Page 28 of If I Stopped Haunting You

“I’m not making a scene. But if you’re going down there, so am I,” Pen insisted, shaking off Laszlo’s hand.

Laszlo looked between them. “You two deserve each other,” he muttered under his breath.

Pen tried not to think about the nervous flutter in her belly at the thought.

Daniela nodded in agreement, and they shuffled away a few steps, wary of the cellar and whatever lay beyond. They could laugh and joke about the castle being haunted all day, but when it came down to it, none of them were willing to risk it. Because there wasa sense of something else here. Franny had been shaken, scared, even, and Pen was suddenly certain that there had to be some truth to the local lore.

“You do know basements and cellars are like two of themostcommon haunting grounds, right?” Laszlo asked, shrinking away.

“I’d choose a haunted attic over a basement any day,” Daniela said.

Storm pulled the door open the rest of the way, and nothing but darkness and cool air greeted them. Pen shivered, wrapping her arms around her middle as she stared past the doorframe.

All to prove a point. That’s all this was. Storm wanted to prove he could do it, and Pen wanted to prove… prove what? That she wasn’t trying to send him to his death? That she wasn’t a total asshole? This was a fucking mistake. Could she truly not back down from Storm because of her pride?

He slid his hand into the open air before them, searching the walls on each side of the door. The sleeve of his fleece inched up, and Pen thought she saw a bit of black ink poking out from beneath it. She wanted to reach out and roll up his sleeve, to see what he kept hidden beneath it.

“There’s no light,” he mumbled, searching for an invisible string.

Pen pulled out her phone, switching on the flashlight feature. “Thank god for technology.” Although, as she shone it into the darkness, she wasn’t entirely certain it was enough. It cast a faint, white glow a few feet before her, but it was nothing to battle the depths of the cellar. Storm nodded and did the same, taking the first step down.

Swallowing, Pen followed.

It grew colder as they descended. Though Pen could hardly see past his tall frame, she moved her phone from left to right, sweeping the light over covered furniture and racks of wine along the farthest wall. It looked like any cellar one might expect beneath acastle. Creaking wooden steps, a concrete floor, shelves, wine racks, and abandoned and broken furniture. At its peak, the cellar might have been used to store food and wine, but now, it was a place for abandoned things. Lost things.

Like wandering spirits trapped in this world.

“Can you see anything?” she whispered, leaning close.

Storm shivered, waving her away. “Don’t do that.”

Pen eyed him sidelong, smiling. “Did Iscare you?”

“No,” he snapped.

She opened her mouth to retort, but her eyes landed on something lurking in the shadows of the cellar. It twitched. Pen paused on the step, her heart racing as she leaned down and peered into the dark. Something round caught the light of her phone, gleaming like an eye from the shadows of the cellar. She blinked and found the shape of a person, the wisp of a shadow.

Too human. It wastoo human.

Oh no, oh no, it was the spirit, the one that Fanny had warned them about. The protector. It was going to kill them, if spirits could indeed kill people.

Pen’s breath caught as the thing moved, writhing as those glowing orbs shimmered. And then she smelled it, thick and heavy, the dampness and musk of growing mold. She shivered and gagged, that same dread from the secret passageway raising goose bumps along her arms and the nape of her neck.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod it’s the ghost!” she chanted as she leaned close to Storm. One of her hands gripped his shoulder, her nails digging in past fabric to his flesh. “Storm, it’s going to kill us, holy shit, we’re going to die.” Her heartbeat was erratic as she raised a shaky hand and pointed at the thing in the dark.

“What?” he said as he turned toward her.

“It’s a ghost, there’s afucking ghost,” she cried out. “We don’t mean your castle any harm, brother protector ghost!” she called.“It’s just a silly game, a very foolish mistake we won’t be making again! Please, don’t kill us.”

He followed her finger and stooped over the railing of the cellar stairs, flashlight bright against the darkness. The beam scanned the cellar, and Pen followed the line of light across the floor eagerly.

But there was nothing. There was no monster, no shadow, no pair of glowing eyes watching them. Pen’s lips trembled. Had she imagined it, that thing gleaming in the dark? She moved to shine her own phone to prove him wrong, but her hand was empty. She groaned, covering her face.

“Skinner, calm down,” he admonished, reaching for her. His fingers skated over her wrist. “There’s nothing here.”

“I dropped my phone,” she groaned again. She didn’t want to peel back her hands, to see that thing again, the whisper of a human lurking in the darkened corners of the cellar. It was a mistake coming down here. What had she been thinking? Rumors and myths and legends existed because they relied on truths. And what’s to say ghosts weren’t real just because she wrote stories about them?

Slowly, he tugged her hands away with soft, warm fingers, and the tenderness of the action, of his touch, made her pulse flutter. Storm’s features were cast in shadow as she blinked down at him, tracing his strong nose and bright eyes with new clarity.