chiller meant Igor might die, there was nothing she could do about it, but if he did, perhaps they could become friends. God knows, she’s been on her own long enough. Having Igor as a companion might be the answer to her prayers. As she pondered that thought, she felt weighed down with guilt. She liked Igor, and from everything she’d seen and heard in the week since he moved into her space, she saw nothing but goodness in the man. Even the bloody caged mouse he’d secreted in the wardrobe before Catarina arrived was a testament to his loving and thoughtful nature. Chances were, if he died, he would go straight to heaven. No, she couldn’t have it on her conscience not to try and help him, hopeless though it might seem. With a resigned sigh, she floated back along the hallway towards Laura’s bedroom…

   

Laura let out a groan when she was woken up by the alarm clock. It was beeping with a ferocity she’d never heard before, and it was only three-thirty in the morning. What was going on? At first Laura thought she must have set the alarm to the wrong time, but after she turned on the bedside lamp and checked it out, she saw it was correctly set at six-thirty, the time she usually got up. With a shake of her head, Laura turned off the light and snuggled back down under her duvet in the hope she could get back to sleep.

     No chance. Samantha was on a mission to get Laura to go downstairs and save Igor, and come hell or high water, she would do it somehow. When an orchestra consisting of every electrical appliance in the flat that could make a noise started playing, Laura sat bolt upwards in her bed. The TV was blaring in the living room, as was the radio in the kitchen, and her hairdryer was whirring away on the dressing table.

     ‘What the….’ Laura gasped as she reached to turn on the bedside lamp again. The alarm going off at the wrong time was one thing, but the prickling sensation now passing down her spine told her there was something much more sinister going on. When she’d returned to the flat after Catarina’s fainting spell, she’d Googled ‘poltergeist activity’ again on her laptop, and she was in no doubt that what was happening now had something to do with a ghost. She jumped out of bed, shot across to the dressing table, and switched off the hairdryer at the wall, before heading for the kitchen to turn off the radio. Again she switched it off at the wall, as she did with the TV in the lounge. Then, momentarily calmed by the advice she had gleaned on the internet, she took on a terrified, albeit confrontational stance after she returned to the kitchen.
 
     ‘What do you want?’ she asked as firmly as her shaking vocal cords would allow.
 
     Samantha wasn’t sure what to do in response. Damn, this was frustrating. She flicked the overhead light off and on a couple of times in an effort to communicate. Laura’s natural instinct was to get the hell out of there, but everything she’d read told her that, for the most part, ghosts weren’t malevolent, they were purely stuck on earth until they could find a way to move on.
 
     ‘You’re a ghost, aren’t you?’ she asked, her eyes frantically searching around the kitchen for evidence.
 
     The light flashed once, which Laura assumed meant yes. She could feel her body shaking as the reality of communicating with a ghost sank in. What should she do now? ‘Are you here because you’re trapped?’ she whispered.
 
     If Laura could have heard her, she might have flinched at Samantha’s expletive drenched reply. How could she get it through to her that it was Igor who needed help, not her?  She flashed the light off and on twice which Laura took to mean no. Going into charade mode, she tried to think of questions that required simple answers.
 
     ‘Are you here because you need help?’
 
     Too bloody right! Samantha thought as she flashed the light on and off.
 
      ‘Is there… Is there something you want me to do?’ Laura whimpered.
 
     Again the light flashed once.
 
     It was Laura’s turn to feel frustrated. Having it confirmed that this ghost needed help was one thing, but how could she find out what it wanted her to do?  ‘Would you like me to get a priest?’ she suggested in the hope she could hand this responsibility over to someone more qualified to cope with it.
 
     Not only was the answer negative, but Samantha’s exasperated overspill of energy turned on the kettle.
 
     ‘You want me to make a hot drink?’ Laura gasped in disbelief. Was this ghost a frustrated tea drinker who got off on watching someone partake in something they used to enjoy? She took the lid off the jar containing the tea bags and held one up in the air instead of asking the question. When there was no response, Laura held up the jar of instant coffee instead. This frustrated Samantha so much, she set off the microwave and toaster simultaneously, and Laura got such a fright she dropped the jar and it smashed at her feet. That was the last straw. If her flat was haunted, then she needed help to sort it out. She would go downstairs to call a priest in the hope he would know what to do, and hopefully the ghost couldn’t follow her and overhear the conversation.
 
     ‘I’m just going to nip down to the kitchen to get another jar of coffee…’ she told her invisible intruder in the hope it would give her a valid excuse to escape. ‘I…I won’t take long,’ she added apologetically.
 
     Samantha made a fist and punched it in the air. A result at last! A second later, she wasn’t so sure. She assumed jars of coffee weren’t stored in a chiller, so Laura might still not be alerted to the fact Igor was trapped inside it. In an effort to stall while she tried to work out what to do next, she turned off the light and plunged the room into darkness.
 
     An icy chill ran down Laura’s spine again as she stood shaking in the middle of the kitchen. With no window to offer any light from the moon or the street lamps, she couldn’t see a thing. What if this ghost wasn’t friendly, and it meant to do her some harm? What if it posessed her and made her do things she didn't want to do? She was so scared, she literally wet herself. The warm trickle travelled down her legs and spilt over her bare feet forming a small puddle around her. Without any light, it was impossible for her to move safely because of the shards of glass from the smashed jar of coffee. 'Please...' she begged. 'Please, turn the light on...'
 
     A minute later, Samantha complied, and Laura couldn’t believe what she saw when she looked down at her feet. There on the white tiled floor in front of her were the words Igor is trapped in the chiller, written in an ink made from instant coffee and hot liquid fear…