Page 123 of Love at First Fright

Relief flooded Harrison’s features. He grinned, stepping forward to clap Dave on the shoulder with force. “Finally. A man of reason.” He shot Brad and me a look I couldn’t quite decipher—embarrassment, frustration?—then swept out of the kitchen.

The front door slammed. Dave picked up his bag, straightening and rolling his shoulders. “Right, then. Let’s see what disasters we’re dealing with.”

Brad abandoned his cereal bowl in the sink with a clatter. “Wait! We need to come with you.”

Dave paused, tools in hand. “What? Why?”

“Because workmen coming here tend to trigger ghost activity.” Brad’s tone brooked no argument. “Stay here, Charlie. I need to grab more kit.”

He thundered off upstairs before Dave could respond.

I offered Dave a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

Dave just stared at me, baffled. “You lot are having me on.”

“I wish.”

He shook his head, muttering something about con artists, and headed for the lounge. I followed, hovering in the doorway as Dave unloaded his tools before approaching the wall socket nearest the window. He crouched, unscrewing the faceplate. The torch clicked on, beam sweeping over ancient wiring inside the wall cavity.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dave muttered. “This is all original. Cloth-covered cables. Surprised this place hasn’t burnt down yet. This manor is a deathtrap!”

He pulled out a voltage tester, pressing it against the exposed connections. Nothing sparked or hummed ominously, which I took as a good sign. Dave made notes on a pad, squinting at the wiring diagram.

“Charlie!” Brad’s voice bellowed from somewhere upstairs. “Where are you?”

“Front lounge!” I shouted back.

Footsteps thundered overhead. Brad appeared moments later, festooned with his usual arsenal plus several new additions. Something cylindrical dangled from his utility belt, gleaming dully in the morning light.

I pointed at it. “What’s that thing?”

“Temporal Distortion Logger.” Brad lifted the device with reverence. “Measures otherworldly energy fluctuations across multiple dimensional planes.”

Dave straightened from his crouch, shoulders shaking. Laughter bubbled out of him—proper belly laughs that echoed off the high ceiling. “So, tell me, exactly how much are you two goons conning out of Harrison Lancaster? I’m getting close to retirement, see, so I might need a side gig to keep me from getting too bored.”

Brad’s lips pressed into a thin line. Colour flooded his neck, rising up towards his ears.

A very unexpected pang of sympathy for him struck me. Now that I knew ghosts existed—now that I’d kissed one, for fuck’s sake—the mockery stung differently. Brad might be an arrogant prick, but his profession wasn’t bullshit, and he was being paid minimum wage by Gerald to be here, risking being thrown across attics by angry ghosts.

Dave chuckled again, returning his attention to the wall socket.

The cold hit me first—a sudden drop in temperature that made my breath mist in the morning light. I glanced at Dave, still crouched by the wall socket, oblivious. But the air around him shimmered, frost patterns creeping across the windowpane behind his head.

I nudged Brad, pointing.

Brad’s expression shifted instantly from sullen to alert. He yanked out the SpecterTrack Monitor, fingers flying across buttons.

A whisper ghosted across my left ear. “So, you think dear Dave is ready for the show of his life?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. I couldn’t help it—I glanced around, searching for Bat’s form. Nothing. Just empty air and the weight of his invisible presence somewhere nearby.

Brad’s head snapped towards me. “What?”

“Nothing. Just… cold.”

Dave straightened, rubbing his arms through the hi-vis vest. “Yeah, a bit nippy in here, isn’t it? Go put a jumper on over that silly costume, lad.”

Before I could respond, a thunderous BANG erupted from directly overhead. Then another. And another. Like someone dropping bowling balls on the ceiling.