Page 107 of Love at First Fright

Nothing.

Panic flared in my chest. I spun in a circle, searching the darkness for any sign of him. Any flicker of movement or pale skin or dark clothing.

“Bat!”

Had he run out of ghostly energy? Used up whatever reserves he had manifesting physically, dancing with me, kissing me?

Somehow, I didn’t think that was it.

Maybe I was a really shit kisser? Didn’t live up to his expectations?

I couldn’t help the hurt that twisted through my ribs. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how cold it was. How dark. How utterly alone I was, standing in this dead garden.

“Bat? Are you still here?” I asked the empty air, feeling foolish.

The pond reflected nothing but stars.

I headed back towards the manor, unnerved and cold without Bat’s presence beside me.

The entrance corridor greeted me with high-pitched giggling. Rosemary and Henry, probably tormenting some piece of furniture or preparing another prank for Brad. The sound echoed off the walls, bouncing between the portraits of stern-faced ancestors.

Should I look for Bat? Go room to room calling his name like some pathetic loser?

Bat? Bat, where are you? Please come back, the ghost I’ve known for approximately six hours that just snogged me and now I’m emotionally invested!

Dear lord. The other spirits would have a field day with that. No. Absolutely not.

I dragged myself up the stairs, gripping the banister tightly in case the twins decided it would be entertaining to push me. I reached our corridor to find light spilling out from beneath Brad’s door. I tiptoed past. The last thing I needed right now was an interrogation about where I’d been, why I looked like I’d just been thoroughly kissed by a dead musician, whether I’d made any progress on the actual investigation we were supposed to be conducting.

I slipped into my room as quietly as possible, easing the door shut behind me.

Flicked the light switch.

The brightness stabbed my eyes after the dimness of the corridors. I blinked, waiting for my vision to adjust.

Took one step forward.

Froze.

Another motherfucker of a spider.

This one clung to the bedpost, eight horrible legs creeping steadily towards my pillow. Thick-bodied and dark, the sort that looked like it could take a chunk out of you if it wanted.

A half-shriek escaped before I could press my knuckles against my mouth.

My chest tightened. Breath came in short, sharp gasps. Not now. Not now. I couldn’t have a full panic attack over a bloody spider when I’d just spent the evening dancing with ghosts and investigating cursed graves and—

The spider moved. One leg extended, then another, inching closer to where my head would rest.

I backed towards the door slowly. Carefully. Every muscle locked tight.

Fine. The sofa it was, then. I could sleep on the sofa. Brad could have his questions in the morning when I’d had time to pull myself together and think of a believable excuse for why I’d abandoned my bedroom to an eight-legged squatter.

A sudden black ball launched across the room.

I yelped, stumbling backwards into the door.

Not a ball. The cat.