29. Charlie #3
Two living souls remained. Well, one and a half. Evelyn didn’t really count—she’d pulled her knees to her chest, face buried, rocking back and forth with the rhythmic determination of someone who’d completely checked out of reality.
Good for her, honestly. I’d quite like to check out right now.
“I thought he’d murdered you,” I said to Bat. “Again.”
Bat hovered a few feet away, translucent enough that I could see the pillar behind him through his chest. I reached for his face. My fingers passed straight through, meeting no resistance. Cold air. Nothing more.
“I’m made of tougher stuff than that.” His attempted smile flickered. He looked shaken. Properly rattled. His edges kept blurring, as if he couldn’t quite remember what shape he was supposed to be.
A sharp crack echoed through the basement.
I spun toward the sound. The shattered PolterPulse lay against the far wall, still sparking. Weak bursts of neon blue light sputtered from its broken circuitry, smoke still curling from the split casing.
“I hope Gerald doesn’t charge me for that.”
Bat’s laugh came out hollow. “Pretty sure property damage is covered under ‘killed by malevolent entity.’”
We both looked at Brad’s body, lying sprawled on the stone. Face grey. Eyes open. Staring at nothing.
I swallowed hard. “Can you see Brad’s ghost?”
Bat shook his head.
Right. Of course not. Brad had moved on immediately. No unfinished business. No regrets tethering him here. Just… gone.
Lucky bastard.
Would they put up a plaque at ExorSquad HQ? Brad Harrington: Star Employee. Died doing what he loved—being an insufferable twat.
I wondered how I’d describe this to Gerald. Yeah, so Brad was eaten by a murderous bishop. Also, the village priest and the client are dead too. Do I still get paid?
Movement rippled through the basement.
Ghosts appeared.
Molly materialised beside the wine racks. Thomas drifted through the wall near the crypt entrance. Vivian descended from the ceiling in a graceful spiral, her grey dress billowing.
The twins popped into existence by Brad’s body. Rosemary poked his shoulder with one finger. Henry giggled.
Edmund floated down the staircase. Other spirits followed—ones I’d glimpsed in corridors but never properly met. A young man. An elderly woman in a nightgown. An older child clutching a wooden horse.
Lady Grimthorne appeared last.
She drifted toward us, regal despite her translucent state. Her gaze swept the basement—taking in the bodies, the blood, the destruction.
When her eyes met mine, something shifted in her expression. Relief. Gratitude. Exhaustion.
“You did it.” Her voice wavered. “After all these years… he’s truly gone.”
“Wasn’t us.” Bat gestured vaguely. “It was all Margery Darke.”
Lady Grimthorne’s lips thinned. “That poor woman. I knew what Cornelius had done to her, but I…” She closed her eyes. “I was a coward. I should have stopped him sooner.”
“You locked him in a basement,” Bat pointed out. “That’s pretty metal.”
“For all the good it did.” She opened her eyes again. “But now… now perhaps I can finally rest.”
Her face changed. Surprise bloomed across her features—eyes widening, mouth parting slightly.
“I… There’s… I can see a door.”
A ripple of murmurs spread through the assembled ghosts. They turned, looking around the basement. Their expressions shifted—wonder, confusion, hope.
Molly gasped. “There! Do you see—”
“By the pillar,” Thomas breathed.
The twins squealed in unison. Henry pointed at something I couldn’t see. Rosemary clapped her hands.
I saw nothing. Just stone and shadows and dead bodies.
Bat floated closer to Lady Grimthorne. “Go on, then. We’ll be right behind you.”
“Will you?” She studied his face. “Truly?”
“Eventually.”
She smiled. A real smile this time, not the tight-lipped expression she’d worn in life. “I suppose I’ll see you on the other side, Bartholomew.”
She turned toward something invisible. Took a step forward. Her form began to glow—soft and warm, like candlelight through paper.
Then she vanished.
My heart clenched.
The other ghosts moved toward their own doors. Vivian grabbed the twins by their hands—one on each side—and pushed them forward despite their theatrical pouts.
“But I wanted to stay and haunt Charlie,” Rosemary whined.
“We never even got to put spiders in his bed!” Henry added.
Vivian winked at me. “Farewell, darling. You were a magnificent audience.”
They disappeared in a shimmer of light.
Molly and Thomas approached their end together, fingers intertwined. Molly turned back, gave us a little wave with her free hand.
“It’s been a pleasure to serve you,” she called.
Then they were gone too.
Edmund followed. Then the rest. One by one, the ghosts of Grimthorne Manor stepped through invisible doorways and ceased to exist.
Until only Bat remained.
Just him and me in a basement full of corpses and broken things.
Those brown eyes found mine, and the weight of what was coming crashed over me like a wave.
“You’re covered in spiderwebs,” he said, running one hand through my hair.
“Never mind that.” I could barely speak around the lump in my throat. “Can you see a door?” The question came out as a whisper. I already knew the answer. Could see it written across his pale face.
“Yes.” His voice matched mine. Small. Broken.
The word hung between us.