6. Charlie #2
Sizing up my cock and saving me from spiders, apparently.
“I swear to God, if you hurt that animal, I will cut you,” I threatened.
Brad only laughed, throwing up his hands. “Fine. Keep your little familiar if it helps us sniff out some ghosts today.”
The cat’s tail twitched. Its pupils dilated, then contracted again.
I grabbed my rucksack and followed Brad downstairs, the cat padding behind me with silent footsteps.
Breakfast was a depressing affair.
Plain cornflakes. Milk that smelt vaguely off. We sat at opposite ends of the kitchen table, crunching in silence whilst the cat lapped at a saucer of water I’d put down.
When we’d both finished, I pushed my bowl away. “So, what’s the plan today, then? Time to whip out the Ouija board?”
Brad looked up, expression serious. “Not quite yet. We don’t have enough information.”
Right. Of course he’d take that suggestion literally.
Brad stood, collecting both our bowls and dumping them in the sink without washing them. Then he left the kitchen, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
I scratched the cat behind its ears whilst I waited. It purred, pressing into my palm.
Brad returned clutching two devices. He set them on the table with a triumphant thump.
“We’re going in hard with these two today.”
I leaned forward, squinting at the equipment.
The first looked like a small black speaker box, about the size of a brick, with dials and switches covering one side. A label had been stuck to the top in faded print: ECH000 Spirit Receiver.
The second was a handheld device with a screen, sleek and modern compared to the receiver. S-TRK 88 “SpecterTrack” Monitor was etched into the casing.
“The ECH000 picks up and amplifies spirit voices,” Brad explained, tapping the speaker box. “And the SpecterTrack gives us a temperature map of any unseen entities. Screen lights up in reds, blues, whatever, based on heat signatures.”
I picked up the monitor, turning it over in my hands. The screen flickered to life, displaying a blue-green gradient of the kitchen. Cold. Everything cold.
“Where does Gerald get all this crap?”
Brad shrugged. “He knows a guy.”
“Course he does.”
“Come on, then.” I set the monitor down, already bored and dreading eight more hours of pointlessly marching around this manor again.
“We’ll start with the library.” Brad collected the equipment, tucking the receiver under one arm. “Highest EMF recording yesterday. Hit red at one point.”
I blinked. “Did it?”
“Yeah. You missed it when you were pratting around in the attic with the guitar.”
Heat crept up my neck. “I wasn’t pratting around. I got locked in.”
Brad snorted, heading towards the door. “Can’t believe you got locked in the attic by a ghost on your first day. Proper rookie mistake, that.”
“It wasn’t—” I bit back the rest of the sentence. No point arguing with him.
The cat meowed, weaving between my ankles.
I scooped it up and followed Brad through the draughty corridors, back towards the east wing.
The library sprawled along the first floor of the east wing, windows stretching floor to ceiling along one wall. Dust motes danced in the pale morning light, and most of the shelves stood empty—just bare wood and cobwebs.
But some sections remained intact.
Charles Dickens. Jane Austen. The Bronte sisters. A complete leather-bound Shakespeare collection, spines cracked and faded.
I ran my fingers along the shelf, pausing at Great Expectations.
Brad set the spirit receiver on a mahogany desk in the centre of the room, flicking switches. Static crackled through the speaker, making me wince.
“Right.” He adjusted a dial, and the static lowered to a hiss. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
The cat leapt from my arms, landing silently on the desk. It circled the receiver twice, then sat, tail curling around its paws.
Brad picked up the SpecterTrack monitor, holding it at arm’s length. The screen displayed the room in blues and greens, temperature readings scrolling down one side.
Nothing unusual.
Just cold.
He swept the device left, then right, mapping the space.
Still nothing.
“Maybe it’s sleeping,” I muttered.
Brad shot me a look. “Entities don’t sleep.”
“How do you know?”
“Rule forty-seven in the handbook. ‘Entities Do Not Require Rest.’”
“There’s a rule for that?”
“There’s a rule for everything.”
The static from the receiver shifted. A low crackle, then a pop.
Brad froze, staring at the device.
Another crackle. Longer this time. Almost rhythmic.
The cat’s ears flattened. He looked towards me, and I swore I saw alarm on his furry face.
And then, through the static, a voice.
Faint. Distant. But unmistakable.
“…leave…”
My stomach swooped.
Cold dread crawled up my spine, settled at the base of my skull. The voice sounded so… real. I lurched backwards, knocking into a chair. It scraped against the floorboards with a screech that made my teeth ache.
Then I caught myself. Stopped.
Bloody hell. I’d actually jumped. From a dodgy speaker making noises.
Pathetic.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Brad!”
He looked up from the monitor, eyebrows raised. “What?”
“Enough with the pranks, okay?”
He blinked. Stared at me like I’d suggested the moon was made of cheese. Then understanding dawned across his face. “That wasn’t me, you twat.”
“Come off it.” I gestured at the receiver. “That shitty device is clearly an audio player with pre-recorded messages. To make it look real for the homeowners.”
Brad’s expression shifted to disgust. He rolled his eyes so hard I was surprised they didn’t get stuck. “Goddamn it! I can’t believe I got sent out here with you! And I can’t believe Gerald hired such a non-believer. He must really be getting desperate.”
The receiver crackled again.
A scratchy female voice pushed through the static, clearer this time.
“…leave…leave…leave…”
The cat hissed. Backed away from the device, fur standing on end along its spine.
My mouth went dry.
Brad whipped out an EMF reader from his utility belt. The device lit up red, beeping frantically. He stared at it, then at the receiver, then back at the reader.
“Wow,” he muttered. “This must be at least a Level Three entity. Maybe higher.”
His voice sounded distant. Muffled.
The room had grown cold. Not just chilly—cold. The flavour of cold that sank into your bones, made your joints ache.
My breath fogged in front of my face.
My teeth started to chatter.
A giggle echoed through the library. High-pitched. Childish.
I jumped, spinning around. “What was that?”
“Shh!” Brad pressed the Spirit Receiver against his ear, adjusting dials with quick, precise movements.
Another giggle.
Behind me.
I spun again, heart hammering.
A shadow shifted behind the nearest bookcase. Small. Person-shaped. Gone before I could focus on it.
“Brad—”
“I said shh!”
I moved towards the bookcase on unsteady legs. Peered around the corner. Nothing. Just empty shelves and dust and morning light filtering through grimy windows.
Something tugged on my trouser leg.
Sharp. Insistent.
I yelped, jumping backwards, fists raised. If Brad had crawled around to mess with me, I’d kick him in his stupid face.
But Brad was still on the other side of the bookcase. I could hear him muttering, scratching notes.
Nothing grabbed my leg. Nothing stood near me.
Just empty air.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
Then—pain.
Horrible. Hot. Piercing.
Something bit into my calf, teeth puncturing fabric and skin.
I screamed. Kicked out. Hit nothing.
The pressure released.
I stumbled backwards, gasping, fingers scrabbling at my jumpsuit leg.
Two puncture marks. Small. Precise. A bite mark.
Blood welled up, trickling down my shin.
No no no no no—
Another giggle. Closer this time.
Behind me. To my left. Everywhere and nowhere.
Run. I needed to run. Needed to get out of this room, out of this house, out of this nightmare.
I bolted.
Through the doorway, down the corridor. My trainers slapped against the floorboards. The giggling followed, multiplying, bouncing off the walls.
Two voices now. A boy and a girl.
Laughing.
Chasing.
The staircase loomed ahead. Grand. Sweeping. Too many stairs. Too steep.
A vision flashed through my mind—tumbling down, neck snapping, body crumpled at the bottom like a broken puppet.
They’ll push me. They’ll push me down the stairs and I’ll die here.
I veered left. Grabbed the nearest door handle. Wrenched it open.
A cupboard. Tiny. Empty except for a single broken shelf hanging at an angle.
I threw myself inside. Slammed the door.
Pitch black.
No giggling.
My breathing rasped in the confined space. Too loud. Too fast. I pressed my hands against my knees, tried to slow my heart.
It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s just… it’s just…
What? A hallucination? Hysteria? Brad spiking my cornflakes with LSD?
My eyes adjusted slowly. Shapes emerged from the darkness. The broken shelf. The doorframe. The narrow walls pressing in on either side.
And something else.
Someone else.
A figure. Standing in the corner. A maid’s uniform.
Pale face. Half covered by a bloodstained cloth.
One eye. Milky. Dead.
Staring directly at me.
Her mouth opened.
“Tea, sir?”
I screamed. Properly screamed, ripping my throat raw.
Burst out of the cupboard. Slammed into the opposite wall. Spun. Ran.
The staircase. I had to risk the staircase. Away from the library. Away from the giggles. Away from the woman with the ruined face asking if I wanted tea.
My foot caught on something.
Nothing. Everything. My own trainers?
I pitched forward.
Tumbled.
My shoulder hit the edge of the stairs. Pain exploded through my arm. My head cracked against the wall with a sickening thud.
Stars burst behind my eyelids.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck
I’m going to die.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t—
Footsteps pounded down the corridor. Down the stairs.
Brad’s face appeared above me, upside down, mouth moving.
I couldn’t hear him over the rushing in my ears.
Slowly, his face came into focus. Still upside down. But… different somehow.