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The house was silent when I entered. I closed the door quietly as I could before making my way to my room. As I went down the hall, something caught my eye, a thin strip of wood that ran along a section of the wall at the far end of the hall, just past my bedroom door. It was interesting, since it was the only think like it on the entire span of that wall. I got close enough to inspect it – it was an intricately carved strip of wood, almost like a boarder, but it wasn't going around anything, it just stretched from one end of the wall and stopped, about five centimeters before the other side.

I ran my fingers along the edge, gripping it, in an attempt to see if it would pull off, but I slipped and my hands accidentally pushed and the strip shot the five centimeters to the other side of the wall and I heard a small click, and, to my shock, a crack appeared from the floor to the ceiling – a door, a secret door.

"Huh." I pondered what could possibly be behind here. From the outside, this wall would be part of the front of the house, and it never looked like there would be anything behind this wall…Perplexed, I opened the door slowly, and peaked around it. It was pitch black, so I decided that further inspection would require the use of a working flashlight. I ran downstairs quickly, grabbing the one I had stashed in one of the kitchen cupboards, and raced back up, clicking it on and pointing the beam into the dark. It hit the opposite wall, which was quite close and I realized that this wasn't the door to a room, but a secret staircase, that wound down into more dark. I debated on whether or not to continue further. What could possibly be down there? Bodies – skeletons that might jump out at me…an actual ghost? It was rather spooky, since I was alone, but curiosity killed the cat, as the expression goes, and I was bound to be satisfied and brought back, so I took one tentative step down, then continued when nothing bad jumped out at me.

I made it successfully all the way down into what must have been a basement room, because I had gone far enough down to have been below the first floor. It was cooler down here and I quickly pointed the flashlight around, looking for a light. I found one on the wall to my right and flicked it on. The room was flooded with a dim lighting – twilight, it seemed – and what instantly caught my eye was an object of rather immense size at the center of the room. As my eyes adjusted, I made out that it was a grand piano – absolutely massive – standing in all its glory.

I went forward quickly to inspect it at closer range. It was beautiful, I had to admit – in fact it took my breath away. It was sleek, shining brightly, even in the dim light. The keys, which normally I would expect to be ivory, were obsidian, with ivory sharps and flats, the opposite of a regular piano. It seemed much more unique that way, and I noticed the beautiful intricacy of which it was made, the feet were all works of art. (A/N: Picture on profile).

It took me only a moment longer of studying the beautiful instrument to figure out that the piano was sparkling clean – no dust, absolutely none.

"That's odd," I said to myself, thinking about how long this piano must have been down here, with no one to dust it, or clean it, or anything. That couldn't be right – how could it be so spotless? I decided to play it, see if it was still in tune. Looking around, I noticed a shelf on the opposite wall that held rack after rack of leather-bound books. They must be song books, I figured and I got one out, selecting at random.

Pulling it out, I realized that this wasn't just any song book – it was a blank one that had been filled with composition by someone who had a scrawling, graceful hand, judging from the notes on the sides. It was elegant script and there were hardly any mistakes, all the notes seemed to flow together as if they were each purposeful. I took the book to the piano, setting it down against the elegant curls and twists of the carved wooden music sheet holder.

I hadn't a whole lot of training on the piano, but I knew my way around…I placed my hands on the keys and began the opening notes. They all rang out, each clear as a bell, perfectly in tune – that shouldn't be! This piano could not possibly have remained in tune all these years…I was about to play the song further, my notes halting and stuttered, when a voice yelled at me from behind.

"STOP IT!!!" My hand crashing down on the keys as I jumped, a discordant, bungled noise that echoed throughout the room as I turned, my heart pounding, to take in the intruder's appearance. It was him.

His eyes were harsh, black in the dim light, his face livid. He was regarding me with a look that seemed meant to kill. I felt more frightened than I ever had while in this house. I took a step back, but stumbled against the keys, making more noise and I quickly jumped away, trying to keep as much space between me and him.

"What are you doing down here," he hissed through clenched teeth, his jaw locked.

"I – I'm sorry, I didn't m-mean anything by it…I just, I found the door and I wandered d-down…I really didn't mean to –"

"Don't!" he ground out, his voice low and dangerous. I nodded quickly, unable to speak. "GO!!" he barked at me, and I fled, not looking back. I didn't stop until I had exited the stairs, slammed the door behind me and slipped the strip of wood back in its place. I pressed my back against the wall, breathing hard and fast, my hands covering my face, which was flushed. Even with my eyes closed I could still see his piercing ones – angry, venomous…I was going to have nightmares tonight…Then I thought about sleeping in that room with his picture in there…I couldn't do it…Not when I'd angered him like that.

I made my way back downstairs, to the kitchen, trying to find some way to make me feel more comfortable in this house, knowing that he was somewhere, lurking around. I decided to make myself dinner a little early, that was the only way to calm my nerves. Cooking.

As I threw myself into the task, I found it very cathartic, my fear soon being displaced by anger and defiance. How dare he, a dead person, make demands in my house. This was my house, after all – I bought it with my money, I had all my things in here, and I was alive while he was dead and had absolutely no claim on anything. How dare he tell me not to touch his piano – it was my piano now!

I got myself so worked up that I stopped all that I was doing, slamming down my spatula that I had been using to whip some eggs, and marched upstairs. I went to my room, figuring that this would be the best place to communicate, since his portrait was there and I knew he'd hear me (I would have gone downstairs again, but I was not that confident in my argument, and I preferred having an easy way out – Of course, I wouldn't have admitted this to anyone else, especially not him).

"Okay," I shouted at his portrait, "Come out! Come out, come out, WHEREVER YOU ARE!" I shouted. Edward stared piercingly down at me from his frame. "MASEN!!!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. I waited, but I heard nothing, just the creaking of the house. I huffed and folded my arms across my chest, staring up at the portrait.

"I know you're here! What, cat got your tongue!? Speak up! Or is it that all you're good for is to frighten anyone who irks you? Well, I'm not afraid of you. So you listen here. I don't care what you are, this is my house and I'll thank you not to go interfering in my affairs. You're just a coward who won't stand up take responsibility for his mistakes!"

"You do have spunk, I must concede that," his quiet voice spoke from behind me. I groaned loudly and spun around. There he was, in all his annoyingly beautiful glory, his coppery hair sticking out rakishly from his head, his green eyes as penetrating as ever, dressed in nothing but black. He took my breath away. He stood there, still, but not fuming as I expected him to be.

"I-I…I'm sorry…I-I didn't really mean to be so rude…calling you out and stuff," I mumbled, losing my nerve. He frowned slightly, but didn't say anything.

"I suppose I was being rather insensitive…what with…well…calling you a coward and such…Especially since…" I trailed off, not wanting to broach that subject that would probably be most painful for him. His frown deepened.

"Especially since what?" his cool voice asked, a trace of impatience in it. I felt my face flush.

"We-ll, you know, since…since you killed yourself…I shouldn't have called you a coward. Really I didn't mean –"

"You think I committed suicide?" he asked, is voice rough with disbelief and his face angry again. He leaned forward, taking another step closer to me. I took an unconscious one back. "What ever made you think that?!"

"I – Well…the r-realtor told me…and the other people…in town…" He barked back a laugh, but his eyes told me that he found this anything but funny. His eyes spoke volumes of pain and hurt.

"Their fools! Their all fools!" he shouted, turning from me and stalking about the room. He came back and looked at me again. "You want to know the truth, how I really died?" he whispered, his voice strained. I could hardly think under his burning stare, but some how I managed to squeak out a, "Yes," and he continued.

"You know, I built this house. I installed everything, I wanted to make it classic, old fashioned…I fell asleep next to the gas heater over there." He pointed towards the iron gas heater that stood near the window, a yard or so from the bed. "It was storming outside…I had to shut the windows. While I was sleeping, I must have kicked the gas on with my foot. The room filled with gas and I died. They only thought it was suicide because the stupid maid I hired swore that I always slept with my damn windows open! Well, I had to close them that night, it was storming! Any sensible person would! You would, wouldn't you," he asked accusatorily, pointing his finger at me. I could only nod hesitantly. "Anyways, that's what they thought…But I didn't kill myself, so you better get your story strait as of this moment!" he finished, still looking angry. I sighed in relief.

"Well, thank goodness for that…" was all I could say.

"Oh! You find relief in knowing the real truth of my death! Well, forgive me for not being so relieved as you," he sulked looking out the window.

"No, no…I mean, well, I'm just glad that you didn't…that you hadn't…committed suicide…"

"You find that a comforting fact?" he asked, turning his eyes back to me. I nodded again.

"But then," I started, looking at him suspiciously, "…why is it that you're still here? Haunting the house, I mean. If you just died in an accident, why would you stay here? You're not seeking revenge on anyone, you have no one to haunt here." His face grew dark.

"This is my house. I have plans for it – I built it – and none of those plans involve strangers making themselves at home and touching all of my things and putting all their things in it and settling down." He looked at me with resentment. "That's why I scare everyone off. I don't want them here."

"So you were trying to scare me away, then," I asked, "that day I visited." He looked at me and rolled his eyes.

"Scare you away? Ha! That was less than a fright. If I had really been trying, you would have been out of here waving your arms above your head, screaming bloody murder. Believe me, you haven't seen anything yet." There was a glint in his eye that scared me, but I knew that he wasn't about to do anything to me, at least not yet.

"And what exactly are you waiting for," I asked, hands on my hips. "Why haven't you scared me off yet, if you are able? After what you just said it sounds like you don't want me here, so why –"

"Who says I don't want you here?" He gave me a sly grin just then and I felt my heart pound. Still, I quirked an eyebrow. I was curious to know why exactly he was allowing me to stay, since he so obviously wanted this house to himself. "I must admit," he began, running a hand through his hair, "I did want you gone, at first…But things changed…my mind changed." He was giving me a strange look, a crooked grin on his face and his eyes glinting.

"And what exactly were those…things?"

"You're a very beautiful woman, Miss Swan…" I froze. "Especially when you sleep," he added and my eyes widened.

"So you have been in my room – I knew it!" I cried, covering my face.

"You mean my room," Edward corrected, his face darkening and he stepped closer – we were almost toe to toe.

"Look, I don't know if you're aware of this, but I have bought this house and so now the deed has my name on it. You are dead, you don't own anything. And I would appreciate it if you stayed the hell out of my room when I'm asleep!" I cried. My mind was racing, wondering…he might have heard things, anything! I talked in my sleep. I was aware of that. Now I had to worry about what I might have said…about him…while I was asleep. And if he heard it.

"I may be dead, but this is still my house, I don't care about any deeds you have. I'm not leaving this house. I'll still be here, I'll be here when you've packed up and gone. Nothing you can do can oust me from my house." The last three words were punched out at me and his eyes were back to that hard look.

"Well I'm not going!" I folded my arms stubbornly. If he could play that game, so could I. I wasn't budging on this matter, no matter what. There was nothing he could say or do about it. "This house suits me, I liked it the moment I laid eyes on it, and I won't move. I've got a job, I've got all my things here, and I'm comfortable." He didn't budge, didn't move, but I could feel anger radiating off him.

"My dear Miss Swan, you are mistaken. It's not your house."

"Oh but it is! I paid for it and as long as I pay my takes it is mine, whether you say so or not." I jutted my chin forward to further enforce my stance.

"Yes well, I still intend to keep this house the way I wanted it. It was supposed to remain a mystery – a piece of art that no one was supposed to touch!" he shouted. I flinched.

"Then why weren't you more specific in your will?" I asked, giving him a stern look. If he was so insistent, then he should have been more careful and taken care of these loose ends.

"I didn't leave a will!" he yelled, running a hand roughly through his hair and looking away.

"Well why not?" I asked, frowning. He turned back to me with a look of incredulity on his face.

"Because I didn't expect to kick the gas on with my foot and die in my sleep!" he shouted, getting more up in my face. I felt myself prickle. I was really getting tired of this. He kept shouting and shouting and it was making me more upset by the minute!

"Stop, stop alright!" I cried, running my own hand through my hair and turning away. "I can't handle this." I turned back to him, my eyes pricked with tears. "You think you can just order me around, tell me that this isn't my house!? Well I'm sick of people yelling at me, telling me I'm making the wrong choices, that I'm wrong! We'll I'm not! I'm finally thinking on my own now and I'm not about to let you" I jabbed a finger at him, "or Renee or Phil or anyone else tell me what to do anymore!" By now, I felt tears spill over and run down my face. I quickly turned away towards the window, trying to keep from sobbing. I was so emotional right now that I couldn't handle anything, especially not him. I heard him sigh behind me and the quiet of his steps as he approached.

"Please, don't cry…I hate it when girls cry…I wasn't trying to –"

When my tears could not be stifled, he sighed more heavily. "Please stop," he pleaded, but I didn't turn. Instead, I spoke to the window, unable to face him.

"Listen here: I'm not moving, alright? I love this house….There's just something about it. It spoke to me the moment I set my eyes on it…I cannot bear to part with it now that it's mine. It was as if…as if it spoke to me on some level…Imploring me to fill it up, to make it something again…After all that time just sitting there, all empty…Well I'm prepared to take whatever you've got to dish out! I don't expect you to understand, let alone care, about what I'm saying – This is how I feel, and if you don't like it, you're just going to have to live with your discomfort." I sniffed.

"But I do understand," he replied, softly now. "I built it, this house. I know how I feel about it…I know how others should feel about it. I made it to be that way. I paid attention to every detail. I was careful about everything: the wood, the fabric, the views, and the carvings – I made them all to fit just the right feeling that I wanted expressed for each room. The furniture! Everything! I did it all, so I understand…I've just never met anyone who's truly felt that deeply about it before…" I turned to look at him – his emerald eyes looked as if they were seeing me with new light, his face no longer angry.

"Well, you like the house, do you?" he asked, and I nodded. "Well that counts in your favor. And you've got spunk – you didn't scare like all the others, so that's in your favor as well." He looked me up and down and I felt suddenly self-conscious. "Alright then," he sighed, "You can stay." I scoffed.

"Thank you, kind sir," I replied snarkily, "for your permission – as if I needed it," I added quietly to myself. He heard though, but he merely smirked.

"Just keep your distance," he replied, "I'm only letting you stay…on temporary trial…It'll be good for the house, to be lived in and everything, just…refrain from going back down there…There are places in this house that are mine, deed or no deed and I would…appreciate…it if you respected that." He looked at me sternly, as if he expected me to disagree.

"Fine, I can abide by that, but only if you can abide by not being in my room while I sleep!" He rolled his eyes. "Oh, and keep out of sight, mind, I don't want you showing yourself all over the place, especially with Alice around. That's the last thing I want." He laughed.

"I'll go wherever I want whenever I want. I'll do what I like, it's still my house." I gave him a stern look and he sighed. "But fine, I'll keep out of sight…My presence will just be between you and me," he whispered, almost huskily – or was that my imagination - "As far as the room requirement goes…I have a counter offer."

"Oh?" I replied, putting a hand on my hip and gazing at him with curiosity.

"I'll stay out of the rest of the house, away from Alice and everyone else you decide to let it, as long as you keep this room how it is and allow me to stay in it. This room is the one I take most pride in, it's special to me, and I'll promise to keep to it if you allow me the small liberty of seeing it remain the same," he quietly explained. I sighed. As much as I didn't want him hearing anything to revealing that I might mumble in my sleep…he was too convincing and sincere sounding for me to deny him – besides, it was a fair trade off for him to stay out of the way. I looked at him and nodded.

"Alright, agreed. But –" He cocked an eyebrow, "I don't know how I feel about…about a boy being in my room while I…sleep…" He chuckled lightly at my worry, shaking his head.

"I'm a ghost, Miss Swan, I doubt you have anything to worry about." And just because he had to say it like that – with that velvet voice of his and that dazzling look in his eye – I couldn't come up with any further argument.

"Fine…I suppose that will be alright…" I mumbled.

"Ahh…Well, I guess that's settled then," he replied, avoiding looking at me. Instead he gazed out the window. I looked away, sighing. Everything had gone completely differently than I'd expected – I turned back, to ask him just what he was planning on doing now, but he was gone. I looked about the room, not seeing him. I sighed. Of course, he was gone just as silently as he came. It was just as well, I thought, looking out the window, Alice would be home soon and that meant that he…Edward ( I should get used to saying his name, even in my head ) would have to be gone anyway.

I decided I had better get my own dinner fixed and went downstairs, thoughts about the encounter swirling in my head.

Cheers and review. I hoped you liked the Bella/Edward interaction!

Playlist:

Yes - Owner of A Lonely Heart

Phoenix - 1901

Cake - Shadow Stabbing

The Strokes - Is This It?

Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin - You Could Write A Novel