Chapter Eight
I watch the refined couple step down from their buggy.
The gentleman takes the woman’s elbow while she lifts her heavy skirts to avoid the dirt of the path.
As they step onto the porch, he removes his tall hat.
She links her arm through his and then they enter the grand house together.
Lamp light shines in every window, glowing out into the darkness, and soft laughter drifts on the breeze, rising up the grassy hill towards me .
Whispering from behind the oak tree at my back catches my attention, and I turn and see the lovers, their fingers entwined, their gazes locked .
The girl is young, around eighteen, with light hair she wears loose down her back and curled in ringlets around her face.
The man is older, maybe twice her age and dressed in a tailcoat and a white bow tie.
Her dress is plainer, a simple cream with a modest neckline and buttons through the bodice.
And though both are good-looking, he is breathtakingly so .
He gently draws the girl to him and presses his lips to hers.
The kiss is tender, and I turn away, embarrassed to be intruding on such an intimate moment.
I look instead back down the hill to the impressive building below.
The house seems strangely familiar, and then it suddenly hits me, it’s the Western house.
Except it’s no longer empty. It’s full of life and music. A living, breathing, vibrant home .
When the man behind me speaks again, I’m curious enough to turn and listen .
‘You are perfect,’ he says, his voice soft and rich .
The young girl shakes her head. ‘I am far from perfect. You know my truth.’
He strokes her cheek. ‘It’s your truth that makes you special, and that’s what makes you perfect.’
The young girl sighs at the man’s caress, his long fingers tracing the length of her pale throat. He’s tall and elegant, with eyes the colour of wheat, and alabaster skin that gleams as if he is lit from within. His beauty is so exquisite, I can’t stop myself from staring .
‘My darling,’ he says. ‘I have searched so long for someone like you. Tell me, are you happy?’
‘I am very happy.’
‘Then, if I asked you, would you choose to be with me forever?’
She smiles, and I see that she’s trembling. ‘I am already yours and yours alone.’
‘Good,’ the man says .
Then his face changes, light and softness vanishing, as he wraps his hands around the young girl’s throat and begins to squeeze .
I’m in the bathroom splashing water on my face, trying to chase away another horrible dream, when a tap at my door startles me.
I tiptoe to the bedside table and check the time on my phone.
It’s 3.15 am. Witching hour. My head snaps around at another tap.
I pad over to Callum’s room and peek inside.
I can see his shape under the covers, so whoever is knocking isn’t him.
I turn and stare at my door again, then slowly tiptoe over and peer through the peephole.
I step back from the door and shake my head.
Seriously. Is this a joke?
I lean in for another look. There’s the spirit of a man in the hall.
He’s old, with wispy grey hair and a neat brown suit, and he’s knocking on doors.
A guest steps out of one of the rooms and looks around in confusion.
He quickly hugs his arms, feeling the chill of the smiling dead thing standing right in front of him.
Another guest appears, looking equally baffled.
The men exchange a few words, while the spirit stands beside them, grinning.
Then they shrug and return to their rooms again.
I scrub a hand down my face, go to my bag and dig out my rosary. When I open my door, the spirit is straightening a painting.
I lift my rosary. The ghost looks up in surprise and I wait for the inevitable screeching and ringing in my ears. But instead, he just smiles. Then he neatens a doily on a hall table, gives me a friendly wave and disappears.
I blink, staring at the empty hall and the perfectly placed doily. Then I slowly step backwards into my room and close the door.
For a moment I consider reaching out with my senses, forcing the spirit back and dealing with it. But I’m too tired and too confused by that smile and that cheery wave. I toss my rosary onto my bedside table, climb back under the comforter and flick off the lamp.
When I wake for the second time, I’m heavy with exhaustion. I stretch my arms over my head, groaning at the ache across my shoulders, then rub at my eyes with my knuckles.
A tap at the door makes me jump again, but this time it is Callum, and this time he’s at our adjoining door. It still takes a second for my heart to settle.
‘You awake?’ Callum half whispers.
‘Sort of,’ I call back.
He pushes the door open and leans against the frame. He’s still in his jeans, but he’s pulled on a black sweatshirt with his podcast’s logo across the front. His hair is disarmingly messy, sticking up in every direction, and he has that soft, just woke up look about him.
I push up on my elbows. ‘This place is haunted.’
‘Yeah, I know. Apparently, it’s famous for it.’
‘You booked us into a haunted hotel? Don’t I have enough ghosts in my life?’
‘I didn’t know it was haunted when I booked it. Just that it was a historic house. If I had known… well I probably would still have booked it. I thought you would have sensed the spirit or read about it in the B he’s not freaked out by my weird shit. He doesn’t want to go into the house anyway, not after he heard about what happened last night.’
‘You were told you could bring one other person on the investigation, a psychic, and that’s me.’
‘So we won’t tell anyone. Jase could give you a hand for a couple of days. Us. He could give us a hand. Be backup. To be honest, I thought you’d be happy about it. This way you’re not stuck out here alone with me.’
‘Why would you think I’d think that?’
‘Really, Holly?’ His jaw flexes.
Ugh . I sit back and set mine. ‘Fine. He can come.’
‘I’ve already booked him a room.’ He shoves a forkful of eggs into his mouth.
‘Of course you have. But I don’t need backup, Callum. You know I do this for a living, right?’
‘Can you just humour me? I know you’re good at your job, Holly. But this feels different, and… Look, I’m a little freaked out, okay? I’m dropping the tough guy thing, like you asked.’