Page 62 of If I Stopped Haunting You

“It was her,” they whispered.

It had always been her.

Chapter 18

PEN

Neil stared down at Pen in horror.

She felt tears prick her eyes, the fear nearly swallowing her whole as snow fell around them. It was that creeping feeling again, that shiver of a finger tracing her spine that she recognized from their little visit to the cellar, when that thing had looked at her with wide, glowing eyes.

This woman was the lurking thing in the hall, the voice in the study, the thing opening and closing doors. All along, it had been this ghost, this woman, the one Fanny had whispered of as she’d gestured up to the oil painting in the foyer.

But why? Why was she haunting this castle? Had she killed someone? Was she looking for her next victim, and was Pen it?

Pen turned to the tombstone, tracing the name.Archibald Skinner.Why did that sound so familiar? She closed her eyes, desperately picking through her memories.

The journal.It couldn’t be a coincidence.

“What did you hear in the study?” she asked, nudging Neil roughly.

“Someone whispered ‘Archie,’ who I’m assuming hassomethingto do with this grave, but I’m not sure. Why?”

“The journal.”

“The red one?”

Pen nodded. “I was reading through it earlier. There’s a passage that mentioned—”

She glanced over her shoulder and up to the window, but there was no one, simply darkness beyond the panes. Pen tapped Neil’s hand, and he turned, lips parting.

“She was just there,” he said.

Pen shuddered and tightened her hands on him. “I know.”

The woman wouldn’t be going far. That feeling of being watched, the prickling at the back of her neck; Pen hadn’t been imagining it. They’d probably been watched the whole time. In the shower, when the secret door had opened, at night, when she’d tossed and turned.

Laszlo and Daniela weren’t experiencing anything, but there was no doubt now. They’d all wanted a haunted castle, a cute little getaway to write their cute little stories and live their cute little lives, but they’d truly found a haunted castle. The irony of a bunch of horror, thriller, and paranormal authors staying in this place was not lost on her.

Pen laughed. It felt good to laugh, to let all the disbelief seep into her voice. She let go of Neil and bent at the waist, slapping her knee as she shook her head.

“Are you okay?” Neil asked, worry written across his features.

“It’s haunted!” she screamed between laughs. “It’s actually haunted!” She crumpled further, her abs aching, tears leaking from her eyes as she laughed. It hurt, laughing so much, but she simply couldn’t stop. Didn’t he find it funny too?

“Let’s go inside,” he said, tugging her away from the graveyard.

She stopped, laughter dying on her lips. Pen reached up and wiped at her eyes before she motioned sharply to the castle, disbelieving. “So… what? We can go where the ghosts are?”

“You want to stay out here in the snow? What’s to say ghosts can’t come out into the yard? We don’t know how these things work, Penelope.”

As much as she hated to admit it, he had a point. They didn’t know anything about ghosts because ghosts weren’t meant to be real. But clearly, they’d been wrong.

Pen shivered. Ghosts were real, and they were stuck in a haunted castle in the Scottish Highlands with no internet in the middle of a snowstorm. It was their worst nightmare come to life.

But they’d brought it on themselves. All for a writer’s retreat.

“What are our chances of making it out alive?” she asked, turning to Neil.