This is day 44 of @mydivathings' #365daysofwriting. Every day @mydivathings invites you to write a short story based on the image she chooses. Today's image (below) is a Photo by Anthony Tran on Unsplash

Find out more about the challenge (you can join anytime!) here @mydivathings/day-44-365-days-of-writing-challenge

This is part seven of a new story (told in instalments, written exclusively for Steemit):

Haunted

You can read it as a stand alone piece if you wish, or you can read
part one here: @felt.buzz/haunted-part-one-an-original-work-of-fiction-for-the-365daysofwriting-challenge, or
part two here: @felt.buzz/haunted-part-two-an-original-work-of-fiction-for-the-365daysofwriting-challenge, or
part three: @felt.buzz/haunted-part-three-an-original-work-of-fiction-for-the-365daysofwriting-challenge, or
part four: @felt.buzz/haunted-part-four-an-original-work-of-fiction-for-365daysofwriting-challenge
part five: @felt.buzz/haunted-part-five-an-original-serialised-steemit-horror-story

part six: @felt.buzz/haunted-part-six-an-original-fictional-story-for-365daysofwriting

The damn radio cut out again.

Dan rested the paintbrush down on the edge of the paint tin and carefully climbed down the steps of the ladder. He checked his phone, sitting on the window ledge. It had a full signal. Why did this keep happening? For some reason the internet connection seemed really patchy up at this end of the house, even when his phone claimed it had a good 4G signal. He was going to have to contact the phone company.

What the hell was he paying for?

He was decorating the stairway and landing that connected his and Gillian’s bedroom to the family bathroom and Katie’s room. He had finished the walls yesterday, with a rather pleasing light grey, with a just hint of blue. He was in the process painting the door frame, in a darker shade of grey. It was going to look really nice when he finished.

If he ever finished!

He didn’t mind painting, but he did like to have music on while he worked.

The internet radio station came back on. Something by that bloke with the voice that Gillian really liked. What was his name? It was kinda cool... Ghost Poet. That was it. Dan turned back to the step ladder.

Oh, for fucks sake!

The paint brush had somehow flipped from its resting place on the tin. A long streak of dark paint ran all the way down the corridor wall, opposite the door frame he had been painting. To Dan, it looked deliberate. As if someone had picked up the brush and pulled it down the wall. If he hadn’t known he was alone in the house - the girls had taken Silky for a walk into the village, to run some errands and to meet up with Arlene for lunch - he would have blamed Katie. Not that she would have been able to reach up that far...

He dipped a cloth in the cleaning bucket, he kept next to the ladder, and began to wipe off the paint. At least it was water-based. It came off pretty easily

Oh shit! The paint underneath was coming off, too. Now, Dan was going to have to put yet another coat on. He rinsed the rag and rubbed again. Hang on! Half way down, there seemed to be a strange mark. A deep scratch, underneath the paint. A groove, deep and regular. He hadn’t noticed it when he painted the walls. What the hell was that? He traced it down the wall. It was rectangular in shape. It almost looked like a doorway, that had been painted over. Although it was way too small. An old cupboard, perhaps?

The radio went off again. As Dan got up to take a look at his phone, he heard a crackle. It was an odd sound, almost like the sound the of a needle being put on an old piece of scratched vinyl. The song was very familiar to Dan. The acapella voice of a woman, thin, reedy and old.

Three blind mice. Three blind mice
See how they run. See how they run.
They all ran after the farmer’s wife,
Who cut of their tails with a carving knife
Did you ever see such a sight in your life,
As three blind mice

A blast of cold air came down the stairs, which led to the attic room above. Dan shivered. The nursery rhyme began again.