Page 47 of Love at First Fright

“Got you!” Brad lunged in that direction.

The cupboard closed. A third one, near the sink, popped open. Then shut. Then open again.

The twins flickered into visibility for just a moment—Rosemary grinning with those too‑sharp teeth, Henry’s hand frozen mid-pull on a drawer handle—before vanishing again. Their giggles filled the air like wind chimes made of broken glass.

Brad spun in circles, his monitor beeping uselessly in every direction.

“See, Molly?” I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe with satisfaction warming my dead chest. “I told you there was no reason to worry about these so called ‘spirit exterminators.’”

When we’d overheard the Lancasters talking about their arrival, it had caused a ripple of excitement throughout the manor. Trained professionals who promised to permanently remove spirits from your home? We’d never had that before.

A few of the other ghosts had even worried. Lady Grimthorne had retreated to her library, muttering about “intruders” and “violations of sanctity.” Thomas, the groundskeeper who’d drowned in the well in 1823, had spent an entire evening moaning about finally facing the “true end.”

Lots of them thought we might be in “danger.” Whatever that even meant. Sometimes I hated my existence. Cursed the fact that I hadn’t moved on like most do when they die. That I was stuck here, trapped in this building, unable to leave even if I wanted to.

Even if there’s no heaven, did I want to leave a place that often felt like hell?

But that was melodramatic. Unfair, even.

My afterlife wasn’t that bad. I had friends here. Purpose. I kept humans away from the manor. Away from harm. Away from the thing lurking in the basement. Away from joining our numbers.

That counted for something, didn’t it?

“I wouldn’t be so sure yet, sir.” Molly’s voice carried a note of caution. “They’re just getting started.”

“They’re just poseurs playing dress-up.”

Though I had to admit, Charlie’s ass looked incredible in his silly ghostbusting outfit. The jumpsuit hugged his frame in ways that should be illegal. I mean, blessed. Depending on your perspective.

Brad cursed as another cupboard banged open. He grabbed his EMF reader from his belt—because of course he wore a utility belt, the absolute tosser—and waved it around like a magic wand.

A drawer shot out, nearly catching him in the stomach. He stumbled backwards, crashed into the kitchen table, and sent his monitor clattering to the floor.

The twins materialised fully now, standing on top of the refrigerator. Rosemary clapped her hands in delight. Henry stuck his tongue out.

They vanished again.

Brad scrambled for his equipment, muttering an obscene amount of curse words.

Then he fled the kitchen at a near-run, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Molly made a small, approving noise.

“Now, then.” She smoothed her apron, that wonderfully familiar gesture. Her gaze turned toward me, expectant and hopeful. “Tea, sir?”

eight

Charlie

The sofa became my prison. Hours bled into each other—morning stretched into afternoon—and I remained glued to the faded velvet cushions. Part of it was the concussion. The fall. My skull still throbbed where it had connected with the stairs, a dull ache that pulsed behind my eyes.

But mostly, it was terror.

If I stood up, if I ventured back into those corridors, something would attack me again. Invisible teeth would sink into my calf. Ghostly maids would materialise in cupboards. Children would giggle in the walls.

I stared at the ceiling and contemplated my escape route. Find a staircase. Get upstairs. Search for mobile signal. Call a taxi to take me to the train station. Hide in the train toilet for the entire journey so the ticket inspector didn’t catch me without a ticket.

Simple.