Page 122 of Love at First Fright

I pushed open the kitchen door with more caution than the act required. Brad stood at the counter, hunched over a bowl of cereal, scowling. Each scrape of his spoon against ceramic made me wince.

Bat had floated off somewhere—understanding, perhaps, that being joined at my hip every possible second might be a bit much. Still, I missed him. Felt somehow vulnerable without him. Though knowing Bat, he was probably lurking nearby anyway, invisible, eavesdropping on whatever fresh humiliation Brad might inflict.

I braced myself for more taunting about my “wanking session,” that I’d have to act unfazed by. But Brad just shovelled soggy cornflakes into his mouth, gaze fixed on the scarred table.

The silence stretched for an eternity as I made myself an instant coffee.

A sound from the hallway made us both freeze. The creak of hinges. The front door.

My heart kicked into overdrive. Ghost shenanigans already? Before coffee?!

“Hello?” called a voice that took me a moment to place.

Brad’s eyebrows shot up. “Harrison Lancaster. They’re back!”

Footsteps approached, and moments later, Harrison walked through the doorway. Alone. Unlike when we’d seen him last, his tailored jacket bore creases, and grey stubble shadowed his jaw.

“Morning, gentlemen.” He nodded at us. “Evelyn’s still in Brighton, but I thought I’d check in. See how you’re managing.”

Brad set down his spoon with deliberate care. “Well, sir, to summarise the situation, you have a very serious ghost infestation here, Mr Lancaster. Multiple powerful entities. Dangerous ones. Since you left us, Charlie’s fallen down the staircase, and I was thrown across the attic.”

Harrison’s expression flickered—alarm, then something harder to read. Confliction? He didn’t believe in ghosts, so Brad’s words must have sounded like well-performed bullshit. Or insanity.

“Right.” Harrison rubbed the back of his neck. “Do me a favour and hold back on telling Evelyn that, if she calls you. She’s… well, she’s already fixated on this place being haunted. It’s causing her so much anxiety, the doctor has prescribed pills.” He paused, glancing at his shiny wristwatch. “Anyway… I’ve also swung by today because I have a new electrician coming any second. Taking a look at the wiring.”

Brad frowned. “I thought you were holding back on work until we’ve sorted this all out for you?”

“We’ve got deadlines.” Harrison’s voice tightened. “Investors breathing down my neck. Grimthorne needs to start making money as soon as possible. We can’t keep haemorrhaging cash whilst—” He stopped himself, jaw working. Guilt flashed across his face, and something told me Evelyn didn’t know about today’s electrician visit. “I have to go wait by the gate for him.” Harrison shuffled off, with Brad staring after him.

I cleared my throat. “In other news, I think I found our witch’s grave last night.”

Brad spat his mouthful of cereal back into the bowl. Milk dribbled down his chin.

Smug satisfaction warmed my chest. “Yep. There’s a rock marker in the garden with her initials on it. Near a weird patch of dead earth where nothing grows.”

Brad wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Huh.” He pushed away from the table. “We should go back there immediately, with the kit. But we’d better stick around for this electrician first.”

“Yeah? To jump in the way of any flying hammers?”

Brad grunted, cracking his knuckles. “Well, I didn’t spend three years playing flanker for nothing.”

“Better you than me.”

A few minutes later, the crunch of tyres on gravel announced Harrison’s return. The front door opened. Voices drifted down the hall—Harrison’s clipped tones and a deeper rumble. They appeared in the doorway moments later.

The electrician looked exactly like my mental image of a workman. Late fifties, maybe. Hi‑vis vest over a faded band shirt—Oasis, I noted—and cargo trousers stained with what might’ve been paint or plaster. A worn leather tool bag hung from one meaty shoulder.

His gaze swept the kitchen, lingering on our jumpsuits, and the embroidered ghost logo.

Harrison shifted his weight, colour rising in his cheeks. “These are the, er, the two ghost hunters I mentioned.”

The electrician’s mouth twitched. His eyes crinkled at the corners, fighting down obvious amusement. “Right…” The word stretched out, loaded with scepticism. “Well, I’m Dave.”

Leaning against the kitchen counter, nursing my coffee, I offered a small wave. Brad just crossed his arms, biceps straining against his sleeves.

Harrison checked his watch again, the gesture hurried, anxious. “Listen, now I need to take an international call. Very important investor. Can’t risk the awful signal here, so I’m going to quickly drive up to that spot near the top of the hill in town where it’s almost guaranteed.” He glanced at Dave, almost apologetic. “Though… will you be alright here?”

Dave barked out a rich, genuine laugh. “Jesus, Harrison. I’ll be fine. Been fixing up all sorts of houses for thirty years, and I’ve never seen a single ghost.” He set his bag down with a thud. “Don’t you worry about me.”