Ghostly: A Paranormal Romantic Comedy (Perks of Being Paranormal Book 1)

Chapter 2

She certainly wasn’t a beauty.

When Gabriel made the deal for the house, he’d barely glanced at the photos. He’d made sure everything he needed was there—the furnishings, a functional toilet, a roof over his head—but he hadn’t really seen the house.

She was a typical Victorian, with a mismatched shape, a steep shingled roof, and a single turret at the back. A half-overgrown brick path led through the front gate—part of the wrought-iron fence bordering the lot—up to the front porch. Whoever renovated the place apparently wanted to preserve the old feeling; at least Gabriel hoped the peeling paint and misplaced shingles were intentional.

“It’s okay, it’s just for six months.” Well, he was talking to himself, so he was already a perfect candidate for a spooky witch’s house. He grabbed his two suitcases and bounded up the steps, where he fished a set of bulky keys from under an empty flowerpot. He tore a doorbell not working sticky note off the door and, with a deep breath, pushed it in.

Not entirely terrible. The entrance hallway was tiny, but he could also call it cozy. A narrow stairway led up on the right, and a door opened to the left. He put his suitcases down by a console table, the only piece of furniture one could reasonably fit in here. It was decorated with three small bronze animal statues; he lifted the middle one, deciding whether it represented a chubby deer or a graceful hog.

The door led into a living room that looked like a set out of an eighties’ sitcom. Mustard striped wallpaper, a massive wall unit with a few bookshelves and a boxy TV, a glass coffee table, a sofa whose matted brown pattern resembled the coat of a shabby stray cat. The TV very much reminded him of his childhood home—mom kept the thing way past its prime—but it offered little solace here.

Another door led from the living room to a cramped little kitchen—modern appliances, thank god—with an adjoined dining room squeezed into the turret and looking out on the shrubbery in the backyard. At least the light from the windows in the turret made this space more pleasant and, as he checked the fridge, Gabriel was delighted to find the landlady had stocked it with essentials, as he requested. He hadn’t passed through the town yet—he’d driven down a curvy road into the valley, surrounded by forest on all sides, and this property was on the very edge.

Upstairs he found two bedrooms, with a small bathroom in between. Snug, apparently, was the motto of this house. Both bedrooms were sparsely furnished, with a fake clean smell betraying they were only taken care of recently. The lighter of the two had a cozy reading nook in the turret and one non-basic piece of decoration: a music box on the mantel of the now-defunct fireplace. However, Gabriel felt a draft when he stood in the turret, and decided to take the other bedroom.

Over the next few hours, he unpacked his things, made a home for his coffee machine in the kitchen, brewed himself a welcoming cup, and messed around trying to get an internet connection on his laptop until he figured out he had to keep the living room-kitchen door open for it to work. And above all, he kept telling himself he did the right thing.

***

He was here.

Ida spied on the new tenant from the hallway, trying hard not to giggle, jump, or do anything else that might cause a reaction in a nearby object. Creaking floors and rattling windows weren’t the best welcome, as she knew from experience. She had to remain calm and not spook him.

He was a busy bee, this one. He spent two whole hours unpacking his suitcases. Ida didn’t go into the bedroom (privacy was privacy) but he had to have a ton of clothes. She hoped that meant he intended to stay for a while. Which was why she tried her best not to straighten the deer statue he’d misaligned. Or the book. She resisted the compulsions until they’d grown strong enough to force her to pop back into the music box, where she bid her time. Don’t spook him. Don’t spook him. Don’t spook him.

She’d fix all of his mistakes during the night.

***

Gabriel awoke in the middle of the night; but not gently, or gradually. One second he was sleeping, the next he was staring, wide-eyed, at the ceiling, wondering why he was suddenly awake. And then it came: a scratching noise, like nails on wood, or…

Or branches of a tree that swayed in the wind and scratched the facade.

Annoyed at himself, he turned over in bed and hugged the pillow, willing himself back to sleep.

He missed Wynona. Her lingering perfume on the pillow, her warm, lush body next to his. Their cut communication had been easier when he wasn’t alone and annoyed in a creaky old bed with a mattress that whined more than Anderson.

Not Anderson. Don’t think about that prick. Think of the future, Wynona—was there a future with Wynona? For now, she’d stay in the city, resume normal life as a recent divorcée, get her fashion brand off the ground. If the situation changed, she’d let Gabriel know. Maybe in a few months, she could come—

Was that a knock? He sat up, holding his breath but, after a few seconds, let it go and rolled his eyes. Probably that branch ag—

Knock knock knock.

Gabriel made half a move to get out of bed, then stopped himself. This was ridiculous. He’d been thinking about the city, and the days before he’d left—when people would knock on his door constantly—so clearly, he imagined the knocking here.

Still, he lay back with more stealth than usual, keeping his ears perked. Would a reporter find him already? Surely not. He’d been careful, and no one would expect him to hide in a house that looked like something out of AddamsFamily.

The stairs creaked.

Stop. Stairs creak in old houses all the time.

More creaking and—

Nope, he’d had it. He grabbed his wireless earbuds and shuffled to a recording of the Baker vs. Johnson trial on his phone. He set it to a nice, low volume, perfect to carry him off to sleep, and settled back into the pillow.

Fuck you, branches.

***

Calmed and satisfied with every object being in its exact place, Ida returned to the music box. Job well done. He’d probably never even notice, and if he accidentally moved something again, she’d repeat the procedure the next night. Every night until she figured out how to properly approach him.

She couldn’t wait to see what he’d do tomorrow. She bet it would be something exciting.

***

Gabriel woke to a clear, sunny morning, decided to put the weird first night behind him. Under the flickering light in the bathroom, he started his morning routine: one, two, three, four, five, six minutes, wash and brush teeth. Shaving, hair, one, two, three, clothes, four, five, six, down to the living room, one, two, three, power up the laptop, four, five, six, start the—

He sat, staring at the screen. A blank schedule stared back at him. He’d opened up his calendar, now empty, out of habit. Not one meeting, one court hearing, not a single reminder for today. Or tomorrow. Or any day after that.

Gabriel didn’t know how long he stayed like that, sitting in his regular office clothes—he’d even gone with his favorite shirt, mint with tiny white leaf prints—doing nothing. Having nothing to do. He just sat like a dumb, lost puppy who’d been chasing his tail for the past half hour and now realized that it was all, well, dumb.

It’s okay. That was the plan. Do nothing, as much as it hurt. Only 176 days to go. He could do this. There were plenty of things around here he could distract himself with. Such as, taking a walk around the house so he’d get to know the grounds. Great idea.

Five minutes later

Walks sucked.

Granted, he could’ve gone on a longer one—there were probably plenty of paths in the forest—but why would he, when he couldn’t even stand a five-minute walk?

He went around the house, twice. He checked the backyard which at some point must’ve been a proper garden, but now looked more like a place where plants went to die or, if you were a fungus, go eat the wooden bench, the only piece of outdoor furniture. He checked the bare, half-dried trees and confirmed one of them spread its branches close enough to the house they could scratch the facade when windy.

Not that he’d been looking specifically for that.

And now he was back inside the teeny tiny, damn claustrophobic hallway, and he realized he’d go insane from boredom in this house. He leaned on the console table and stared at the creepy bronze animal statues.

The deer-hog had moved.

He stepped back, leaned left and right, even went back to the door to get another vantage point. Was he already going insane? He could swear yesterday, when he put the statue back, the three of them weren’t perfectly lined up—the deer-hog was a bit in front, as a creature with such ambiguous origins clearly should be. But now they formed a perfect line, straight as a ruler. In fact, Gabriel switched to a ruler app on his phone and measured the distance (it wasn’t as if he had anything else to do). Each statue’s square base was exactly 3.3 inches from the edge of the table, and furthermore, the distance between the statues themselves was also 3.3 inches.

Yup, he was going crazy. He needed work. Now.

“Please, Cliff. You’ve got to have something for me.” Gabriel paced in front of his laptop, then sat down so his boss could see him on the camera. Clifford removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “You know I can’t give you any work. Not anything you’d want. You’re suspended, and the law prohibits me—”

“What about research? I can do research.”

“Vane, you’re above research. That’s for paralegals and litigation lawyers and recent college graduates who think too highly of themselves.”

More exciting than watching the grass grow. Or, to be accurate, the weeds. His backyard was about 78% weeds. “Please? Anything?”

Clifford sighed and leaned back in his chair. Gabriel grew envious just looking at the pristine white background of his office. He raised his eyes to the striped mustard and brown wallpaper of the living room.

God, he was going to hate it here.

“I suppose Jacobsky could use some help,” Clifford’s voice, slightly raspy from the bad connection, came from the laptop. “He just took a massive case, a pharmaceutical company. Tons of research needed.”

Yes!“Then I’m your man, Cliff.”

“I’ll get him to send you the info. Remember, you’ll be his subordinate. You can’t do anything else regarding the case.”

“I know, and no legal advice, no drafting of documents, verbal communications to the minimum—”

Were those steps on the porch?

Gabriel froze, afraid to even swallow. Something shuffled outside. All muscles contracting, he leaned ever-so-slightly back, enough to see through to the front door—and a shadow behind it.

No, no, no. Don’t tell me they found me.

“Vane?” Clifford’s voice came from the laptop, making Gabriel jump.

“I—uh, yes,” he said, forcing his attention back to the matter at hand. “Thanks for the opportunity. I’ll await Jacobsky’s instructions.”

With the call ended, Gabriel looked back to the front door, but the shadow was gone. He breathed out. There was no reporter, and he was only paranoid. He’d get work, and he’d feel better immediately. Jacobsky’s taste for cases ran toward complicated, rather than drama-filled, and the research documents would be mind-numbing, but as he stared at the shelves across from him, Gabriel thought mind-numbing didn’t sound so bad, as long as it was work.

He also told himself the book on the third shelf from the bottom hadn’t moved since yesterday, and he was misremembering its position.

***

She guessed that was a no to gardening, then.

***

Gabriel had trouble falling asleep that night. It was likely due to lack of work; that one walk hadn’t been particularly exhausting, and he hadn’t started the research yet. His thoughts were running rampant again. Wynona, the trial, the photos, Anderson’s smug face, the court notice—suspended, suspended, suspended—knock, knock, knock—

Gabriel shot up into a sitting position. He hadn’t imagined it. He wasn’t going crazy. Something was making that noise for real—maybe the heating system, or a drain that got detached from the facade—but whatever it was, he was going to find it now so he could finally sleep in peace.

He took a few steps toward the bedroom door, reconsidered, and returned for the lamp on the bedside table. Not for illumination—the lights in the hallway were working fine—but he felt better holding something in his hand. Lamp facing forward, he edged toward the door and slowly creaked it open.

A shadow moved by the staircase. Gabriel’s heart jumped into his throat. Two days, and a criminal had already found him. But his brain, used to working in a pinch, quickly replaced panic with logic. Small town—not likely major crimes happened here. A burglar at best, but more likely some adventurous kid who thought he could scare the new resident.

Gabriel sneaked his hand along the wall until he felt the light switch. He turned it on and pointed the lamp at where he’d seen the darkness move. “Freeze!”

It wasn’t a kid. A young woman, mid-twenties perhaps, stood at the top of the staircase. Up to there, Gabriel could still explain it. But he couldn’t explain why she yelped in surprise as he turned on the lights—as if he’d scared her, not the other way around—or why she was dressed in a high-necked, long-sleeved velvet gown straight out of a costume drama. Her curly auburn hair was piled on top in a hairstyle Gabriel hadn’t seen outside of blurred Victorian photographs, and her deep brown eyes were wide on her pale, oval-shaped face.

No matter how many trials he’d faced and was perfectly prepared for, in this moment, Gabriel’s brain called it quits and decided logic was for someone else. “Uh, freeze?”

Despite his best defense being only a lamp, the woman should’ve reacted more burglar-like. But her eyes grew even wider, and she covered her mouth as she gasped. “No way,” she said in a non-burglar-like, actually rather pleasant voice. “You can see me?”