Page 42 of If I Stopped Haunting You

No one had ever flustered her so. Pen shouldn’t let him get to her, but she couldn’t help it, and that scared her more than anything. Why she let him of all people fluster her was anyone’s guess.

Forgetting Neil Storm for a moment, she returned her attention to the journal. Her eyes had gone to it on the shelf, and she’d followed a strange tether to it all the way down the hall and to the study. It felt like the night before, when she’d stumbled into the west wing and toward the door. When she’d seen the hand. The more she thought about it, the more she believed she wasn’t imagining things.

And whatever she’d seen in that hall had tugged her toward the study, where she’d found Storm holding the journal in his hands like it had all the answers.

And now she needed to know for sure if it did.

She turned it over, fingers dancing over the worn, red leather. There was no author, no name imprinted on the spine or the cover. But for some minor cracking along the leather, the front and back of the journal were blank. It was slim, perhaps no thicker than her pinky, and yet felt oddly heavy in her hands.

“That’s weird,” she mumbled.

After glancing around, Pen peeled back the cover. It had that musky library scent, the paper yellowed with age, crispy and crinkling beneath her fingers. She smoothed her hand down the opening page, but found it was blank. Scrunching up her nose, she flipped through the pages until black ink caught her eye. She leafed through the entries, pages of handwriting filling it, blots of black ink splattered in places where the author had been carelesswith their quill. The entries were dated in the top right of every page, the furthest going back to the early nineteenth century. The handwriting was neat, the letters long and swooping across the aged paper in knowing strokes.

December 13th, 1814

A new boy has arrived. He’s the son of the groundskeeper. He will not look at me, but I can look upon him. I see him through my window as he trims the flowers in the garden. I watch him from the landing as he empties and fills the vases in the foyer.

Mother says I am playing dangerous games, watching a boy I have no right to, but I am bored, and there is something that draws me to him.

Father has not been home in several weeks, and Mother is forlorn as always.

I am glad that at least I am entertained.

Pen pulled the book down to her lap, something in her mind trying desperately to click. The passage… reminded her of something, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Swallowing, she flipped a few more pages, stopping on a short passage.

January 22nd, 1815

It has taken me ages to learn his name, but he finally dared speak to me. I approached him at night as he crept toward the front door. I reached for his hand, but he will not let me touch him.

He gifted me with something else, though.

His name is Archibald.

I have dubbed him Archie for short.

Pen leaned forward, her eyes drawn to the name. TheAwas looped, large and bold, standing out among the other letters likethe owner of this journal had scribbled it down almost reverently. She ran a shaking finger over it. “Archie,” she whispered.

The hairs on her neck stood on end as the name echoed back at her in a raspy voice.

Archie.

Pen slammed the book closed, her eyes going wide. “Hello?” she called, looking around. She thought back to Fanny’s warning, to the west wing and the door and the thing in the cellar. Perhaps it was all connected.

“Is it you?”

But to no one’s surprise, there was no answer. Pen glanced toward the west wing. Dark and ominous, it waited for her, calling to her. Hands wrapped tightly around the journal, Pen thought of the night before.

Maybe, if she just walked toward the door… If she moved a few feet closer…

“Pen!”

She jumped in surprise and pressed a hand to her chest. Heart thundering, she peered over the banister. Daniela waved up at her, seemingly innocent and unaware of what she’d been about to do.

“What?” she asked sharply, setting aside the journal.

Daniela smiled, and it reminded Pen of that night out by the boathouse.