Page 183 of Love at First Fright

“Absolutely not.” Brad moved forward. “You three have got no idea what you might be dealing with. We need to stay as backup.” He tapped his utility belt.

“We don’t need—”

“This is our job, mate. You hired us for a reason—”

Bat’s hand touched my shoulder. “I’m going upstairs.”

I didn’t think. Just moved. Brad and Harrison’s argument faded behind me as I followed Bat towards the staircase, trying to stop my trainers squeaking on the flagstones.

Bat didn’t look back. He drifted ahead of me, flying up the stairs, his form flickering like a faulty lightbulb. Another crash from the library.

The library doors stood open. I skidded through them, chest heaving, just as a leather‑bound volume sailed across the room and slammed into the far wall.

Lady Grimthorne stood in the centre of the chaos, books scattered at her feet, her translucent hands clutching at her gown. Her usual composure had shattered completely. She paced in tight circles, head jerking from side to side.

“They can’t! We must stop them!”

Another book flew from the shelf, the spine crackling against the doorframe inches from my head, and I ducked instinctively.

Bat materialised fully beside me. “Lady Grimthorne, please. Calm down. Stop throwing the books!”

“We have to do something!” She whirled towards us wildly. “He mustn’t be allowed out!”

The naked terror in her voice sent a violent, visceral shiver through me, the dread pooling in my stomach growing stronger.

“I know.” Bat’s voice hardened. “But screaming about it isn’t going to help.”

“You don’t understand.” Her hands trembled as she pressed them against her chest.

“What don’t I understand?”

Lady Grimthorne fell utterly still. Then she drifted towards the tall windows overlooking the garden, her back to us. Rain streaked down the glass, blurring the gloomy landscape beyond.

“Lady G?” Bat moved closer, his voice softening.

Silence stretched between them. Only the rain and my laboured breathing filled the space.

“He was such a nice boy,” she whispered, so quietly that the words barely reached me. “Kind. Generous.”

“Who was?” Bat asked.

She didn’t turn. Her reflection in the rain-soaked window showed a face carved from grief.

“Cornelius. Cornelius Grimthorne, who is currently locked in that basement.” The words fell like boulders. “My son.”

twenty-six

Bat

Cornelius Grimthorne.

My brain couldn’t process it.

The malevolent presence we’d all been terrified of for decades. The thing that made Vivian scream in her sleep. The force that sent cold waves of dread through every ghost in this manor whenever someone got too close to the basement door.

Her son.

“You knew.” My voice came out flat. Dead. “This whole time, you knew exactly what was down there, and you never told any of us.”