Page 82 of Love at First Fright

Charlie turned toward me, still holding my hand, his eyes curious behind his gold-rimmed glasses.

“There are ghosts here who aren’t really here, if that makes sense. They’re like… echoes.” I searched for the right words. “Like a stuck record. Same groove, same song, over and over. They don’t know you’re watching. Don’t know anything anymore, really.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“Come on. I’ll show you one.”

I started to walk, then thought sod it. Walking was exhausting when you’d spent two decades floating. Plus, it was hard to hold Charlie’s hand and not float. I lifted off the ground, clutching Charlie’s hand in a death grip. Much more fun.

“Wait, what—”

“Come on.”

I zoomed along the corridor, dragging him so fast his feet barely touched the floor. He yelped, then laughed, stumbling to keep up.

We reached the long gallery on the second floor. Portraits lined the walls, generations of dead people watching other dead people. How lovely.

“There,” I whispered, though the echo couldn’t hear us anyway.

Charlie squinted. “I don’t see anything.”

“Hold on.”

The gentleman appeared at the far end of the gallery. Dark silhouette, vaguely man shaped. A glimpse of period clothing—tailcoat, cravat, something from the 1820s or ’30s maybe. Never a face. Never a clear face.

He paced the length of the gallery with measured steps. The floorboards creaked under footsteps that weren’t there. At the third window, he stopped. Looked out for exactly seven seconds—I’d counted hundreds of times over the years.

Then he turned and paced back.

Started again.

“Jesus,” Charlie breathed.

The temperature had dropped. Charlie shifted closer, and I pretended not to notice.

“He does that forever?”

“Forever and ever and ever.”

We watched in silence as the gentleman completed another circuit. Stop. Look. Turn. Walk.

“I guess that means he’s like a Level One entity, then?” Charlie said. “Or maybe a Two. Not sure. What happened to him?”

I shrugged. “No idea. Could be suicide? It’s almost like he’s waiting for someone who never came. That window looks out over the front drive. Maybe he was watching for news that never arrived.”

Charlie’s grip tightened on my hand. “That’s so sad.”

“Death usually is.”

The echo passed within three feet of us, his cold spot trailing in his wake like a funeral procession. Charlie shivered.

“There’s loads more of them,” I said. “Like the woman who drowned in the tub in the first-floor bathroom. Which is why I told you to use the second-floor bathroom. Much safer.”

Shit. Why did I have to go and bring up the second-floor bathroom?!

Charlie’s head whipped round. One eyebrow arched above his glasses.

“Is it? Is it safer?”