Page 51 of If I Stopped Haunting You

He motioned weakly to the windows. This was the cheese line all over again.

“Blue light. It’s kind of creepy.”

Skinner’s frown deepened, impossibly, but she said nothing. She sat up, returning her attention to the laptop. “Maybe we should write?”

“That’s a good idea,” he agreed quietly.

But he took a moment longer to watch her, to take her in as she worked. He liked watching her write. She was so serious, so determined.

Swallowing, he concentrated on his computer and tried desperately not to focus on her closeness. Instead, Neil thought of the night before, to the thing he’d seen disappearing into one of the rooms, and that wretched scent of rot and death that lingeredin the hall. He thought of the featherlight touch in the stairwell, the whisper in the study. Of the portrait of a woman who likely haunted this castle. His fingers hesitated over the keys for only a second longer before he began to type.

He heard a creak on the stairs.

Neil licked his lips, eyes going to the splinters in the wood, the scratches on the door.

“That’s shit,” he muttered, returning his attention to the screen before holding down the backspace button. He tried again.

She heard a creak on the stairs.

“Still terrible.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Skinner said, swiveling toward him.

Neil held his hands over his screen. “Please don’t look.”

“Then maybe stop talking out loud.” Shaking her head, she bent over her laptop, brow pinched as she typed.

He ran a hand over his face, then held down the backspace key. Neil could usually see the story, click into the voice, and find the characters like plucking action figures from a shelf. But there was nothing. He’d lost something since Book Con, and he was struggling to get it back.

There was a creak on the stairs,he began. Running his tongue over his teeth, Neil continued.It was a soft sound, something you wouldn’t hear unless you were listening for it.

He smiled to himself. Maybe he wasn’t lost.

But Viola heard it. After all, she’d been listening to the night.

They jumped in surprise as the door to the turret slammed shut. Her fingers reached automatically for his, squeezing tight. Neil turned to Skinner with wide eyes. She glanced from their joined hands to him before pulling hers away with a blush.

“Did you do that?” he asked.

She scoffed and scrambled to stand, starting toward the door. “Do you think I’m clairvoyant or something? Of fucking course Ididn’t.” Skinner yanked on the handle, teeth gritted as she leaned back with all her weight. “It won’t open!”

“Is there another ghost that Fanny failed to mention? Because I don’t recall anything about these turrets on the tour.”

“I hope not,” she said.

Neil stood and crossed to the door. He reached around her and wrapped his sweaty palms around the doorknob, yanking. The wood groaned as he planted his feet and pulled with everything he had, but it simply would not budge.

Was it the thing Skinner claimed she’d seen in the cellar, the protector? Was it whatever had lurked in the hall last night, the woman in black?

Or what had brushed against him in the stairwell?

Neil shivered as he tightened his hands on the doorknob, thinking.

“What do we do?” she asked, turning to him.

Skinner looked up at him like he knew the answers, but there weren’t a lot of options, stranded in this turret. Neil peered around the room, anxiety spiking. The windows were too small, and the only way out of this place was barred by something he was too scared to even say aloud.

“Maybe if we put all of our weight into it, it’ll budge? I know I’m kind of short—”