Chapter 2
Two
Well, that probably explained why the house was so cheap.
“Oh, stop that,” the ghost said in a voice like an eye roll. “I’m the dead one. If anyone should be screaming, it’s me.”
Pointing out their deadness only made the situation more horrifying.
Oaklin’s scream went up an octave, taking in the perfect shadowy outline of an adult woman, the absence of light brought to life.
Or un-life. It was as if someone had taken a human and simply erased both them and the space they occupied.
Oaklin had heard stories of ghosts before, but never truly believed them.
There was no ignoring this one, though.
The ghost sighed. “Oh, honestly, Oaklin, is that helping anything? Get it together.”
That shut Oaklin up.
“How do you know my name?” they asked warily, clutching the tin of tea like a weapon.
“I watched you sign the papers with my useless brother-in-law earlier today. How else?” the ghost replied.
The awful feeling crawling up Oaklin’s spine intensified. They’d been watched from the moment they entered the house.
“So you can…see stuff even when you’re not…”
“If I choose to, yes,” the ghost replied haughtily.
“And do you choose to?”
“Sometimes.”
Oaklin took a deep breath in through their nose as the panic began to recede.
Something about the ghost’s matter-of-fact tone was strangely grounding.
It helped that the ghost’s voice had the gravelly, slightly shaky quality that came with old age—she reminded Oaklin of their exceedingly strict grandmother.
What they could remember of her, at least. And yet, Granny Ghost or no, this was not a state of affairs Oaklin could abide in their new home.
How exactly did one remove a ghost from the home one just purchased?
“Do I need an exorcist or something?” Oaklin wondered aloud.
The ghost sighed, sounding utterly exasperated. Oaklin felt very judged.
“Of course not. I’ll tell you exactly how to get rid of me.”
Oaklin blinked, startled. “Okay, well, what do I need to—”
“But first, there’s someone you need to meet. Get yourself out to the barn.”
“But it’s dark out—”
The ghost winked out of existence like she’d never been there to begin with.
Had she been there? Or had the whole thing been an exhausted hallucination? Maybe even some kind of lingering magical effect from their time under the mind-control spell?
Oaklin huffed. They’d just spent the last six years of their life having their every movement controlled by an evil sorcerer. Even if the ghost was real, they were not about to be told what to do.
Oaklin glanced out the window toward the barn, then resolutely turned in the opposite direction and marched into the bedroom. There the bed sat, looking comfy and inviting, still made up with the previous owner’s bedclothes.
The ghost’s bedclothes?
Oaklin shuddered and grabbed their bedroll instead, laying it out next to the hearth.
The bedroom would be, as was becoming a worrying refrain, a problem for another day.
(The future problems were certainly piling up.) Oaklin got as comfortable as they could, basking in the warm glow of the hearth and trying to muster the energy to finish making that cup of tea…
“Get up.”
Oaklin sat straight up with a shout as the ghost spoke right into their ear, so close it felt like it was coming from inside their head. The rush of fear was quickly replaced with a fierce irritation.
“No. It’s dark. It’s time for bed. Go away.”
“Get. Up.”
“Make me,” Oaklin dared, vaguely worried that the ghost could actually retaliate, but too deliriously tired for self-preservation.
“I don’t have to sleep, you know. I can sit here all night,” the ghost retorted.
“Great. Have fun with that,” Oaklin huffed, and turned over, pulling the blanket over their head.
Blessed silence reigned. Briefly.
“Oaklin.”
A pause.
“Oaklin. Oaklin. Oaklin. OAKLIN.”
“Gods and grains, FINE!” Oaklin snapped, throwing the blanket off with a growl. They grabbed their lantern and lit it from the hearth, then shoved their feet into their boots, shooting a forlorn look at the cup of tea they never had a chance to make.
Best to just get it over with…assuming the whole thing wasn’t actually a hallucination. They hadn’t ruled it out yet.
***
Oaklin stomped across the field to the barn, grumbling all the way. They couldn’t stop thinking about all the things that could be lurking in the tall grass just beyond the flickering sphere of their lantern light. Could be foxes. Or wolves. Or vicious rat creatures. Or evil cult leaders.
“Everything is fine, everything is fine, everything is oh-so-so-so fine,” they sang under their breath, in time with the rustle of their steps. It didn’t help. Everything was not, in fact, fine.
Ahead, the barn came into view, looming like a fiend from the nether plane. As Oaklin approached, the light from their lantern seemed to slide right over a shadow on the front wall.
“About time.”
Oaklin barely bit back another shriek. They settled for a sharp intake of breath, then blew it out slowly, mastering the rush of fear in an instant, as only one accustomed to terrible things can do.
“Ah, I see you’ve found some spine. Good. You’ll need it,” the ghost said. Not ominous at all.
Everything was fine.
The ghost folded her arms and sighed yet again, purely for effect, because did ghosts even need to breathe?
“Look, I’m fine with teaching you the ropes of this farm at your own pace,” she said. “But this one thing can’t wait.”
“Teaching me the…what, you’re haunting this plane to be my farm mentor or something?” Oaklin said, all skepticism.
“Follow me,” the ghost said. She turned and walked (glided? floated?) into the cavernous dark of the barn. For lack of a better option and, okay, out of some mild curiosity, Oaklin followed.
All around, they heard the faint snorts and shuffles of animals at rest. Oaklin had assumed they’d be afraid, smelling a new person in their barn, but they seemed perfectly at ease.
Everything was surprisingly well-kept, considering how long the owner had been gone.
It didn’t even smell that strongly of horse dung and dusty feathers.
Had the ghost been tending to things herself?
Could she even do that? The loft was lined with bales of dry hay, each trough had been recently cleaned and filled with fresh water, and whenever the lantern light caught on shiny fur or feathers, it revealed an animal looking well-fed and well cared for.
A brand-new farmer couldn’t ask for a better starting canvas.
The ghost halted and held up a hand for Oaklin to do the same just as something emerged from the shadows at the back of the barn.
It was an animal of some sort, large and shaggy and snuffling.
The hairs on the back of Oaklin’s neck stood up with a base instinctual fear of unseen things in dark enclosed spaces as the animal stepped into the pool of lantern light…
“Ba-ROOF,” the dog barked from its big barrel chest. Its enormous head came to Oaklin’s hip, and they were likely on par weight-wise as well.
Its long, wavy fur was mostly white with patches of black and golden brown, and a great floofy tail curled up over its back, wagging hesitantly.
With a quick glance at the ghost, Oaklin slowly held out a hand…
and the dog immediately ducked under it for ear rubs, wide mouth lolling open in bliss.
With that, the fear and tension bled away as Oaklin soaked up the moment of pure canine joy, instantly in love. This absolutely fit in with their new life plan. Every farmer needed a great dog.
“This is Daffodil,” the ghost said. “She’s the most important person on this farm. Yes, that includes you.”
Oaklin grinned. “I fully agree. So…what, am I supposed to bring her into the house? Is that what was so urgent?”
The ghost drew back in affront.
“Of course not! Daffodil is a livestock guardian dog. She would be miserable and keep you up all night with her pacing. Besides, how is she supposed to protect the other animals from inside the house?”
Oaklin felt stupid for asking.
“Then what am I here for that couldn’t wait until morning?”
“To feed her, obviously. Everything else on the farm can graze or forage, but Daffodil is used to a certain standard of care. She also gets grumpy without head scratches. Don’t you, girl?”
The ghost crouched down in front of Daffodil and held out a hand as if to pet her…
then pulled back. Daffodil didn’t seem to know she was there.
Instead, Oaklin provided the head scratches while, after a beat of heavy silence, the ghost showed them the food bin and bowl.
Daffodil shoved her nose against the lid of the food bin, snuffling and wiggling with excited little woofs.
Oaklin scooped some food out into the dish next to the bin as instructed, then gave Daffodil a pat as she dug in.
Oaklin’s heart positively melted. First, a heavenly magical bakery, and now an incredible dog. Maybe…things would turn out okay, after all.
“Who was feeding her before I got here?” Oaklin asked as they rubbed Daffodil’s velvety ears.
The ghost turned away, talking instead to a blank stretch of wall. “I left coin for an old friend to drop by once every month or so to care for the animals and keep the place in shape. Daffodil got extra visits, of course.”
“Once a month?” Oaklin said, horrified. “How could the animals possibly survive on being cared for once a month? How is this place not in ruins?”
The ghost whirled around and stalked up to Oaklin, wagging a finger in their face.
“Look, this place is yours now, and that’s fine. Good. But you’d better get used to the idea that this farm is special, and you have a lot to learn to be able to take care of it.”
The way she leaned on the word special was…concerning. Her tone grew serious.
“Fortunately, I’m here to teach you everything you need to know,” she continued, softer. “And once you’ve gotten everything running smoothly, then…I’ll go. No exorcist needed.”
A glib remark perched on the tip of Oaklin’s tongue, but the ghost sounded so deeply sad.
“Well, I guess I do need some help getting started,” they said instead.
Something in the air shifted, as if Oaklin could feel the ghost smiling.
“Good. Tomorrow, we work on reawakening your magic. For now, get some rest, Oaklin Nettlewood.”
Oaklin’s heart leaped into their throat, nearly choking off their next words.
“Wait, WHAT? Magic? I’m not… I don’t…”
“Stop,” the ghost said, her voice gentling. “I know you have it in you. The house couldn’t be sold to anyone who didn’t.”
“But I…” Oaklin protested weakly, then paused, taking several deep breaths to chase away the horrific images hovering at the edge of their consciousness. Flashes of magic that strangled and cut and burned, and blood, so much blood…
With a ragged gasp, Oaklin shook their head.
“I don’t use magic. Not anymore. Never again.”
A beat of silence. Then:
“I know.”
And from the heavy note in her voice, Oaklin wondered, just how much did the ghost know?
“There’s more than one kind of magic, Oaklin. You’ll learn.”
Oaklin didn’t bother responding. This ghost could think whatever she wanted. Oaklin would not be using magic again, under any circumstances. She’d find out soon enough.
“Come on,” the ghost said. “Let’s head back to the house. You’ll need your sleep before you visit the library tomorrow.”
Oaklin was too tired and overwhelmed to even argue. They gave the absolutely perfect Daffodil one last scratch between the ears, then headed back to the house, guided through the dark by a shadow blacker than the night itself.
***
As Oaklin knocked the dirt off their boots outside the front door, they came to a critical decision.
They needed cake.
No, they really needed cake. Tomorrow morning. They deserved it, impending financial ruin be damned. No one should have to be harassed by a ghost without cake support. If Oaklin was truly the author of their own story now, then by the grain, it would be a story with cake.
Back inside, the ghost hovered in the background while Oaklin revived the crumbling fire in the hearth and finally prepared a cup of tea.
The tin was filled with dried yellow flower buds with flecks of orange petals, and the scent was…
calming. They still weren’t sure where it came from, but like Daffodil the farm dog, it was perfect for Oaklin, exactly what they needed, when they needed it.
A sneaking suspicion tickled at the edge of their brain. Oaklin looked to the ghost.
“Can I ask you a weird question?”
“Quite sure there are going to be a lot of those, so you may as well start now,” she replied.
Oaklin pursed their lips for a moment, then asked. “Did you somehow give me this tea?”
The ghost scoffed.
“I’m not a monster.”
Oaklin had no idea what that meant. And yet, the proclamation was…well, maybe not exactly comforting, but it was something. Maybe enough to let Oaklin sleep that night with a ghost living in their house, for now.
But tomorrow, they were definitely getting that cake.