Page 37 of Love at First Fright

The library sprawled along the first floor of the east wing, windows stretching floor to ceiling along one wall. Dust motes danced in the pale morning light, and most of the shelves stood empty—just bare wood and cobwebs.

But some sections remained intact.

Charles Dickens. Jane Austen. The Brontë sisters. A complete leather-bound Shakespeare collection, spines cracked and faded.

I ran my fingers along the shelf, pausing at Great Expectations.

Brad set the spirit receiver on a mahogany desk in the centre of the room, flicking switches. Static crackled through the speaker, making me wince.

“Right.” He adjusted a dial, and the static lowered to a hiss. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

The cat leapt from my arms, landing silently on the desk. It circled the receiver twice, then sat, tail curling around its paws.

Brad picked up the SpecterTrack monitor, holding it at arm’s length. The screen displayed the room in blues and greens, temperature readings scrolling down one side.

Nothing unusual.

Just cold.

He swept the device left, then right, mapping the space.

Still nothing.

“Maybe it’s sleeping,” I muttered.

Brad shot me a look. “Entities don’t sleep.”

“How do you know?”

“Rule forty-seven in the handbook. ‘Entities Do Not Require Rest.’”

“There’s a rule for that?”

“There’s a rule for everything.”

The static from the receiver shifted. A low crackle, then a pop.

Brad froze, staring at the device.

Another crackle. Longer this time. Almost rhythmic.

The cat’s ears flattened. He looked towards me, and I swore I saw alarm on his furry face.

And then, through the static, a voice.

Faint. Distant. But unmistakable.

“…leave…”

My stomach swooped.

Cold dread crawled up my spine, settled at the base of my skull. The voice sounded so… real. I lurched backwards, knocking into a chair. It scraped against the floorboards with a screech that made my teeth ache.

Then I caught myself. Stopped.

Bloody hell. I’d actually jumped. From a dodgy speaker making noises.

Pathetic.